#Stiles Stilinski x male reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamersworldduh · 3 months ago

Note

Omg hiiii again,i don't know if you've watched Teen Wolf, but can you write of Stiles stilinski. Instead of Stiles liking Lydia since third grade, he's like the male reader instead, and he's finally wanted to make a move on male reader so he tries to show off at lacrosse practice but it failed and he continues until he finally confess to male reader. If it could get a little sexual at the end it would be soo appreciated 🙏🙏. Your works are still sooo good, and I loved my request you did. Thank you so much 🙏🙏🙏

CLUMSY CONFESSIONS

• STILES STILINSKI x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Stiles Stilinski has spent years secretly in love with his best friend but never found the courage to confess. However, after an intense lacrosse practice where he pushed himself to impress you—only to end up in the hospital—he began to realize he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 6.9k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Here we are with the sarcastic, witty and dashing, Stiles Stilinski. There’s a easter egg in there from one of my favorite movies—if you catch (you are awesome). This was fun to write—honestly there might be a part 2, but anyway I hope you enjoy ✨

Nine years, six months, and two days. That's exactly how long Stiles Stilinski has been in love with you—not that he's been counting or anything. Not that he lies awake at night, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom ceiling, replaying every moment, every touch, every stolen glance between you. Not that he marks the time in the way your laughter has changed over the years, from the high-pitched giggles of childhood to the softer, more knowing chuckles of adolescence.

It all started in third grade, in Mrs. Carter's classroom, where you plopped down beside him without hesitation, your pencil poised over wide-ruled paper, the scent of bubblegum lingering in the air between you. You were the first person to truly see him—not just as the hyperactive kid with too many thoughts and too little filter, but as Stiles. You noticed things, like how he bit his lip when he was nervous or how he tapped his fingers against his desk in a pattern only he understood. You laughed at his jokes, even the really bad ones, and when he forgot his fruit snacks, you always—always—slid half of yours across the desk without a second thought.

At first, it was admiration, a simple fondness for the way you scrunched your nose when you concentrated, the way your hair caught the sunlight just right, the way you somehow made even the most ordinary moments feel special. But admiration turned into something deeper, something heavier, something that settled in his chest like an immovable weight. It was in the way his pulse stuttered when you linked your pinky with his during a scary movie, the way his stomach flipped when you ruffled his hair absentmindedly, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes even though he'd never had the courage to hold your gaze for too long.

Through the years, there have been countless moments—late-night talks where your voices dipped into whispers, study sessions where your knees knocked together beneath the table, inside jokes that no one else could possibly understand. But through it all, Stiles has never let himself say the words that burn at the back of his throat.

Because as much as he aches for you to look at him the way he looks at you, as much as he dreams of your fingers lingering just a second longer when they brush against his, he's terrified. Terrified that if he speaks the truth, if he lets the love that has woven itself into his very being spill from his lips, he'll lose you. And losing you? That would be the one thing he could never recover from.

The connection between you and Stiles is so natural, so effortless, that his friends can't begin to comprehend the idea of you ever walking away from him. To them, you and Stiles are an inevitability, a force of nature, like the tide meeting the shore—constant, unwavering, and undeniable. If anyone is blind to the reality of the situation, it's him. Because to everyone else, what you share isn't just friendship. It's something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore, woven into the very fabric of your interactions.

Scott has lost count of how many times he's watched the two of you exchange nothing more than a glance before dissolving into laughter, as if carrying on an entire conversation without a single word. It's almost eerie how in sync you are, how seamlessly you anticipate each other's thoughts and reactions. He's seen it happen mid-battle, mid-study session, mid-sentence—you don't even have to try. It just happens.

Lydia barely suppresses an eye roll every time Stiles insists, "We're just friends." Because to her—and to everyone else—there is no just about it. She's analyzed every interaction, every lingering look, every moment Stiles gets that dreamy, faraway expression when you aren't paying attention. She's seen the way his hand twitches, like he wants to reach for yours but doesn't, and the way his entire body relaxes the second you're beside him, like you're the one thing in the world that makes sense.

Even Malia, who isn't exactly known for her emotional awareness, has taken notice. More than once, she's tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at the way Stiles instinctively moves toward you, how his body seems to orient itself in your direction even when you're across the room. Once, she even asked, completely deadpan, "Are you sure you're not mates?" Stiles choked on his drink, of course, but it didn't escape anyone's notice that he didn't actually deny it.

To them, it's not a matter of if you and Stiles will finally admit what's been obvious for years—it's a matter of when. Hell, half the pack already assumes you're together. And if they didn't know any better, they'd think you and Stiles were just keeping it a secret for the fun of it, stringing everyone along in some kind of elaborate inside joke. Because a connection like yours? It doesn't go unnoticed. It doesn't just exist without meaning something.

While your friends—and most of the pack—were convinced that you and Stiles were already a couple, the rest of the student body had their own interpretations. Sure, some people noticed how often the two of you were together, how your steps naturally fell in sync, how Stiles' entire demeanor shifted the second you entered a room. They saw the way he leaned in when you spoke, like every word that left your lips was something precious. But others? They didn't pick up on the unspoken language between you, the lingering glances that stretched just a beat too long, the way Stiles seemed to breathe easier when you were near.

No, they only saw what wasn't there—no hand-holding between classes, no kisses stolen by lockers, no official title to confirm what everyone else assumed. And because of that, they came to one simple conclusion: You were single.

Technically, they weren't wrong. But Stiles sure as hell didn't see it that way.

He stood beside his locker, fingers curled tightly around the strap of his backpack, jaw clenched as he watched the scene unfolding just a few feet away. One of his fellow lacrosse teammates—Jake something, because honestly, Stiles couldn't be bothered to remember—was leaning far too close to you, his forearm braced against your locker like some kind of wannabe heartthrob in a bad teen movie.

Stiles knew that posture. That smirk. That tone. He'd seen it a hundred times before, heard the fake charm laced in every word. And right now, every muscle in his body screamed that Jake wasn't just making conversation—he was flirting.

And worse? You were smiling. Not the dazzling, full-wattage grin that Stiles had practically built his entire emotional stability around, but a small, amused curve of your lips. A polite, entertained smile. But still, a smile.

Stiles' stomach twisted in frustration.

With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Scott and Isaac, his eyes darting back to you every few seconds, like he couldn't quite tear himself away. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, voice low and clipped. "He's not even funny. Or interesting. Or good at lacrosse, for that matter."

Scott, ever the reasonable one, placed a steadying hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Relax, man. If anything was really happening, you'd know. You two have a connection. Just talk to him."

But Isaac? Isaac had no intention of easing his suffering. With his usual smug grin, he leaned lazily against the lockers, arms crossed. "Look, I hate to break it to you, Stilinski, but your boy over there?" He nodded toward Jake, who was still talking to you, still way too close. "He's one of the hottest guys in school. Aside from me, obviously."

Stiles scowled as Isaac flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, completely unfazed by the death glare he was receiving.

"It's only a matter of time before someone snatches him up," Isaac added, his smirk widening.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "Wow. Super helpful, Isaac. Really appreciate it."

Scott shot Isaac a look, but the damage was already done. Because as much as Stiles wanted to brush it off, those words lodged themselves into his brain like a splinter. What if someone else got to you first?

That single thought sent a jolt of determination straight through him.

No. Not happening.

If there was ever a time for Stiles Stilinski to stop hesitating, to quit hiding behind fear and excuses, it was now. Because if he didn't make a move soon, someone else would. And there was no way in hell he was about to let that happen.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, spilling gold and amber hues across the lacrosse field, you settled onto the bleachers, the cool metal beneath you warmed by the lingering heat of the day. The air was thick with the sounds of practice—the rhythmic thud of lacrosse balls meeting sticks, the sharp calls of the coach barking orders, the occasional grunt of exertion as the team wove through their drills. Your eyes, however, were locked onto one player in particular.

Stiles Stilinski.

Despite his usual chaotic, slightly uncoordinated energy, there was something different about him tonight. He was focused. Determined. Almost... competitive?

From across the field, he spotted you, and it was like a switch flipped inside him. His face lit up instantly, a grin stretching from ear to ear. With one hand gripping his lacrosse stick, he lifted the other in an enthusiastic wave—so enthusiastic that he nearly lost his grip on his stick in the process. You chuckled, returning the gesture with a playful wiggle of your fingers, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Unfortunately, your little moment didn't go unnoticed.

"Trying to impress someone, Stilinski?"

The voice came from beside Stiles—Jake Matthews, one of the more arrogant players on the team. The same Jake who had been leaning against your locker earlier that day, trying to charm his way into your good graces. His tone was casual, laced with teasing, but there was an unmistakable challenge woven beneath it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced between Stiles and you.

Stiles' grin vanished instantly, replaced by a scowl as he turned to face Jake. Oh, this guy again.

"I don't need to try," Stiles shot back, tightening his grip on his stick. "Some of us have natural charm. You wouldn't understand."

Jake scoffed, twirling his lacrosse stick with an easy confidence. "Right. We'll see about that."

And just like that, the game was on.

What should have been a standard practice turned into something else entirely—an all-out competition. Every drill, every pass, every shot suddenly became a battleground. Jake, fueled by his own arrogance, made a show of his skill, dodging past defenders with ease and landing shots with near-perfect precision. But Stiles—fueled by sheer stubbornness and the undeniable need to win—was playing with an intensity no one had ever seen before.

He ran harder, passed sharper, and somehow—somehow—even managed to score a few impressive goals. The kind that made both Scott and Isaac stop mid-conversation and exchange stunned glances.

"When did that happen?" Isaac muttered, arms crossed as he watched Stiles maneuver around a defender with surprising finesse.

Scott shook his head, equally baffled. "I have no idea. But I think we just found his greatest motivation."

It wasn't just effort. It wasn't just determination.

Stiles was playing for you.

And honestly? It was kind of working.

Until it wasn't.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the overwhelming urge to one-up Jake. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the fact that he could still see you sitting on the bleachers, eyes trained on him, an almost amused little smile playing on your lips.

Whatever the reason, Stiles got cocky.

Going for what was supposed to be his grand finale, he sprinted across the field, angling himself for an epic shot—one that, in his head, would be flawless, the kind of goal that would leave you thoroughly impressed. But instead of landing his cinematic moment of triumph, disaster struck.

His foot caught in the turf.

Time seemed to slow as he realized—far too late—that there was no saving himself from what was about to happen.

With a graceless flail and a yelp of pure panic, Stiles went down. Hard. His lacrosse stick tumbled from his grip, skidding across the grass, and a collective wince rippled through the field as he landed in a heap, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the air.

A second later, a low groan escaped his lips.

Scott was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees. "Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, mentally assessing the damage before attempting to sit up. "Yeah, yeah—I'm fine," he grumbled, only to immediately suck in a sharp breath and clutch his ankle. "Okay, nope. Not fine. Definitely not fine."

Isaac, standing over him with a smirk, tilted his head. "Hate to say it, Stilinski, but I think your charm just backfired."

Despite the pain radiating from his ankle, Stiles still found the strength to glare up at him. "Wow. So helpful, Isaac. Truly."

Scott sighed, already prepared to help him off the field, but Stiles barely registered it. Because even as his pride (and his ankle) throbbed in agony, his gaze flickered toward the bleachers—toward you.

Your expression was a mix of amusement and concern, but the fact that you were concerned at all sent a different kind of ache through Stiles' chest—one that had nothing to do with the fall.

Because twisted ankle or not, humiliating wipeout or not, one thing was crystal clear.

He wasn't going to stop fighting for your attention.

Not now. Not ever.

The hospital room at Beacon Hills Memorial was as sterile and dimly lit as ever, the harsh fluorescent lights casting a clinical glow over the walls. The scent of antiseptic and freshly laundered sheets filled the air, but none of that mattered to you. Your arms were crossed as you stood beside Scott, watching Melissa McCall—Beacon Hills' most capable nurse and, more importantly, Scott's ever-reliable mother—wrap Stiles' ankle with practiced efficiency.

Her movements were swift yet careful, the kind of precision that only came from years of experience. She worked as she spoke, her voice both professional and motherly, a perfect blend of authority and care.

"You're lucky," she said, securing the bandage with a firm but gentle touch. "It's just a minor sprain. Stay off it for a few days, maybe use some crutches if it starts hurting too much. And—" she shot Stiles a knowing look before he could so much as open his mouth, "no attempting to run around on it like an idiot."

But Stiles wasn't listening.

His focus wasn't on Melissa. It wasn't even on his ankle.

It was on you.

Scott, ever perceptive, noticed immediately. He caught the way Stiles was staring—completely unaware that he was doing it, his brown eyes locked onto you with an intensity that would've been impossible to miss if you'd only turned your head.

Scott sighed. Here we go.

With an exaggerated stretch, he clapped his hands together and glanced at his mother. "Hey, Mom, why don't we go check on the nurse's station?" His tone was casual, too casual. "Y'know, in case they need you for anything?"

Melissa blinked, confused. "Scott, I work here. If they need me, they'll—"

"Great, let's go." Scott didn't give her a chance to finish, already ushering her toward the door with the determination of someone trying to prevent an impending disaster.

Melissa shot him an unimpressed look as he all but shoved her into the hallway. "Subtle," she muttered before the door swung shut behind them, leaving you and Stiles alone in the quiet hum of the hospital room.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The distant beeping of machines filled the silence, along with the faint murmur of nurses and doctors just beyond the door. Stiles shifted slightly on the bed, drumming his fingers against the railing, the metal clinking softly under his touch.

Then, finally, he cleared his throat and attempted a casual smile—his signature smile, the one that had always been a little awkward but undeniably charming.

"So," he started, dragging the word out, his voice just a little higher than usual. "You, uh... you saw that, huh? The game. The practice. Me. Doing well for once."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Yeah. That was... a first."

Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, scandalized. "Wow. Wow. So little faith in me. I'm wounded. Emotionally and physically."

You grinned, shaking your head. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you play like that before. I mean, you were actually keeping up with everyone."

Stiles scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "Okay, that's fair."

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the tension in the room easing just enough for Stiles to relax against the pillows.

But then, curiosity flickered in your expression as you leaned against the hospital bed's railing. "So... what was that all about, anyway?" You lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, I've seen you play before, but never like that. You were on fire."

Stiles opened his mouth, prepared to toss out some half-hearted excuse—something about adrenaline, maybe sheer dumb luck. But before his brain could catch up, the truth just slipped out.

"Well, yeah. It was because of you."

The second the words left his mouth, his brain short-circuited. His eyes widened, mouth snapping shut like he wanted to reel them back in, as if he could somehow undo what he had just confessed.

You blinked.

Stiles panicked.

"Uh—I mean, not like because of you, you," he rambled, his hands flailing as he scrambled for damage control. "But, like, inspired by you. Or, uh, motivated? Encouraged?" His voice pitched higher with each word, his hands now waving in frantic gestures. "Not that I'm saying you specifically motivate me, but—well, actually, no, that is what I'm saying, but not in a creepy way, just in a totally normal and cool way—"

"Stiles."

He froze.

You had your arms crossed now, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. "So what you're saying is... you were trying to impress me?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken tension.

Stiles let out a strangled, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as his gaze darted anywhere but at you. "Pfft, no! Of course not! ...Maybe."

A slow smirk spread across your face.

Stiles groaned, immediately flopping back onto the hospital bed with a dramatic sigh, one arm thrown over his face like he couldn't bear to see your reaction.

"Kill me now."

Your laughter rang through the small hospital room, light and effortless, cutting through Stiles' dramatic groan as he buried his face in his hands. His fingers gripped his hair in frustration, as if sheer force could undo the last sixty seconds of his life.

Rolling your eyes, you reached forward, fingers wrapping around his wrists, and gently tugged them away from his face. Stiles resisted for about half a second before relenting, his hands falling limply to his sides, revealing a face that was, without a doubt, very pink.

His expression was a perfect storm of embarrassment and something else—something softer, something hesitant, something that made your stomach flip if you let yourself think about it too hard.

"Come on, don't be so dramatic," you teased, keeping your hold on his wrists as you leaned in slightly. "It was kinda cute, actually."

Stiles blinked. "Cute?" His voice cracked on the word, high-pitched and unfiltered, and the moment he realized it, he immediately cleared his throat, forcing a more neutral expression—one that utterly failed to hide the way his ears had gone red.

You only grinned, giving his hands one last tug to pull him forward.

And that's when it happened.

You had moved without thinking, stepping closer in the process, and suddenly, you were standing between his legs. His knees bracketed your body, the warmth of him radiating through the thin fabric of his hospital shorts.

Stiles definitely noticed.

His breath hitched. His brain stalled. His hands, which had instinctively found their way to your waist to steady himself, froze.

And no matter how hard he tried, he could not not think about the fact that you were right there—closer than you'd ever been, close enough that he could count the flecks of color in your eyes, close enough that if he tilted his head even slightly, your lips would be—

Nope. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there.

Stiles tried to focus on anything else—the distant beeping of machines, the muffled voices of nurses in the hallway, literally any other thought that wouldn't make him combust in real time. But you weren't making it easy. Not with your hands still loosely gripping his wrists, not with your body so close, not with that teasing smile that made his heart do things it had no business doing.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he quickly ripped them away, gripping the edge of the hospital bed instead like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Meanwhile, you seemed completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening in Stiles' head. Instead, you just tilted your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"You good?" you asked, watching the way his entire body had gone rigid.

Stiles let out a noise that was supposed to be a casual laugh but came out more like a strangled wheeze.

"Yeah! Yep. Totally fine. Just, uh..." He forced a lopsided grin—one that was more nervous wreck than charming rogue. "Just... sitting here. With a sprained ankle. And my very attractive best friend standing way too close and—"

His mouth snapped shut.

His eyes widened.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over your chest. "What was that?"

Stiles slapped a hand over his face so fast it was almost comical. "Nothing. Didn't say anything. Please disregard."

But you just smirked.

Leaning in ever so slightly, you lowered your voice just enough to make Stiles' stomach flip.

"Stiles," you murmured, tilting your head. "Are you nervous?"

Stiles groaned, flopping back against the pillow like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. "I hate you."

You just laughed again, and despite his sheer, complete mortification, Stiles was pretty sure that sound alone could heal his ankle faster than any of Melissa McCall's medical expertise.

You then reached forward and nudged his shoulder—not hard, just enough to jolt him out of his spiraling self-destruction. His head lifted slightly, his brown eyes meeting yours again, still wide from his earlier slip-up. You could see the wheels turning, his brain scrambling at full speed, desperately trying to figure out how to recover, how to backtrack, how to un-say the words that had already left his mouth.

But before he could even attempt an escape, you smirked.

"You know," you said casually, tilting your head, "for someone who thinks I'm attractive, you don't seem to realize you are too."

Stiles blinked.

His lips parted slightly, like his entire operating system had just crashed, his brain throwing up an error message in real time. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—his face flickering between shock, confusion, and sheer disbelief, as if he had just misheard you. As if he needed a full system reboot before he could process those words properly.

"I—wait—what?"

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. "I'm serious, Stiles. You're really attractive." You shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I just figured someone should tell you, since you clearly don't hear it enough."

Stiles made a noise.

A noise.

Something between a strangled laugh and a dying animal, his face turning an impressive shade of pink. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers fidgeting like he suddenly had no idea what to do with them. He sat up a little straighter—well, tried to—but in doing so, he only ended up shifting closer, his knee brushing against the side of your leg.

And that was when he realized—again—just how close you were.

Oh, God.

His brain was overheating.

Before he could spiral any further, you leaned in.

His breath hitched.

The world tilted.

Your voice softened, something warm and undeniably real threading through it. "And... I'm really proud of you, you know." Your eyes searched his, the words landing in the space between you like something solid, something true. "You played amazing out there."

Stiles swallowed hard.

He wasn't sure which part was making his heart race faster—the fact that you were still standing between his legs, the way your voice sounded so genuine, or the fact that—

Oh.

You were leaning in even closer.

His breath caught entirely when your lips pressed softly against his cheek, warm and lingering for just a second longer than necessary. The heat of the contact sent a shiver down his spine, burning through him, leaving a brand behind.

His entire body locked up.

Every single nerve in his system short-circuited.

By the time you pulled back, Stiles was frozen.

Mouth slightly open. Eyes impossibly wide. Heart definitely no longer beating at a survivable rhythm. If it were anyone else, you would've assumed he had stopped breathing altogether.

You tilted your head, amused. "You okay there, Stiles?"

Stiles slowly blinked.

Then, with absolutely zero control over his own reactions, he squeaked—an actual, audible squeak—before aggressively clearing his throat and scrambling to collect himself.

"Y-Yeah! Yep! Totally fine!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he winced. "Just—just processing. You know. Uh. Normal stuff. Normal processing."

You chuckled, shaking your head fondly. "Glad to hear it."

Stiles, meanwhile, was pretty sure he was never going to recover.

For the rest of the week, Stiles could not stop smiling.

It was actually getting ridiculous.

Every time he so much as thought about that moment in the hospital—the soft press of your lips against his cheek, the warmth of your voice when you told him he was attractive, the way you had stood so close, right between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world—his face would break out into a stupid, lovesick grin that he couldn't wipe off no matter how hard he tried.

Scott had definitely noticed.

So had Lydia. And Isaac. And literally everyone who interacted with him for more than ten seconds.

"Okay, what is wrong with you?" Lydia had asked at lunch, raising an unimpressed eyebrow as she watched him stare off into space with the goofiest smile she'd ever seen. "You look like a golden retriever that just got praised for doing a trick."

Scott, already knowing exactly what was going on, just smirked and shook his head. "It's about you know who."

Isaac, biting into an apple, tilted his head. "Ah," he said, nodding in understanding. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome. Classic case."

Stiles snapped out of his daze immediately, scowling. "Bleachers Kiss Syndrome is not a thing."

Isaac took another bite. "It is now."

But as much as Stiles tried to brush it off, he knew they weren't wrong. Because no matter how many times he replayed it in his head, he kept circling back to the same conclusion:

He had to tell you how he felt.

He couldn't keep pretending it wasn't there, couldn't keep shoving his feelings down just because he was scared of what might happen. You liked him—maybe not in the exact way he liked you (yet), but you had to like him at least a little, right? No one just casually calls their best friend attractive and kisses them on the cheek like that unless there's something there.

Right?

Oh, God. What if he was reading this all wrong?

What if it was casual for you? What if you just saw him as a best friend, nothing more?

What if he confessed and completely ruined everything?

Stiles groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he sat slumped over his desk at home, staring blankly at his notes for a history test he definitely wasn't studying for.

But then his mind wandered back to the way you had looked at him in that hospital room, the way you had smiled right before kissing him, the way you had stayed by his side, even when you didn't have to.

And that's when he decided—screw it.

He needed to tell you. Because the way his heart had been feeling lately? He wasn't sure it could handle keeping this to himself any longer.

Stiles knew he had to find the right moment to tell you how he felt—really tell you. Not in a half-mumbled, nervous slip-up. Not in an awkward, flustered compliment that he immediately tried to backtrack. No, this had to be something big, something meaningful.

That moment didn't come right away.

In fact, it didn't come until the championship lacrosse game.

Beacon Hills was up against one of the toughest teams in the league—the Cyclones—and to say it was an intense game would be an understatement. The air was thick with tension, the crowd was electric, and every player on the field was running on pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

The game had been brutal—fast breaks, bone-rattling defense, near-impossible shots that somehow found the net. By the final quarter, Beacon Hills was up by just one point. One more goal, and they'd win the championship. But if they missed? If the Cyclones countered?

They'd be going home humiliated.

The pressure was insane.

Scott, Isaac, and Stiles stood tense on the field, eyes locked on the opposing team as they strategized their next move. Sweat dripped down Stiles' temple, his chest heaving with exhaustion, his heartbeat thunderous in his ears.

And then—because the universe was a cruel, cruel place—the ball ended up in his stick.

Everything stopped.

For a split second, it felt like the entire world had gone silent.

The pounding of footsteps, the roaring of the crowd, the whistles and frantic calls from the sidelines—all of it faded into a distant hum as Stiles stared at the lacrosse ball nestled securely in his net.

He swallowed hard.

Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was bad.

If he made this shot, he'd be a hero.

But if he missed?

If he missed...?

He would never hear the end of it. Not from his teammates. Not from the school. Not from literally anyone who had ever met him.

Stiles tightened his grip on the stick, fingers clammy, his pulse wild. He could do this. He just had to—

And then, in the midst of the chaos, he heard it.

"You got this, Stiles!"

Your voice.

It cut through everything, ringing loud and clear from the stands.

Without even thinking, Stiles turned his head toward the bleachers, his nerves momentarily forgotten.

And there you were.

Standing in the middle of the crowd, eyes locked on him, wearing a smile so bright, so damn confident, that his stomach flipped. Both of your thumbs were raised in encouragement, your expression screaming, C'mon, Stilinski, don't overthink it. Just take the shot.

For a second, the rest of the crowd seemed to fade, as if everyone else had noticed exactly who he was looking at. A ripple of murmurs passed through the stands, eyes shifting toward you, wondering why you of all people had chosen that exact moment to cheer.

But Stiles?

Stiles didn't care.

Because suddenly, the nerves? Gone.

The weight of the game? Didn't matter.

Because you believed in him.

Time seemed to slow down the moment Stiles swung his lacrosse stick, sending the ball flying through the air.

The crowd held its breath.

Everything—the pounding of his heart, the shouts from the sidelines, the sound of cleats scraping against the turf—faded into a distant hum as the ball spun in a perfect arc. It cut through the air, passing by outstretched sticks of the opposing players who leapt desperately in an attempt to intercept it. But Stiles had aimed it just right—just high enough to avoid their reach.

The goalie's eyes widened. He reacted a second too late, diving forward, his gloved hand stretching toward the ball in a last-ditch effort to swat it away.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like he might block it.

But then—

Swish.

The ball slammed into the net with a resounding thwack.

Silence.

For half a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Even Stiles, still frozen in his follow-through stance, wasn't sure if he had actually seen it happen or if his brain was playing some kind of cruel trick on him.

Then—

The referee's whistle pierced the air.

And just like that, the silence shattered.

The stands erupted. The entire Beacon Hills crowd exploded into cheers, a deafening roar of excitement and disbelief as people jumped to their feet, screaming in celebration.

Stiles barely had time to process it before Scott tackled him from behind, practically lifting him off the ground. Isaac was right behind him, ruffling his hair and shouting something about how he actually pulled it off. Other teammates swarmed in, clapping him on the back, shaking him by the shoulders, shouting in his face like they couldn't believe it either.

But none of that mattered.

None of it even registered.

Because the only thing Stiles saw, the only thing that mattered, was you.

Still standing in the bleachers, still grinning from ear to ear, eyes locked on him like he was the only person on the field.

And that's when he knew.

This was the moment.

The deafening roar of the crowd faded into a distant hum, drowned out by the rush of adrenaline pounding through Stiles' veins. His breath came fast, chest heaving, but he barely registered it. The celebration erupted around him—teammates shouting, hands slapping against his back, coaches cheering his name—but none of it mattered.

Stiles didn't think. He just moved.

He shoved past his teammates, dodging high-fives, ignoring the victorious yells, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted toward the bleachers. The crowd was a blur around him, faceless and unimportant, their voices lost to the singular, relentless thought hammering in his skull: Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

His cleats scraped against the turf as he vaulted over the barrier, weaving through the surge of students rushing onto the field. He hardly noticed the way some clapped him on the shoulder, how a few shouted his name in triumph.

Because you were all that mattered.

The second he reached the bottom of the bleachers, your gaze locked onto his, and in that instant, every hesitation, every excuse, every fear that had kept him silent over the years vanished.

Not anymore.

Stiles took the steps two at a time, pushing through the ache in his muscles, his pulse hammering harder with each step. His entire body was electric, wired with something more powerful than adrenaline, more overwhelming than victory.

And then, finally, he was standing right in front of you.

Your lips parted, a breathless laugh escaping as you opened your mouth to congratulate him—but you never got the chance.

Because Stiles didn't wait.

His hand lifted instinctively, cupping your cheek, his fingers feather-light despite the wild energy thrumming between you both. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, his touch softer than it had any right to be considering the way his heart was slamming against his ribs.

His eyes searched yours for just a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see everything he had been too afraid to say, too scared to show.

And then, finally—finally—he closed the distance.

His lips crashed against yours, the kiss raw, desperate, full of everything— every moment of hesitation, every ounce of longing that had been bottled up for years. His other hand found your waist, pulling you in, molding your body against his as he melted into you, as if this was the only place he was ever meant to be.

The roar of the crowd, the championship, the entire world disappeared.

There was only this.

Only you and him.

And the only thought running through Stiles' head as he kissed you was:

Finally.

Suddenly, something cool and unexpected landed on his cheek. It was subtle at first—just a single drop of water sliding down his skin. He barely registered it, too caught up in you, until another followed. And then another.

He pulled back slightly, his breath mingling with yours as his eyes fluttered open.

And that's when he felt it.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall from the sky.

You both tilted your heads upward, watching as the dark night sky gave way to a soft, steady drizzle. The stadium lights caught the droplets as they descended, making them shimmer like falling stars.

But there was no rush for cover, no panicked scramble from the crowd.

No—if anything, the rain only seemed to heighten the energy. The cheers still echoed across the field, players and students alike embracing the moment, their victorious shouts mixing with the sound of raindrops hitting metal bleachers and dampening the turf.

Stiles, however, wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Because as the rain soaked into his jersey, cooling his flushed skin, his gaze drifted back to you.

You were still watching the sky, droplets catching in your hair, sliding down the curve of your cheek. And then, as if sensing his eyes on you, you turned to face him again.

And you smiled.

A small, soft, knowing smile—one that made his breath hitch all over again.

"Congratulations," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the chaos around you.

Stiles' heart stumbled, his chest tightening in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect.

He returned the smile, unable to help the way his fingers instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you again.

This time, it was slower—less frantic than the first, but just as intense. Rain mixed between your lips, the coolness of it contrasting with the warmth of the moment. His hands tightened their hold on you, as if anchoring himself to this, to you, to the undeniable certainty that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

And as the crowd cheered, as the rain continued to fall around you, as everything else faded into the background, Stiles realized something—

Winning the game had been incredible.

But this?

This was the real victory.

As the rain continued to fall around you, soaking into your clothes and sending a pleasant chill down your spine, you pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Stiles' gaze again. His brown eyes were still wide with disbelief, flickering with excitement and something deeper—something that sent a thrill through you.

You leaned in close, your lips barely brushing against his ear as you whispered, "We should get out of here."

Stiles pulled back, blinking at you in surprise before a teasing grin spread across his face. "What? You scared of a little rain?" he teased, shaking his wet hair dramatically, sending tiny droplets flying everywhere. "C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that."

You rolled your eyes, stepping even closer, your hands trailing up his damp jersey until they rested on his chest. You could feel his heart hammering beneath your touch, the steady rhythm growing faster the longer you lingered.

"That's not why we should leave," you murmured, your voice taking on a tone just sultry enough to make Stiles freeze.

His cocky expression faltered slightly. "Oh?"

You smirked, tilting your head as you leaned in, your lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I just think... a champion deserves to be properly celebrated," you whispered, letting your voice drip with suggestion.

The effect was instantaneous.

Stiles practically short-circuited.

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening against your waist as he processed what you just said. His face went through a series of rapid changes—shock, realization, then a dawning understanding that sent heat rushing to his face.

"Oh," he managed to breathe out, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again, watching with amusement as his brain visibly scrambled to catch up.

Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Stiles grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he stepped back. "Right. Yes. Leaving. Immediately. Great idea. Fantastic idea."

You chuckled, allowing him to pull you along, both of you ducking through the rain as the cheers from the crowd faded into the background.

Because this night?

It wasn't over yet.

#x male reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x male reader #dylan o'brien #dylan o’brien x male reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader #gay

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6rookie-writer0110 · 4 years ago

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Don't leave the lava lamp all night

Stiles Stilinski x Male Reader

Request - Stiles Stilinski x Male Reader fluff: Stiles and reader are in a romantic relationship. They have light-hearted arguments a lot. It's pretty cute how they try to insult each other while they are cuddling. You can decide what you wanna do with this setup :)

You just bought take out food for you and your boyfriend Stiles. He is happy to see you and you gave him a peck on the lips. You and Stiles walked towards the table, you put the bag on the table and he starts to take out the food.

“Just one slice!?” Stiles asked and pouts.

“Yeah. I also got mozzarella sticks and your favorite flavor juice” You said.

“You could have bought a pie,” Stiles said.

“Wow, you couldn't have said thank you at least,” You said.

“I'm helping you make better choices. Next time tell them pepperoni on my slice” Stiles said.

You mock him and he starts to mock you. You and Stiles laughed and kept mocking each other.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Stiles said.

“Why, are you telling me?” You asked.

“I can't tell my boyfriend where I'm going?” Stiles joked.

You laughed.

“You are an idiot” You laughed.

He laughed.

“Your outfit doesn't match,” Stiles said.

He sticks out his tongue and he went to the bathroom.

----

You and Stiles forgot yesterday was Valentine's Day. So, you and Stiles hold hands and walk into the store. Everything is half off. You and Stiles picked different kinds of candy and other junk food.

“We should have a fast and the furious movie marathon,” Stiles said.

“All the movies suck,” You said.

Stiles dramatically gasped.

“I don't think I would have a boyfriend by the end of the day” Stiles joked.

“You wear too many plaid shirts,” You said.

Again he dramatically gasped.

“Well, I-I-I don't like your new shoes,” Stiles said.

“I don't like your green plaid shirt. Or we can watch that movie with the white robot, I forgot his name” you said.

“His name is Baymax, you handsome idiot,” Stiles said.

You playfully smacked his arm and laughed.

✬ ✯ ✫ ✯

You and Stiles are eating candy and junk food on the couch. You and Stiles are wearing pajamas and he grabbed the blankets and put them on the couch. You sit down to make yourself comfortable and he does the same.

You and Stiles cuddle on the couch, you love him so you would watch fast and the furious. During the movie, you're bored and tried not to fall asleep.

You jumped once you felt his bare feet.

“Your feet are like ice!” You said.

“My feet are not like ice. You are a baby” Stiles said.

“I'm not a baby, you're a baby,” You said.

You throw the pillow at him.

“Baby” Stiles said.

“Well, your- your jokes are lame like your plaid shirts,” You said.

“Your hurt my feelings, you better apologize to my plaid shirts,” Stiles fake pout.

You mock him.

“Fine, I won't kiss you anymore,” Stiles said and moved away from you.

“Fine,” You said.

You walked away but Stiles ran after you. He grabbed you from behind and he starts to kiss your neck. You and Stiles start to laugh and you turned around.

“Can I kiss my boyfriend?” Stiles asked.

You start to think.

“Nope,” You said and walked away.

You go upstairs to the bedroom to put on socks.

“Y/N! I didn't mean it when I said won't kiss you anymore! Y/N!?” Stiles yelled.

But you didn't say anything, you just laughed.

Much later, you and Stiles do cuddle in bed. Stiles kissed you and you couldn't help to smile.

#teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski x male reader #stiles stilinski imagine #Stiles Stilinski x reader #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x male reader

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darkintothedawn · 2 months ago

Text

FIRST TIME... || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Male reader

Summary — Some headcanon style things for Stiles' first time with you

Memo— Going back to my roots with this one

Word Count — 2744

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

bf!Stiles who was already obsessed with you before you even started dating, but now that you're his? He’s insatiable. Touch-starved in a way that should be embarrassing, but he doesn't care. He’s constantly got his hands on you—tugging you closer by your belt loops, squeezing your thighs when you sit next to him, fingers slipping under your shirt to feel your bare skin whenever he can get away with it.

bf!Stiles who acts all cocky when he’s kissing you, smirking against your lips like he’s in control, but the second your fingers tangle in the short fuzz of his buzz cut and tug, he whimpers—genuine, needy, hips jerking forward instinctively.

bf!Stiles who likes it when you play rough with him, even if he pretends otherwise. Pretends he’s the one running the show, but the way he groans when you nip at his throat, the way he shivers when you squeeze his wrists together above his head? Yeah. He’s not fooling anyone.

bf!Stiles who gets you alone in his room for the first time, the buzz of his old ceiling fan the only sound aside from his ragged breathing, hands shaking as they trace down your stomach, mapping out every inch of you like he’ll never get another chance. His gaze flicks up to yours, pupils blown wide, and he mutters, “Are you sure? ‘Cause I don’t think I can stop once we start.”

bf!Stiles who talks a big game, but the first time he’s inside you, he’s gone—moaning, gasping, forehead pressing against yours as he stutters out, “Holy shit, holy shit, you feel so good—” like he’s never felt anything like it in his life. Because he hasn’t. And the way your ass squeezes around him, the way your cock twitches against his stomach with every thrust, makes him genuinely dizzy.

bf!Stiles who meant to go slow, really, but the heat of you, the squeeze, the way you look underneath him—he loses control embarrassingly fast, hips snapping up into you harder than intended, muttering apologies against your neck but not stopping. Not even when he feels your nails dig into his back, not even when he hears you whimper from the force of it, not even when he knows he’s about to cum too fast.

bf!Stiles who whimpers when he cums, not the cute little ones, but wrecked sounds, overwhelmed, body shuddering as he spills inside you, arms barely holding himself up. His whole body tightens, locks up, the last few stuttered thrusts just raw need as he fills you up.

bf!Stiles who gets addicted to it. To you. He barely catches his breath before he’s pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, shifting his hips, already hardening again.

bf!Stiles who loves the idea of marking you. He’s got a thing for biting—your throat, your shoulders, your thighs, anywhere his mouth can reach. Loves the way you squirm when he sinks his teeth in, the way you groan when he sucks bruises into your skin. And he definitely loves seeing them the next day, hidden under your clothes, knowing he put them there.

bf!Stiles who cries when he’s overstimulated, cheeks flushed, body trembling, hips jerking up helplessly even as he whines, “Can’t—fuck, can’t, but I need to—please, let me—” voice breaking on the words. His cock is red, aching, still sensitive from the last time, but he needs it—needs to be inside you, needs to cum again, needs to feel your ass squeezing around him until he’s sobbing into your shoulder.

bf!Stiles who grips your hips so tight you’ll be bruised, who watches the way his cum leaks out of you and groans, low and desperate, running his fingers through it like he can’t believe he did that, that you let him.

bf!Stiles who fucks like he needs it, like he’ll die if he doesn’t, chasing his high with frantic, hungry thrusts, hands never still, never satisfied with just one part of you. One hand gripping your jaw, the other slipping down your stomach, wrapping around your cock just to feel you twitch in his palm.

bf!Stiles who gets off on making you cum first. The way your cock pulses, the way your whole body tightens, the way you shudder under him—that’s what drives him crazy. And if you moan his name when you do? If you beg for him while you’re falling apart? He’s gone.

bf!Stiles who loves fucking you from behind, loves the view, loves how deep he can get, loves watching his cock disappear inside you over and over. He’s always gripping your hips tight, pulling you back onto him, moaning when he sees his cum from last time still slicking your hole.

bf!Stiles who would rather die than be caught crying, but after the third round, when you’re just as desperate, just as greedy, he’s pressing his face into your shoulder, voice cracking as he gasps, “Oh my god, oh my god—” like he’s unraveling from the inside out.

bf!Stiles who makes you keep his cum inside you after, pushing it deeper with his fingers and watching you squirm, grinning through his exhaustion, whispering, “Just for a little, baby, just wanna see it.”

bf!Stiles who, once he’s fucked out and satisfied, gets so clingy after. Whining when you try to get up, dragging you back down with lazy hands, pressing his face into your neck. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles, already half-asleep, holding onto you like he never wants to let go.

bf!Stiles who drapes himself over you, arms wrapped tight around your waist, his bare chest warm against your back. He’s still breathing heavy, heartbeat erratic, skin damp with sweat, but he doesn’t care—he just presses closer, lips brushing over your shoulder as he mutters, “You’re not leaving. Not yet.”

bf!Stiles who keeps shifting against you even though he’s exhausted, hips rolling lazily, cock soft but still sensitive where it rests against your ass. You can feel him twitch every time you move, and when you shift just a little too much, he whines, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Stop,” he huffs, but his fingers are digging into your hip like he doesn’t actually want you to.

bf!Stiles who rubs slow, absentminded circles into your skin, his palm tracing up your stomach, over your chest, fingertips ghosting across your nipples before sliding back down again. He’s not even trying to start something—it’s just instinct, like he needs to touch you, to remind himself that you’re real, that you’re his.

bf!Stiles who loves how warm you are after, how your skin is still flushed from everything you’ve done, how you’re all soft and pliant beneath his touch. He presses a lazy kiss to the back of your neck, mumbling something incoherent, something that sounds a lot like “so perfect, fuck.”

bf!Stiles who groans dramatically when you finally push at his chest, trying to untangle yourself from him. He’s clingy, arms tightening around you, trying to keep you in bed. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice is rough, low from overuse, but his grin is lazy, smug. “I literally just rearranged your guts, you can’t even walk yet.”

bf!Stiles who watches you try to stand, eyes glued to your shaky legs, to the way you wince when you shift too fast. His cock twitches at the sight, and he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, baby, you look—” He swallows hard, cutting himself off, forcing himself to stay still.

bf!Stiles who definitely wasn’t planning on going again, but the way you stretch, the way his cum drips down your thigh, the way your spent cock twitches against your stomach—it’s too much. His breath stutters, and when you glance back at him, raising an eyebrow, he just mutters, “Don’t look at me like that.”

bf!Stiles who pulls you back down before you can even think about arguing, flipping you onto your back, crawling between your legs with a hunger that shouldn’t even be possible after how many times he’s already cum. “Just one more,” he breathes, pressing kisses down your chest, across your stomach, dragging his teeth along your hip. “Promise.”

bf!Stiles who definitely doesn’t keep that promise. Because once he’s inside you again, once he feels the heat, the tightness, once he hears you gasp—he’s done for. All thoughts of stopping, of letting you rest, go out the window.

bf!Stiles who loves the way you sound when you’re too tired to hold back. The way your moans come out rough, wrecked, completely unfiltered. The way your cock twitches against your stomach, untouched, just from the drag of his thrusts.

bf!Stiles who leans down, mouth at your ear, whispering filth between ragged breaths. “Can’t believe you’re still so tight,” he groans, nipping at your earlobe. “Still sucking me in, baby. Feels like you want it—like you don’t want me to stop.”

bf!Stiles who nearly loses it when you grab at him, nails digging into his biceps, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in deeper. His moan is embarrassingly high-pitched, and he lets his forehead drop to your shoulder, gasping out, “Holy shit—” before picking up his pace, fucking into you like he’ll never get the chance again.

bf!Stiles who comes undone faster than he wants to, the overstimulation hitting him hard, making him tremble above you. His whole body is burning, his stomach tightening, his thrusts turning messy, erratic. He knows he should pull out, knows you’re exhausted, knows it’s too much—but when you beg, voice wrecked, whispering, “Inside, please—” he can’t help it.

bf!Stiles who cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering, filling you up so deep he can feel it, his whole body shaking from the force of it. His face is buried in your neck, breath hot and uneven, his hands gripping at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

bf!Stiles who collapses on top of you after, completely spent, too drained to move. He’s still inside you, cock twitching with aftershocks, and when he finally manages to lift his head, he just mutters, “Okay. Now I’m done.”

bf!Stiles who, despite saying that, doesn’t pull out right away. He just stays there, pressed against you, soaking up your warmth, feeling the way your chest rises and falls beneath him. It’s too good. Too comfortable.

bf!Stiles who makes a soft, content noise when your fingers start combing through his buzzed hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He melts into it, eyes fluttering shut, humming under his breath. “M’gonna fall asleep,” he murmurs, voice thick, sleepy.

bf!Stiles who only moves when he realizes you’re both a mess, skin sticky with sweat, his cum still leaking out of you. He groans, shifting just enough to grab the closest shirt—his, probably, but he doesn’t care—using it to wipe you down, mumbling, “Not my best work, but it’ll do.”

bf!Stiles who definitely talks in his sleep, barely coherent mumbling, slurred words that only make sense half the time. But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, his grip tightens around you, and between soft breaths, you hear him mutter, “So good for me.”

bf!Stiles who finally collapses back onto the bed, dragging you with him, wrapping himself around you like a human koala. His breath evens out against your skin, his grip loosening as sleep starts to take over.

bf!Stiles who barely manages to mumble, “Mine,” before he’s out cold, arms still wrapped tight around you, like even in his sleep, he refuses to let you go.

bf!Stiles who clings to you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, fingers curled loosely against your ribs, cheek pressed against your chest, warm breath fanning across your skin. His body is so warm, all long limbs and sharp angles, but he’s soft too—his stomach, the inside of his thighs, the dip of his spine where your palm rests.

bf!Stiles who makes little noises every time he breathes out, these barely-there sighs, like he’s exhaling all the tension left in his body, sinking into you completely. His lips are parted, his breath a little uneven, catching every time his body twitches from overstimulation.

bf!Stiles who twitches in his sleep, little jolts of movement that make his fingers spasm against your skin, his leg jerking slightly where it’s tangled with yours. Sometimes, it’s just a little shudder, a tremble that rolls through him, but then there’s the big ones—full-body twitches that shake the whole bed, making him grunt in his sleep, shifting closer like he’s chasing your warmth.

bf!Stiles who sighs when you run your hand down his back, smoothing your palm over his spine, grounding him. It’s like his body recognizes your touch even in sleep, instinctively relaxing, muscles softening under your fingertips.

bf!Stiles who sleeps like he fucks—messy, restless, needy. Even unconscious, he’s all over you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, one of his legs hooked over yours, his arm tight around your waist. He huffs when you shift, brows furrowing, a sleepy little sound of protest leaving his lips before he settles again, his grip tightening.

bf!Stiles who mumbles something in his sleep, voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by his own breathing. You don’t catch all of it, but you hear your name in there, soft and sweet, the way he says it making your chest ache.

bf!Stiles who smells like himself, that mix of old spice and detergent and something uniquely Stiles—like the inside of his Jeep, like late-night bonfires, like the vanilla chapstick he always chews on without realizing. It’s grounding, familiar, him.

bf!Stiles who makes these tiny, involuntary movements against you, like his body’s still trying to press closer even though you’re already wrapped around him. He tucks his chin a little, tilting his head until his nose nudges against your collarbone, lips brushing your skin with every slow exhale.

bf!Stiles who mumbles in his sleep, words slurred, barely more than a breath against your skin. It’s nonsense half the time, little huffs of, “No, s’my turn to drive,” and, “The algorithms don’t match, dude,” but then, suddenly—“Love you.”

bf!Stiles who means it, even unconscious, even when he’s barely tethered to reality. His voice is quiet, raw, like it slipped out before he could stop it, like it’s a truth buried so deep in his bones that it doesn’t need to be spoken aloud to exist.

bf!Stiles who shifts slightly, his lips brushing over your collarbone, his breath hitching like his body knows what it just admitted, like even in sleep, he’s overwhelmed by you.

bf!Stiles who, after a long pause, whispers something so soft you almost don’t catch it. “You’re my Han Solo.”

bf!Stiles who lets out a slow, sleepy sigh, pressing even closer, fingers twitching against your side, like he’s waiting for you to respond—even though he’s already slipping deeper into sleep.

bf!Stiles who’s quiet for a while after that, his breathing finally evening out, his body finally relaxing against yours. It’s peaceful, soft, perfect—

—until he suddenly jerks awake with a sharp inhale, gripping your arm like he just had the most important realization of his life.

bf!Stiles who blurts out, voice raspy, “The government is hiding real werewolves in national parks.”

bf!Stiles who’s dead serious, blinking up at you, completely oblivious to the fact that he just went from confessing his love to spouting absolute bullshit in the span of ten seconds.

bf!Stiles who stares at you like he expects immediate agreement, like this is a perfectly logical follow-up to everything he just said, his fingers gripping your wrist like he needs you to understand how serious this is.

bf!Stiles who frowns when you snort, nuzzling into his hair, mumbling, “Go to sleep, Stiles.”

bf!Stiles who huffs, shifting in your arms, mumbling something about “bigfoot’s just a cover-up,” but still melts when you kiss his temple, still relaxes when you pull him closer.

bf!Stiles who, no matter how ridiculous he gets, no matter how chaotic his brain is, is still yours. And that’s the best part.

#stiles stilinski #headcanons #stiles x reader #stiles x male reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski smut #dating would include #smut #bottom male reader #x male reader #male reader #gay smut #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles smut #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski x male reader #stiles stilinski x male!reader #first time

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 1 year ago

Text

Tread Carefully ~ S.S.

Request: “Stiles x male reader, reader getting hurt trying to protect stiles from a werewolf” by anon

Word Count: 1400+

MASTERLIST

Stiles had been harboring a crush on Lydia Martin for as long as he could remember. Even longer than Scott had known about it; and that was ages. So when he actually became friends with her, he'd thought he'd had a chance.

And then she'd dated Allison.

If he was honest, Stiles really hadn't ever considered that before. I mean yeah, he knew about queer people. But every time he brought it up, people had brushed it off and dismissed it. Stiles especially just wasn't - according to everyone. So he had never thought about it, until his old crush became one of his best friends and then she was taking about it all the time. Telling him about how happy she was, and when he asked, about how she'd realized she was into women. And suddenly he realized something he'd never considered before: he'd one hundred percent had a crush on Scott when they were kids.

He didn't tell anyone for a long time. Well, anyone but Lydia. She was a fantastic confidante and an even better secret keeper. And she was good at keeping Stiles' sexuality a secret... until he developed a crush on her brother.

Y/n Martin was very different than his sister. They were a unit, they always had been, but where Lydia leaned into expectation to make herself popular and as perfect as possible, Y/n had leaned away from it. He didn't have a lot of friends, outside of the kids in the programming club, and some people he'd met over the internet. He was the type that knew high school was stupid, and thought that made him a little bit cooler than everyone else.

Stiles thought he was awesome. Y/n was putting as little effort into school as possible, focused less on college and more on learning to program and prepping himself to just do that forever. He was smart, which meant he knew that school didn't actually teach you anything you needed to know - as long as you knew what you were heading into. He often talked Lydia's ear off about how school was just preparing you to be part of the machine of society, and rolled his eyes when Lydia tried to get him into a "better outfit" or take him shopping.

But that was actually why Stiles liked him. They had math together, and Y/n made jokes under his breath and talked about how stupid it all was, and then leaned over and gave him pointers and help with the work in a way he could actually understand. He never ran out of patience and didn't find Stiles' burst of energy or hard time focusing or burn out annoying. He encouraged Stiles and hyped him up and when he did a good job and Y/n was leaning over his shoulder grinning at him, whispering compliments to him and joking about having to reward him one of these days, Stiles couldn't help but think that all he wanted in that moment was to kiss him.

Lydia picked up on it too fast. She was at first a little hesitant, making Stiles promise this wasn't about her, because her brother deserved better than being a replacement, but Stiles promised that wasn't it. And he proved it too, even if the pining looked the same. He talked to Y/n and became friends with him and fought against werewolves and other big-bads, and they bonded over being the only two just-humans on the team, but Stiles never reached out to him to tell him how he felt. Stiles didn't want anything from Y/n that he didn't want to offer; which was sweet except Lydia wanted to see her best friend and her brother happy.

So what was she to do except play match maker?

Her butting in was helping, too. Y/n was telling her all the time now about how he liked Stiles, how well they got along, all the stuff they were doing together. About his eyes and his smile and his laugh and how brave he was. About how they made so many plans together and learned to trust each other. About how nice his voice was, and how they studied together and often fell asleep late into the night and woke up next to each other.

And yet... it took Y/n almost dying for either of them to do anything about it.

It was a shit storm like all the others they had to live through. A battle, injuries all around, and Stiles and Y/n trying to find each other because this time they'd gotten separated. It was never good when those two got separated, they were both idiots.

Something that showed more than ever when Y/n rushed into the room, saw Stiles being cornered by a werewolf, and screamed at the top of his lungs. It was a faceless beast at this point, mind controlled by a spell that a witch had cast. She was making their lives hell, and this was only the most recent of poor bastards that had been mind controlled and sent their way. The only way to break the spell was to find the object that mattered to them most and destroy it. This worked because the witch had to cast the spell on such an object, and destroying it broke the spell. But she was aware of this, so she often sent her subjects after whoever found or had the object at the moment.

And right now, that person was Y/n.

So the werewolf turned, getting on all fours and shooting after the teenager, who's eyes went wide as he turned sharply and began barreling down the hallway as quickly as he could. It was a ploy to save Stiles' life, and it was a good one, but it couldn't last forever. The werewolf swiped at him, sending him flying one way and the thing he was carrying flying the other way. Derek arrived that moment, having been tied up before, and managed to fight the creature off while Stiles scrambled onto the scene and burned the object.

It was over.

But the damage had been done.

The pack brought them to Deaton, who immediately launched into stitching the poor boy up and lathering something on him to fight infection and help him heal faster. Then they were all left to simply wait and hope Y/n would wake up. He still had a heartbeat, but shock had hit his system and he still might not make it. A lot of blood lost, a really bad concussion...

Stiles of course never left Y/n's side. Y/n woke up to the boy asleep on his little make shift hospital bed, head on Y/n's leg, holding his hand. Y/n smiled, exhausted and sore and feeling like shit, but unable to deny that Stiles still looked adorable when he was asleep. Y/n ran his hand through Stiles' hair and the boy jolted up. "Oh." He blinked sleep out of his eyes, rubbing his face and shaking his head to clear it. "Hey."

Y/n laughed. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," Y/n joked. His voice croaked from disuse and he flinched. "Jesus I sound like I died."

Stiles' smile withered. "You almost did."

There was silence at that. They couldn't meet each others' eyes, couldn't pass that stiffness and awkwardness. Neither of the boys were good with silence and always tried to scramble to crack jokes or entertain or cheer up, but Stiles' bluntness had shattered that. And it was kind of nice. Vulnerable.

"Stiles," Y/n began. "I... liked you." He sighed, shoulders dropping. "Like, really really like you. And I know it might ruin everything, and I don't want you to say you like me back because I almost died. I don't even need you to say anything right now, just, know I like you. And everyone knows you've always liked my sister but-"

At that, Stiles broke. He caught Y/n's face between his hand and pulled him into a kiss. They both sighed, smiling into it, and all the unspoken things seemed to be understood without any of the words needing to be said. They often communicated like this, with just an understanding, and no need for specifics or long rants. Leaning their foreheads together, Stiles still did say one thing. "I like you too." They both laughed, and all the tension melted away from both of them.

"Maybe next time you two need to talk about your feelings, one of you doesn't need to die for it?" Lydia sassed from the doorway. The boys parted, blushing, as she tackled her brother in a hug. But all of them laughed, and for now all of them were okay, and that... that could be enough. After all, they still had a witch to kill.

Male Readers: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz @fadedver

#male reader #teen wolf #stiles Stilinski #Dylan O’Brien #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf imagine #stiles Stilinski x reader #stiles Stilinski x male reader #stiles Stilinski imagine #Dylan O’Brien imagine #Dylan O’Brien x reader #Dylan O’Brien x male reader

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nino-rox · 6 months ago

Text

ANOMALY | CHAPTER THREE

Stiles Stilinski x Original Male Reader | M.O

Warnings : Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT, Gore.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Woman with curly hair is Scott’s mother. Woman with straight hair and a killer gaze is y/n’s mother - inspired by Addison Shepherd {Grey’s Anatomy} Played by Kate Walsh. Thank you for the support ! Please request for part 4 ! Also doesn’t Jackson look so hot like HELLO ?? Not proof read yet!

A loud bang woke him up; the sunlight coming through his window blinded him as he opened his eyes; it took a few seconds for him to realise.

The morning arrived slowly, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains. Your shoulder throbbed, pulling you out of sleep like an anchor. The dream—no, nightmare—lingered at the edges of your mind: the cold air clinging to your skin, the scent of wet earth and leaves, those yellow, slitted eyes watching from the dark.

You groaned, shifting onto your side, but the movement sent a sharp pulse of pain shooting through your arm, travelling all the way down to your fingertips. The ache was relentless, like something festering beneath your skin.

Dragging yourself to the mirror, you peeled off your shirt. The bruise had spread overnight—dark veins curling outward from the centre, spidering across your shoulder like cracks in the glass. It looked swollen and angry, almost as if it were growing, spreading with every heartbeat.

You brushed your fingers along the edge, hissing as pain jolted through you. The skin was feverish—hot to the touch, like it didn't belong to you anymore. There was something wrong with it, something alive.

You grabbed your shirt from the floor and tugged it back on, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise. It felt like the weight of the bruise had sunk into your bones, dragging you down.

Your phone buzzed from the nightstand, Maria's name flashing across the screen.

"Still alive? Or has Creepyville swallowed you whole?"

A slight, tired grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. "Barely. Already having nightmares."

Her reply was instant: "Werewolf nightmares? Please say yes."

"Just weird pain. No claws yet."

"Lame. If you grow claws, send pics immediately," she wrote.

Her humour cut through some of the weight pressing on your chest, though the ache in your shoulder refused to ease. You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door.

The drive to school was uneventful. Beacon Hills stretched out in front of you, all quiet streets and thick woods, the kind of place that looked normal on the surface but felt... off. The bruise on your shoulder throbbed with every turn of the steering wheel, and by the time you pulled into the parking lot, you were ready to crawl back into bed.

The school building loomed ahead, old bricks and rusted metal, students milling around in clumps. You slipped through the crowd, blending in with the chaos, your hood pulled low over your face.

When you slid into your seat in AP Biology, Stiles grinned at you from across the table, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You look like death," he whispered. "Let me guess—rough night, or did you finally meet our resident monster?"

You rolled your eyes. "Something like that."

Stiles leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Careful. Beacon Hills has a way of... finding people."

You shot him a sceptical look. "And you're, what? The local monster expert?"

He grinned. "Something like that. Stick with me—I'll keep you safe."

You snorted despite yourself. "Safe from what, exactly?"

"From everything," Stiles said, as if that explained anything. "Besides, you seem like the brooding, mysterious type. You and I? We're going to get along just fine."

Before you could respond, Mr. Harris began the lecture, pacing in front of the whiteboard.

"Today, we're discussing genetic mutations—small changes that can significantly impact an organism's structure," he announced.

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest. The bruise on your shoulder pulsed, almost like it was trying to remind you of something.

"Some mutations are beneficial," Harris continued, "but others..." He trailed off, glancing around the room. "Well, not every change is for the better."

Stiles leaned over again, whispering, "Feeling mutated yet?"

"Not yet," you muttered, rubbing absently at your shoulder. "Give it time."

Class dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. By the time the bell rang, the ache in your shoulder had spread, wrapping around your muscles like a vice. You followed the stream of students out into the hallway, your steps slower, heavier.

The locker room was warm and humid, the scent of sweat and damp tile hanging in the air. You pulled off your hoodie with a sigh, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise.

The door swung open, and Jackson Whittemore walked in, shirt already gone, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.

Every movement was deliberate and controlled, his muscles shifting beneath smooth, tanned skin. His scent—woodsy, with just a hint of spice—wrapped around you, clinging to the steam-filled air.

He glanced at your shoulder, and for a moment, the smirk slipped from his face. Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe concern—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"That looks bad," Jackson murmured, stepping closer.

"It's fine," you muttered, though the words felt empty.

Jackson didn't move away. He stood close, too close, his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence was heavy, magnetic like gravity pulling you in.

Without a word, his hand rose, his fingers grazing the edge of the bruise. The light and deliberate touch sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain.

"You should get that checked out," Jackson whispered, his thumb tracing slow circles along the bruise.

"I'll live," you whispered back, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

For a moment, the air between you buzzed with unspoken tension, thick and electric.

Jackson's thumb pressed harder, dragging across your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, lingering long enough to make your heart stutter - even if only for a second.

"You should stay away from people like me," Jackson murmured, though the way his thumb lingered told a different story.

His breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind. For a second, it felt like he might close the distance between you, his gaze dark and intent.

"Like I said," Jackson whispered, "it would be safer for you if you stayed away."

"Well past safe and saving," you murmured.

Jackson chuckled, the sound vibrating in your bones. "Is that so." He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

But neither of you moved, and the air crackled with anticipation.

It was dangerous, reckless, and utterly stupid. You knew it would end badly, but Jackson was magnetic, irresistible, like gravity pulling you closer and closer, and you would do anything to get your mind off the pain.

Your bodies were almost touching, just a hair's breadth away, the tension between you thick and electric. Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed his hand on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

The hot water blasting from the showers onto you was the only sound you could hear; the warmth was comforting, making you feel less alone, like someone else was there with you, protecting you from whatever was outside.

The water dripped off your skin, the warmth enveloping your body.

You couldn't help but wonder how this boy did what everyone else had failed, making you want him - even if just in the moment.

"What are you doing?" You whispered, though you already knew the answer.

"Whatever I want," Jackson murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed closer, his skin burning hot against yours. His hand trailed lower, his thumb grazing your v-line.

"Are you going to stop me?" Jackson asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," you whispered.

Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed itself on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

You were trapped between the wall and his body, his hands roaming freely over your bare skin.

"Good," Jackson growled, his voice vibrating against your neck.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath on your neck as he began to gently kiss your neck, his hands slowly moving downwards.

Your hands wandered down his muscular torso, exploring his body.

"I didn't think you'd actually want this," Jackson whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Jackson let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Who said I did?" you replied. However, you couldn't stop your body from responding, your arms instinctively snaking over his neck, drawing him closer.

"I know you do," Jackson murmured. "I can smell it on you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his hand slid lower, hands squeezing your ass, pulling you flush against him.

A cough interrupted the moment. Both of you turned to see Stiles standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Sorry," Stiles said, though his tone didn't match his words.

Jackson stepped back, leaving you buzzing from the ghost of his touch, glancing before leaving you alone with the buzz-cut boy.

"Stiles, It's not what it looks like."

"Yeah, right. Whatever, man," Stiles muttered, though his tone didn't match his words.

Stiles couldn't help but wonder why all the hot guys were attracted to Y/N; he didn't mean that he had a crush; hell no, he's not that desperate; he's not gonna be the 4th wheel. But something about Y/N did intrigue him.

"Stiles, wait," Y/N called, running after the buzz-cut.

"What?" Stiles snapped, though he instantly regretted his harsh tone.

Y/N looked taken aback, his eyes wide and confused.

"Nothing," Y/N mumbled, looking away. Stiles was only just starting to notice the massive bruise on his shoulder, feeling a bit bad for snapping.

"No, I didn't mean—sorry, I just meant...look, I get it, okay? You and Jackson. And whatever. It's fine," Stiles said, his voice softer now, but you REALLY should stay away from him.

As Stiles completed that sentence, he noticed something else: Y/N was very … naked; a blush crept up his face as he turned around to leave - still upset by what he saw - he wanted to ask about the bruise…he wanted to worry, but it was just not the moment.

The ache in your shoulder followed you out of the locker room, heavier now, as if the memory of Jackson's touch had settled beneath your skin.

Later that evening, you made your way to the hospital; it felt colder than usual, the sterile scent of antiseptic cutting through the warmth that still clung to you from the locker room - Y/N would never admit it. Still, that little random thing greatly distracted him from his shoulder - and y/n was grateful.

Y/N mentally prepared himself to speak to his mother and "explain" the 2-foot bruise spanning his body as he walked to the reception.

Y/N: Hello, I'm looking for Addison Shepherd, I was wondering if you knew where I could find her

Nurse: Hi. Are you sure you have an appointment with her?

Y/N: No, I'm her son, Y/N. I was hoping to speak to her if she's free

One thing Y/N never hated about himself was that his formal, polite social self could kick in no matter the situation…or the pain - while really, somewhere deep down, he wondered what made him such an excellent liar.

Nurse: She's in surgery; she'll be done in about 40 minutes; maybe you can wait? Oh, and also Y/N? You're Scott's new friend, right? I had no idea Dr.Shepherd was your mother! We're all so happy to have a woman of her calibre working with us.

Y/N Forced a smile instinctively.

Y/N: Haha, I'm so glad to hear that! She was a bit nervous about her first day here… oh, how do you know Scott?

Nurse: Oh well, he's my so—

Person: That's Scott's Mom

… the sudden answer caught both the nurse and Y/N off guard as Y/n turned towards the exceedingly familiar annoying voice.

Nurse: Jesus, when did you get here? You need to stop sneaking up like that.

Stiles: Awww … but it's my signature move.

The buzz-cut boy said, grinning and making a pouty face, to which Y/N just shot a weirded-out look that said… "Ew… grow up."

(Author's Note: Scott McCall's mother's name is Melissa McCall)

Nurse: Anyway, I'm Melissa, Scott's mom. I'm glad to see that you're running about making friends so soon already

The lady said, smiling politely, a smile which racked Y/N with guilt as he didn't really consider the odd duo his friends… it's not that Scott and Stiles weren't great. It's just that, in Y/N's life, he grew to associate the term friendship with a relatively close and protective personal bond…Scott and Stiles…?….they were just… classmates.

Stiles: Well, of course, he's making friends already. Look at the great crowd he hangs out with!

Stiles said excitedly, pointing to himself, a gesture that simply made Y/N feel worse for not considering him a friend…

Y/N tried, but despite being an excellent liar, he couldn't match Stiles' enthusiastic tone when he replied to the boy, which was something Melissa was quick to catch.

Y/N knew Melissa noticed it and quickly changed the topic of conversation.

"Oh, by the way, how come you're at the hospital ?" Y/N asked Stiles while shooting him a questioning look.

Internally dreading that he was stuck in this conversation after a highly awkward morning with Stiles.

Stiles: My dad is the sheriff; Scott and I are waiting for him here.

Melissa: Scott's here?

Stiles: Yep, he's in the cafeteria

Melissa: Oh, I should say hi, I'll see you two boys later. Stay safe!

Stiles and Y/N waved her goodbye.

After she left, stiles turned around.

"So are we gonna talk about what happened, or— Am I Pretending that I never saw you naked in the locker room with Jackson Whittemore?" Stiles asked you sarcastically.

Y/N couldn't quite figure out why Stiles would bring it up? After he already made it clear, nothing really happened. Was he upset? Was he mocking him? Either way, Y/N was not in the mood.

Stiles: Uh, Too soon to joke about it?

Y/N: …

Stiles: Got it. So what happened with the, you know…bruise the size of Texas.

Y/N: Why the hell are you so nosy?

Stiles: Because it's the size of Texas?

Y/N: …

Stiles: okay! Wow, you are not in the mood

Y/N: It's been a day.

Stiles: Right.

The two boys fell silent, the air between them heavy and awkward. Y/N shifted his weight, and the bruise on his shoulder ached with every movement.

Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing at it. As if he could see the bruise through your clothes.

"It's fine," you murmured.

"Really? Because it looks—"

"Fine," you interrupted.

Stiles frowned. "If you say so."

Y/N didn't answer, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Stiles shuffled awkwardly; not knowing what to say, he decided to 'wing it.'

"Okay," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "Then tell me about you.

"What?" you asked, justifiably confused by his statement.

"Because that's what people do. They talk about themselves," Stiles replied, grinning.

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" Y/N shot back.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm bored."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide the slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"So. You moved from LA. What was that like?" Stiles asked.

"Hot," you replied, deadpan.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Must've been a big change, though."

"Not really," you said, though the words felt empty.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't press. "Okay. What did you do there?"

"Stuff."

"Omg, no shit, really? Fascinating… ." Stiles shot a look at you.

"I'm not much of a social bee personally."

—silence—

When Y/N said "he's not a talker", he did it to try and justify why he said the word "stuff" so vaguely; since he isn't used to talking so much personally in informal social settings, it didn't come easy to him to always respond in the most appropriate ways in personal conversations - But unfortunately what it came off as to Stiles was…I really, really don't wanna be talking to you."

Stiles looked a little taken aback by what Y/N said - essentially misunderstanding the meaning as "stop talking to me" - when the truth was actually quite the opposite, and the truth is that Y/N was Just slowly actually getting used to the sarcasm and constant state of "joking-need" enjoying the little conversation, he found himself wanting to get annoyed by Stiles stupid quips - it was a new feeling for Y/N, one that scared him a bit.

With a hint of sadness, giving up on speaking to you, Stiles got up from the creaky waiting room couch, "Uhm, anyway, I think I go," he said, almost coldly, turning and leaving, giving a small wave.

Y/N couldn't help but watch the boy walk away, a strange emptiness filling his chest.

(Author's note: SOS GUYS SEND HELP. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING; I'M JUST WRITING AS IT COMES TO ME LIKE I'M POSSESSED BY THE FANFIC GHOST)

An arm rested on his shoulder before Y/N could spiral into his thoughts and emotions.

He looked up, his mother standing before him, a soft expression on her face.

"Mom," you murmured.

"You know, it's never good when you come to see me at work," she said, her voice gentle.

"I'm sorry."

Addison sighed. "Don't apologise. Come, I'll show you my new office."

Y/N followed her through the labyrinthine halls, past doctors, nurses and patients.

As Y/N walked through the cafeteria, he saw a familiar buzz-cut, accompanied by his taller, athletic, crooked-jaw friend and Melissa.

They were having a light and carefree conversation, smiling and laughing, and the air between them was calm and comfortable. That was until Stiles' eyes met y/n's.

Suddenly, everything froze as if time itself had stopped. For a second, all Y/N could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. All he could see was the look on Stiles' face—that mixture of surprise and hurt, his mouth open slightly, as if he was going to say something, say hi.

But y/n didn't give him a chance. He didn't like how Stiles made him feel so on edge and overly concerned for someone he hadn't considered a friend; he wasn't used to feeling so...restless.

Without a word, y/n turned and walked away, the ache in your shoulder heavier than before, his gaze lingering like a ghost on your skin.

— Stiles — POV—

I think he really hates me, Stiles thought to himself as Y/N coldly walked by.

"Oh, there's Y/N and his mom, too, Scott. Why don't you go invite Y/N over for dinner tonight ?" Melissa chimed in, noticing both the boys look towards y/n.

Scott: I mean, sure, but what if he says no?

Melissa: he seems like a nice guy, and his mother is right there; I doubt you'll get a no.

Stiles: Oh, I'm so coming too. Where's my invite?

Melissa: Coming? Coming where you already basically live in my house

Stiles: Are you asking me to move in? <3

Scott: NO, NO, SHE IS NOT, AND you can come. I'll go ask Y/N.

Stiles watched Scott follow Y/N out of the cafeteria as they turned the hallway, wondering what the boy would do. Would he casually approach the man and ask him, or would he just stand awkwardly?

Scott saw Y/N enter an office and start stalking; not wanting to interrupt, he decided to wait outside the room; though he felt like he was eavesdropping because of his werewolf super hearing, it just couldn't be helped; he couldn't really "turn it off" on a whim.

Y/N's POV —

After walking out of the cafeteria, I sighed deeply, which made my mother shoot me a questioning look.

"I'm just tired, the packing, the moving, the having no social battery left, nothing out of the ordinary." I quickly said, hoping my mom wouldn't press too hard about it because I didn't have the energy to deal with it.

"So this is the new office, not as big or fancy, but it's warm, isn't it."

The walls were a bright white, a large desk and chair sat at the far end, and a large bookshelf full of textbooks and medical journals sat behind it.

Despite the cold air conditioning, the room had a comforting and warm vibe.

Addison: Apparently, the hospital has been kind to me. Apparently, I have a reputation.

Y/N: HA That you do. And kind? I could fit two cars into your previous office.

Addison: You, young sir, must learn to be grateful for the little things.

Y/N: Yes, yes, WE KNOW.

y/n chuckled, pulling his T-shirt off abruptly; unbeknown to him, a curious Scott could see and hear everything from outside.

Addison: oh wow. What is THAT, a bruise? And a big one.

Y/N: Umm, yeah, it kinda appeared, no big deal.

Addison: No big deal? It's quite literally a 'BIG' deal. And how did you manage to get yourself into this?

Y/N: Well, I kinda don't know… I just got home and went to bed, I had a horrible nightmare, and I woke up, and this colossal mark was here, so I think maybe I was sleepwalking or something? I don't know, really, but yeah…

Addison: Are you sure it was sleepwalking? Tell me more about the nightmare.

Y/N: I - I-Don— I don't know. It felt real, like I was awake or something. I was in bed, but then I wasn't... I was in the woods. I know it's not real, or I think it isn't because I remember the pain and getting caught in a bear trap, but I'm fine. However, there was something there when I was caught in the bear trap. It was, I don't know, this sounds crazy, it was … I don't know … it was a monster? It looked almost human, reptilian, kinda like the lizard man from Spider-Man. I KNOW, I KNOW, IT SOUNDS CRAZY, but it attacked me. My whole body couldn't move or breathe, and this is where it gets weird when I supposedly "died"/or rather "woke up" from the nightmare I was in the room, but where that ..thing… attacked me … I had this huge bruise. And I know this sounds like a cock and bull-bullshit story, but I swear I'm not lying.

Addison: Well, you are right about it. It sounds crazy, but I trust you. You know there's a thing called Phantom pain.

Y/N: MOM, I didn't imagine the pain. It's real! I have a bruise!

Addison: Oh honey, it stemming from something in your head doesn't mean it's any less real, or painful. Sometimes, when our body goes through a traumatic experience, it can leave this sort of "lasting pain." When someone gets their leg amputated, they feel a lot of extremely real pain in their "leg", the leg that's not even attached - despite this, their body produces actual pain and chemicals biologically, so the pain is very real. I'm no expert on Sleep studies, I'll have you shown to someone in a week or so, but my best guess is that the nightmare, which could have been caused by a thousand reasons like stress from moving and this and that probably inherently was traumatic enough for your body to "read it/ experience it as real pain" so even if it happened in your dream, it was damaging enough to your psyche for it to physically manifest as an actual bruise.

Y/N: So what I'm hearing is I need a shrink.

Addison: Honey, you'll realise this when you grow up, everybody needs a fucking shrink…Now I have to get back to work. I'll write you some meds for the pain, and to help it heal, don't physically exert yourself. That includes, you know, things with other people.

Y/N: Trust me, girls aren't exactly lining up for dates right now, so you don't need to worry about it.

Addison: Aww, I love you, baby.

Y/N: Love you too.

When Y/N was done with his mother, a tall boy stood there waiting for him. It was Scott McCall.

Y/N: Uhh, Hello, Scott...

Scott: Hey, sorry, I was just waiting for you.

Addison: Who's this?

Scott: I'm Scott McCall, I am in a couple classes with your son and we were talking earlier I was just wondering if y/n wanted to come over for dinner?

Y/N: oh, umm, yeah, that sounds nice, but I wouldn't want to impose.

Addison: Oh, nonsense! He would love to come over for dinner, and it's always lovely for Y/N to make friends, isn't that right?

Y/N: MOTHER: I have friends.

Addison: Sure, baby, and that reminds me, when was the last time you called them

Y/N: Why does everyone in this world have it out for me

Addison: Mhm.

Scott: Well, that sounds great! We're leaving in 10 minutes. Can I drive you?

Y/N internally sighed. There was no winning today. Maybe Destiny just really wants Y/N to hang out with these two boys…FUCK.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! Please Like for Next Part ! Lots of Love - Nino

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statticscribbles · 3 years ago

Note

🌹Stiles x Male reader /vampire male reader

Support My Writing?

Derek looks unimpressed when you shove him away from Stiles.

“My meal.” You hiss and Derek snorts.

“I don’t want to eat him you fanged freak.”

“Derek don’t be a dick to Y/N; he’s new.”

“He’s a vampire.”

"Vampires aren't real." You laugh when Stiles nods.

"You're besties with werewolves and a banshee and you think the universe draws the line at Vampires?"

"Well yeah it has to draw it somewhere...." You leer over Stiles flashing your fangs.

"Try another line." You chuckles into his ear and can hear his heartbeat speeding up. Derek pulls you away and you can feel your powers flaring; you hate the idea of hurting someone Stiles cares about but the pet wolves he was keeping were starting to interfere with your ability to feed from him.

Support My Writing?

Flash Challenge Rules!

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x male reader #male reader insert #male reader #stiles stilinski x y/n #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf headcanons #teen wolf #teen wolf request #stattic #flash challenge

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goattales · 6 years ago

Note

Stiles is a greedy little bottom ;)

Oh yeah he is. He would be so good at blowjobs too, lots of practice ;)

#teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinski #male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #sins sins sins #goat sins #thirsty thursday

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year ago

Note

I recently started reading about werewolf stiles and I was wondering if you could do a werewolf stiles x male reader, please and thank you

Werewolf Stiles Stilinski x male reader

Headcanon

Ive never read too many werewolf Stiles fics, as I mainly read Spark Stiles stuff, but its an interesting idea, so I hope you enjoy this.

It’s been a while since I watched the show, so there might be parts about werewolf culture I forgot.

There are many ways Stiles could have been bitten, but lets assume its later on after everything with the Nogitsune and the chimeras. Its most likely Scott that bites him to save his life or something like that.

Because he killed people as the Nogitsune, and maybe other times I can’t remember, he would have blue eyes instead of yellow. Since he has so much experience with other people being bitten, he’s probably more on top of his own transformation.

If it was in the show, there would probably be a whole plot about Stiles becoming something else when he was bitten, because its Stiles, why wouldn’t he. But let’s just say the transformation went as it was meant to go.

Hes still is loud sassy self, but with a lot more wolf and dog jokes. You have to expect to hear the joke about you putting him in a collar at least once a week, or making him sleep in the doghouse.

Stiles struggles with his new urges and senses for a while, especially how much how loves your scent and can’t seem to get enough of you. Even before his bite, Stiles was a clingy lover, but afterwards it gets even worse.

He doesn’t even seem to notice he does it. Stiles will hang out at your place and splay across your bed, burying his face into your sheets and pillow and roll around. Or you go to his place, where he absentmindedly makes you wear his clothes to get his scent on you.

Stiles notices how he wants you provide for you more, it starts out small like bringing you small snacks or letting you borrow his jacket, but it becomes bringing you a whole ass deer after a full moon, much to the pack’s entertainment.

You are his person, if that makes sense. If he’s losing himself during a shift, he thinks about you to get himself back under control. Just the idea of hurting you makes his entire body and soul ache, and it’s the last thing he would ever want to do.

That might also result in Stiles hiding away from you the days before a full moon, just in case, as his needs and urges get stronger and stronger. Let’s just say he’s had to buy a lot of new pants as his claws keep tearing holes in his usual ones, as he has to grip his thigh from doing anything.

Has caught himself almost biting you on multiple occasions, like if you guys are cuddling or getting a little more intimate and Stiles finds himself scraping his teeth across your neck. His instincts howl for him to bite and mark you, but he’s so terrified of the idea that he almost falls out of the bed.

Stiles being Stiles would bury himself in research to try and understand why his urges are so God damn strong, as other wolves he’s met haven’t been so bad when it comes to their lover.

He ends up having to tuck his tail between his legs and go to other members of the pack with more experience, most likely Derek, or Peter, as his research doesn’t end up with much.

Peter would have a good laugh at his situation, and Derek would just raise a brow with a small “huh, makes sense” much to Stiles’s annoyance. He ends up getting the werewolf version of the birds and the bees, and the whole talk about true mates, and he ends up sitting in his car just thinking this all sounds like one of those trashy werewolf romance books.

Assuming you are an average human, it would take a bit for Stiles to tell you, and you probably have to force it out of him cuz he’s avoiding you. Stiles again being Stiles, would feel like he doesn’t deserve you or that you can do so much better, so he doesn’t wanna force a bond on you.

He needs reassurance that you still love him, especially after he’s become a werewolf. After a long talk, Stiles returns to his lovable clingy self, but he won’t allow himself to bond you until you guys get older, even though he truly wants too.

I can imagine it gets so bad that he wears something like a tooth guard so he can’t accidentally bite your neck in the heat of the moment, cuz he wants you both to build your careers or educations before you get “wolf married” as he calls it.

During a full moon, he also always finds himself by your place, be it crawling in through your window or just hovering in the shadows nearby. You gets used to the feeling of him watching you when he’s wolfed out, and you’ll easily find his glowing blue eyes when you learn where to look.

Like I said earlier, a scent beast. You’ll cat him snuffling and sniffing you on the regular, and it probably reaches the point he can smell the changes in your hormones, so if you ever feel a little hot under the collar you just know he’s gonna smell it too.

After being bitten he also gets more comfortable with his body and appearance, since running around during the full moon ends with him naked more times than he doesn’t. The bite also made him muscle up, at least somewhat, which he appreciates too.

When his old flannels don’t fit on him anymore cuz of the sudden growth spurt, he gives them all to you to wear or do with as you please. If they fit, that’s the easiest way to make him buckle for you.

All in all, he’s still as much of a sweetheart as if he wasn’t a werewolf, now he just has a lot of new urges and instincts that catch him off guard every now and then. Stiles would always carry some guilt for mixing you deeper into the supernatural world, even if you were already part of it, but he also can’t ever imagine living without you.

So, make sure to reassure him that you love him and will stay by his side. If you end up some kind of supernatural being too, the guilt lessens, but its Stiles were talking about, he’s always got some kind of thing going on.

#male reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #Mieczyslaw stilinski #werewolf stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski headcanon #stiles stilinski x male reader #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf headcanon #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf x reader #Mieczyslaw stilinski imagine #Mieczyslaw stilinski headcanon #Mieczyslaw stilinski x male reader #Mieczyslaw stilinski x reader #werewolf dynamics #werewolf culture stuff?

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phoenixforce3008 · 5 years ago

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Love it. ❤

Stiles stilinski X Male reader

—

|| Masterlist ||

Requested: Hi, Sweetheart💙 How are you doing? May I please have Stiles x Male!Witch!Reader fic? Like they are already dating but both pack and Stiles don't know reader's true nature. And general idea is reveling R's supernatural side by him saving Pack from some new monster via witchcraft?

Warnings: Fluff, Witchcraft, supernatural reader, witch, stiles being confused but also still in love,

Tags: @nightingales-posts

—

He paced back and forth in his own living room as he held a book in hand, it was quiet large and thick and it contained many different spells and enchantments. He’s been a witch for a couple of years now and he’s still learning everyday, he’s learned how to use protection spells and finds ways to cover his auror when around the supernatural. He can’t have others knowing who he is and what he can do, it wasn’t a very good thing since the last time he got figured out he almost died.

So here he is, living in Beacon Hills in a small house that was located close to town. It was a perfect town for him and not many people were around to know who he was. He’s been living here for two years now and nothing has happened, yet.

Right now, he was studying up a spell on how to cover up his scent since he’s found out about the werewolf pack that roams this town and he can not have them finding out about him.

He sets down the book in the coffee table and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a few ingredients that he kept hidden under the counters and inside drawers. He heads back to the living room to start on the spell but before he could do anything a sudden knock is heard.

Y/n rasies a brow and clears his throat. “Who is it?”

“It’s me stiles...your boyfriend?”

“Shit.” He whispers out as he collects everything and looks around, trying to find a place to hide everything. “Just a minute!” He shouts out as he hides the ingredients inside an old chest, using some blankets to place them in too before closing it. He takes the big book and quick my slides it under the couch that was up against the wall.

Once everything was away he answers the door. “Hey! Sorry I was just cleaning up.” He tells him with a shy smile as stiles rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to clean every time I visit.” Said stiles as he steps inside.

Y/n chuckles as he closed the door behind him and sighs. “Well I like to remain clean and besides I only see you twice a week.” He follows stiles to the kitchen where he grabs a cup for some water. “Yeah, well, college sucks.”

“At least you’re learning.”

Stiles turns around to face y/n. Leaning against the counter as he drinks his water. “Why don’t you go?”

“Go where?”

“To college, obviously your smart and your really good at chemistry. Maybe you can be a scientist and work in a lab—Oh! You can probably find the cure to cancer.” Stiles rambles out as he approaches y/n and pulls him into a soft kiss.

Y/n smirks against his lips and pulls away. “I don’t need it and I’m fine with what I do and I really don’t see myself in a better future.” He shrugs softly, sighing to hismelf since he knows that college is never an option since he was too busy learning about his ability and wanting to know more about his ancestors since they too where witches.

College just wasn’t his path.

“Well at least I tried.” Stiles placed a hand on his hip, pulling y/n into another kiss. The two laughing as y/n wraps his arms around his neck and deepens the kiss.

“How about we move this to the bedroom.” Stiles says against his lips.

Y/n hums. “You Just got here and you alreayd want sex.” He wiggles his brows, teasing him.

Stiles is silent for a second before smiling. “Yep!”

“Okay!” The other says with excitement as they head off to the bedroom, laughing and getting undressed.

—

“So your telling me, that this ‘thing’—“ he air quotes. “Is going around town killing random people for fun?” Said stiles as he stares at the rest of the pack members. “That ‘thing’ has killed 10 people, stiles. We can’t ignore it and it’s clearly not safe for anyone and people are scared already.” Scott said as he stands across the room with arms crossed.

The pack we’re having a meeting, discussing on how to take down this creature but of course they had no idea what it was and how to stop it. The first couple of times they stumbled upon it they tried to fight it off but that only angered it. The second time they tried to use mountain ash or anything that deaton could give them but none of that worked either.

So now they were back to square one, with no idea on how to stop this thing.

“Okay, question is—has anyone seen this thing?”

Malia speaks up first. “I saw it, sort of—“ she shrugs. “It has horns and huge, it also smelled like death.” She explains.

Liam speaks next. “I don’t know malia, when I saw it it look like a regular human being, minus the blood and all.” He says softly as Scott sighs.

Stiles thinks, drumming his fingers against the table as he tries to figure out what the creature could be. “Maybe it’s an ox or something?” He blurts out. “Seriously?” Said Lydia.

“Well what do you think it is?!” He was getting frustrated from all the guessing, they need more Information about the creature but of course no one has any idea on how this thing looked like or if it even was a thing.

“Why not ask y/n?” Scott says.

“No, we are not getting him Involved, I don’t want him knowing this stuff.” Stiles glared at Scott who rolls his eyes. “No, he seems to know a lot about mythology. Maybe he had a book about different supernatural creatures and if we can fit the others descriptions then maybe we can find out what it is.”

Stiles hesitates. He doesn’t want to seem suspicious around y/n and he knows that he can easily read him since he’s very observent and Can probably figure this all out. He rubs his neck before agreeing to their only option. “Fine but I’ll do the research, if y/n sees us all crammed up in a room with one of his books he’ll figure everything out and that’s something I don’t need right now.” He warns the others with a glare.

Y/n was important to stiles and he can’t risk losing him if he gets involved into his mess. He’s already lost good people with just being around the pack and he can’t make anymore.

“Just get the book and will make sure nothing happens.” Stiles nods at Scott as he gathers his things and leaves their meeting house.

—

“You’re back early, thought you were going to be with your dad all day?”

Y/n was finishing up his food as he watched stiles flipping through the pages of his book. “Yeah but you know how he is, he’s gonna be working all day and I didn’t want to stress him out.”

“So you decided to come here and stress me out?” Y/n rasies a brow and grins. Stiles laughs, flipping a page as he shakes his head, “no I just want to spend more time with my very handsome boyfriend who I really love and appreciate.” He leans back to wink at y/n.

Y/n blushes and sighs. “Fine I’ll allow that but, what I don’t understand is too why you are reading these books? I mean your not one to be interested in mythology.” He sits next to stiles as he watched him read.

“I actually have this class on mythology and it remind me of you and how you have a whole shelf full of these kinds of books, maybe it can help me with my research.”

“Okay first of all, my shelf isn’t full of these books. Only the first half and second of all, you know nothing about mythology and suddenly your taking a class?” Y/n rasies a brow, wondering what was going on.

“Wow, I feel so judged.” Stiles placed a hand over his heart and gives him a pained look. Y/n laughs and gently smacks his arm. “Asshole.” He mumbles out. Stiles closes the book once he doesn’t find anything, he turns to y/n and hums. “I have a beautiful ass.” He jokes, causing y/n to burst out laughing.

“Says the bottom.”

“Hey!”

Stiles attacks y/n with tickles, tickling his sides as the others laughs and giggles. The two have their little tickle fight until y/n surrenders and allows stiles to do as he pleases. “I always win.”

“That’s because you cheat.” Y/n pants out and laughs. He sits up against the couch as stiles crawls between his legs and kisses his cheek.

Y/n smiles and runs his fingers through stiles hair. As he leans up to give him a kiss a sudden red glow catches his eye. He looks over stiles shoulder to see two glowing eyes outside his window causing him to gasp.

“What?” Stiles sits up as y/n quickly scrambles off the couch. “Y/n whats wrong?”

Y/n walks around his house, locking the windows and closing the drapes. Fuck he was screwed, out of all the days why today?! He remembers a pair of eyes like those anywhere and now he was screamed, that thing could be walking around town with his face now!

“Y/n!” Stiles brings y/n back to reality as he grabs him by the wrists. “What’s going on your acting all scared.”

Y/n shakes his head and pulls away. “I’m sorry but I can’t explain, listen you have to go home—actually no, don’t go that thing is still outside and it’ll get you the moment you step outside.” He rambles out, rushing to another room that was located across his room. He opens up drawers and begins to take out small bottles full of different dust and powder.

“You know.”

He hears stiles say behind him, causing him to freeze in place and give him a confused look. “What?”

“You know about the supernatural, don’t you?”

“How—?”

Stiles and y/n both hear a loud howl and it was close. “Come on let’s go!” Y/n packs his things in his bag and grabs his coat as he follows stiles out.

The two had to get out of there and quick before they were spotted again. Y/n is quick to take one of his blades and slip it under his coat as he unlocks the door. “At three we make a run to your car, understand?” Said y/n, instructing stiles to do as he says.

Stiles is quick to nod along as they slowly count, swinging the door open the two rush out and head towards the car. Without stiles noticing, y/n opens up a small pouch from his pocket and pours out some red dust that could cause the Skinwalker to lose their scent and slow it down.

The two enter the car and quickly start it up. Stiles is quick to drive out of the lot and drive down the empty road and towards the meeting house. Stiles takes out his phone and calls up the others as y/n looks behind them to see the road empty. It wasn’t following them but that won’t stop it from trying.

—

They arrive to the pack house where everyone else was. Both stiles and y/n quickly get inside, locking the doors and closing the curtains. “I thought you said you didn’t want him involved?” Liam is first to point out as he gestures towards y/n.

Stiles glares at him and opens his mouth to say something back but is quickly shut by y/n rushing to the living area. “We don’t have to time.” He says and sets his bag down. “I’ll explain while I work—“ he takes out his things and sets them on the table. “That thing is a skinwalker they Can shapeshifter into any animal and human being, they are very dangerous and very fast too. They mainly hang around graveyards and since Beacon hills is technically a graveyard then that gives them a chance to come here.” He explains. “Skinwalkers mainly live around Utah since they come from native lands but somehow, one of them got here—“ he pulls out his book and flips it open.

“How many have been killed by that thing?” He suddenly asks.

The others are left in shock by all of the information that is spilling out of y/n’s mouth. Everyone was too shock to even answer until Lydia speaks up. “Ten.” She whispers out.

Y/n bites his lip. “Dammit, that’s enough food to gather up a herd.”

“Wait what?!”

“A skinwalker gathers up enough food, either alive or dead, and keeps them piled up and fresh too so that later they can call out to others that are around the area, a huge herd could come in and if to many arrive they could go crazy and just go on rampage of hunger.”

Once he finds the page he needs he reads the instructions quickly, pouring different things a bowl as he sighs.

“How do you know so much about this?” Stiles asks, standing next to him as he watches him closely. “I met one when I was a kid, it killed my dad.” He Can remember that day clearly as his father tried to fight off that thing but it was obviously too strong that he ended up dying. Y/n was lucky enough to escape and get back home to warn his mother.

“How do we kill it.”

Y/n finishes mixing the different potions and grabs the bowl. “By speaking it’s real human name.”

“But, we don’t know it’s name.”

“That’s where I come in.” Y/n gives the back a cheeky smile, he walks around the house pouring out some red dust as he makes sure that it’s all around the place. “What is that stuff? And how do you know all this.” Lydia asks as she watched y/n do his work.

“This’ll stop the skinwalker from entering but it won’t stop him from trying really.” He sighs out. “I was also born a witch, my mother used to be one before she passed away. Passing down her spells to me since I was her only child.”

Stiles frowns at this. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were a witch?”

Y/n sets the bowl down and crossed his arms, staring at stiles. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were in a werewolf pack?”

Stiles is quiet until he nods. “Sounds fair.” He whispers out.

Y/n approaches stiles slowly and sighs. “I didn’t want you getting involved and I was also afraid of losing you, once I told you.” He bites his lip nervously. He wanted to tell stiles about being a witch but he was always afraid and he didn’t want stiles to freak out about it but now that he knows that he’s in a pack. He feels a little safer to explain his situation.

Stiles gives him a small smile, placing a hand behind the nape of his neck. Pulling him in close to kiss his temples, “Will finish talking once this is all over, okay?”

“Your not upset or worried?” Y/n questions.

Stiles chuckles. “I am worried but I’ve already been through enough shit that I’m used to this stuff.” He laughs out as the two smile at each other. Y/n was glad that he had stiles by his side.

The silence was broken up by a loud banging on the door. Y/n gasps and holds stiles hand, he notices the others all preparing themselves to go up against this thing.

Y/n hears the skinwalker trying to get in as he climbs the roof and circled around the house. He ran towards his book and skins through it, trying to find a useful spell that could help and work.

He finds a page that talks about a spell that can help him find out that skinwalkers real human name. He is quick to work on it as he hears banging on the windows and loud screeching as the creature grows angry.

The skinwalker growls as it slams its body against the door, causing the red dust to slowly break from the hard wind. “It’s breaking!” Scott shouts.

Y/n mumbles out some Latin words as he continues with his spell, trying to concentrate on his work.

“Scott!!” Stiles shouts as the door breaks down, allowing everyone to get a good view of the skinwalker. It had long legs and the face of a wolf, it’s teething baring out as it growls. On top of its head it also had antlers like a deer but it’s teeth were sharper than any animal.

The skinwalker steps through the doorway only to be pushed back by the invisible barrier.

“It’s being held back.” Liam says and steps back.

The skinwalker glares at the red dust below them, with one long leg it reaches out to touch the barrier. Once it’s paw makes contact with the barrier it is quick to sink it’s claws through.

“Not for long.” Stiles pulls out his gun that he keeps hidden under a table in case stuff like this happens. He stands next to the others as they try to hold this thing back.

Scott growls as the creature sinks its claws deeper into the barrier, using its second arm to push through. Breaking the circle apart as the skinwalker gets through. The creature grins and turns to eye the others.

“Hello, stiles.” The skinwalker says, intimating his fathers voice as stiles steps back. “What—“ the creature lunges at him but is shit in the head. Not really killing it since it only growls at him.

Malia jumps on top of the creature as she wraps her arm around its neck, pulling it back. The skinwalker lets out a high pitched scream as it reaches behind it to throw maila off, slamming her against the wall as the other jumó into to help.

But the skinwalker was stronger, it snaps at them and pins Liam down. His jaws opening wide as he leans down to tear into the younger teen until y/n runs forward and starts shouting.

“Mora nomen tuum—“

The skinwalker froze in spot, his eyes widening as it hears y/n chanting in Latin.

“—Et ad te erit ex qua venisti!”

The skinwalker backs away From y/n, as it screams at him to stop but y/n to continues to chant the same phrase over and over again until the skinwalker slowly begins to change form. It’s body growing skinny as it’s face turns into a skull.

“Mora.” Is the odd thing that y/n says before the skinwalker gives off a dying scream and falls dead to the ground.

He pants softly as he steps back to look at the walker. He looks over his shoulder to see the others staring with wide eyes, some were backed away from y/n.

His eyes drift towards stiles who was leaning against the wall, he was panting heavily as he tilts his head to the side. “So, a witch?” He says.

Y/N slowly nods. “Yep.”

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #witch #x male reader #witch reader

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thedailyimagines · 6 years ago

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Imagine being royalty and visiting Beacon Hills, where you meet Stiles.

Anon requested: “can you do a stiles x male reader imagine and have the reader be like royalty”

So I decided I liked the idea of royalty a lot, so the reader is a fae prince, a changeling to be exact.

~~~~~~~~

Traveling out of the Wildlands wasn’t something that the Faerie Folk did nowadays. Too much noise and pollution from humans had changed the Earth drastically to the point that trips there were limited to the occasional ‘have the humans died yet’ type of visit. Many of the older Fae were hoping dinosaurs would make a comeback, being dismissive of the newer race of beings.

But then there were the few that were rather taken by the humans. Titania, Leanansidhe, and Puck to name a few. And then there was Oberon. The faerie king has taken a human lover once, and had a child from her. The changeling was orphaned at a young age, and being the son of the king had been taken in to be the prince of the Wildlands.

Y/n was in love with his home in the fae world. It was wild, dangerous, clean, and most of all he wasn’t just ‘that freaky kid with the eyes’ like he was back in the human world (His eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of blue and the pupils were closer to a cat’s eyes than a human’s. It was the supernatural heritage he carried). Sure he had responsibilities as a prince, but they were worth it.

Then there came a day when he was obligated to go with his father back to the human world.

<—>

The silence of the cold winter forest was broken by the sound of a voice.

“So...we’re meeting with...fairies?”

“The Fae are more likely to know about this creature than any other being on this planet. The fact we could convince them to meet with us at all is a miracle.”

“So why am I here?” Alan Deaton sighed at the question. Stiles had asked this at least a hundred times.

“Because Stiles, as a future emissary you might have to do this and I’d rather you learn from observing.” Stiles nodded his head. He was pretty nervous about meeting any fae creatures. His mother had told him stories when he was young and his English class had just finished reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Not really the best material to inspire one to talk to the fae.

“Oh. So what do I do?”

“For now, just watch and stay silent. I’ll do all the talking.” Stiles wanted to ask more questions, but Deaton gave him a look that asked him to wait. And then Stiles saw why.

Standing in the middle of the clearing (oddly enough, not covered in frost like the rest of the forest) was a crowned man standing at least seven feet tall. He was tan with pointed ears and wide green eyes that reminded the apprentice emissary of leaves in the summer. Beside him was a young man, maybe around Stiles’ age, with bright blue eyes and y/s/c skin. Pretty handsome in Stiles’ opinion.

“Alan Deaton. I’ve heard many things about you.”

“Hello King Oberon. It’s my honor to be known to one such as yourself.” Holy shit, that was THE king of the summer court. At least that explained why the cold didn’t affect the area.

“Really? Many would take that as a bad thing. Yet you would call me here for what? Idle chat? Pleasantries? No, I believe you want something from me. But who is this young man?” The Summer King directed his attention to Stiles now, eyes alight with curiosity. Deaton spoke up.

“This is my apprentice, Stiles Stilinski.” Stiles gave a small wave.

“I see. This is my son, Prince y/n of the Summer Court.” Y/n gave a small bow to the two humans. Oberon gestured for Deaton to follow him. “Let us discuss matters privately. Y/n, entertain the apprentice.” With that the two adults walked off, leaving Stiles and y/n alone with one another.

“So...a prince?”

“Yes. It happened when my mother died.” Wow, that was a conversation opener.

“I’m sorry.” It sounded lame to Stiles, but what else would you say in that situation? It was the best he could come up with.

“It’s fine. She was pretty sick.”

“Oh.” There was an awkward silence for a few minutes.

“So you’re half human, or...?” Y/n fidgeted his fingers around in his hand.

“I’m a changeling. Half human, half fae.”

“That’s cool.” Awkward silence once again ensued until y/n spoke up.

“So...what do you do around here for fun?”

“There’s a club called the Jungle.”

“I’ve never been to a club.”

“Want to go?” Y/n smiled and nodded eagerly.

“Yes please.” The two boys headed to Stiles’ Jeep, intent on doing something more fun that standing around in the woods.

<—>

Walking out of the club a few hours later, y/n and Stiles were laughing until they ran into Deaton and Oberon. Both adults had disapproval written all over their faces.

“Stiles...” Y/n cut in before Stiles could be lectured.

“It was my fault actually. I insisted that Stiles take me here after you two left. Please don’t be mad.” Oberon looked unconvinced, but didn’t push it.

“Fine. But we are talking about this later. Say goodbye for now y/n.” Y/n gave Stiles a kiss on the cheek and a wide grin before going back to his father’s side.

“Bye Stiles. See you later.” In a rush of warm air the two fae were gone, leaving Stiles alone with Deaton. Stiles was smiling like mad until he caught sight of Deaton’s face.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

“Yep.”

~~~~~~~~

I don’t own the above gifs, all credits go to the owners.

#thedailyimagines #imagine #male reader #royalty!reader #fae!reader #changling!reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #emissary!stiles #druid!stiles #teen wolf deaton #dr deaton #alan deaton

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bagerfluff · 2 years ago

Note

can I request stiles stilinski x male reader

take place way after void has been defeated

plot new student joins the school and he very tall muscular leather wearing bad boy who stiles become whipped for reader ask stiles out and stiles agrees all to excitedly but scott doesn't like nor trust reader you know how stiles usually the paranoid one well this time stiles is not but Scott is you know when Scott get paranoid it bad real bad Scott is having a full on paranoid panic attack that because he can't sense what reader is but Scott know reader not human leading Scott to believe reader is the most dangerous thing Scott and the pack has ever encountered and Scott just suppose to let his best friend be hang around reader absolutely not so imagine Scott reaction to stiles telling him that stiles and reader are going on a date alone all by themselves at night --------- reader is a hybrid between a demon and a hellhound and a nogistue

reader father is a hybrid between a demon and a hellhound reader mother is a nogistue like void

Your wish is my command and I hope I fulfilled your wish. If you wish for a part two tell me and I might do it.

The New Kid

Stiles Stilinski x Male Reader

Set after season three

Stiles sighed as he entered Beacon Hills High School. He had stayed up all night studying for a test that he was ninety percent sure he was going to fail. So Stiles was half asleep as he walked over to his locker where Scott was already there. Waiting for Stiles. But he was looking behind him. “Hey Scott” Stiles yawned as he opened his locker. “Hey Stiles,” Scott said, looking over at Stiles but still glancing over his shoulder. “Who are you looking at?” Stiles asked, looking over Scott’s shoulder. I'm not waiting for Scott to answer him. When Stiles eyes landed on who Scott was looking at, Stiles eyes widened, and he blushed.

He was looking at Y/n. You were new to Beacon Hills. Having moved in a few months ago and joining the high school student body a couple of weeks ago. Y/n was given the name as the ‘bad boy’ by the students. You were pretty tall and muscular despite not being on the lacrosse team. He also wore black leather jackets and jeans. Y/n was kind of a loner because almost everyone was scared of him. Stiles for him hot. Ever since Stiles first saw Y/n. He was in Stiles math class, so he saw you almost every day. “Why are you looking at him?” Stiles asked once he was done gawking at you and looking back at Scott. Who was still looking at you.

Scott had been watching you ever since you came to the school. He’d watch you whenever he got the chance. His eyes squinted as he basically glared at you. “I don’t know,” Scott said as he started to walk to his first class. As not to be late. Stiles quickly shut his locker and ran to catch up to Scott. “I just get a bad feeling from him,” Scott said as he stopped right outside his classroom. “But he didnt’ do anything,” Stiles said as he stopped right in front of Scott. “I just get a bad feeling from him. Might be instincts. Scott said as he entered the classroom. Stiles couldn't really argue with that. Since Scott was a werewolf, he had some sixth sense to see if someone was evil.

But you hadn’t done anything. You were acting weird. You weren’t connected to any supernatural thing that was happening. Was that what Scott was talking about? Did he sense you were supernatural? Surely not. Stiles was about to ask Scott, but the bell rang, and the teacher entered that classroom. Guess Stiles would have to ask him later.

Scott sighed as he sat in his history class. It was about halfway through the day, and Scott wasn’t really listening to anything any of his teachers have said. He was too busy thinking about you. Scott could tell that you weren’t human, You didn’t smell right. Plus, when he used his wolf sight, he saw some weird red figure around you. It looked like a wild dog mixed with a cat or a fox. Scott couldn’t really tell. Plus, the figure had horns. Like demon horns. Scott could tell from when he was near you that you were powerful. More powerful than anything he and his pack had ever faced. But what were you planning? Nothing weird or supernatural had happened in a while. Were you waiting for the right time to attack.

Were you waiting for Scott to be alone? It was even worse since Stiles seemed to validate you. Scott could hear Stiles heartbeat increased whenever you were mentioned or when Stiles saw you. Did you put him under a spell? Could you do magic? Scott didn’t know. And that scared Scott. Scott knew you were dangerous. But he didn’t know why or how. So, for now, he had to keep his friends safe. Till he could figure out what you were and what you were planning. Maybe Scott could ask Deaton what you were. Or Derek. Someone. He needed to know. But for now, all he could do was wait. And keep an eye on you.

“So why do you think Y/n is evil?” Stiles asked Scott during lunch. Stiles was eating his lunch as Scott just looked at you. You were actually eating your lunch. Or that’s what Scott thought. Your back was facing the two boys. “I think he’s supernatural,” Scott said as he looked back at Stiles. Leaning closer to the boy and whispering so nobody could overhear them. “So that makes him evil?” Stile asked. He was confused. Just because you were supernatural doesn't mean you were evil. You hadn’t even done anything. Now that made Scott confused. Any other time, Scott said he thought someone was supernatural. Stiles would be paranoid. But now he wasn’t. Scott wondered why Stiles seemed to defend you.

Scott leaned closer to Stiles to tell Stiles that he thought you might be the most powerful thing they had ever faced. Stiles eyes widened as Scott leaned back down and turned his head to glare at you. Were you evil? Stiles didn’t think so. You hadn’t done or said anything to make anyone think you were evil. But Scott was the werewolf, and Stiles wasn’t. So maybe Scott was right. Stiles leaned his body so he could look at you. Though Scott had told him that you might be evil, Stiles couldn’t help himself from thinking that you were hot. Your hair, eyes, face, body. Everything. Stiles sighed as he went back to eating.

Stiles ran out the doors of the school as the bell rang. But he stopped when he heard someone call out his name. Stiles turned around, and he blushed as he saw you walking over to him. “Hey Stilinski” you said once you were close enough. “Hey L/n” Stiles said as he tried to keep eye contact. But hell, your eyes were pretty. “I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date?” You asked with a sly smile. Stiles blushed as he heard you and by that smile. Got you were hot. Stiles shook his head to remove his thought, but then quickly nodded. “YES!” Stiles yelled but was then embarrassed by how loud he yelled. You let out a little laugh at Stiles cuteness as you pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Call me cutie” you said with a wink as you walked away.

Stiles looked down at the note and smiled. But Scott was scared. You see, Scott was waiting for Stiles in his jeep. And heard your entire conversation. What were you planning? Why did you want to go on a date with Stiles? Did you want to hurt Stiles? Maybe you wanted to hurt Scott by hurting Stiles? Scott was scared. Maybe he could convince Stiles not to go. Scott was staring into space as Stiles got into the driver's seat of the jeep and placed the note in his bag. “Did you hear!” Stiles yelled at Scott. Shocking him out of his thoughts. “I’m going on a date with the hottest guy at the school!” Stiles was excited. He was going on a date with you. Tonight. The note had a phone number and a time and place for your date.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Scott asked but continued talking before Stiles could answer him. “What if he is evil? What if he’s trying to kill you?” Stiles eyes widened as he realized how scared and paranoid Scott was. Scott and Stiles stayed silent after Scott was done talking. Scott took a breath in before he continued talking “I don’t know what Y/n is, and that scares me” Stiles nodded, telling Scott to continue. And Scott did “let me at least talk to Deaton before you go on a date with him” Stiles nodded as he started the car and started to drive to Scott’s house. Maybe Scott was right? But if Stiles doesn't go on a date now, he may never get the chance to again. Surely, going on one date isn’t bad, right?

How bad could you be? How dangerous could you be? Surely, you were just a werewolf, and Scott was paranoid. Right?

#lgbtq #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #stiles stilinski x male reader #stiles stilinski

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cookstorys · 2 months ago

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𝖳𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖶𝗈𝗅𝖿

𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢

—————————————————————————————————————

𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞

#cookstorys #male reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x male reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x male reader

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6rookie-writer0110 · 5 years ago

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The night will wait

Stiles Stilinski x Trans Male!Reader

Request- can i request an imagine where the reader is a trans boy and has transphobic parents who he is scared of telling anything to because they pretend to love him but only love the girl they want him to be. and one night he and his parents have an argument so he goes to stile’s house because they’re friends and stiles listens and comforts him?

When you first started to realize that you are the wrong gender, you knew everything will change. You told your parents and it took a while for them to understand, which you thought they did. They start to say transphobic words, it cut you deep like a dagger. You told them what they say is wrong, but they kept on. Since then, you don't tell them anything and not a single thing.

Your mom calls you by your birth name, which you don't want to be called by that anymore. She will buy you girls' clothes and anything that is girly. Your father hates the way you dress and he would let you know. Your parents will still call you their daughter.

It's Christmas Day, you got into an argument with your parents. They didn't stop with the transphobic words, each word hurts even more.

”We will never tell anyone that you are our son! You will be a freak! We won't allow that!” He yelled.

”I’m not a freak! You and mom are transphobic!” You yelled.

”You are embarrassing us! We will never accept you as our son and I'm ashamed of you” She said.

”I had enough of you two being assholes. I'm ashamed to call you my parents!” You yelled.

”You better stop with all the being a boy, because we won't let you become a transgender freak! You be will be our daughter!” He yelled.

You walked away, you grabbed your jacket and left. You called Stiles and told him everything that happened with your parents. He can hear your voice cracking

”Y/N, just tell me where you are,” Stiles said.

”I’m heading to your house. I'm on Cherry Street” You said.

”Stay there,” Stiles said.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Stiles rapidly got dressed and raced out of his house. You see his jeep and you got in, he hugged you tight and you hide your face on his shoulder. You start to cry and he starts to rub your back.

”Y/N, it's okay I'm here,” Stiles said.

Stiles was the first person you told about everything about how you feel that you are in the wrong body. He never once judged or made you feel uncomfortable, but he did ask questions.

”Whenever you want to talk about it, I will listen,” Stiles said.

You nod and he starts to drive. He drove to a food truck. You and Stiles ordered the food, you and Stiles start to eat in the jeep. When you first told him that you wanted to be called by a different name, he understood and since then he calls you by your new name.

”They are ashamed of me” your voice cracked and tears go down your face.

”They are the biggest douches. What they said, is wrong and they should you love you no matter what” Stiles said.

”They called me a freak. They will never accept me” You said.

You start to drink your juice. Stiles shakes his head and he is mad at your parents.

”Y/N, you will never have to worry that I will leave your side. Because you can never get rid of me” Stiles said

You smiled at him.

”You are the best,” You said.

”Yeah, I know,” Stiles said and you laughed.

Later, Stiles took you to his place. His dad likes you and he gets along with you. You will spend the night with him. You and Stiles bake cookies but ate half of the cookie dough. All night, Stiles did anything to cheer you up and it's working.

You and Stiles start to play video games for a while. You two get a little competitive while playing video games.

Stiles got his nerf gun and you got hit in the arm.

”What was that for?” You asked.

” Let's see if you can catch me” Stiles smirked.

He gave you a nerf gun and you start to load up.

”Oh, it's on and you are going down,” You said.

”I’m so scared” Stiles mocked.

You and Stiles laughed. Now, you and Stiles start to run around the house hitting each with nerf guns.

#teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski imagine #Stiles Stilinski x male reader #Stiles Stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #Trans Male!Reader #x trans reader #trans reader

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darkintothedawn · 2 months ago

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THE BEAST'S BEAUTY || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Male reader

Summary — Stiles isn't expecting much when he decides to go with Scott to the Beacon Hill Art Gallery but then he's finding photos of him half shifted and his night is ending with kisses to his hand a possible date around the corner.

Memo— Two fics in one day? Who have I become?

Word Count — 6579

Warnings — Fluff. Rambling Stiles. Possibly ooc. Werewolf!Stiles.

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

The Beacon Hills High gym was alive with energy, buzzing with chatter and the occasional laughter of students admiring each other’s work. Rows of booths, each showcasing different forms of artistic expression, filled the space. Paintings of moody landscapes, abstract sculptures made from metal and clay, and delicate sketches lined the walls. There was even a section where a group of students had set up an interactive digital art display, flickering with shifting neon hues.

The scent of fresh paint and glue from last-minute touch-ups lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of sweat from the athletes who usually occupied the gym. The soft hum of classical music played over the speakers, an attempt to make the event feel more sophisticated, though it was occasionally drowned out by excited conversations and the beeping of a cash register at a fundraising table selling snacks.

Stiles didn’t particularly care for art shows—not because he didn’t like art, but because the last time he’d attended one, he had spent half the night trying to convince Coach Finstock that someone hadn’t actually painted a demonic summoning circle on their canvas. It turned out to be abstract symbolism or whatever, but given the things Stiles had seen in this town, he wasn’t taking any chances.

So, to say he wasn’t expecting this to be the thing that made his pulse spike was an understatement.

He walked alongside Scott, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie, trying to act as though he wasn’t paying attention to the hushed whispers surrounding a particular booth toward the back of the gym.

It had started as just another rumour. Did you hear? He actually caught something on camera last week. No way, those were just blurry shadows. No, I’m serious—everyone who’s seen them says they’re insane.

Stiles hadn’t thought much of it at first. He was used to people running their mouths about supernatural nonsense, and half the time, it was nothing more than someone thinking they saw a werewolf when it was just a particularly large dog.

But then, it kept coming up.

And it wasn’t just the usual “ghost story” nonsense. People weren’t scared—they were fascinated.

“I swear, if they actually have a picture of the Beast, I’m going to—” Stiles muttered, his voice low enough that only Scott could hear.

Scott shot him a curious glance. “You’re gonna what?”

Stiles opened his mouth, but he had nothing. What was he going to do? Demand you take them down? He wasn’t exactly in a position to go throwing accusations around when he was the thing you were allegedly photographing.

Scott smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

Stiles huffed but kept walking. He could already hear snippets of conversation from the group gathered around your booth.

Stiles felt his stomach twist. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but something about the way people were reacting made his skin prickle with unease.

“This is insane. How did you even get that close?”

“Did you use a long exposure lens or something? The detail is unreal.”

“Honestly, I thought all those stories were just bull, but damn.”

Scott’s smirk had faded, his expression shifting into something more curious than amused. “Okay,” he admitted, “I kinda want to see this now.”

They reached the edge of the crowd, and Stiles’s breath caught in his throat.

Your booth was set up with the same careful attention to detail you put into your work. The photos were mounted on sleek black boards, displayed in a way that felt almost curated rather than slapped together for a high school event. You’d strung up dim fairy lights, giving the whole thing a soft, ambient glow. And the centrepiece of it all?

Images of him.

Stiles barely registered the stunning shots of the forest at night, the way the moonlight cut through the trees, the artful balance of shadow and light. No, his brain short-circuited when he saw the pictures.

Him. Half-shifted.

Amber eyes glowing. Claws flexing. The sharp curve of his fangs visible in a half-snarl, frozen in time. The way his body seemed to blend seamlessly into the forest, the undeniable presence of the creature captured with a level of skill that honestly made Stiles wonder if you moonlit as a National Geographic photographer.

It wasn’t grainy, shaky footage taken from someone’s crappy iPhone. It wasn’t some blurry shadow that could be passed off as a trick of the light.

It was him.

And it was…

Beautiful.

He could see why people were talking. Why no one was running in terror but rather staring in something closer to awe.

You had captured something primal, something both inhuman and undeniably alive.

And then he heard your voice.

You were talking to someone, completely lost in your own world, eyes shining as you gestured toward the images.

“People always focus on how terrifying it is,” you were saying, enthusiasm lacing your words. “But look at it—look at the symmetry, the way the light catches in its eyes. It’s like it belongs in the woods. It’s not just some mindless monster. There’s something human in it, you know?”

Stiles forgot how to breathe.

Scott went rigid beside him, finally seeming to realize what they were looking at.

“Oh,” Scott whispered.

That was it. Just oh.

Because what else was there to say?

You weren’t just intrigued by the Beast of Beacon Hills. You weren’t trying to prove it was real for fame or to expose the supernatural world.

You were captivated by it. By him.

And then—because of course this was how it was going to go—Scott, naturally, took the opportunity to make things so much worse.

Stiles had faced terrifying things before. He had gone toe-to-toe with murderous alpha werewolves, outsmarted ancient trickster spirits, and even once had a screaming match with Peter Hale, which was, in hindsight, probably more dangerous than either of the first two.

But this?

This was new.

This was worse.

Because standing in front of him, in the middle of the Beacon Hills High art show, completely oblivious to the existential crisis you were throwing him into, was you.

And you were looking at him—well, Beast Him—with something bordering on awe.

Scott, of course, was eating this up, which only made Stiles’s suffering worse.

“Huh,” Scott mused, tapping his chin with a thoughtful expression that Stiles knew was just a front for the pure, unfiltered amusement dancing in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you could call it beautiful. You know, if you’re into that.”

Stiles choked.

Scott smirked, but you barely seemed to notice. You were too busy admiring your own work, gesturing to the images with a look of quiet reverence, the kind of expression someone might wear when talking about a masterpiece hanging in the Louvre.

“I mean, look at it,” you said, leaning forward, eyes bright as they scanned over the photographs. “The proportions are incredible—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, the way the light highlights the angles of its face? It’s like something out of a fairy-tale. And the eyes…”

Oh no. Oh no.

Stiles could feel his soul leaving his body.

“The eyes?” Scott prompted, because he was an asshole.

You nodded enthusiastically, completely unaware of how the words you were about to say would ruin Stiles’s life forever.

“They’re so expressive,” you said, voice full of admiration. “Like, sure, they glow and that’s objectively cool, but there’s something behind them—something intelligent. And not just ‘animal smart’ like a predator hunting its prey. There’s depth. Emotion. It’s like they’re saying something without ever needing to speak.”

Stiles’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out.

You turned your head slightly, looking at another one of the images—one where he was caught mid-movement, partially crouched, muscles taut beneath his skin.

“And it’s not just the eyes,” you continued, oblivious to the way Stiles was visibly dying beside you. “Look at the stance—everything about the way it holds itself is so human. There’s this tension, like it’s constantly holding itself back, like it’s fighting between instinct and thought.”

Scott snorted.

Stiles whipped his head toward him, eyes screaming shut up right now before I commit a crime.

But Scott was far too entertained.

“Oh wow,” he murmured, biting back a grin. “That’s… really insightful. You’ve really, uh, thought about this, huh?”

You gave him a puzzled look. “Well, yeah. It’s fascinating. I mean, people talk about the Beast like it’s just some mindless monster, but when you really look at it? There’s more going on. It’s almost like…” You trailed off, thoughtful. “Like it’s hiding something.”

Stiles felt his knees buckle.

Scott made a soft hmm sound, nodding. “Yeah, I can see that. Something… hidden. Something human.”

He gave Stiles a sideways glance, grinning when he caught the look of pure, undiluted suffering on his face.

You didn’t notice.

You were still lost in your own world, eyes darting between the images as you spoke, completely unbothered by the growing meltdown occurring in real-time next to you.

“And honestly, the whole figure is just… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s strong, obviously, but not in a bulky way. It’s more—” you waved a hand in the air, searching for the right word “—lean. Defined, but not overwhelming. The kind of build that’s built for speed, not just power. Which makes sense, considering how fast it moves. But then there are the details, too—like the hands? Have you seen them?”

Scott, to his credit, was holding in his laughter incredibly well.

Stiles, on the other hand, was vibrating out of existence.

“The hands?” Scott echoed, playing dumb just to watch Stiles suffer.

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah! They’re just—God, I don’t know, perfect? Like, clawed but still dexterous? There’s something about them that just seems like they should be dangerous, but at the same time, they’re almost… elegant.”

Stiles was going to pass out.

“I mean,” you continued, “If you really look at them, they’re not that different from normal hands. The fingers are just a little longer, a little sharper, but the way they move? Still so human. And then there’s the posture—”

Stiles whimpered.

Scott straight-up cackled.

You blinked, looking between the two of them with a frown. “What?”

Scott took a deep breath, composing himself just enough to not burst into another fit of laughter. “Oh, nothing,” he said, voice strained with amusement. “I just love how into this you are.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in your expression. “I just think it’s interesting.”

Scott nodded, barely suppressing another laugh. “Oh yeah, for sure. Really interesting. Fascinating, even.”

Stiles shot him a murderous glare, silently promising death.

You, of course, were still completely oblivious.

“You guys are weird,” you muttered, shaking your head before turning back to admire your photos.

Scott grinned. “Welcome to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles wanted to die.

He had been possessed by a literal demonic entity, hunted by supernatural assassins, and, on more than one occasion, had willingly thrown himself between his best friend and certain death with nothing but a bat and sheer audacity. He had seen things that should’ve left him rocking in a corner somewhere, mumbling about existential horror and the fragility of life.

But this?

This was something he had never once prepared for.

Because this was you, standing in the middle of the Beacon Hills High art show, surrounded by walls of photographic evidence of his secret werewolf form, and fawning over it like it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life.

And you weren’t just admiring it. No, that would’ve been normal—or at least as normal as things ever got in Beacon Hills. Instead, you were standing there, staring at those photos, voice full of something almost like wonder, completely oblivious to the way Stiles was actively trying not to combust right next to you.

You tilted your head slightly, studying the largest image—the one where he was caught mid-motion, muscles coiled with barely restrained power, glowing eyes staring straight into the camera like he was looking through it.

“I need to see it again,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Stiles choked on air.

Scott stiffened beside him, clearly holding back laughter.

But you weren’t paying attention to either of them. Your gaze stayed locked on the image, brow furrowing slightly, as if you were frustrated by your own work.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, gesturing at the prints, “These are good. I got some decent shots. But it’s not enough. I was still too far away.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, trying to process the fact that you—the same person who had voluntarily climbed onto the school roof last semester on a dare, just to get a “Better angle” of the town skyline—were now actively disappointed that you hadn’t been closer to the literal monster in the woods.

“I need to get closer next time,” you said with absolute certainty, completely oblivious to the silent, screaming meltdown happening just inches away from you. “A proper close-up, something that really captures the details. The way it moves, the structure of its face—God, especially its face.”

Stiles was going to die.

Scott, meanwhile, was thriving.

You sighed, shaking your head. “The photos don’t do it justice.”

“Oh?” Scott mused, eyes glinting with amusement. “And what would do it justice?”

Your lips parted, and then—without a hint of irony, without even realizing you were about to obliterate Stiles’ entire existence—you said,

“Seeing it up close. In person.”

Stiles whimpered.

Scott was going to explode.

“Just imagine,” you continued, completely lost in your own world, “Seeing it up close. Watching how it moves, how its muscles shift beneath its skin, how its breath fogs up in the cold. And the eyes—”

Not the eyes, oh my God, please don’t talk about the eyes, Stiles mentally begged.

“The way they glow?” you mused, still staring at the image. “It’s not just the color. It’s the expression. It’s not empty, you know? There’s something behind them. It’s so—”

You exhaled, searching for the right word, then finally landed on,

“Stunning.”

Stiles made a tiny, strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Scott, no longer even pretending to be a good friend, let out a sharp, amused breath through his nose.

It wasn’t fair. Stiles had spent years being the awkward one, the guy no one ever looked at like that. He had been third-wheeling his own life since middle school. And now, here you were, full-on swooning over him without even realizing it—except you thought you were talking about some cryptid, some unknown, unreachable creature, not the awkward disaster standing right next to you.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Scott shot Stiles a look, and Stiles knew that if he didn’t stop this soon, Scott would never let it go.

Desperate to put an end to this spiral before it got any worse, Stiles tried to play it cool—tried to act like this wasn’t the most surreal, unhinged experience of his life.

“Okay,” he croaked, “But, like. In a normal, human way, right?”

You blinked, only now noticing how weirdly they were acting. “What?”

You blinked at Stiles, confused by the sheer panic in his voice. “What do you mean?”

Stiles’ mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again, as if he was trying to find any way to phrase his next sentence that wouldn’t make this whole situation worse. Spoiler alert: there wasn’t one.

Scott was still watching with barely contained amusement, clearly enjoying every second of this absolute train wreck unfolding in real time.

“I just mean,” Stiles tried, hands twitching like he wanted to physically grab the words out of the air and rearrange them, “You think it’s… y’know…” He waved a vague, flustered hand toward the wall of photos. “Beautiful in a totally objective way, right? Like an artistic appreciation type of thing? Not in a—” He cut himself off, looking horrified by whatever he had almost said.

Your frown deepened. “What other way would I mean it?”

Scott snorted. Stiles looked like he wanted to die on the spot.

“I mean, you did say stunning,” Scott added helpfully. “Not interesting, or cool, or even weirdly majestic—you said stunning.”

“Well, yeah.” You nodded, as if that was obvious. “Because it is.”

Stiles was two seconds from full-body vibrating out of existence.

Scott’s grin only widened. “And you need to see it again?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, with conviction.

Stiles let out a tiny, pained sound.

“I barely got a glimpse of it in person,” you continued, crossing your arms. “I want to see it properly, up close. Maybe even interact with it—if it would let me, of course.”

Scott choked on his laughter.

Stiles, meanwhile, was spiralling. He could not deal with this. This was not something he had ever prepared for. Because no one—not a single person in his entire life—had ever looked at him, human or half-shifted, and said, Wow, you’re beautiful.

And sure, technically, you weren’t saying it about him, but that only made it worse because you were saying it with so much sincerity—like you were actually entranced by him, even if you didn’t know it.

Before he could stop himself, before his brain could engage even a little, Stiles blurted out—

“So, what, you’re like Beauty in Beauty and the Beast but, y’know… a dude. And a photographer. Instead of, like, books.”

Silence.

A long, painful silence.

Stiles winced so hard he nearly folded in on himself.

Oh my God, oh my God, why do I open my mouth? He knew this was going to happen. He knew he was going to say something stupid and ruin another social interaction and have to go live in the woods like a cryptid himself—

“Oh,” you said thoughtfully.

Stiles froze.

Scott froze.

Wait.

You weren’t laughing. You weren’t giving him a weird look. You weren’t brushing it off like a joke.

You were… considering it.

Scott wheeze-laughed so hard he had to turn away.

“You’re—” Stiles’ voice came out strangled. “You’re actually thinking about that?”

You shrugged, tilting your head as if genuinely debating the logistics of it. “I mean… I’d have to think about it,” you admitted. “It’d depend on a few things.”

Scott lost it.

“Depend on a few things?!” Stiles repeated, voice cracking as he gawked at you.

Scott nearly doubled over.

You barely even reacted to the sheer panic radiating from Stiles. Instead, you tapped a finger against your chin, deep in thought. “Yeah. Like, could it have an actual conversation? Or would it just be all growling and cryptic one-liners?”

Stiles blacked out for a second.

Scott, still grinning, nudged him with his elbow. “Oh, I promise you, it’s very chatty.”

You hummed, nodding. “See, that’d help its case. Communication is important.”

Stiles made a noise that wasn’t human.

“And then, obviously, there’s the Harkness test.”

Scott straight-up choked on his own breath.

Stiles turned bright red. “Oh my God.”

Scott wiped away an actual tear from his eye. “Oh my God.”

You shrugged again, entirely unfazed. “I mean, it’s a hypothetical. But if we’re playing along, I do have standards.”

Scott was grinning so wide it looked like his face was going to split in half. “So, just to clarify,” he said, eyes gleaming, “You’re saying you’d consider it. Depending.”

You nodded again, entirely serious. “Yeah. Depending.”

Scott clapped a firm hand on Stiles’s shoulder, looking like all of his Christmases had come at once. “Congrats, dude. You might have a chance.”

Stiles made a tiny, broken noise.

Scott grinned. “You’re literally his type.”

Stiles covered his face with both hands.

You just blinked, still a little confused but rolling with it anyway. “Huh.”

Scott leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you like freckles? A strong jawline? A lean but athletic build?”

You frowned in thought. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

Scott barely held back his cackle. “No reason.”

Stiles, still hiding his face, groaned. “Scott, I swear to God—”

But it was too late.

Scott had won.

Scott was having the time of his life.

Stiles, on the other hand, looked like he was two seconds from digging a hole in the middle of the art show floor and launching himself straight into the earth’s core.

You, completely oblivious to the absolute meltdown happening beside you, were still staring at your photos with that same thoughtful expression, like you were mentally deconstructing every angle, every shadow, every detail of the creature you had captured.

Scott, catching the way your fingers itched for your camera, the way your gaze practically burned with fascination, decided that he was not done making Stiles’ life a nightmare.

“Alright,” Scott said, far too casually, crossing his arms. “So, let’s say this thing—” he gestured vaguely toward the photos, “—Has a human form, right?”

You hummed, nodding slightly, already running with the idea. “Yeah, I was actually thinking about that. Most cryptid sightings have some kind of lore behind them, and a lot of cultures have stories about shapeshifters. I mean, look at werewolves.”

Stiles flinched.

Scott barely held back a grin. “So you think it’s a werewolf?”

You shrugged, eyes still locked on the images. “It fits, doesn’t it? The eyes, the claws, the full moon connection. It’s pretty classic werewolf mythology, though the design is way more interesting than the usual ‘giant wolf’ thing.”

Scott nodded, his expression way too neutral to be innocent. “Okay. So let’s say it is a werewolf. That means it’s gotta have a human form, right?”

You nodded again, not noticing the way Stiles was looking more and more like he wanted to evaporate on the spot.

Scott rubbed his chin, still playing it so casual. “So, hypothetically… what do you think it looks like?”

You tilted your head slightly, considering. “Hm. Hard to say. I mean, if I had a better look at its body structure, I could probably make an educated guess, but…”

Scott beamed. “Oh, no worries. I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Stiles whipped his head toward Scott, silently screaming at him not to do this.

Scott ignored him entirely.

“So let’s say, in human form, it’s…” He paused, as if carefully constructing the perfect description in his head, and then— “Lean, but still fit, you know? Like you said before. Not overly muscular, but strong. Agile. More on the wiry side.”

You nodded along, lips pressing together in thought. “Makes sense. The way it moves, it’s definitely built for speed. Not a tank, but something fast, something with stamina.”

Scott’s smile widened. “Exactly. And maybe it’s got freckles, right?”

Stiles’ stomach dropped.

“Oh, definitely,” Scott continued, still acting oblivious. “Like, a lot of freckles. All over. Especially on its face.”

You made a small, intrigued noise. “That’d be cool. The contrast would be interesting. Light freckles, maybe? Something subtle, but noticeable up close.”

Stiles made an actual strangled sound.

Scott soldiered on, clearly thriving. “And obviously, it’d have really expressive eyes. You know, the kind that are always moving, always full of emotion, like you can read every thought it has if you just look close enough.”

You let out a breath, nodding along, your gaze flickering to the biggest photo on the wall again. “Yeah… that fits. Something really alive.”

Stiles was going to die.

Scott wasn’t done.

“Oh! And messy hair.” Scott snapped his fingers. “Like, perpetually windswept. Something that always looks like it’s just barely holding itself together.”

You let out a soft chuckle, clearly picturing it now. “That definitely makes sense. The wildness in the shifted form, the way it moves—it makes sense the human version wouldn’t be too polished either.”

Scott nodded seriously. “Right, right. Maybe brown hair. Kind of fluffy but always a little out of control.”

Stiles whimpered.

Scott grinned. “And maybe a strong jawline, too? Like, sharp enough that it kinda throws you off at first, ‘cause it doesn’t quite match the rest of the soft features, but once you notice it, you can’t unsee it?”

You let out a thoughtful hum. “Yeah… that’d be striking. The mix of softness and sharpness. Something kinda unpredictable, in a good way.”

Stiles, fully malfunctioning, buried his face in his hands.

Scott, barely suppressing his laughter, turned back to you. “So, hypothetically, would that be your type?”

You stood there, arms crossed, deep in thought. Scott waited, all too patient, watching as you actually considered it. Stiles, meanwhile, was in the middle of an out-of-body experience.

Finally, you exhaled through your nose, tilting your head slightly. “I dunno. I think I need more to go on.”

Stiles visibly tensed. Scott, on the other hand, lit up like you had just handed him a golden opportunity—which, in a way, you had.

“Yeah?” Scott asked, stroking his chin like he was really putting effort into this little creative exercise. “Alright, I can work with that.”

Stiles shot him a desperate look, but Scott ignored it entirely.

“So, let’s see,” Scott continued. “This werewolf’s gotta have a lot of energy, right? The type that just never really goes away, like it’s always buzzing under the surface. Like, even when it’s standing still, you can kinda feel it vibrating.”

You made a small, interested noise. “That makes sense. There was something about its stance in the pictures—like it was always ready to move. Like it never fully relaxes.”

“Exactly,” Scott said, grinning. “And it’s gotta be smart, too. Quick-witted, always thinking, always planning, even when it doesn’t seem like it. Maybe a little too smart for its own good sometimes.”

Stiles groaned quietly into his hands.

Scott wasn’t done.

“Oh, and expressive,” he added, snapping his fingers. “Like, really expressive. Can’t hide a single thought to save its life. Everything just kinda plays out on its face, y’know?”

You huffed a small laugh, nodding. “That definitely tracks. The way it moves, the body language—it’s like it wears its emotions on its sleeve, even in that form.”

Scott smirked, barely biting back a chuckle as he went in for the kill.

“And maybe—just maybe—it talks a lot.”

Stiles whipped his head toward him in pure betrayal.

Scott kept going. “Like, the type to ramble when it’s nervous. Kinda awkward, but in a way that’s more endearing than anything. A little chaotic, but with a good heart, y’know?”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, amused. “Honestly? That would make it so much better. A lot of these cryptids get portrayed as all mysterious and broody, but I like the idea of one that’s just talkative as hell.”

Scott grinned, shooting Stiles the smuggest look imaginable. “Right? Gives it personality.”

Stiles was dying.

He was actively dying.

Stiles, for lack of a better term, was fried.

He was completely, irreversibly, brain-meltingly fried.

His brain had not just short-circuited—no, that would imply there was still some kind of function left. His brain had blue-screened. It had died a tragic death, and there was no reboot in sight.

Meanwhile, Scott was thriving.

“Oh, Stiles,” Scott cooed, clearly holding back evil levels of laughter. “I think that question was directed at you.”

Stiles did not respond. He could not respond.

He was too busy having a full-blown existential crisis.

Because what was he supposed to do with this information?!

You—the same you who had been fearlessly throwing yourself into danger for years, the same you who had stared down a literal monster through a camera lens without flinching, the same you who had spent this entire conversation waxing poetic about the so-called ‘Beacon Hills Beast’—had basically just said, in no uncertain terms, that you would be into him.

Him. Stiles.

Not hypothetically into some imaginary werewolf dude.

Not into some random, fictionalized version of a shapeshifter.

No, you were into that exact description—which was literally just him.

And you didn’t just say you liked it. You said it was hot.

You said you’d go for him—as long as he’d go for you, too.

Which meant—

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathed.

You blinked at him, frowning slightly. “Uh. You good?”

Scott was grinning like a madman.

“Oh, he’s great,” Scott said, slapping Stiles on the back, nearly sending him into another dimension. “Aren’t you, bud?”

Stiles made a noise that sounded vaguely like a dying animal.

You raised an eyebrow. “You guys are acting weird.”

Scott’s grin widened. “Am I? I don’t think I am.”

You turned to Stiles, who was still sitting there, looking like he’d just been hit by a semi-truck made of pure realization.

“You, though?” you added, tilting your head slightly. “You look like you’re having a crisis.”

“I am having a crisis,” Stiles blurted out, voice cracking slightly.

You frowned, confused. “Why?”

Scott lost it. He actually had to turn away, covering his mouth, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Stiles turned to him, wild-eyed and panicked.

Scott, still laughing, very pointedly did not offer him a way out.

Which meant Stiles had to deal with this on his own.

Oh God.

He turned back to you, swallowing thickly, his entire body burning with embarrassment. “Uh.” He licked his lips. “You do realize—like, you get that you were literally just describing me, right?”

You stared at him. Blinked.

Then—

Then, your eyes widened just slightly, something clicking in your expression.

Stiles braced himself, fully expecting you to be weirded out, to backpedal, to laugh and say, “Oh, crap, I didn’t even realize, never mind—”

Instead—

Instead, you tilted your head, really looking at him now.

And then—then—

You let out a soft, almost delighted hum.

“Oh,” you said simply, blinking at him in quiet realization.

Oh?! OH?!

Stiles gawked at you. “Oh?! That’s all you have to say?!”

You shrugged. “I mean, you do fit all the descriptions.”

Stiles felt faint.

You studied him, gaze flicking over his face, his features, your lips pressing together thoughtfully before you suddenly let out a short breath.

“Damn,” you muttered, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, I’d definitely be into you.”

Stiles made an actual choking noise.

Scott fully doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

You, meanwhile, just stood there, completely unfazed, nodding to yourself like you had just made a scientific discovery.

And Stiles—poor, poor Stiles—just sat there, burning alive, barely processing the fact that he had somehow, some way, stumbled into the most unbelievable conversation of his life.

Stiles was still processing—or rather, failing to process—what had just happened when you suddenly turned to Scott, completely unfazed, and asked,

“Wait, why did you describe Stiles so perfectly for that hypothetical?”

Scott wheezed.

Stiles whipped his head toward you, eyes still wild with disbelief. “Are you—Are you seriously only just now questioning that?!”

You shrugged, like this was normal—like this whole situation was just another casual conversation. “I mean, I was busy thinking about how hot the werewolf sounded.”

Stiles made another one of those tiny, pained noises.

Scott, still grinning like a menace, just patted him on the back again, which somehow felt even more patronizing than before.

“But, like,” you continued, turning back to Scott, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “Was that just a coincidence, or was there a reason for it?”

Scott bit his lip like he was trying so hard not to laugh. “What do you think?”

You pursed your lips, tapping a finger against your chin in thought. Then, after a moment, you hummed. “Oh! Is it because Stiles is kinda a social outcast?”

Stiles visibly recoiled. “Excuse me?!”

You held up a hand, your expression completely neutral. “No offense.”

“That is so offensive,” Stiles sputtered. “You can’t just say that and then act like it’s not offensive—”

“I just mean,” you interrupted, waving a hand vaguely, “He’s, like, always been kind of an odd one out, right? I mean, I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but a lot of people don’t really get him.”

Stiles gawked at you, jaw on the floor.

Scott, meanwhile, was absolutely delighted.

You weren’t even done.

“Like, he’s not a loner, obviously,” you continued, “He has friends—but he’s weird, y’know? Just a little too much for a lot of people. Talks too fast, thinks too fast, does things that don’t always make sense to other people.”

Stiles made a strangled noise. “I—?!—”

Scott nodded sagely. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You pointed at him. “Right?! Like, people like him, but they don’t always get him.”

Scott hummed in agreement, then shot Stiles a mischievous look. “But some people do get him.”

Stiles buried his face in his hands.

You just shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I think he’s great.”

Scott beamed. “Oh, I know you do.”

Stiles groaned.

Stiles had faced a lot in his life.

He had stared down death more times than he could count, had fought monsters, had gotten possessed by an actual demonic entity, had spent most of his teenage years just barely avoiding getting ripped to shreds by something bigger, meaner, and way more supernatural than him.

And yet—yet none of that had prepared him for this.

For you.

For this entire conversation.

For the way you had so effortlessly dropped the casual equivalent of an actual, real-life confession in front of him, as if his brain was capable of processing something like that.

Because no one had ever been into him before.

Not like this.

Not so openly, so blatantly, with zero hesitation.

But there you were, just standing there, looking completely at ease as you pulled out a sleek, professional-looking business card—because of course you had business cards, you were insanely talented—and held it out to him.

“Anyway,” you said, like this was just a totally normal conversation and not something that was actively rewiring his entire brain chemistry, “If you swing that way, I’d really love to go on a date with you.”

Scott choked.

Stiles froze.

His entire body locked up, and he knew—he just knew that if someone were to poke him right now, he’d probably fall over like a stiff plank of wood.

Because—because—

“What?!” he squawked.

You blinked at him, brow slightly furrowed. “What, do you not?”

And, okay. That was a fair question, considering he had just been having a full-blown existential crisis over the fact that you found him hot.

But still—

“I—No, I do!” he blurted out, voice cracking slightly as he flailed his hands, his brain still trying to catch up. “I definitely do, I just—what?!”

Scott, who had clearly decided to become an agent of chaos today, was wheezing with laughter, practically doubled over from how hard he was trying to hold it in.

Meanwhile, you were just standing there, looking at Stiles like he was the one being weird about this.

“I mean, Scott basically just pointed it out,” you said, so casually it was physically hurting Stiles, “And now that I think about it, you really do sound like the perfect guy for me.”

Brain. Gone.

Stiles’ soul left his body.

His entire world tilted for a second, and he had to actually remind himself to breathe.

Because you had just—just—

Scott had to turn away, shoulders shaking violently, because he was barely containing himself.

Stiles, helplessly, made some kind of wild, flustered hand gesture. “You—You can’t just say that so casually—”

“Why not?” you asked, tilting your head, your expression completely genuine.

Stiles gawked at you.

“Do you want me to be dramatic about it?” you added. “Throw in some poetry? Drop to one knee?”

Stiles made a wounded noise.

Scott, who was having the time of his life, nodded encouragingly. “I think he’d explode if you did that.”

“True,” you agreed, sounding almost disappointed that you wouldn’t get to test that theory. Instead, you finally placed the business card in Stiles’ still-outstretched, slightly trembling hand. “So, yeah. Think about it. No pressure or anything, but I’d really love to take you out.”

And then—

You kissed his hand.

Softly, briefly, but deliberately.

And Stiles died on the spot.

Scott audibly gasped like he was watching the most dramatic romance movie of all time.

Stiles malfunctioned.

Because people didn’t do that anymore.

That was a medieval thing. A lady and gentleman thing.

And—And if anything, you would be the lady in this scenario and—

Wait.

Wait, no, that didn’t make sense because you were a dude.

Would that even work?

Were there even gay relationships back then?

Would a knight have kissed another guy’s hand? Or would they both be the gentleman? Would they take turns? Was there, like, a rule for this?

Oh God, was he overthinking this?!

Oh God, was he underthinking this?!

Scott, who had clearly noticed the way Stiles’ entire existence was falling apart in real time, turned to him with a huge, mischievous grin.

“So, Stiles?” he prompted, his tone way too entertained.

Stiles squeaked.

And then—because clearly, clearly, you had been sent from the heavens to ruin him—you flipped his hand over and pressed another soft, deliberate kiss to the back of it.

Stiles forgot how to function as a person.

Scott actually gasped again, like he was watching the peak of cinematic romance unfold right in front of him.

And Stiles—Stiles was spiralling.

Because—because—

Because, logically, this didn’t make sense.

Someone like you—someone beautiful and talented and stupidly fearless—couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like him.

And yes, okay, maybe you’d just spent the last fifteen minutes accidentally waxing poetic about how stunning you thought the Beacon Hills Beast was, and yes, maybe that was him, but—

But that was different.

Because that was the beast.

That was the dark, half-wild thing that lurked in the woods, the thing people only spoke about in hushed whispers, the thing he couldn’t always control.

And even if you were into that for some reason—which, apparently, you were?!—that didn’t mean you’d actually be into him.

Not like this.

Not as Stiles.

Because Stiles was too much. Too weird. Too loud.

People tolerated him, but they didn’t—

“Seriously,” you hummed, completely unaware of the breakdown happening right in front of you. “You might be the perfect guy for me.”

Stiles blushed so hard he nearly passed out.

Scott, who had clearly sensed that Stiles was reaching his absolute limit, just grinned, delighted by the absolute chaos of it all.

And then—then you casually waved a hand toward the rest of the bustling art show like none of this had just happened and said, “Anyway, unless you guys actually want to buy something, you’ve taken up too much of my time. I have other customers.”

Stiles made another tiny, wounded noise.

Scott actually had to turn away to compose himself.

Because—because, oh yeah. The Beacon Hills Annual Art Showcase. That thing they had technically come here for.

Stiles felt like he had just been hit by a truck.

And you—you just stood there, completely unbothered, waiting for them to either buy something or leave.

Scott, to his eternal shame, actually had to pull Stiles away from the booth, because he was still standing there, holding your business card, shell-shocked.

And Scott—Scott was never letting him live this down.

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