#Stiles is a nice thing<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[milkcryptid]

I’m so glad u like sterek and steter too ohmygodd

I doo!!!!! I lean a little bit more towards Steter, they are just so HHHHHHHHH MURDER BOYFRIENDS but Sterek is such a classic and there's lots to work with, i love them so much!!! As long as Stiles is getting obliterated im in lmao

[many-gay-magpies]

while im already on the train of teen wolf thoughts, i might as well say that i do not get sterek. romantically anyway. that ship is so intensely POPULAR and ive been seeing stuff about it for literal years, way before i ever even considered watching teen wolf or really knew what it was. pretty much every teen wolf fic i see on ao3 has some manner of sterek in it unless i SPECIFICALLY search for something else, like its just a given part of fanon, but now that im actually watching it im kinda like. where? like yeah they had that one vaguely homoerotic wall-pinning moment in season 1, they snark at each other a lot, but like. i don't even see them together that often. and that's not even MENTIONING the fact that in season 1 stiles is 15/16 and derek is fucking,, 22 (or 20, I'm not sure on his age but ik its at least a four-year difference),,, which is just. yeah no thanks

if anything they strike me more as, like, goofy, vaguely sibling-coded friends. stiles came along as a package deal with scott and started annoying the shit out of derek and derek had no say in the matter whatsoever, and i think that's beautiful.

all this being said, stiles is absolutely bisexual

[kitkatwinchester]

HAHA I LOVE OUR LITTLE PACK!

"We're gonna rob an armored car?" "Well, we're gonna try."

ANYTHING FOR STILES, AMIRITE?!

That said...

MS. MORRELL I SWEAR TO GOD! I was COUNTING ON YOU GOSH DARNAT!!

I don't know why I was counting on her. She's never ACTUALLY been on our side. I was just hoping that maybe, finally, since Scott LITERALLY SAVED HER LIFE, she might consider, oh, I don't know, HELPING US?!

Which, like, okay, admittedly, she KIND OF did, by giving Stiles the amphetamines and telling him what the marks meant and giving him, like, SOMEWHAT of a head start as far as fighting the Nogitsune on his own.

But the whole threatening to kill him thing isn't exactly what I would call helping.

But WHATEVER I GUESS.

Oh, and I take back what I said about Oliver. I am now completely suspicious of him. Dude literally just popped up out of nowhere, magically, when Stiles was trying to investigate the basement, and he encouraged him to try to trick Brunski into giving up the keys, and now I feel like he's some sort of plant or something that's gonna wind up getting Stiles in trouble, because that's a thing that happens, and now I don't trust it. So never mind. I don't want them to be friends. WHERE'S SCOTT?! XD

Also, my heart definitely just broke a little bit at that Derek and Chris conversation. Like, first of all, Chris fully acknowledging that he would feel remorse if he had to kill Stiles is so sweet and so heart-breaking, but then him switching to the fact that he would have no remorse if all he was killing was the Nogitsune is terrifying and now I'm very afraid for my boy.

Also also, the way Derek is talking makes me think he is also more inclined to kill the Nogitsune, even if it means killing Stiles, and I DON'T LIKE THAT, so STOP IT!

I mean, I stand by the fact that I'm 99.9% sure that no one's gonna be able to touch Stiles because True Alpha Scott would never allow it, but still, it's a frightening thought, and I don't like how many people are getting prepared to kill him, no matter the cost. :(

(The quote isn't on the gif but "by significant and strange, do you mean hopeful and optimistic?". XD XD GOD I'VE MISSED HIM! I'VE MISSED BEING ABLE TO STEAL INCORRECT QUOTES FROM HIM! XD <3 <3 <3 <3)

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings. 

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch. 

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.   

To put it plainly, you’re drowning. 

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now. 

 “Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours. 

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you. 

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until a haze of vape and weed and flashing lights consume your vision: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them. 

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist. The solid weight releases some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.” 

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.”

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.” 

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt. 

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself. 

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.” 

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see. 

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender. 

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over. 

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted. 

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples. 

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” 

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you guys were actually born like 30 years old, or maybe it's some kind of reincarnation, soulmate thing—okay, it probably has more to do with the…” 

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something. 

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time. 

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.  

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.” 

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.” 

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more. 

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum. 

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it. 

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening. 

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?” 

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever. 

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending. 

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him. 

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to the sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin. 

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.” 

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone. 

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times, and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from. 

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure that he wishes he sounded more confident, but he gives himself away with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself, like a child, ad press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but Stiles pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself over the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: series rewrite, start of season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

Part 1: Her Broken Heart

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend {You Are Here}

Part 3: Blue Handprints

The summer heat had finally decided to die down to a reasonable temperature. It was the only reason your mother decided a picnic at the park would be nice. It was equal parts safe for you and enough of a distraction that you could pretend you were a normal kid.

At just four years old you were starting to notice how you didn’t live like the children you saw outside your window. You had started to grow bored of your usual antics stuck at home.

You lay on your stomach near the edge of your blanket. Along the blades of green grass you spotted a ladybug climbing towards the sky. You were practicing counting the spots on its back when the beat in your chest became noticeable.

The pressure from laying on your tummy made it easier to feel your heartbeat unevenly.

“Do you want another grape, sweetie?” your mom asked, stretched out and enjoying the shade.

You reached out a smaller, pudgier hand, accepting the grape with a hungry toddler’s mouth. Your eyes looked above the ladybug grass and stared at the playground, complete with twisting slides and a rubber rock wall.

“Mom,” you say in your timid tone. “I want to play.”

“I know, honey,” she says, “But you know how that’s not safe for your heart.”

A pout grew instantly, “I am careful!”

Sensing your coming tantrum, your mother drew your attention away from the other children playing with a lacrosse ball in the nearby field.

“Yes, you are very good at being careful. But remember your heart sometimes has a mind of it’s own. Sometimes being careful isn’t enough. The doctor said not to be too crazy.”

You ball your little fists but hold back the angry words. “I don’t like my heart.”

Your mother cooed, reaching for you, “No, sweetie, you have a wonderful heart. It’s big and warm and full of love for far too many things. It tries its best to take care of you. So we need to try our best to take care of it, okay?”

You snuggle into your mother’s arms, upset feelings turning into tears, “Okay, mommy.” You feel a kiss on your head when the children playing in the field came running past your blanket.

They stopped on the other side of your shaded spot and conversed behind dirt smudged hands. They were both rowdy boys with scabbed knees and grass stained shirts, but they had wide smiles as one approached you.

He had unruly hair and sunburnt cheeks.

“Hello,” he said in a nervous voice, “What’s your name?”

You rub at your eyes, “(Y/N).” You sink further into your mom.

The boy was out of breath and already itching to run again judging by his fidgeting. He said quickly, “Hi my name is Stiles. Do you want to come play with us? We were playing sharks and minnows, but it’s not so fun with only two people.”

You look up at your mother’s chin and ask quietly, “Can I go play?”

Your mother sighs, tickling your sides, “If you don’t run around so much and stay on the playground…”

You were instantly crawling out of her lap, “Okay!”

“And if you start getting out of breath you need to tell me!” your mom continues, “Be careful climbing the ladders and don’t you dare stand on the slide!”

“Bye!” you yell in reply, already jogging away with Stiles to meet with his other friend.

He touched your shoulder, “Do you like chasing bad guys?”

“I’m not supposed to chase,” you say seriously, “But I do like to catch bad guys.”

Stiles nodded his head in deep thought, “Okay. How about we make traps for bad guys under the slides.”

You agree enthusiastically, grateful at your young age for someone who didn’t know about your heart. Grateful that they played with you like any other child.

And you schemed underneath the slides, building traps out of woodchips and leafy twigs. Innocent kids that didn’t know any better. Didn’t know that you wouldn’t remember this first meeting.

~~~

“I’ve started TAing.”

Allison gives you a strange look, “What?”

“I’m a teacher’s assistant now,” you lead the way into the school, “I have a free period since I finished a core class during my homeschooling.”

“Who will you TA for?”

You hold back a grimace, “Coach Finstock.”

Allison snorts, “You know I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what’s going on half the time. He forgets which periods he’s teaching economics and which periods he needs to be in the gym for P.E..”

“All the more reason why he needs a TA to sort things out,” you say, straight-backed. “And it means I can help out at lacrosse games too.”

“What, like a waterboy?”

You bump into Allison’s side, “No… well maybe. Just helping out with supplies and plays and locker room stuff.”

“Locker room stuff,” Allison says with raised eyebrows.

You choke on a laugh, “Don’t start. I reserve the right to ban you from the locker rooms. Especially seeing as that’s become your new make out spot.”

That caught her off guard, ramming right into the person in front of her. With a squeal she drops everything in her arms and put her hands into her hair. It was Scott who turns around after the collision.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Allison laughs, joining you as you help pick up her things.

Scott looks terrifyingly relieved, “You’re okay.”

“Once my heart starts beating again, yeah.” You smile ruefully at that statement. “What?”

“I’m just happy to see you.”

You thought Scott looks more like seeing Allison walking and talking was a miracle. Like he couldn’t believe that she was alive. You hand Allison her pencil case and folders, watching their goodbye with skepticism.

“What was that?” you whisper as Allison walks away to first period.

Scott was still breathing shallow, “She’s okay.”

You snap your fingers in front of his dazed eyes. “Are you okay?”

The speakers suddenly turn on with a crackle of fuzzy interference. “Attention, students, this is your principal. I know you’re all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled. Thank you.” With another crackle of microphone feedback the principal’s voice was gone.

You return your eyes to Scott and furrow your brow.

He took in your confusion and whispers, “I had a dream last night where Allison and I snuck into the buses behind the school.”

“Oh?” you say, still skeptical but now with a smile on your face.

“And I sort of had… an outburst.” He seems to struggle with finding the right words. “I killed Allison and broke through the back of the bus.”

“Well, shit that sucks Scott,” you fold your arms, “But I don’t think you’re capable of all that.”

He grimaces, “No, when we showed up to school and saw the bus out back – and how it looked just like it did in my dream – I thought maybe I had actually killed Allison somehow.”

You reign in your teasing smiles and bump into his shoulder, “Scott, like I said, I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body. There’s no way you could kill someone and tear up a bus.” He still slumps as he follows you to first period. “I can understand why that would still be scary regardless.”

It was his turn to bump into your shoulder, but with more force, causing you to trip into a row of lockers. “God! I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he pulls you closer by the hand.

You laugh, ignoring the jump of your heart. “It’s okay, let’s just get to chemistry.”

Stiles was already sitting down, bouncing his leg against the table stool. He looks at Scott as if asking if everything was okay. Scott gave him a reassuring nod as he took a seat at the table in front of him.

You smile at them as you took the remaining empty seat at a back table. You immediately start copying the diagram drawn on the blackboard, taking out your science project notes for inspiration.

You could hear the frantic voices of Scott and Stiles near the front, and a needle of hurt stuck in your chest as you remember the secret that Stiles wasn’t ready to tell you. You had to remind yourself that the friendship was still relatively new.

There was still a secret you hadn’t told them either.

“Mr. Stilinski, if that’s your idea of a hushed whisper you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while,” Mr. Harris says from the blackboard. “I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

Stiles begrudgingly moves his stuff to the back but stops when he spots the empty seat next to you.

“Hey, trouble,” you say quietly.

He sat clumsily, “How was the rest of your weekend?”

“It was fine. Just a lot of reading.” You finish copying the blackboard notes.

Stiles leans on his elbow, “Still reading that werewolf book?”

“You mean Harry Potter,” you snicker, “Yeah I’m on the fourth one now.” Turning your head you could see Stiles staring at you, “What?”

He swallows hard, awkwardly straightening himself, “Nothing just… I like that coconutty-strawberry smell.”

Warmth came up your chest, “That would be my shampoo.”

“Then thank god for personal hygiene.” He grimaces and smacks the back of his head.

You ignore it, pulling your notebook closer. You could still feel his eyes on you as a classmate jumps to the window, “Hey, I think they found something!”

Everyone ran for the wall of windows. You stood quickly from your stool too when a fuzzy feeling flickers on in your head. You grip the table, closing your eyes and frowning.

No one notices as you compose yourself, waiting for the fainting feeling to go away. You wander closer to the group of kids terrified at what they were seeing. A tingling was making its way down your legs – the blood rushing to your toes.

You felt uncomfortably warm when a cool hand touches your shoulder, “(Y/N)?”

Stiles was at your side, unsure of what was happening. “You look ashy. Are you lightheaded again?”

The breath leaving your lungs was shallow and rapid, cotton was building pressure in your ears. “I’m going to faint, Stiles.”

“Mr. Harris!” Stiles yells, “(Y/N) needs to get to the nurses office!”

Not that the student body would know, but every teacher at the school knew of your health problems. They knew it was a possibility that you would require medical care. Mr. Harris, as cynical and distrustful as he was, let you leave promptly despite his feelings.

“You may leave, Miss. Westbrook.”

“Sir, I don’t think she should be walking alone to…”

Mr. Harris was using his phone as he looks out the window, “Get out of my classroom, Stilinski!”

Stiles keeps a hand on your back and another on your arm, watching your face the whole way. His voice was frantic and small as he talks you through it.

“It’s like I can see the blood draining from your face. Does that happen a lot? I mean, I know you get head rushes a lot, but the fainting thing? Do you just have bad blood circulation? Was it something I said? Look I know I’ve mentioned how good you smell twice now and while it is true I acknowledge that it’s a little creepy of me to be sniffing your hair so much. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. Not gonna lie it’s kinda freaking me out that you’re not saying anything.”

You struggle to breathe, “It’s sort of hard when you don’t give me time to answer.”

The shallowness of your breathy words put a strange feeling in Stiles’ chest, “Do you need me to do something else? Does the nurse… what the hell is that?”

Your watch was suddenly beeping with an alarm. Your heart rate was far too high and had stayed that high for more than thirty seconds. A pain enters your chest, and your walking slows.

Stiles starts panicking, “What does that mean? (Y/N), what’s happening?” He yells down the hallway towards the office, “Hey! We need help over here!”

It was hard to keep your eyes open as you start to slump, “Stiles…” you mumble. And you lost consciousness, falling into Stiles and in return he fell to the ground to catch your body.

He held your back and shoulders, using his free hand to brush the hair from your face. Your skin was still gray-tinged. An office lady and the school nurse came rushing down the hallway. Their heavy footfalls matching the hard beating of your heart.

Stiles was finally at a loss for words, holding you like you had just died. “(Y/N)?! Oh my god, I think she just fainted,” he says to the incoming help, “I hope she just fainted.”

The nurse asks Stiles to help drag you to the sickbed. He complies, frantically asking questions until the nurse ordered him to stop.

“Alice, will you call her mother and I’ll get her doctor on the line,” the nurse says to the office lady. She dials a number and holds it to her ear as she elevates your legs and checks that your airway wasn’t obstructed.

“What did she say to you before she fainted?”

Stiles was still flabbergasted, “She turned gray and said she was lightheaded. She told me she was going to faint.” He ran a hand over his shaved head, “And then her watch started freaking out and she had a pain in her chest.”

“It’s been more than 90 seconds now,” she mumbles to herself, checking your watch monitor to measure your heart rate.

“Wh-What does that mean?” Stiles asks, blinking blearily. “Is she going to be okay?”

The nurse starts talking to a doctor on the phone and Stiles was ushered out by the office lady, forced to watch from a different room. He refuses to leave the office until he sees your eyes open just a few seconds later.

~~~

“By the time I checked with the office at lunch she was sent home,” Stiles vents, one hand on the wheel and the other in his short hair. “She hasn’t answered any of my texts or phone calls.”

Scott was stretched thin between worrying about his possible dreamlike wolf attack and the mystery of his newfound friend. In all honesty he was more worried about how worried his best friend was.

“I talked to Allison about it, she doesn’t know anything either.”

“God, I knew there was something wrong,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “That scar she has… whatever I look up says it has something to do with her heart.”

Scott eyes his friend, unsettled by the palpable worry. “She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We would have heard something if she wasn’t.”

Stiles grips the steering wheel, “We would have heard something if she was.”

They pull up against the fence to the bus drop off, putting the jeep in park. Stiles rubs at his worn face and Scott leans in with an edge to his voice.

“Listen, let’s just get this Derek theory over with and then we can go check on (Y/N). Sound good?”

Stiles grumbles, slipping out of the jeep with his friend.

“Hey, no, just me,” Scott says, “Someone needs to keep watch.”

“How come I’m always the guy keeping watch?”

Scott pulls on his friend’s arm, “Because there’s only two of us and I happen to have wolf-like reflexes and you’re distracted by your sudden love for (Y/N).”

“I am…” Stiles scoffs, caught off guard. “I am not in love with (Y/N).”

“The eight text messages and four phone calls would say otherwise.”

Stiles juts a finger in the air, “Hey, that is totally untrue.” He put his hands on his hips, “I only made three phone calls.”

“Whatever,” Scott whispers, “I’ll just be in and out.”

“Okay, why’s it starting to feel like you’re Batman and I’m Robin? I don’t want to be Robin all the time.”

Scott was bewildered, “Nobody’s Batman and Robin any of the time.”

“Not even some of the time?”

But true his word, Scott was quick upon entering the bus. Stiles surrenders and sits in the jeep ready to drive with the headlights off. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his messages to you, concern eating away at his stomach.

It was bad enough that he witnessed you fall ill so quickly and dragged you to the nurses office. But now he was realizing, through some personal investigation and the unhelpful words of Scott, that he had a crush on you.

He liked you.

With all the strange supernatural problems infiltrating his life, it was almost an unexpected surprise to have something so human as a little crush. His stomach flips. But what if there was something more supernatural about you?

Your heart rate was elevated when you fainted. Scott’s heart rate is a tell of an oncoming werewolf transformation.

Is that why you wanted to keep it a secret?

Stiles was sick of his investigative brain, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel. Couldn’t he have normal high school problems like fretting over the girl he liked instead of deducing if she was a shape shifter or not?

Flashlight beams could be seen from the school’s entrance. Stiles lifts his head to see them shining in his eyes, “Oh, shit…” he starts laying on the horn.

~~~

After dropping Scott off, Stiles sat in his jeep contemplating his next move. Staring at the clock on his dashboard he knew it was far too late for your parents to accept company.

But there was still that garden trellis outside your window.

Making his decision, Stiles drove to the end of your street, hopping out and running for your house. It was easier to climb the garden trellis now that he knew where to put his hands and feet through the vines and ladder.

He creeps over the roof tiles and squats outside your window. The lights were off, and he could just make out the human shape lying in bed… he still couldn’t help himself. He taps on the glass until he saw your figure stir.

Ruffled in white pajamas with little blueberries printed on the fabric, you carefully tip toe to the window to let him in.

“Stiles,” you yawn, the moonlight still bright enough to make your eyes squint. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles made a much more graceful entry, afraid to disturb your parents. “I wanted to check on you. You haven’t been answering my messages.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, clearly exhausted. Stiles remains standing – because he wanted to pace or because he was preparing to catch you should you fall, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” you run your fingers through your bedhead. Stiles thought it was cute. “Between the hospital visit and the bedrest I haven’t even looked at my phone. My mom usually keeps it whenever I have a fainting episode. Gives me time to unplug and unwind.”

“But…” Stiles folds his arms, “But you are okay?”

He didn’t like that it took you longer to respond. “Yes, I’m fine. You know I get lightheaded a lot. Fainting is usually a consequence of that.”

“Your watch went off right before you fell,” he says quietly, his eyes dark and serious. “Like some kind of alarm.”

“Yeah,” you look at your watch that you wear even when sleeping. “It measures my heart rate. Whenever it spikes for too long it warns me that I might faint.”

“That’s why you get lightheaded… your heart?” his eyes linger at the collar of your shirt, hoping to see that scar again.

You fold your arms, protective, “When I get worked up it doesn’t beat enough to get oxygen to my brain. Then I get lightheaded and sometimes faint.”

Stiles nods his head and walks over to your bed, “Can I?”

A soft smile quirks your lips, “You may.”

He sits beside you, the mattress sinking down further. “So when we saw the ambulance and the bus driver all mangled like that…”

“It got my heart rate going,” you say easily. Of course you got lightheaded before even seeing the commotion outside the window. You didn’t feel like getting too deep into your diagnosis. This was a good start.

“It was really scary seeing you get sick like that,” Stiles says honestly, looking down at his hands. “Not knowing what was going on made me feel… like I was helpless to make it stop.”

You turn to him, silhouetted by moonlight. His eyelashes were so long that they were casting shadows onto his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, placing a hand on his forearm. It made him look up at you. “I should’ve been more honest with you.”

“Is this where I can ask you my one personal question of the day?” his eyes were warm as his voice held slight sarcasm.

You lean into him, “I suppose.”

“If you start feeling faint or if you do faint, what can I do to help? Just so I’m prepared if it happens again.”

You blow air between your lips, “Oh, it’ll happen again. That’s my curse.” You hum as you think, oblivious to how Stiles was unconsciously smiling at your thinking face. “I generally avoid things that would get my heart rate up.”

Stiles scoffs, having an epiphany, “Like a lacrosse game or an after party.”

“Or a crowded lunchroom,” you smile. “But if it goes up regardless, I usually try to ground myself. Like thinking about what my five senses notice. And I hold onto whoever I’m closest to. Doing that and taking deep breaths can control my heart rate.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Stiles mumbles, “That’s a technique to control anxiety.”

You nod, “You’re right.”

“And if you faint again?”

“First step is to call for help and the second step is to make sure I’m stable.”

You turn to him, and he looks so sincere that goosebumps erupt on your skin. He was taking your words so seriously. Without interrupting your council he grabs the blanket off your bed and drapes it over your bare arms.

“Lay me down and elevate my feet. Make sure I’m not choking on anything. And then if I’m out for more than 90 seconds or I start seizing, then turn me on my side.”

“Why 90 seconds?” he asks.

You pull the blanket closer around you, “Because after 90 seconds then there might be some brain damage or something else seriously wrong.”

He turns his body towards you more, your thighs fully touching. “The nurse today said that you were out for over 90 seconds.”

“That’s why they sent me to the hospital,” you nod, “But they didn’t find any serious damage. I just can’t have any more fainting episodes like that.”

Stiles swallows hard, tracing the outline of your side profile with his eyes. Brow. Nose. Lips. Chin. “Why?”

“Because the more I have the weaker my body will become. The more damage I’ll get. We don’t want that to happen.”

He licks his lips and plays with his fingers, “Thank you for telling me.” He thought back to the scar on your chest and realized that some things still didn’t add up. Craning his neck to look at you, he asks, “That’s still not everything, is it?”

Your eyebrows slant and you look scared for the first time that night. “No.”

Stiles found himself closer to you than he intended, urgency laced into his next words, “(Y/N), I want to know everything. I want to be able to help.”

A sad smile crept onto your face, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You take a shaky breath, “Because then it’ll become too real. I’m not ready to share that reality yet.” You match his urgency as you express, “This is enough for now.”

Stiles suppresses the instant anger that brought up. He hated not knowing things. “Does anyone else know?”

“The school staff and most parents know,” you say, “Yes, even your dad.”

“My dad!”

You shush him, “It’s a small town and my mom works under him.”

“What about Scott and Allison?”

“Not yet,” you sigh, “But I don’t mind if you tell them now. It was stupid of me to keep it to myself when I could faint at any time around you guys.”

He bites his lip, “When will you be back at school?”

“Maybe Wednesday,” you shrug, “Fainting always puts my family in a tizzy. My parents don’t like me leaving the house until they’re sure I can handle the stress again.”

Stiles was sinking further towards you, your arms now touching along with your thighs. “Is that why you were homeschooled?”

“Yes. I finally decided to not let my problems stop me from living my life to the fullest,” you relish in his warmth beside you, the goosebumps going away. “I decided to go to school, to get a job, to do things my parents and doctors said I shouldn’t do. My heart rate will go up the same way if I get jump scared in my own kitchen. I might as well be out doing something enjoyable.”

Stiles sighs and he was close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I like that.” You smile and cuddle further into your blanket. He felt reluctant to leave, but all the same says, “I should go.”

He stands and walks carefully to your window. “You’re going to miss a wicked history test tomorrow and the ‘hang out’ between Scott and Allison.”

“I thought they were going on a date?” you say, crawling back towards your pillow.

“Nope,” Stiles began to slide out your window, “Lydia and Jackson made it a hang out at the bowling alley.”

“Does Scott even bowl?”

He snorts, “Never.”

“That could only end in hilarity,” you grin, “I’ll text Allison about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Stiles mutters, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Stiles?”

He slips on the roof tiles, “Yep!”

You smile at his goofy face, “Thank you for helping me today. Not everyone would’ve done what you did.”

“I think anyone would be competent enough to cry for help when…”

“No, you coming to check on me. Asking me for details so you can help more in the future. Not judging me for having a problem. No one else has done that for me.”

Stiles nods awkwardly, gripping your windowsill. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

~~~

Wednesday evening you were on a mission to convince your parents that you were well enough to go to school tomorrow.

You stood in the kitchen, soft blue silk pajamas on and fuzzy socks keeping your toes warm. A home speaker was playing songs from your favorite playlist, coercing your body to nod and sway with the beats.

“Are you sure you feel alright enough to be alone?” your mother frets, putting a coat on as your dad grabs the car keys.

You hold up your wrist with the watch, “My heart has been steady all day.”

“Yes, but you don’t know if…”

“Mom!” you cry, “It’s Wednesday. Wednesday is date night. You should enjoy your Wednesday date night. I can make myself dinner and watch a movie before bed.”

Your dad nudges your mother towards the door, “Let her have some freedom,” he teases.

Angela smacks his arm, but keeps moving nonetheless, “You better believe I’m getting my own cheesecake tonight.”

Your father, Tom, gave you a wink, “Let’s treat ourselves tonight, sweetheart.”

And for the next ten minutes you were blissful in making yourself some chicken and rice, green beans on the side. Clad in your softest sleepwear and dancing around to your favorite tunes, it was hard to shift the mood when you receive a frantic phone call.

“Hey, Stiles. Sorry I wasn’t at scho…”

“(Y/N), I need your help,” he says quickly.

You turn away from the stove, “Cutting to the chase, alright. I’m listening.”

Stiles trips over his words, “Y-You work at the hospital right? You have a wealth of doctor knowledge? Like you could tell me a few facts about first aide?”

You lean against the counter, the marble cold under your arms. “Yes… Stiles what’s going on?”

“I might, sort of… maybe have a friend who is… very hurt.”

“Very hurt?”

“He has a wound that just keeps sprouting blood and he’s not looking so hot.”

You hum a ‘uh huh’ as you ponder who this friend might be, “Not looking so hot meaning what?”

“You know, just the general sweating, pale skin, heavy breathing.”

“He must be in a lot of pain then.” You could hear a slam on something metal in the background. Stiles must’ve jumped by how his voice rose an octave.

“Lots – lots of pain. Listen, what might we do to help said wound?”

You go to stir your sizzling chicken, “How does it look?”

“Red and gross and all around a major health code violation,” he felt his chest tighten at your slight laugh. “There’s also these purple veiny things creeping up his arm.”

The smile falls from your face, “That would mean he has blood poisoning. Whatever wound he has is infected and if it reaches his heart then it’ll kill him.”

Someone was rummaging through drawers; you could hear pill bottles flying around.

“That’s good, great,” Stiles curses, “What do we need to stop that from happening?”

“Well, you need to stop the infection with some pretty heavy antibiotics,” you rub at your forehead. “And you need to clean the wound to stop more infection from getting in. And you could put a tourniquet on to help stop the bleeding.”

Some heavy whispering was happening behind Stiles’ hand. Something recognizable was in the other man’s voice.

“Stiles,” you say warningly, “Who are you with?”

“Just some guy,” Stiles replies, moving around, “We’re putting a belt around his arm as a tourniquet now. Thanks for your help, (Y/N).”

A cry of pain was heard through the phone and you hiss, “Are you with Derek Hale?”

“What?! No way… not a chance,” he laughs weakly before growing silent. “Yes, I’m with Derek Hale.”

“What the hell, Stiles – I thought you hated that guy.”

A growl was heard behind him, “Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll be here, making dinner and watching old Disney movies.” You wait for a goodbye, but the line went dead. “That was weird.” And it continues to be that way as you finish making the dinner and grab a soda from the fridge.

You sat on the couch, pulling a fluffy forest green blanket on you. It was quiet and serene as you pull up one of your favorite movies: Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

You weren’t even ten minutes in when there was a knock on your door. Slipping on your thick socks, you skid across the hard wood to the door.

Suspicious, you say, “Stiles… how is Derek?”

“He’ll live,” Stiles says, out of breath and wrapping his jacket tightly around him. “He’s having a chat with Scott right now about the Hale family or something.”

“About the house fire?” you ask, “So now that he’s innocent of killing his sister you’re suddenly buddies with him?”

Stiles had an exaggerated look on his face, “Well, not exactly. He’s still a big scary guy that we got thrown into jail for a day. And now the town thinks he’s some murdering recluse because of the evidence we put against him.”

You couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your face, “So it was just a favor you helping him tonight?”

“Yeah, it was a hunting accident,” he says casually, as if it were the whole truth. “And he didn’t have any friends to turn to.” He dances on his toes, looking up at the porch light, “While I love chatting out in the cold, do you think your parents would be alright if I hang out here and check on you?”

Leaving the door open, you walk inside, “My parents aren’t here. It’s date night.”

“Right,” he says, closing the door and kicking off his shoes, “How are you feeling?”

You sigh, “I feel fine. My mom is just determined to keep me couped up for the rest of my life.” Without prompting you prepare a dinner dish for Stiles and meet him in the living room, “I’ve only been in school a few weeks, but I miss it.”

Stiles eyes the plate of food with wide honey eyes, “Oh my god, that smells amazing.”

“Come on, I’m watching Atlantis.”

The boy was only too eager to follow you onto the couch. He flops down, staring at his plate hungrily. You share the green blanket, throwing it over his lap. He looks at you with big eyes.

“You said it was cold outside,” you shrug, picking up your plate. Your legs were touching again as the pair of you ate.

Stiles was eating the chicken and rice like his life depended on it, “This is the best food I’ve had in years.”

“You must be in love with it,” you snicker, “Judging by the sounds you’re making.” You laugh as he chokes on his fork.

“No, it’s just…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I don’t eat a lot of homecooked food anymore. My dad and I survive on takeout mostly.”

You push the rice around your plate, “Did your mom cook a lot?”

There was a shift in the air as Stiles continues to eat, but he responds with as normal a voice as he could manage. “Yeah. My dad used to say that… that she would bribe him with a good dinner to get him home from the station sometimes.”

Your voice was warm as you say, “She must’ve been an excellent chef if that got the Sheriff away from his caseload.”

“She used to make this delicious homemade mac and cheese, like fancy mac and cheese…” he made silly hand motions in the air, “Like with the little chopped up green things on top.”

“Parsley?”

He shrugs, but his eyes grew wide and bright, “And she’d serve it on top of a piece of garlic bread with some Italian sausage on the side.” He makes an overexaggerated chef kiss. “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you lean back into the couch, leaving your plate on the side table. “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

Stiles guffaws, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, fixated on the points where your bodies were touching. “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” Stiles says just as quietly, playing with his food like he had lost interest in it. “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

You lean closer, intrigued, “Sweet?”

“That was her descriptor word for all things she liked.” He puts his plate aside too, resting against the couch and your shoulder that was so near. “We got a coupon for the arcade? Sweet! My dad picked her a flower from the woods? That’s sweet of him. I’m forced into a sailor outfit for family pictures? He looks so sweet!”

You take a deep breath, “That is pretty sweet.”

Stiles turns to you, startled to see you so close to him. His throat grew dry and his chest felt tight, all words trickling from his brain and out his ears. He never talked about his mom. Not to Scott, not to his dad, not to his pillow – not to anyone. But talking about her to you was… easy.

You were having the quick realization that Stiles had not just brown eyes, but the most glassy brown eyes you had ever seen. Like if sunlight were to shine through the liquid of a whisky bottle. Or if a sunset caught a glimpse of a glistening honeycomb. Or if a campfire reflected off a drop of amber tree sap.

“So…” Stiles clears his throat, not wishing to pull away but very conscious of how high his voice sounds. “You like Atlantis?”

The movie had been playing the whole time in the background.

“Yes! Have you seen Milo Thatch? I’d marry him in an instant.”

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly for an animated man.”

You poke your shoulder into him, “Fictional men.”

“And the appeal is?”

“It’s in the name,” you snicker, “They’re fictional.”

Stiles hums a reply, turning his attention back to the tv screen. “I’ll add that to your case file: only attracted to fictional men and therefore can conclude that she’s never had a real boyfriend.”

“Oh, it feels real though.”

Stiles fought a shiver tickling the top of his spine. He instead readjusted his pants, “I think I’m going to need more research on these fictional men you’re so fascinated with.”

“We’d have a lot of ground to cover,” you sigh, “Seeing as I don’t think you’ll read any of the books I give you, we’ll have to have a lot more movies nights like this.”

“I think I’d be okay with that,” Stiles says with a smirk on his face. His hands were above the blanket you share, lying in his lap and fidgeting with the green fuzzies coming from the fabric he was pulling.

~~~

You sat on the windowsill in the girls bathroom the next day, reapplying your lipstick and combing your fingers through your hair. Allison was readjusting her hairband in the mirror while Lydia fixes her mascara.

“We’re going to have a movie night,” the redhead says, admiring her eyelashes. “All of us.” She turns with a flair and points to the other two. “It’ll be prime time for a little under the blanket action.”

You make a face while Allison coughs awkwardly, “You want to do a double date?”

“Triple if we can get (Y/N) a boytoy,” Lydia smirks.

“I’m not exactly in the market for boytoys,” you say, crossing your arms.

Lydia leans against the sink, “You will when I tell you half the lacrosse team wants to ask you out since you started helping with Coach.”

A nauseous feeling enters your stomach, “I’m not a huge fan of dating, Lydia.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handpick the perfect one for you.”

Allison was all skepticism as the bell rang, “There goes the last of English.”

“And now we can go straight to lacrosse practice!” Lydia claps her hands, “Let’s go shopping for (Y/N)’s boyfriend.”

The trio make their way to the field, each at a different level of enthusiasm, as you see Scott and Stiles in their uniforms. The boys were quick to pull you to the side.

“Why did you skip the rest of English?” Scott asks, “Is Allison okay?”

“We got an emergency text from Lydia,” you huff, “Turns out it was just the regular scheming and gossip.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, “Like…?”

“Like how Lydia is going to find me a lacrosse boyfriend to match her and Allison’s lacrosse boyfriends…”

Scott and Stiles spoke at the same time:

“I’m Allison’s lacrosse boyfriend?”

“You’re getting a lacrosse boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes, “And with all our lacrosse boyfriends we’re going to have a ‘movie night’ to coverup the sexcapade I think Lydia’s planning.”

Scott was blinking really hard, and Stiles seems to have left on a thought tangent based on the slack jawed look on his face.

You snap your fingers, “I need your help with Lydia.”

“No,” Scott mumbles, “She’s scary.”

Stiles was still lingering on his imagination as he says, dreamily, “You don’t want a lacrosse boyfriend?”

Your hands fall on your hips, “I just don’t want Lydia to conduct a speed dating the lacrosse team weekend.”

“WESTBROOK!”

You close your eyes, “Yes, Coach!?”

Coach Finstock stomps over, clipboard in hand as he struggles to wrap the whistle around his wild haired head. “I need you to register the team for a spring retreat.”

You blink blearily, “A spring retreat, Coach?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s good for bonding and teamwork and… bonding.” He threw his hands up, “We have the funds this year so we’re going out.”

The teenagers share looks as you attempt to get a baseline of knowledge, “What’s our budget? When are the dates? Who do I contact?”

“Everything’s on my desk. Now get to it,” he puts the whistle between his teeth, “The district likes to hear about these things in advance.”

You back away to the locker rooms as you silently plead to Scott and Stiles to handle the Lydia situation. They were frantically whispering back to you, making exaggerated and confused gestures. You could spy Lydia and Allison talking to a lacrosse huddle by the bleachers.

For the next forty-five minutes you handle the paperwork that the principal and district employees emailed Finstock. You create an excel sheet for signups and a budget tracker. You contact a sports summer camp that allows retreats and field trips during the school year. All you need was to pass out permission slips and gather player information.

You were on your way out of the copy room when you spot Lydia on Jackson’s arm, conversing with some players on the sidelines. Scott was playing goalie while Stiles and a few others were doing a play on the field.

“Give me some good news, Westbrook,” Coach grumbles, bending his clipboard to near splintering levels. “Because these dancing monkeys need some incentive to play better than my recently deceased grandmother.”

“I’ve got everything scheduled here,” you say, not even bothering to show all your hard work. The Coach trusts you enough to have it finished. “I just need to get players information.”

“Done. Boys! Get your pansy ballet asses to line up next to Westbrook! Do what she says fellas or you’re going to miss one hell of a weekend retreat.”

A herd of maroon jerseys and shoulder pads stampede towards you on the bleachers. Sweaty, and slightly smelly, boys began to filter past as you write down their names, shirt size, contact information, and give them a permission slip. You could feel Lydia and Allison waiting on the bench behind you.

Lydia’s heel toed boot prods the middle of your back whenever a boy she particularly likes came up.

“Ben Manley,” a blonde-haired, freckled face says. “I like your jacket.”

Seeing as it was a jacket you borrowed from Stiles’ jeep, you smile, “Thanks, Ben Manley. Get this paper signed if you want to come on the retreat.”

He looks a little dejected as he walks past. Another boy comes up, shiny with sweat on his wonderfully dimpled cheeks. His hair was chestnut brown and curly, “Andrew Wickstrom,” he says with a smile, “Thank you for helping Coach. He hasn’t been as manic since you started.”

“I’m glad my hard work is paying off.” You hand him a permission slip as another sharp poke was felt in your back. “Just turn that in within the next week.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). See you in gym.”

Right, gym class that you were a TA in instead of attending. You told the other students that you already got those credits during homeschool, but really you had a doctors note detailing how under no circumstances were you to get your heart rate up.

While others ran laps and did pushups and played volleyball indoors, you graded papers for Finstock from various classes.

Scott and Stiles came next in line. Scott gave a lovestruck wave to the girl sitting behind you while Stiles whispers to you.

“Hanging in there?”

“I think Lydia is making a March Madness chart with eligible lacrosse players,” you hand the boys permission slips. “She’s relentless.”

“You think I’ll make the bracket?” he asks clumsily, his cleats sticking into the grass.

You shrug, a teasing tone to your voice, “She’s very particular about who she adds.”

Stiles hopes he wasn’t hearing sarcasm, or even worse – dislike, in your voice. He was shoved to the side by a much taller boy coming in next.

“Josh Arnett,” he says.

He was broad, darkhaired, light eyed, and currently getting a dirty look from Stiles.

“Hi there,” you say, a little starstruck at the intense eye contact. You immediately recognize him as a narcissistic asshole, one that you’d still gladly kiss and get your heart broken over. He was one that made you think Greek gods still existed. He was one that made dirty look sexy.

And you just said, ‘hi there.’

His smile was killer, “Are you going to be at the retreat?”

You ignore the boot in your back as you fumble over your words, “Probably. Coach has kind of grown dependent on me to function.”

He took a permission slip, “I’ll go if you go,” and he winks. Like full on ‘sent-a-warm-river-of-shivers-down-your-chest-and-to-your-middle’ kind of wink. Your uneven heart patters at the sight of him walking away. Those wide shoulder pads… slim waist… and tight little…

You snap out of it as you realize the boy next to you was doing the exact same thing. Danny Mahealani was gawking as he groans under his breath, “Damn I love being on the lacrosse team.”

You laugh, shoving him away in a playful gesture. Danny was by far one of your favorites on the team. Lydia was right above your shoulder in an instant.

“I think we have our winner.”

“What?” you say a bit breathless, “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Philanderer?”

Allison was choking on laughs as Lydia huffs, “Come on, just a little movie date tonight. You don’t have to see him again if it’s really that bad.”

“You’re just trying to get a hot squad together,” you poke her button nose before you stand. “But you can’t force a healthy relationship on incompatible people.”

“Sure I can,” she scowls, “Jackson and I are still together.”

You share a look with Allison before packing up, “If you two are bringing dates tonight, I might as well bring the one that flirted with me.”

“Oh, please,” Allison crosses her arms, “All of them were being fl…”

“Perfect,” Lydia claps, “I’ll talk with Josh in the locker room.” And she flounces off in her skirts, leaving Allison to walk with Scott.

And Stiles appears at your shoulder, grabbing your leftover papers and the laptop from your hands. “So, has Lydia decided your fate?” He tries not to sound too eager (and/or desperate) to learn about the evenings plans, but he was hovering a bit close as you rub your temples. Your heart rate was a little high since encountering Mr. Philanderer.

“We have a big movie date tonight.”

He holds his breath as he continues, “… slash sexcapade?”

You snort, “I’d rather clean out whatever is festering in Coach’s desk drawers than have a sexcapade this weekend.”

His next breath was deep and tight, “Then who are you watching the movie with?”

“Josh Arnett.” Stiles stuck to the grass while you walk a few steps ahead. “What?”

“You are going to spend the night with Jealous Josh? Judgy Josh? Jockstrap Josh? Forget that last one.”

You giggle, “Yes, I’m going out with Jaw-dropping Josh.” You pull on Stiles’ arm, “It’s just to appease Lydia.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t,” you say, “It’s going to be just a one time thing.”

“But what if he charms you and kisses you and you agree to more dates…” he watches a dreamy look slide onto your face. “Oh my god, you’re thinking about kissing him, aren’t you?”

You open the door to the locker room, full of sounds and smells alike. “It would be a crime not to acknowledge that he’s hot. And I’d have more status by saying I kissed him once.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Because I’m going on a date or because I’m going on a date with him?” You try to keep your tone civil as you’re surrounded by changing lacrosse players.

“Because he’s a douchebag that will probably do something to hurt your feelings and I don’t want that to happen.”

You take all your supplies from him, speckles of anger popping up your spine, “You trying to control who I go out with is a little douchy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not trying to control…” Stiles threw his gloves on the ground, “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I’m not going to catch feelings for him,” you say indignantly, “I just want to try it Lydia’s way for once. It’s just one date, how bad could it be?” A sudden rush to your head makes you stumble, ramming your shoulder into a line of lockers.

Stiles jumps to your back, hands on your arms as you screw up your eyes. You take a deep breath and force the black spots from your vision. Slowly the voice of Stiles enters your ears.

“I’m fine,” you say, standing straight, “My heart was just beating a little fast.”  

“Because of our argument?”

You turn to the sound of his voice. The previous anger was gone. In its place were fearful honey eyes and an open, honest expression.

“Among other things,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you later.”

Stiles was screwing up his lips, chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly worried as you retreat. “Call me if something happens!”

 ~~~

You wait at your living room window for over an hour. You wait in your comfy blue sweater that’s cute enough for a date and soft enough for cuddling. You wait with styled hair and a little lipstick.

You could feel your parents spying from the kitchen, disappointed that you were being abandoned like this. A pain creeps into your chest that has nothing to do with your heart. It made your stomach twist and your head hurt.

It did not feel good to be stood up.

You text Lydia to give her an update. Her quick reply was that she and Jackson would pick you up and you could pick out the movie together.

You didn’t wave goodbye as you left the house, embarrassed by the turn of events. “I was such an idiot.”

Lydia turns in her seat, “You’re not an idiot, you look gorgeous.”

“I’m an idiot for getting excited about a night out with that jerk,” you play with your fingers. “And I knew from the beginning that he was an asshole, and I still got all ready trying to impress him.”

“No, you got ready because you wanted to feel hot. Remember you were going to one and done him tonight; Josh should be the one feeling disappointed that he isn’t here with you.”

You crack a faint smile, “Where’s Scott and Allison?”

“Oh, Allison’s hanging out with her aunt and so Scott decided to make other plans.”

“Meaning it’s just us three tonight?”

Jackson sighs begrudgingly, “Yep.”

“Then we might as well make it a chick flick night,” Lydia says, cheery despite her boyfriends obvious disdain for the situation. “Let’s watch The Notebook.”

“Absolutely not,” Jackson says, “We are not doing chick flicks just because your friend was dumped.”

Lydia purses her lips, “You’re not making this any easier, Jackson.”

“Yeah, I don’t really feel like crying, Lyds,” you attempt, the video store just down the road.

Jackson starts to ramble about different action and sports movies, “We never choose a movie that I pick. How about Hoosiers? Not only is it the best basketball movie ever, but it is also the best sports movie ever made.”

Lydia was quick with her reply, “No.”

“It’s got Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper.”

You grimace at Lydia’s same short reply. “We can go in and browse for a little bit.” The night was shaping up to be one of the worst by far.

“I am not watching The Notebook again!” Jackson raises his voice.

“Come on, Jackson,” you say, opening the door. “Let’s just go look around for a second. I’ll help pick a good one.”

You walk to the first aisle inside, both of you on edge for different reasons. Jackson makes no effort to make conversation as you peruse the romantic comedy shelves. “She means well. She’s just trying to cheer me up.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I don’t want my date ruined by turning it into a girls night.”

You cross your arms, “I’m sorry.”

Jackson scowls at your drawn expression, “Arnett really is an asshole, by the way. I told Lydia as much.”

“Again, she meant well,” you sigh, “But thanks anyway.” A phone starts ringing in the background and kept echoing through the empty store. “Geesh, you would think someone would pick that up by now.”

“Hello?” Jackson calls out, “Is anybody working here?”

“What’s that?” you ask, pointing at a pair of shoes sticking out from an aisle further down. “Did someone fall off that ladder?” The medical assistant in you was already in action, pulling your phone out as you near the shoes.

You both move slowly, tense as the atmosphere gives an eerie flicker of lights. As you round the aisle of movies, there laying on the ground is the store manager – his throat clawed out.

“Oh my god!” you scream, gawking at the blood soaking the front of his shirt. It was fresh and glistening, splattered up onto his face and glasses.

“Holy shit!” Jackson yells, jumping back and onto the ladder. It moves enough that a broken light fixture falls, ripping the exposed wiring and plunging the entire video store into flickering darkness.

One second it’s dull yellow light, and the next an awful red dark, and then light again. It was making your vision blur with spots. You fall to your knees, sickened by the sudden wet warmth that soaks your pants.

Your heart was racing, beating like a war drum as you fought to control your breathing. Jackson was standing in the middle aisle, clearly shocked into silence. You were fumbling with your phone, attempting to dial any number that came up first.

There was a low, deafening growl that ripples through the store. You eye the claw marks on the store manager and immediately think of something big and terrifying. Jackson did too as he falls to hide behind a shelf.

You could hear the growling towards the back, too near for your liking. You shuffle away from the body, aware that Jackson had just left you to fend for yourself. A row of shelves falls behind you as you make your way to the front, crawling on your hands and knees.

You finally manage to dial a number, the first one you could think of. And the sound of Stiles on the other end brought you a sense of relief. He would do something.

“Hello.”

“Stiles…” you whisper, crawling along the front of the store and next to the windows.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

Your breath was shaky and came out in wheezes, “I need help.”

There was a rustling on the other end, “Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.”

A snarling growl came from your left and you dread to turn your head, “Oh god…”

“(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!”

But as you turn your gaze to the hot breath and red gaze of the growling creature, you let out a bloodcurdling scream. The giant monster swipes a paw at you, clawing at your shoulder and sending you spinning into the opposite wall. You slam against the brick with a sickening force, a crash of broken glass above you as the creature jumps through.

Shards of glass collect on your body, stinging some of your exposed skin. Warmth was spreading down your left arm as you fought to breathe. Your vision was blurring, and you were falling in and out of consciousness.

Jackson crawls out from under the fallen video shelves and finds you at the front, noticing Lydia screaming in the car. He kneels beside you and pulls out his phone, dialing 911.

~~~

Stiles sat in the parking lot of a burger joint, eating dinner with his father in the police car. He was reminiscent of the homecooked meal you made him, fondly thinking of his mother too.

“Did they forget my curly fries?”

He chides his father, “You’re not supposed to eat fries, especially the curly ones.”

The Sheriff smirks, “Well, I’m carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries.”

Stiles took his bitten straw out of his mouth, “If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong.”

His dad gave him a bewildered look, “Somethings off with you tonight. Did you take too much Adderall?”

“No,” Stiles grumbles, picking at his hamburger wrapper, “Just… thinking about school.” He watches his dad’s expression egg him on further, “… and lacrosse… and Scott…” He huffs and throws his dinner back in the brown bag. “And girls.”

The Sheriff scoffs, hiding a laugh, “Just the usual then.”

Stiles felt his phone ring and he was surprised to see your name appear. Thinking you’re going to tell him Josh Arnett is the asshat that they all knew him to be, Stiles says confidently into the phone, “Hello.”

There was a terrified whisper in reply, “Stiles…”

He sat straighter, his dad catching a soda before it fell to the floor. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” You sound like you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“I need help.” Your breathing was erratic, and he knew your heartbeat was probably the same.

“Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.” God forbid you faint in whatever terrifying situation you’re in.

There was a terrible growl behind your shaky words, and you sound so small when you cry, “Oh god…”

It sent a thrill of terror through Stiles, “(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!” A million scenarios were flying through his mind. Was there a werewolf there? The alpha? What had happened to your date?

There was a deafening bloodcurdling scream as the phone must’ve fallen from your hand. It took Stiles a second to realize that it was you that screamed. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” Your cries flew to the side along with a crash of glass as the snarling beast left.

The line went dead and Stiles fell into a panic, “How do I… where… god, dad we have to find her!”

The Sheriff listens with sincerity as he had watched the entire conversation. “What’s going on?”

“That was my friend, (Y/N) Westbrook. She was supposed be out tonight on a date, but something went wrong. She sounded terrified and then there was a scream and a crash and then… nothing.” His arms were flailing as he sat on the edge of the car seat, “We have to find her!”

“Westbrook?” the Sheriff says, throwing his wrapper to the floor, “You don’t mean…”

“Yes! And I know you know about her heart.”

His dads eyes widen ever-so-slightly, “How do you know about…?”

Stiles slams a hand on the dashboard, half tempted to grab the steering wheel, “We have to go – she’s in serious trouble!”

“Now hang on just a damn minute,” was his reply, “We don’t even know where she is. And before you go flying out the window, let’s think about this with some sense. Do you know where she was supposed to be on her date?”

Stiles whacks his head, as if to jog some memories over the panic, “They were going to watch a movie.” He bounces his leg, pleading with his dad, “Please, dad, she’s going to have another fainting episode.”

The police radio turns on with some crackling feedback. The dispatcher on duty was a man judging by the voice. At least that meant Mrs. Westbrook wasn’t on shift that night.

“Unit One, do you copy?”

Stiles leapt for the radio and the Sheriff slaps his hand away. “Unit One, copy.”

“Got a report of a possible 187.”

Stiles jumps in his chair, shaking the whole car, “A murder!?”

“It’s at the local video store. Some teenagers are involved.”

The Sheriff confirms he’ll be there and felt a twang of guilt as he watches the fear bubble in his son. “Do you have confirmation on how many are hurt?”

“Negative, but the boy on the phone was in a frenzy about an animal attack.”

“Thanks, Johnson.” The Sheriff put the radio up, speeding down the street with sirens blaring. ���Let’s not fear the worst, Stiles. They said there was just one possible 187.”

Stiles was biting his lips, drumming his knuckles over his mouth, “I should have stopped her from going out. I knew it was a bad idea.”

The drive was tense and painfully slow despite the speed the Sheriff was emitting. When they reach the video store it was swarming with EMTs and an ambulance. The store window was shattered, and Jackson was yelling at whatever emergency personnel he could. Lydia was huddled in a shock blanket on the curb, and sitting on the edge of the ambulance was you.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles cries, “Thank you god.” He was falling out of the police car before it even made a complete stop. “(Y/N)!” He ran for the Beacon ambulance.

You were leaning against the side of the car, an EMT bandaging your left arm. You had a few butterfly bandages on your face and a rapidly developing bruise to the side of your head. There were dark circles under your eyes and your skin was ashy again.

“What happened?” he asks, quiet compared to the panic he was in moments ago.

You turn your wet eyes to him, gulping, “Stiles. There… there was a monster.”

“She hit her head pretty hard,” the EMT says, finishing your bandage. “She needs to go home and get some rest.”

Stiles gave the man a nod, gently sitting next to you and giving his full attention. “What kind of monster?”

“It was like a bear or a wolf,” you whisper, exhausted. “I was so scared.” The break in your voice put a hitch in his chest. “Josh bailed on me and then Scott and Allison. And I just wanted to go home.” You turn to him, “I want to go home, Stiles.”

He clenches his jaw, his throat bobbing, “Okay. Okay, we can go home…” He stole a shock blanket from the back and wraps you in it, careful around your left shoulder. “Did you faint at all?”

You stare off, disassociating, “In and out.”

The Sheriff calls your parents as you lean into Stiles. Your head nestles into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t put his arm around your shoulders for fear of hurting the new wound. Instead he wraps his hand lower on your waist.

With his other hand he reaches for your fingers, worry still eating away at his stomach. “Where are we on the possibility of fainting right now?”

You groan, “60% chance.”

He gives a painful smile, wrapping his hand in yours. With his fingers he felt for the pulse in your wrist. It was a little high and stuttering unevenly.

“What do you hear?”

You hum, “Sirens. People. You.”

Stiles felt a warmth seeping into his chest, it was loud and suffocating and squeezed at his heart. “What do you smell?”

“Rubbing alcohol. And you.”

He plays with your fingers, tracing them with his thumb, “What do I smell like?” A small huff of air escapes your lips, and he likes to believe it was almost a laugh. “Cause you know exactly how I think you smell.”

You try to clear your throat, “Like sandalwood.”

“I’m not even sure what that is.”

“Like the woods,” you whisper. “Like rain, and trees, and honey.”

“How did you know my favorite pastime was bathing in forest rain and honey?” He imagines the twitch in your cheek against his neck was an attempt at a smile. “What do you feel?”

You fidget in his embrace, “Tired. Pain. Fear…”

“Okay, bad question.”

“Your hand,” you continue, “You’re warm. It’s nice.”

The inflation of his chest was reaching a bursting point, and he laid his face against your hair. Holding you there, he checks your pulse again with his long fingers. It had lowered since his arrival.

Your parents came soon after that, fretful and terrified of your condition. They wanted to take you to the hospital for a full checkup and your grip tightened on Stiles’ hand as his dad took him away.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear, your parents approaching. “I’ll see you later.”

~~~

It was very late into the night when Stiles climbs the garden trellis to your window. He was delighted to see that it was left cracked open. He pushes it open the rest of the way and falls inside, careful not to make too much noise.

You lay in bed with the lamp on, illuminating the room with its peachy color. You were in midnight blue pajamas with little stars printed on them. Your left arm was stiff and heavily bandaged, painkillers adding to your collection of prescription meds on the nightstand.

“Hey,” he whispers, gaining the attention of your wet gaze. You must’ve been crying for a long time judging by the redness of your eyes. “How was the hospital?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t believe you. He sat on the edge of your bed, itching to grab your hand again but needing a good reason. “When I got your call… it scared me shitless.” A chuckle escapes him, “My dad was ready to clobber me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says, “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You did nothing wrong. This was all just a terrible ordeal.”

You sniff, “I’m tired.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I just wanted to check on you before bed. I should let you sleep.”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

His chest tightens like earlier. He aches to touch you again, seeing you so fragile and tense. “(Y/N)…”

“Every time I close my eyes I see that thing clawing at me.” Another tear escapes your eyeline and runs down your cheek, “I’m too scared to sleep.”

“Well…” Stiles picks at a seam in his pants, “How about you call for your mom? I’m sure she’ll…”

“I don’t want to worry them anymore. I’m tired of making them worry so much.”

Stiles chews on his lip, “Hmm, okay. How about I stay? I’ll just sit at your desk and keep watch.”

You watch him with swollen eyes, “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I’m worried about you too. And I feel better knowing I can keep you calm.” He wasn’t going to tell her that for the last three hours he had been replaying their moment outside the ambulance. The way you leaned into him, and he got to hold your hand and listen to you talk about how nice it was to be next to him.

“I want you to stay,” you say quietly. “But you can’t sit in a desk chair all night.” You pat your uninjured hand on the mattress beside you.

Stiles feels warmth flood his cheeks, “Oh, yeah… well – great.” He sits down and stretches out on top of the covers, “This is a much more comfortable spot to keep watch.”

You pull at your blankets, turning towards him and grounding yourself in his presence. “There’s a squeaky floorboard in the hallway. You’ll hear if my parents are coming.” You place a hand on his forearm, “Thank you for being here.”

His throat bobs at your touch, “Always.” And he lays there well into the night, cursing when your hand falls away in your sleep. He waits for sunrise to leave, occupying himself with watching your breathing patterns and checking your pulse every once in a while. He even brushes the hair from your face and flattens the arm bandages that start to unstick.

He was just memorizing the curve of your nose and the slant of your cheekbone when the sun broke over the horizon.

He sighs, rubbing hard at his face. If this is what having a crush on you was like… it was going to consume him.  

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs

[thyfggfy]

It is finally time to talk about THE boy , MY boy - Scott McCall.

When we see him for the first time he dresses as a pretty average teenage boy . His clothes are baggy , comfortable and being stylish is clearly the last thing on his mind.

Lots of basic zip-up hoodies

long sleeves under short sleeves

t-shirts with random graphic designs (if wearing these is not an universal teenage guy experience , I don't know what is)

and a hooded leather jacket here and there.

It is also imprtant to note that Scott did the the little red riding hood reference FIRST . In the very first episode , mind you !

At the start of season 2 Scott has obviously went through a lot which forces him to mature a little bit and that is reflected in his appearance .

He is not wearing anything new , really . He actually has outfits that are pretty similar to what we've seen in the previous season .

It is just that his clothes are a bit more well fitting now.

In season 3 though is when he REALLY updates his wardrobe . Which is very appropriate since this the season when he tries to improve in all regards of his life.

He starts wearing some nice jackets

long sleeve shirts (ignore the blood on the blue one)

a good variety of button - ups (and downs)

and some VERY cute hoodies (for real though. Look at him in the red one . He looks so HUGGABLE)

Parts : Scott.2

Jackson ; Derek ; Liam ; Mason ; Theo ; Stiles.1 , Stiles.2

[delulucoree]

Fake dating pt.2

“Party”

Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon as you were sprawled out on your bed in a tank top and some cozy sleep shorts, you laid comfortably on your bed catching up on your latest show when you suddenly heard a knock from what seemed like the window. You decided to ignore it thinking it was just the show until your heard another knock, you got up from your bed and went towards the window but saw nothing when suddenly stiles head popped out of nowhere making you jump in fear

“Ugh stiles don’t do that! You almost gave me a heart attack” you scolded him, but all he can do was laugh

“I’m sorry, im sorry” he said through his laughter, obviously not sorry at all

“What are you doing here stiles” you sighed slightly annoyed your afternoon was interrupted

“Wha- I can’t visit you anymore? And Scott’s right next to me”

*THUD*

Stiles looked back cringing seeing Scott laying on the floor after falling off the roof “I mean h-he was right next to me…yikes”

“Uuuhhh it hurts” you can hear Scott whine from down below, making you pull a concerned face for your best friend

“Oh walk it off you’ll heal!” Stiles called out “weareolves am I right” he said shaking his head disappointed

“I’m gonna open the front door for you guys, get down-without falling- and check if he’s okay” you left your bedroom walking down the stairs to get to your front door to let your best friends in

You told them to head to your room as you grabbed an ice pack for Scott’s head

“Here ya go” you said handing it to Scott as he laid on your bed

“Thanks” he breathed out wincing as the cold pack touched his head

“So is there a reason you came over…unannounced”

“Uh yeah? Lydia is having a party tonight remember” stiles said

It was only then did you notice their clothing as they had on their “good jeans” as they put it and a nice but casual shirt on

“First off no I don’t remember a party, and two I’m not going” you sighed turning around to sit at your desk

“Yes you are going, and we’re going to have fun, and we’re gonna put our plan into action” stiles stated

Your eyes widen as you looked at stiles confused and signaled that Scott was right there

“Oh yeah I told Scott” he said simply as he shrugged his shoulders

“Are you serious, you were the one who said we couldn’t say anything?!”

“I knoww, but how can I keep anything from this face” stiles said walking up to Scott and giving his cheeks a squeeze and a tap on the head, to which you looked at him unamused with your arms crossed against your chest

“Ok, okay” he sighed out “he saw that I was acting weird and used his wolf powers to pressure me into talking, I couldn’t help it! I felt as if I was in an interrogation room”

“I asked if you were okay?” Scott said confused shoving stiles off him

“Whatever same difference, but don’t try to switch the topic we’re going to that party so cmon get up go get ready” stiles shushed you to your closet so you can change

“Fine, but we’re not staying long and I get to drive there”

“Ughhhhh” stiles and Scott said in union

TIME SKIP TO PARTY AND A TERRIFIED SCOTT AND STILES

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life, and I was attacked by a werewolf”

“I think I’m going to throw up”

“Oh shut up, you guys are so dramatic” you said annoyed walking towards Lydia’s house, the door was open and the place was packed, music booming everywhere, she sure knew how to throw a party you thought

“Okay hold my hand” stiles said holding his hand out for you to grab, your heart started to pound as you placed your hand in his as he lead you through the house, Scott not to far behind

“Cmon let’s grab a drink” you said heading towards the punch bowl “eeu that’s not punch” you said making a face, but downing it anyways knowing it’s probably the only thing that’s going to get you through the night

You stood by stiles the whole time, with his arm around you, him and Scott had a lot more friends after he made team captain of the lacrosse team and stiles by affiliation he too gained a popular crowd of people, you began to grow bored and stiles saw that as he kissed the top of your head asking if you were okay. You blinked at him not saying a word still fazed by the way his lips kissed you even if it was on your head “y/n you alright?” Stiles asked again

“Huh yeah, yeah I’m great I’m actually gonna grab another drink you want anything?” “No I’m good thanks, wait hold up” stiles said turning his head “Scott you want a drink!” Stiles called out over the music to Scott

“Nah man im alright” Scott said, turning towards his friends that he was just speaking with, to which you turned and started walking to the bowl for another drink, but when you got there it was empty

“Ugh seriously?” You said looking around for any other drinks, you walked inside to grab a water instead when you suddenly saw a bottle, an unattended half full bottle of vodka, you looked around to see if anyone was watching as you took a big swing, cringing at the taste

“If that doesn’t get me drunk I don’t know what will” you said heading back to stiles, and as you got outside it all hit you at once, the punch you drank earlier, the two shots you took with stiles and the big swing of vodka you drank “oh no.” You stated

You stumbled towards stiles knocking into people who were also drunk, probably a lot drunker than you

“Hey stiii” you smiled looking up at him, adoring the slight height difference you guys had

“Hey y/n/n?” He looked at you confused “you all good there”

“Mhm all goodd over heree” you giggled

“Right I’m sure, hey Scott we should go I think y/n had too much to drink” stiles said looking over to Scott

“Wha- no! I’m just now having fun we are not *hiccup* leaving” you said crossing you arms over your chest, and if you weren’t so unstable right now you would have stomped your foot as well

“Y/n we’re leaving.” Stiles said turning his head away from you to tell Scott that we’re going, to which you used as a perfect opportunity to escape, because if he got to have fun all night talking to his friends you should to

“Scott you have the keys?”

“Yeah there right here” he said pulling them out of his pocket

“Okay good let’s go” stiles said turning his head to look at you, only to discover that you were gone “ohh no…”

Meanwhile you were inside with everyone else dancing with a group of girls you just met, one of which happened to be Lydia

“Wow y/n didn’t know you were so much fun” Lydia smiled at you grabbing your hand as she danced with you

“Hahaha honestly I didn’t think I can have this much fun” you said drunkenly

“You know we should hang out more”

“Uh yeah duh” you laughed totally forgetting that your best friend who you’re fake dating is in love with her

“Y/n! Y/n/nnn, y/l/n!” You heard stiles and Scott yell out

“Y/n there you are, cmon we’re leaving” stiles said annoyed reaching for you hand

“Stiles I said I don’t want to, leave me alone” you said and continued to dance

“Y/n” you heard Scott say in a warning voice

“Y/n/n these your friends?” You heard Lydia say amused looking at both of them with a smile, more so looking at stiles with a smile, you had to admit stiles had a huge glow up over the summer like growing out his hair, gaining a little more muscle as well as getting taller, you guys had already been at school for a couple days but you guessed Lydia hadn’t seen him until now the way she’s eyeing him

“Yeah there my frie- *hiccup* -nds, and their being annoying” you said rolling your eyes

“That’s it we’re going” stiles said picking you up and out the front door, but you had no energy left to fight back so you just let him and Scott hot on his trail helped stiles put you in the back of the car

You ended up falling asleep, stiles picking you up being the last thing you remember before totally passing out and waking up in bed the next morning with a raging headache and with stiles sleeping on the floor next to your bed and Scott sleeping on the small couch you had in your room practically falling off, “worst night ever” you sighed plopping back into bed and falling back asleep

LATER THAT DAY

“Okay so Lydia was totally checking me out last night you saw that right?!” You heard stiles say as you began waking up

“Yeah man, it was so weird I thought I was dreaming”

“Haha” stiles said nudging Scott “And the way y/n was dancing with her, I mean if she ends up being friends with her this plan might be even easier than I thought”

You closed your eyes and turned your body around now facing away from them, slightly upset that this whole fake dating to get Lydia Martin might actually work.

[dontcallpanic]

Gorgeous @gege-wondering-around tagged me to do the Several Sentence Sunday again becuase you are both incredibly kind and clearly a glutton for punishment (I hope it's okay for you, thank you SO MUCH for taking interest in this daft drabble!) And so, because it's wednesday and days have no meaning in tumblrverse, lets do this!

_______________

Silence falls so suddenly Stiles can hear it ringing.

The reply is too low for him to make out but it sounds more animal than human.

Stiles can’t take it any more. Skin crawling with the flood of adrenalin, he leaps forwards, curls his fingers around the door, and yanks it open.

He stumbles into the lobby, newspaper raised threateningly, in time to see a tall shadow disappearing up the stairs. Above him, the central lobby light flickers fitfully. He spins to see Laura staring furiously after the figure, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

Her… red… eyes?

Holy fucking shit.

Stiles blinks rapidly, physically stepping back. His heart kicks up a frenzied tap-dance in his chest but when he looks again, Laura’s eyes are a lovely, deep chestnut. A trick of the light…

Just a trick of the flickering light.

Fuck. Last night must have affected him more than he thought.

“Stiles?” Laura is staring at him. Her eyes are still shining, overbright and wide with surprise and suppressed tears, but completely, definitely brown.

“I er…” He’s lost for words. His brain struggling to process. He can almost feel it grinding in an effort to get back up and running again. “Sorry – I heard shouting,” he says lamely, waiving the newspaper for emphasis.

He watches closely, still shaken, as Laura visibly pulls herself together, striking a dismissive hand across her eyes and nodding towards his weapon of choice.

“So you thought you’d come to my rescue with… a newspaper?” There’s no heat in her words, if anything she sounds defeated.

Stiles clears his throat. “Well you know… paper beats rock… deeds and words and… yeah. Look, is everything alright?”

Laura shakes her head dismissively, managing a tight, forced smile. “You know, it’s sweet of you to ask. But yes, thank you. Everything is fine.”

Which, of course, means nothing is fine. But he can’t exactly ask her about it. He hardly knows her. He’s met her once, prevented a homicide and now he’s overheard her having a domestic about… burying people?

Stiles nods awkwardly. Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool…

The space stretches between them, taut with awkwardness. What the hell do you even say to that? Who was going to get themselves killed? Why? What for? When? Laura buried someone… implied multiple someones?

Oh god! She’s still looking at him.

This is unbearable.

Say something!

Say… Anything!

“- Did you know ketchup was originally medicine?

_________

So many people have been tagged already but if you've got something you want to share, please, please, please share it! If you've got it, I'd love to read it!

(And to anyone actually reading this - Thanks so much <3 I hope nice things come your way!)

[outtoshatter]

Today's author spotlight: @dear-massacre! She has lots of ~spicy~ fics to choose from!

One shots:

Tension | E | 3k tags: dubious consent, underage, shower sex, porn without plot Summary: Stiles' bedroom tells the whole story: scattered ship bags, empty cans of soda, the muted starting menu for a video game. Next to Stiles is an xbox controller.

Derek grits his teeth. Fucking brat. "Stiles," he barks out, taking a step forward. Stiles snorts in his sleep, but otherwise doesn't respond. Derek crosses the room and grabs Stiles' shoulder. He shakes the bratty fucker, and says, "Wake up, Stilinski."

Stiles' eyes snap open. "What the -" he starts, staring up at Derek with clear alarm. "Mr. Hale?"

"You're late," Derek growls out.

"So you break into my house?" Stiles scoots up the bed. He's the picture of teenage petulance, all pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "That's fucked up."

It is fucked up. Derek sidesteps that particular detail and says, "Get dressed. You're going to school."

"Pass," Stiles sneers. "I'm sick, can't you see?" He coughs into his hand a few times. "So feel free to let yourself out."

"You have no doctor's excuse, and you look fine. This is your third tardy this week. Get up, now."

Stiles lifts his chin defiantly. "Make me."

-

In which Derek is an attendance officer at Beacon Hills High School and out of patience for Stiles' truancy.

The Horror of our Love | E | 4k tags: canon divergence, knotting, porn without plot, feral behavior Summary: "I'm not wearing a muzzle," Derek snaps.

"Look, if you wear this then we're golden! There's no way you can bite through this, Deaton said so."

"Oh well, if Deaton says," Derek says snidely. It's a silly argument. Sure, Deaton is shady and enjoys bending the truth on occasion, but unless it's a complex assassination plan he wouldn't lie about this. Something that Stiles knows that Derek is aware of.

"There's really no reason for him to lie," Stiles points out. "What's your real problem with it?"

"It's demeaning," Derek says through gritted teeth.

"What? No! Lots of werewolves have to wear one of these," Stiles says, waving the muzzle around. The leather and clasps jingle.

Derek sneers at him. "Wolves who can't control themselves."

"Pot and kettle, buddy. Wait, wait," Stiles says hurriedly when Derek turns to leave, "let's just... let's try it, okay? Come on, have I steered us wrong before?"

-

In which Derek can't control himself while having sex with Stiles and needs to be muzzled.

Lace and Cologne | E | 3k tags: light Dom/sub, porn without plot, public sex Summary: Derek leans in close, then, his nose pressed against Stiles’ neck. He inhales slowly, almost like he’s savoring Stiles’ scent. “Did you want me? Like, back in Beacon Hills, did you want me?” Stiles asks, even though he knows the answer already. He just wants to hear it.

“Of course I did,” Derek says, his eyes hooded. The waitress brings their drinks and sets them down on the table before fucking off. “You still wanna be good for me?”

Fuck. He grabs his drink, just an IPA in a frosty glass, and gulps it down. Derek watches, a weird little smile on his face. “Yeah,” Stiles says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “okay.”

“On the floor.”

-

In which Derek and Stiles meet again in a nightclub.

Series:

Bruised Like Violets | E | 3 works tags: magic Stiles, underage, magic Derek, alpha Derek, canon divergence, knotting, horror elements Summary for the first one: Stiles stares at the ceiling, completely flabbergasted. Derek Hale wants him. For real. This isn’t another Lydia situation, where he needs to pine and slowly try to work his way in from the edges of someone’s life.

Derek likes him already. Derek is nice to him. Derek answers his questions and his texts and buys him magical things.

He presses a hand against the spot Derek bit and shivers. That action had felt kind of wolfy, like Derek forgot to pretend to be a human man. Maybe that’s it, then, for Derek. Stiles is someone he doesn’t have to pretend to be human with. Maybe after summer ends, after Boyd and Erica are safely corralled in Beacon Hills, Derek will go back to fucking women like Tina or whatever that chick’s name was.

Stiles isn’t complaining. He’ll take what he can get.

-

In which Derek is a magical werewolf boy and Stiles becomes his emissary.

Go check out aconitehart's AO3 page, and don't forget to mind the tags, leave a kudos and maybe even a comment!

[anadorablack]

Today I met Tyler Hoechlin

I attended a Q&A by him and also talked to him for a few minutes (pictures will follow in the next few days).

Here's what I learned. Some of you may already know, but in case you don't. ;)

Concerning Derek becoming True Alpha at the end of Teen Wolf the Movie

Tyler said he didn't know it was gonna happen at all, and saw it for the first time when he attended the first screening. He finds it super interesting for the future, especially since he reminded us all that no character remains truly dead in the Teen Wolf universe.

(If it's baiting, it's not nice, Tyler. :P )

Concerning Eli's parentage

Tyler hinted that he knows who Eli's mother is but can't say, just in case there's a new movie in the works (which he doesn't know at present).

Being asked what was the biggest plot twist in Teen Wolf according to him

Tyler said that he didn't see it coming when Peter was revealed to be the Rogue Alpha in season one. No one knew in the cast, except for Ian who was told not long before it was shot.

When being asked which Teen Wolf character he'd like to play aside from Derek

Tyler, of course, said Stiles. XD He also said that he finds some 'Stiles-like' qualities to Clark Kent in Superman and Lois, so that, in a way, he got his wish.

When asked which personality traits he shares with Derek

Tyler answered that they shared a strong sense of loyalty, especially towards family. He also said that it was weird, in a way, because sometimes things happened to Derek in the show that had echoes in his own life, and vice-versa.

When asked what Derek's music playlist would sound like

Tyler said he'd find podcasts of barks and wolves howling; listen to a lot of Nirvana and, when in the mood, listen to Mumford and Sons.

When asked who he preferred shooting with on Teen Wolf

Tyler, obviously, said Dylan. He mentioned filming season one and thinking, while shooting their first scene together, that Dylan was going to go places.

When asked what movie/tv show he'd ask people to watch to introduce them to his work

Tyler said that he's been lucky enough to play varied characters in varied works, but that he always goes back to Road to Perdition because it has a deep meaning to him.

Also, his favourite animal is the cheetah, and his favourite colour is green. This is a man of taste. &lt;3

All in all, meeting him was an absolute PLEASURE and I'll talk more about that in a future post. ;)

[phefics]

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞. ophelia. early twenties. she/they. multi-fandom. horror enthusiast, cozy gamer, swiftie & daughter of cain. here to indulge in my slutty fictional fantasies.

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬. do not copy or repost my fics, or feed them to ai. do not follow me if you are under 18. only send requests when i am accepting them & respect my boundaries. read my rules before sending. most importantly: be nice!!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 | 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 | 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 (𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰)

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬. (𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐬)

baldur's gate 3. astarion; karlach; shadowheart

criminal minds. aaron hotchner; derek morgan; emily prentiss; jennifer jareau; penelope garcia; spencer reid

death note. l lawliet; light yagami; misa amane

fear street trilogy. cindy berman; deena johnson; kate schmidt; samantha fraser; simon kalivoda; ziggy berman.

five nights at freddy's. mike schmidt; steve raglan/william afton.

grey's anatomy. addison montgomery; cristina yang; george o'malley; meredith grey.

grishaverse. alina starkov. inej ghafa. jesper fahey. kaz brekker. nina zenik.

harry potter. blaise zabini; cedric diggory; draco malfoy; fred weasley; george weasley; harry potter; hermione granger; ginny weasley; luna lovegood; nymphadora tonks; theodore nott.

miscellaneous. dean winchester (supernatural); kurt kunkle (spree); luke castellan (percy jackson); riff (west side story). roman roy (succession). ryan (thanksgiving 2023). stiles stilinski (teen wolf). sweeney todd (sweeney todd).

saltburn. felix catton; oliver quick

scream. billy loomis; sidney prescott; stu macher

spider-verse. hobie brown; miguel o'hara; peter parker (tasm)

stardew valley. abigail; alex; haley; harvey; leah; maru; penny; sam; sebastian.

stranger things. chrissy cunningham; eddie munson; jim hopper; nancy wheeler; robin buckley; steve harrington.

the hunger games. coriolanus snow; finnick odair; gale hawthorne; haymitch abernathy; johanna mason; katniss everdeen; lucy gray baird; peeta mellark; sejanus plinth; tigris snow.

𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

yes. afab!reader. aus. biting. bondage. choking. degradation. edging. fem!reader. fluff. foot fetish. gender-neutral!reader. hickies. overstimulation. praise. scratching. sex toys. smut. spanking. threesomes. tickling.

maybe. amab!reader. angst. blood-play. “daddy” as a title. dub-con. knife-play. male!reader. parenthood. pregnancy. specific aesthetic for reader. watersports.

no. age-play (sexual or non-sexual). cheating. eating disorders. f!receiving anal. gun-play. incest/step-cest. pedophilia. rape/non-con. scat. vomit.

[sugareey-makes-stuff]

Oh heyyy! It's been a while, but I think this sorta sums up what April into early May was like. Stiles and Derek really got to exercise their foodieness as the weather got warmer to go on more adventures!

>>> I ended up going to a candy shop last month, and that was quite an extravaganza. They were both intrigued by the gumball machine that was bigger them (and apparently for kids 3+). I sadly had to decline when they asked me to get this. >>> Derek kept eyeing these caramel macaroons and got super grumpy when Stiles made him pose with the Baby Shark lollipops. I don't blame him...I guess he didn't like how cheery they were. >>> Meanwhile, Stiles was in absolute bliss when he found gummy tacos and a crap load of Monster drinks! (Which I didn't get, but I got other candy to take back with me...sour belts and peach rings, anyone?!) >>> I also ended up picking up a Mini Brands ball (the foodie version) for funsies. The boys got some nice surprises from this one! The Pizza Hut pizza is tiny AF and kinda sad. There are apparently 96+ things you can get, but I'm still not sure if I want to get another tbh. You know...dupes and such. But there are curly fries in this collection....so we'll have to see. >>> I think Stiles really liked the Jack in the Box breakfast sandwich, and Derek calmed down with a green smoothie and a nice bowl of ramen. All of these items looked pretty awesome. Same with the tuna nigiri!

That's a May part 1 update. Part 2 should be out before the end of the month, so stay tuned! It's def TW On Brand, and super fun!

Want to see more Sterek mini adventures? Stay updated by following the #stereksmolshots tag!

[takaraphoenix]

Camping & Bonding (Part 3)

Tags: m/m, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Jackson Doesn't Leave, Pack Mom Stiles, Pack Feels, True Mates, fluff, hurt/comfort, camping, mutual pining, m/f

Main Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Side Pairings: Scott/Allison, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Cora Hale, Scott McCall, Allison Argent

@writersmonth Prompts Part 3: flame + forest

Summary: Stiles thinks the pack should go camping, as a bonding exercise. Much to his surprise, Derek agrees with his plan. So the pack goes off into the mountains to camp together.

This Fic on AO3 | This Fic on FFNet

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

--

Part 3: The Bonfire

Dinner was a huge success. Everyone huddled around the bonfire, the flame throwing that soft glow that set the mood. Laughter and conversation filled the space between them, shoulders bumping, arms wrapped around each other. And after food, there had to be dessert, of course. Who would Stiles be if he hadn't brought marshmallows, crackers and chocolate, after all?

"Here," Derek offered Stiles a smore.

He'd been making multiple ones at the same time, handing them out to the entire pack. Stiles found himself happy to accept the treat. The bonfire painted beautiful shadows on Derek, the shadows of his lashes dancing over his cheeks. It made his Sourwolf look unusually soft.

There was laughter and there were stories. Surprisingly, Boyd told the best ghost stories, he really knew how to deliver them. And if Stiles ducked just a little closer to Derek, the Alpha at least didn't seem to mind, or notice. Stiles munched on another smore and enjoyed the closeness and warmth from his Alpha. He may not have werewolf senses but he still relished in Derek's scent.

"We should do this more often," Allison smiled. "Though I'll come hunting with you tomorrow."

Derek hummed softly. "We used to do this, when I was young."

"I remember," Cora whispered. "Faintly. But… it was nice. I remember dad's barbecue. Mom and the other older wolves would go and hunt, and dad would prepare dinner."

"Yeah?" Stiles kept his voice gentle, trying to get the Hales to talk more.

They so rarely brought up their family, their old pack. Especially not in a positive context. Filled with pain and grief, maybe. But they rarely shared good memories. Stiles wanted to hear every good story they had, he wanted to know everything that made Derek happy.

"Why didn't your dad go hunting with the rest of the pack?" Scott asked confused.

"Our dad was human," Derek replied, his eyes on the bonfire but the look very far away. "There were multiple humans in the pack, mates to the wolves and children who took after their human parent. Dad took care of them, made sure they'd feel bonded with the pack too."

Stiles blinked in awe. He hadn't known that Derek and Cora's father was human. The Alpha Mate had been human? Was that a thing? Sure, he knew the pack valued him, but at times, he still felt a distance. There were things he just couldn't do, or feel, because he was human. But if someone who had the second highest rank in the pack – higher than the right or right hand – could be human? Then maybe the difference between werewolf and human didn't matter all that much.

"Going out to hunt together was actually an exercise in coordinated attack too, on top of being a bonding experience," Derek whispered, the far-away look turning more sad. "Mom… always knew how to make the work and training aspects fun. I just…"

Without thinking on it, Stiles reached out a hand to rest on Derek's arm in comfort. He knew where the Alpha was going with this. He thought he wasn't as good an Alpha as Talia, couldn't live up to the Hale legacy. And maybe he wasn't, but he was on his way. He was working on himself. Becoming a better Alpha, the longer he was one. With Stiles' help, he'd started teaching the betas how to control themselves without pain, by finding their own anchors – the way Stiles had helped Scott channel his love for Allison as his anchor. Derek wasn't a bad Alpha, he was just someone born to be a beta, who had never been taught to be an Alpha, and he had been raised in a pack of born wolves, so he struggled to relate to the ones who'd been turned through the bite. Derek turned to look at Stiles with soft, warm eyes and the smallest hint of a smile.

"We could make this like a once a month thing," Isaac leaned back, looking up into the starry sky. "Going away for a weekend to go camping together."

"That sounds like a good idea," Lydia agreed.

Lydia, who'd argued against camping and sleeping on the ground with insects all around. But she too could see that this meant something to Derek. They all could see it. The closer their pack grew, the more in tune with each other did they get. Jackson, with his arm around Lydia, hummed his agreement, Boyd and Scott voicing their enthusiasm for the idea, everyone else smiling in encouragement and confirmation at their Alpha.

"It's getting late," Derek cleared his throat and got up. "Let's clean up and head to bed. I want to go on a morning run with you at sunrise."

They all worked together cleaning up and putting all the left over food away so it won't attract any wild animals to their camp ground before each duo headed into their tent. Which was when the challenging part started for Stiles. He tried not to look at Derek while the Alpha got changed because werewolves could smell arousal, and instead focused on getting changed.

Once in his shirt and sweatpants, he settled in, burrowing deep in his sleeping bag. His eyes were on Derek though, the older man laying so close. There was something near domestic to getting ready for bed and turning in together like this and Stiles' heart was thumping like a rabbit. He shuddered at the cold of the night. Right. Because sleeping in a tent in the forest during autumn might not be the greatest idea ever. He pulled his sleeping bag closer around himself.

"You're cold," Derek noted, eyebrows furrowed.

"Amazing observation skills, Sourwolf," Stiles gave him a deadpan. "What gave it away? The way I am burritoing myself into my sleeping bag, or the shivering?"

A soft, annoyed growl and an eye-roll was all Stiles' hard-worked sarcasm got him though. It said a lot about how far they'd come that all Stiles got for being obnoxious was mild annoyance and that Stiles fully stopped feeling threatened by any kind of growling happening.

"C'mere," Derek huffed and lifted his own sleeping bag.

It took Stiles embarrassingly long to piece together what Derek was suggesting because his brain fully refused to believe that was actually happening. "Do you want to cuddle with me?"

The look Derek gave him at that should actually physically hurt, it was quite impressive. "You're cold. I'm not. Wolves run hotter. You can also stay over there, freezing your ass off, if you prefer."

"Oh, hell no," Stiles huffed and dove straight for the Alpha.

He gave a content little sigh as he snuggled up to the living radiator known as Derek Hale. Wolves really did run hot. Squishing his cheek against Derek's chest, he did his best to press up against Derek for maximum heat exposure. Derek made a small noise that Stiles couldn't really tell what it meant before he wrapped his own sleeping bag around them both.

And this totally wasn't weird. It wasn't. Not at all. Pack cuddled all the time. They had puppy piles during pack nights, when the wolves returned from their run they'd all huddle together in the den in an entanglement of limbs. Just because this was only Derek and Stiles, all alone, did not make it weird, it was just like pack cuddles. Nothing weird going on at all. No, sir.

"This was a good idea, Stiles," Derek's voice was… warm. "Thank you."

"Thank you, huh," Stiles grinned a little. "Gotta mark that down in my calendar."

Derek heaved a sigh at that. "Shut up, Stiles."

"See, now that's more like the Sourwolf I know," Stiles snuggled a little closer. "Night, Der."

Derek tucked Stiles under his chin, arms around him. "Good night, Stiles."

/break\

Running wild in the forest had felt so good. He loved doing it at the preserve, but here, in the mountains, mapping a territory he wasn't familiar with yet, and with his pack at his side, it felt different. Hunting down their dinner himself. They needed to do that again. And bringing the game to his mate, if Derek was able to turn into a full wolf he would have wagged his tail in excitement when Stiles praised him for bringing him the deer. Human Derek simply grunted.

It hadn't even hurt to talk about his family, like it usually did. There was just… warmth, in sharing this with his pack. Happiness. It nearly felt like healing. Like he was finally reclaiming what had been taken from him – his land, his home, his pack. He was on the right path. A big part of him still wished he wouldn't have to, but the other part knew he couldn't change the past and that clinging onto it and onto the pain wasn't going to do him any good. His betas had shown him that. By trying to cling to how things used to be, he had alienated them and nearly lost them.

He did come to regret Stiles' sleeping arrangement choices though, because when they headed into their tent, Derek found himself all alone in a small, enclosed space with Stiles. Sleepy, cute Stiles, shivering, cold Stiles. And being unable to watch his mate shiver close by, Derek had offered Stiles to sneak into his sleeping bag. Just to keep Stiles warm, because he didn't want the human to catch a cold. Because Derek was being a good Alpha these days. Good Alphas didn't let their pack members freeze. If his inner wolf was purring happily and if Derek slept better that night than he had since the fire, then that was between him and his inner wolf.

Waking up surrounded by Stiles' scent, with his mate safely tucked against his chest, was the best feeling Derek could imagine and he wished every day could start like this. He wished Stiles could be his. But Stiles deserved so much better than what Derek had to offer. Though he was working on himself, he still struggled with communication, he still growled more than he talked, snapped when people didn't understand the things that were natural and obvious to him. He was still plagued by his past, by his survivor's guilt twice over, by all the trauma he'd been through. That was too much to burden anyone with. Why would Stiles want to be stuck with all of that. With him.

"Mornin', Sourwolf," Stiles' voice was rough with sleep.

His nose rubbed against Derek's collarbone, making Derek shudder at the skin-contact and at how cold it was. He instinctively pulled Stiles closer to warm him up more. Derek wanted to stay in this moment forever, the soft noises of the forest waking up outside, the morning chill in the air but the warmth of his mate on his chest as they slowly woke up.

The moment was destroyed by Scott opening the tent. "He—ey, Derek, what about the ru-"

The beta abruptly stopped talking and stared at them in mild bewilderment. Because they were cuddling. Because that wasn't something Derek and Stiles did. Should do. Reluctantly, Derek let go of his mate, allowing Stiles to sit up and stretch. His shirt riled up just a little, revealing a sliver of pale skin doted with moles that Derek had not yet gotten to see.

"Less chipper this early in the morning, Scotty boy," Stiles yawned. "Go and put that energy into hunting down breakfast. No, not hunt. Don't bring me raw meat for breakfast. How about you round up the other puppies and make sure they're all awake and ready because the way I know you guys, Erica is probably still asleep and Jackson is still doing his hair, so no point in bothering Derek yet. Make sure everyone is ready by the time Derek joins you. Shoo, now."

Scott gave them one last doubtful look but then he simply obeyed. Something that was affecting Derek more and more the longer it went on. Stiles commanding the betas. It was marvelous now naturally Stiles took over his role as Alpha Mate without even knowing. Derek's inner wolf was whining happily and practically begging for belly-rubs from Stiles. And that, Derek was never going to admit. Instead, he turned to get changed.

"Speaking of hunt. I didn't know you could take apart a deer."

"C'mo—on. Sheriff's son!" Stiles motioned vaguely. "In a small town! With a forest!"

"Flailing disaster who keeps falling flat on his face," Derek argued dryly. "Would not trust with a gun or a knife. Much less both of them."

Stiles narrowed his eyes in indignation but he knew Derek was right so he didn't argue, making Derek smirk. Beyond the way Stiles complimented him as a leader, Derek loved their banter the most. He loved how Stiles had never, at no point in their relationship, backed down from him. Even when Derek had still been a stranger and a danger, Stiles had been filled with snark. Derek loved it. Derek loved Stiles.

[voidsbabe]

People being people

Pairing: Stiles x reader

Summary: Stiles meets a stranger in a coffee shop. Just people being people.

Warning: English isn’t my first language so I’m trying my best.

Hey guys, this is something new. I guess I had to put my feeling somewhere and well this story is just it. I don't know if you are going to like this. I hope you will. Enjoy ❤️ and let me know what you think!!

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

„I met someone” you hear and suddenly the time stops. First punch in your face. You don’t hear how the glass shatters, you don’t even feel dropping your wine glass. You look at the man that was yours for the past 3 years and suddenly you don’t recognize him.

„And she’s pregnant…” Second punch in the face. You gasp desperately for air. You feel your throat closing and sudden burst of tears coming up but you can’t say anything. You just stare at Theo  for whoever know how long. It may be minutes or hours. It definitely feels like years to you. 

„W-what?” You whisper unable to speak louder.

„I know it just…I don’t know what should I tell you. I know that nothing I say will ease your pain. I just…I’m so sorry y/n” he says. You look him in the eyes, but there’s nothing. Just void. And suddenly you realize that he has never loved you. Especially not in the way that you did. Not with his whole heart. 

Theo stands up and kiss you in the forehead  „goodbye y/n”.

You close your eyes trying to control the wave of sadness that’s filling your heart but it doesn’t help at all. You burst in tears right where you are. Right here. In your favorite place in the whole world. In yours and his coffee shop. Yours and his spot. Right where he asked you to be his girlfriend. You sit there, tears dropping at the table and you just can’t move. 3 years of beautiful relationship just died. Like it didn’t mean anything. 

„What the hell am I supposed to do?” You whisper to yourself.

„Well, I think that you’re supposed to heal from that” you hear someone saying behind you. You slowly turn around and see HIM. 

„I know you don’t really know me but let me buy you a tea and maybe a couple? Ok, a few boxes of tissues.” He says and smile at you. „I’m Stiles by the way”.

You look at him „I’m y/n.”

„It’s nice to meet you y/n but I wish the circumstances were better.” Says Stiles and sits next to you. „I know that I’m just a stranger but maybe if u tell me what happened and why such a pretty girl is crying right in the middle of the coffee house on Monday. You will feel a little bit better. Im guessing it has something to do with that guy who just left. Inferring from the fact that you are crying, I’m guessing he probably broke up with you.”

You sigh in disbelief. He’s really good at reading the situation and people.

„Well. Technically he left me because he has met someone AND got her pregnant. Can you believe this?” You say. You don’t know him so whatever. You are just a random girl in his life and so is he in yours. So yeah, what the hell.

„Wow. I DID NOT expect that. What an asshole. I’m sorry y/n. You deserve better.” He says and smiles at me. I rub the tears out of my face.

„Yeah I do. You are absolutely right. I hope he catches chlamydia” you joke and then magic happens. He laughs. He laughs so beautifully. It’s like music to your ears.

„You have a nice laugh” you say without thinking. Two red stains appears on your cheeks as you realize what you’ve just said. „I’m sorry. It’s not really an appropriate things for me to say especially in my position.”

„No, no. It is appropriate because we are just people being people.” He says and looks at you smiling.

 —————————💗——————————-

„We are just people being people. That’s what you’ve told me 5 years ago in that coffee house. It was at this moment that I’ve realized that we’re just two strangers who sit together. One broken soul and as I know now my guardian angel who fixed that soul and heart. After that one meeting was many more. There were just some random meetings like going to movies or going skating. But later our meeting weren’t really meeting of two friends. They were dates and we both knew that. I remember that one particular date or as I should say not-a-date where Stiles texted me at 3 am to dress up and sneak out of my apartment to go out as I thought. He took me on a late night drive and we were singing our favorite songs. Suddenly my life came together and I was feeling it in every cell in my body. I was and I am so happy. Little did I know that Stiles will randomly in the middle of the song ask me to be his girlfriend. Of course I said yes just like I said yes when he kneeled on one knee in Paris. I guess If I said no I wouldn’t be standing here in white dress.” You laugh and look with tears of happiness on your husband. „To the point, after that stupid day 5 years ago I NEVER imagined myself with someone else other than my ex. I’ve never imagined myself that happy again. Alive and happy. But here I am. A short conversation led me to the most amazing, beautiful and caring human that I could ever met. I have never thought I will find myself completely and utterly happy and in love with someone but here I am. Stiles, baby you are my everything and I’m so grateful that I have you in my life and right now that I can share my life with you till death do us parts. I love you.” You end your monologue and see Stiles raising his glass 

„To us my love” he says and drinks his champagne.

„To us” you repeat after him.

Who thought that people being people would let to dating and marriage? Who thought that being just kind to a stranger would led to that? Well, you definitely didn’t. 

~~~~~~~~~~🎀~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading!!

Love, Sue <3

[mysticallystilinski]

camping with stiles slow burn smut ?

sparks | s. stilinski x fem!reader | smut

summary: playing with fire is guaranteed to get you burnt, but in this situation you wouldn’t mind getting a little spicy.

warnings: swearing, slight angst, y/n being super sensitive and tons of smut

a/n: { first smut i’m posting on here, and it obvi has to be about stiles! hope you enjoy love <3 }

“NO NO NO HELL NO.” you exclaim while spotting the spider on the lower half of your sleeping bag. “there is absolutely no fucking way i’m going to sleep here tonight.” you yelled once again. “y/n, can you ever just shut the fuck up?” stiles exclaims. how about you shut the fuck up you fuck face. having the spend the night with stiles wasn’t ideal, but you thought you could work it out. seems to be that your idea was wrong, and you are going to curse yourself for the next 12 hours of your life.

“now who’s quiet?” stiles says with a sly smirk on his face. 11 hours 38 minutes. that is the amount of time until you are back in your nice and cozy bed in beacon hills. for now you are stuck up in the woods, with no cell service, and absolutely no way to get out of this seem to be bonding moment with stiles; set up by the pack in efforts to make you two get along. kira and scott have been planning it since the day you two met. that day was the beginning of the bickering of your ‘enemyship’ as lydia says.

“maybe i wouldn’t be so quiet, if it wasn’t for you always being so obnoxious.” you spit out. his face contorts into a seemingly frown until the brunette starts to wheeze. “you really thought you did something y/n.” he says without failure of his laugh. his laughter echoed the quiet woods and god did you want to kill him. 11 hours and 20 minutes. “please just leave me alone the rest of the trip, that’s something that would really help.” you say.

without effort, stiles made you upset once again. you don’t know if it was the intention or just a joke but damn did it really hurt. without saying anything else you head into your camping bag and shut the zipper as quick as you possibly can. it was embarrassing enough being on this trip with him, but for him to see you cry because of his words was a whole other thing. you sit in your camping bag and it seemed to be dead silent. finally, no stiles, and only 11 hours and 15 minutes left of this stupid fucking trip. being caught in your own thoughts didn’t help you realize that the camper has been opened once again and a seemingly apologetic stiles was on the other side.

“hey, i’m sorry for before, i didn���t mean to make you upset.” he said apologetically. that was really sweet; oh shut up it probably was one of his other jokes. “no it’s seriously fine, don’t worry about it.” you say with snide in your voice. “geez y/n, i didn’t mean anything by it, maybe you should stop being so sensitive by everything” while he whispers the last part. “oh my fucking god.. it’s not my fault i have to be stuck in here with you” you say as you stand up from your place on the hard ground. “you seriously always seem to be a dick around me, and i never did anything to you.” your voice starts to raise as his eyes lower upon onto you.

“it’s not my fault you’re like obsessed with me or something” he laughs. “jesus stiles. are you really that full of yourself?” you laugh back. your hands start the clench as the anger inside you builds up second by second. steam seems to be flowing out of you being his eyes start to widen as your voice heightens. “SERIOUSLY PLEASE STILES GET A FUCKING LIFE.” you retort. all that goes through your head is how much you hate ruin and wish you would have never agreed to this.

his mind was filled with other things, things like what positions he could take you in or how hot you seemed to be when you were mad. he wanted to just let you keep talking forever at that rate because of how much it turns him on. “can i show you how much i hate you?” you say trying to walk off. you were quickly shown that he didn’t want you to leave because you felt a heavy tug on your hand from his.

stiles pulled you into him and placed his soft lips onto yours. he kissed you with passion and lust, adoringly with poison. he just wanted to touch you, so that’s what he did. he placed his hands upon your ass, but you didn’t seem to mind as you kissed him back with as much lust as he did. it was inevitable, you two getting together. the pack spotted the tension from day one of meeting you; even if that tension was anger at first.

you pulled back, out of breath in attempt to say something, anything. you were about to scold stiles and ask what the hell he was doing but he pulled you right back in again. with no hesitation he pulled back and sat on the floor waiting for you to join him. he pulled off his dark red flannel and his undershirt in a slight struggle. you watched his attempt and chuckled, wow stiles still clumsy while trying to fuck me. you took the bottom of his shirt and lifted it above his head easily. he looked back up at you with lust and him being slightly out of breath from that action.

in attempts to keep the mood you slowly took of your tank top; just leaving you in nothing but a lace bra and your skirt. his breath staggered at the sight of you, so he took your hand and pulled you down onto his lap. he immediately looked into your eyes then pulled you in to kiss you. his hands daringly caressed your body in attempts to feel your every curve and crevice. don’t get it wrong, you loved making out with stiles but something just felt off. maybe it was the clothes still on you.

you stopped kissing him and lead his hands to the band of your skirt. you waited for him to pull it down but he didn’t get the cue; so you had to manually put his hands and pull down your skirt. he did it with ease, skillfully. “nice moves stilinski.” you huff out. he gradually stops pulling down your skirt to say “do you wanna do it yourself?”. “maybe i will.” you say. you place your hands onto the floor to get up but he pulls you back in and starts to finish what he was doing before.

this time your skirt comes off quickly with ease and no hesitation from the one doing it. you were left in just panties and your lacy bra. he threw your skirt on the other side of the camping bag and it left a thump in the quiet of night. you couldn’t help but feel so bare when he only has his shirt off so you had an idea. “stand up”, you say. he quickly gets up off the floor and stands on the hard ground. you slightly crawl over to him in attempts to get closer to his dirty jeans.

you take one hand and grip onto his belt and the other to undo it. you heard him breathe in sharply and quickly exhale as his belt buckle soon becomes undone. you see out of the corner of your eye, his hand running through his soft hair. you unbutton his pants and quickly pull them down to the bases of his ankles. you pull back away from him, signaling for him to finish the rest. he steps out of his pants and heads back to the ground in only his boxers.

you were quick to get back on top of him and start to kiss him. your mouth lands farther and farther from his mouth to his neck. you slightly suck on his pale neck in attempts to make love bites. stiles exhales in and out, trying to be quiet but you want him to show you how much he wants you. you unlatch from his skin, “show me how much you want me stiles.” he pushes you slightly off of him and turns you onto your back. his body presses against yours and you can feel his hard bulge through the thin layers of underwear.

his breath gets caught in his throat as he places his lips onto yours. he forces his body down yours as his lips get closer, and closer to your pussy. once he arrives, he pushes your body up in attempt to get your underwear off your body, and it works. he slides your panties off with ease. stiles discards them to the other side of the tent, and sets his eyes back onto you. his eyes begin the pulsate as he lowers his head towards your soaking wet cunt. in a quick second, with no hesitation he latched his rough lips onto your pussy. you gasped in a sharp breath out of shock as he dives his tongue around your throbbing clit. your thighs sucked his head in deeper as your begging moans made it clear he should continue.

“stiles please, oh my god,” you say in a quick breath. he hums to your cunt and you can feel the chuckle pulsate throughout your delicious body. his mind was focused on pleasing you, while yours was set on finishing. he made it clear, he wasn’t going to stop until you came on his face. your moans became louder as the slim boy devoured his way through your soaking wet folds and all around your pussy. he gripped on your ass for support as he began to go deeper and deeper. you felt as though this couldn’t get any better, and your high was approaching.

stiles unlatched from your pussy, “what the fuck stilinski?”, you yell; clearly out of breath from this devilish act. as soon as you were gonna retort again, he stuck a finger into you. you huffed out a loud sigh in release. he slowly pumped his long finger in and out of you. you could see his devilishly hot smirk on his face as he began to pump it faster. he soon added a second finger into the mix and went down on you once again. “stiles, please oh my god go deeper,” you moan out. stiles starts to go deeper with the two fingers, while his mouth works on your throbbing clit.

you feel your high begin to almost release as the fingers and tongue are enough to make you start to shake. “stil- stiles,” you say while being out of breath. your legs start to clench around his body as he continues to go at a fast pace. it drive you absolutely wild, at how good he was at this. your high was close to hitting, so when he stuck a third finger in you near close to screamt. you were a moaning mess, and very messy. stiles unlatched his mouth from your cunt and you say gleaming cum all over his face. “jesus y/n, you did so good,” he said while being out of breath.

he was such a sight, messy hair, and puppy dog eyes. “now it’s my turn for me to please you”, and without hesitation you pushed stiles onto his back and hovered against his boxers. you grabbed the waistband and started to pull them down to his ankles. you took his cock into your hand and started to slowly pump it. you took one finger and slid it across the tip. stiles huffed out in pleasure as you aligned the tip with your cunt and slowly lowered yourself down onto it. you felt him instantly fill you up. he soon was deep inside you, and it felt magical. you didn’t mind the slow thrust of stiles going deep inside you.

“oh my god y/n, you feel so good,” stiles has to exclaim. your cheeks began to be rosy by overstimulation, and the fact that he’s praising you. you began to force yourself to go deeper. he felt so good inside you. he wanted more, he began to thirst his hips deeper to gain the maximum amount in you. “stiles, i love how this feels,” you groan out. you felt his cock start to twitch inside, so you started to grind upon him. his moans began to be louder as you clenched yourself around his base. “y/n please, i’m about to cum,” and as soon as he said it you felt him unleash his load into you. at the very same time you began to convulse and feel your orgasm approach you once again. “stiles- oh my god,” you say. stiles felt the same amount of bliss you did in that very moment, and maybe even more. as soon as you approached your finish, you slowly got off of him and fell against the bottom of the floor.

“you good?”, he says calmly. “yes i’m so good”, you say slyly. 10 hours and 20 min. “so are we good y/l/n?”, he smirks. “very good,” you laugh. you seem to feel calm and safe around him suddenly. his smirk was just too cute and too hard not to kiss. you reached in again and placed your lips onto his. he smiled into the kiss and raveled his fingers into your hair. why do i have to feel this way about him. you pulled back from this kiss just to see his pretty smirk, and you did.

10 hours, maybe i should just go camping once again with stiles. i wouldn’t mind. even if he is a dick, i’d like to suck his for once.



[tawneybel]

Note: Happy belated Pride! Some favorite LGBTQ horror characters. And a reminder I don’t tolerate homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, etc. on my blogs. As a cis woman with PCOS, I sure as hell do not support transmisogyny.

This blog might be primarily reader inserts, but sometimes I just like to discuss miscellaneous characters. Also, reporting hateful posts here and on Twitter is just depressing.

1. Amazon Eve from American Horror Story: Freak Show  

This and Coven are my favorite seasons, but it’s like Puella Magi where I can’t rewatch because Freak Show made me sad. I love Eve’s maternal attitude and zero tolerance for BS. 

2. the Chemist from American Horror Story: Red Tide 

I like psychedelic drug-themed horror (see Mandy and Brain Damage), but I haven’t watched much evil pharmacology so the first half of Double Feature was interesting.

3-4. Miss Spink and Miss Forcible from Coraline 

The fact they’re an item completely flew over tiny Tawney’s head when she read the book. My family watches British mysteries, so I grew up with quirky old ladies and love seeing them in horror/fantasy. 

5. Matthew Brown from Hannibal

Yeah, there’s Will and Hannibal’s dynamic, but what about the orderly’s crush on the former? 

6. Dani Moonstar from The New Mutants 

The movie did have its flaws. Dani and Rahne’s relationship wasn’t one of them. I recently started reading X-Men comics and it’s a shame they aren’t a couple on-page. 

7. Herbert West from Re-Animator

Another mad scientist! This time, one with a huge crush on his roomie! The only person he’s nice to! 

8. Robin Buckley from Stranger Things

I like that she and Steve remained friends. Even if her first stated crush was on a schoolmate who sings like a Muppet in labor. 

9. Danny Mahealani from Teen Wolf

There’s actually a fair amount of gay/bisexual guys on the show. Stiles is implied to be bi, Jackson comes out in season six, Ethan is there, Brett dances with girls and boys, Corey/Mason is my (canon M/M) OTP… Danny was there from the beginning, though. 

10. Raúl Cocolotl from Wendell & Wild

Good punk representation for a kids’ (PG-13) movie. He and Kat are both punks, yet their attitudes are different.