#hey so i was in a daze 4am making scribbles

[theinkchild]

March 2020 as an angel Sept 2020 still as a lazy as hell, angel.

[curlswithcreativity]

Smell the Roses - Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Prompt: “Why are you bleeding?”

A/N: I think this is the first Stiles piece I’ve written? I miss my freckly boi. I should have proofed this more but I’m out of energy!!! sorry!!! Thanks @musiciatee for the prompt

Teen Wolf Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

The warmth of the room was not helping your inability to stay awake; you found your attention drifting quickly, and you hoped that Lydia would lend you her notes for next period's class if you were nice enough. Try as you might, you found your head bobbing, and your eyes fluttering to half open slits as you listened to Coach Finstock drone on about scarcity, efficiency, and sovereignty.

The sharp whack of a small projectile caused your eyes to whip open as you sat up quickly, looking around for the source of the disruption. Your eyes landed on the messy haired, freckled boy sitting in the row across from you. You glowered. Stiles mimed yawning before acting out a comical snore and you found yourself holding back a smirk at his theatrics. He gestured wildly to the crumpled ball of a note he had thrown at you, and you picked it up daintily to study its contents.

 ​Stop staying up until 4am watching that dumb doctor show.

Glancing back at up at him, he fixed you with a pointed, haughty look and you rolled your eyes.

 Coach was facing the blackboard, and you used this opportunity to tear a narrow strip of paper from your notebook. You hastily scrawled your response, Stop going out and playing in the forest until 4am, before lobbing it in Stiles' direction. He caught it easily in his uplifted hand, opening it under his desk while you studied him. He chuckled and scribbled down his retort.

 I'm not the one who can't keep their eyes open, Y/N.​

 You crumpled the small piece of paper and tossed it into your bag as Coach turned around to study the class for an answer. When his back was to you once more, you sent over your reply to Stiles.

 Bold of you to assume that's not because of Finstock's lesson. Stiles snorted loudly and quickly covered his face as Coach whipped around, studying the young man with contempt.

 "Something funny, Bilinski?"

 Stiles straightened in his chair, wiggling his pencil between his fingers as he pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, Coach. I was just suddenly struck by the fact that my generation will be in charge of the economy one day and you're probably going to have a huge impact on us future stock investors."

 Coach shuddered as he processed what had been said. "That is a truly terrifying thought. But keep it to yourself next time. People smarter than you are trying to learn, here."

 You snickered and tried to pass it off as a small cough as Stiles sunk back into his seat raising his eyebrows and giving you a triumphant grin at his deflection. Following your close call, the two of you remained uncharacteristically silent until the bell rang to release you a few short minutes later. You shoved your books into your bag quickly in an attempt to escape the crowdedness of the hallways on your way to grab a coffee, but you slowed when you heard Stiles calling after you. He was fumbling with his textbooks, shoving them into his open backpack haphazardly as he tried to catch up to you.

He knocked into a desk in his hurry, groaning and clutching at his thigh as he limped out the door. "Ow. Damn, why do you always have to move so fast?"

 You shook your head wearily, clutching your bag tightly to your side as the two of you headed towards the front entrance. "Stilinski, it's a damn miracle you're still alive." He grinned at the statement, pulling his bag higher on his shoulder as he matched his pace to yours. Your hustle had paid off; you were far ahead of the crowd by the time the masses finally left their classrooms.

 "Clearly the higher powers at be realize it would be cruel to deny the world of such a gorgeous specimen of a human being." He mumbled absently as he rubbed at his growing bruise.

 "Right..." You drawled as you searched for your purse for your keys. "Are you sure it's because not even the Devil can handle you?"

 "I mean, it definitely could be that I'm too hot for hell, Y/N. Yes, thank you for bringing up such an insightful point." He was relentless. You had already made the short distance to your car, and you leaned against the frame for support as Stiles moved to the passenger side door without speaking. You raised an eyebrow quizzically and he paused, his long fingers grasping the handle. "What? Was I not invited?"

 You shrugged, pulling open the door to the backseat to throw your bag in. "I honestly don't think you would listen if I said you weren't allowed to come with me. I accepted that a long time ago." He pondered your words, raising his shoulders and nodding in agreement as he slid into the car. He was already tinkering with your seats and the air conditioning when you closed your door behind you.

 "I think you take my presence for granted, Y/N/N.” He mused. “One day, you'll be all like, "Hey, where's that anxious young man, Stiles, who I love so much?" And I'll be off somewhere, surrounded by models who have come to love and appreciate my intricate and complex levels of humour and intelligence so much so that they decided to create a town in my honour. How will you feel then, huh?"

 He was staring at you so intently, you were losing the thread of whether he was joking or not. You searched his eyes, finding nothing but deep pits of amber instead of answers. You shoved the keys into the ignition after clipping on your seat belt, promptly ignoring his question. "Is Scott busy? Why aren’t you harassing him?"

 The freckled young man sighed, and shoved his backpack down between his feet, rolling his eyes when you reached across his chest to pull out the seat belt he had been struggling with. "He's playing hooky with Allison, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm a joy to be around, and you need to stop and smell the roses." Stiles quickly began fiddling with your radio, letting out a small huff of protest when you slapped his fingers away.

 "Come on, you know the driver picks the music." Stiles groaned dramatically as he played with the window controls, the front and back windows rising and lowering, much to your annoyance.

 "The rule only applies if the driver has good taste."

 You gasped in contempt, your fingers sliding over the volume knob to increase the sound in an act of defiance. "I'm sorry you're uncultured? What's wrong with Leon Bridges and Nat King Cole?"

 "You don't want me to answer that."

 By this point in your relationship, you were surprised your eyeballs were still in your head, and that you hadn't somehow developed a rare muscle strain as a result of the constant eye rolling you seemed to partake in in Stiles' company. "You are, by far, the biggest baby I have ever met. And stop messing with my windows."

 He pouted indignantly and crossed his arms, his leg bouncing wildly as you continued down the empty road to the nearest coffee chain. "Then entertain me. Or let me drive…you're slower than my dad."

 "Stiles, I am a safe driver. And the speed limit is 35. I'm doing 40."

 "No one actually drives that close to the limit." He scoffed as you slowed down for a stray pedestrian. "You drive like you're making a mad break from the nursing home. You're like, the opposite of Quicksilver or the Flash. You're so slow, a baby who hasn't learned how to walk yet could 100% beat you in a race."

 Your lips lifted into a smile as you checked your blind spots before turning on your signals to switch lanes. "I'm fine with that, Mr. My-daddy-gets-me-out-of-parking-tickets."

 If Stiles had intended to respond, he didn't get to. The deafening crunch of metal and the intense force of the speeding car that collided with yours pulled a loud gasp from your lips. Your body slammed back against the driver's seat, your breath caught in your chest at the suddenness of the impact. Time seemed funny to you. It would have been only a few seconds that had passed, but it had seemed so much longer than that.

 Dazed, you turned to look at Stiles who was observing you with increasing distress. From your position, you could see how a speeding car would have missed this little road if they had turned off the main street; they wouldn't have had a lot of time to correct if they hadn't spotted the yield sign. Your friend’s hand grabbed your arm, and you drew your attention from your window and the smoke that was emanating from your hood outside.

 "Are you okay?" You murmured, feeling oddly constrained in your position behind the wheel as Stiles' hands brushed over you with a gentle urgency. His face was pale, but he seemed fine to you until you noticed the redness on his hand. "Hey, what-.”

"Oh my god, Y/N, you're bleeding. Why are you bleeding?" His words didn't make a lot of sense; if you were bleeding, why was he the one with blood on his hands? You yelped when his fingers brushed over your thigh, and you realized that the pressure you were feeling was a result of your buckled door and the strip of metal that had sliced into your upper leg.

 "Oh my god." You turned to look at the man who was standing outside of your window, peering in at you and Stiles who was frantically searching for his phone. Based on the fact that his car door was wide open, and his face was ashen, you assumed you were looking at the man who had hit you. Somehow, his bumper had only just been dented along with his cracked headlight. "Oh my god, is she okay?" He repeated speaking to Stiles who was glaring at him angrily, his phone pressed to his face.

 "Dude, there's a yield sign for a reason!" Stiles spat out. "Hi, yes, I've just been in a car accident at LaCinta and Grove. We need an ambulance."

 "I didn't think to..."

 "Yeah, clearly!" The venom in Stiles voice was unlike you had ever heard before as he snapped at the man.

 We should get out of the car, you thought mindlessly, as you sat there in shock. Cars always blow up in movies.

 "It's not going to blow up," Stiles said quickly as he reached for your hand to reassure you. "Yeah, no, I'm still here, sorry. My friend just said something."

 You groaned and Stiles turned to you quickly, worry drawing his eyebrows together. "My mom and dad are going to murder me." You mumbled as you watched the blood pooling in the grooves of your seats. You heard Stiles speaking frantically, before saying something along the lines of, "I don't know how deep it is, but there's a lot of blood."

 Things were fuzzy after that.

 When your fog began to clear, you felt much better. It took you a moment before realizing that you were no longer pressed up against the crushed driver's side door of your car but that you were now sitting in a hospital bed. Your thigh felt tender, but the sharp stabbing ache that had been present earlier was no more. A quick scan of the room revealed you were alone, but you recognized Stiles' backpack occupying the chair nearest to your bed and noted the bouquet of pink and yellow roses.

 When you sighted him outside of your room, speaking anxiously with his father and your mom who you quickly recognized despite only seeing the back of her silhouette, you sighed with relief. Stiles noticed you were awake almost instantly, and you watched as he nudged the Sheriff before saying something to your mom who quickly whipped around and hurried through the door to your side.

 "Oh baby girl, I'm so glad you're awake. Are you feeling okay? Can I get you something? How is your leg? Are you thirsty?" You withdrew slightly from her urgent coddling and looked at the Sheriff in a silent plea. He slipped an arm around your mom, who tried to shrug him off as she fussed over you.

 "Y/M/N, remember the doctor said she would feel a little overwhelmed after she woke up."

With a start, your mom nodded, wiping absently at the stray tear that had fallen down her cheek without consent. "Right. Sorry." She continued her questioning in a more relaxed manner, and you did your best to keep up. Stiles hung back nervously as he watched the exchange, and you rolled your eyes in her direction as he gave you a weak smile

 She patted the edge of the bed to check for an empty space before she sat down beside you. "Stiles told me what happened, and your dad is on his way back from Montreal... We're just so glad you're okay. We don't want you to worry about the car right now. Just focus on getting better."

 You nodded, relieved. "Okay."

 "You should be very grateful you have such good friends. Stiles was a superstar." Your friend itched shyly at the back of his neck, his face reddening slightly at the praise while his dad gave him a proud smile. Your mom looked as if she wanted to say something more, but she stopped, changing her train of thought. "Can I get you something to eat? I told them you wouldn't want to be woken up, but I can go grab you something."

 "Can I just have some tea, please?" Your mom hummed and patted your arm before kissing your hair. You could see that she was happy to have something to do, and knew you would be getting a talk about your driving skills when you recovered.

 "Yes, my sweet girl… I'll see if I can find some chicken noodle soup." With that she left the room, the Sheriff choosing to head out soon after.

 "There's still some issues I have to deal with on our side," Stiles' father explained, his hands clutching comfortably at the sides of his jacket. "Based on what Stiles said and the fact that the man who hit you is currently having his stomach pumped, I might be here a while."

 "Arrest him." Stiles sung, irritably from his position leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Sheriff Stilinski shot his son a look that resided somewhere between disdain and understanding, before leaving. "I'm serious!" Stiles shouted after his dad before muttering, "Drunk idiot." quietly to himself. When the two of you were alone, your friend edged closer to the side of your bed. He studied you with a strained look of concern as you winced; the metal bar of the bed frame had knocked against your wound in your attempt to move over to make room for him. You patted the space beside you, beckoning him forward.

Wordlessly, he sunk into the newly vacant spot beside you, his slender fingers intertwining with yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you had held hands like this, but felt it was probably back when you were in grade school. You sat in silence for a few moments, shoulder to shoulder, before he turned to you.

 "I'm never getting in a car with you again, you know, right? My life is too precious."

 You groaned and let out a small laugh despite everything, squeezing his hand tightly as you grumbled, "You aren't going to let me live this down are you."

Stiles clucked his tongue at you, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "I'm JUST saying that if you were driving faster, we would have completely missed that asshole getting to that intersection."

“Or if I had driven the speed limit instead of driving over, he would have blasted through that intersection ahead of us.” You countered as you gave his shoulder a bump. "Anyway, I'm still alive…I guess the Devil didn't want me either." His arm snaked around your shoulder and he pulled you gently towards him in a loving hug.

"Good. I'm not ready for you to die just yet." Your body relaxed against him, the lack of conversation that followed comforting; Stiles was one of the few people who you could spend hours with, talking or not, and still feel like your time was well spent. You were glad he was here with you now.

Your eyes felt heavy, but you opened them again when Stiles began to speak. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Y/N.”

“Thanks… Me too.”

He pointed towards the vase of flowers you had noticed earlier, “I got those for you. I thought if you were on bed rest you should actually spend some time stopping to smell the roses.”

You let out a small sigh and grinned happily. “That’s so cheesy…”

 “Yeah, but you like it anyway.”

You studied the petals of the roses, and shrugged jokingly in an attempt to convey disinterest—but he was right, and you both knew it. You liked it a lot.

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