#stiles stop saying things like this to her

[htsdfferent]

❝ i'm sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don't know that. neither do i. i have never died even ONCE. nothing has been proven yet. stop making assumptions. it's rude. ❞ stiles @ lydia fr

eyes blink slowly at the textbook laying open in front of her, as she listens to him. she shouldn't necessarily be surprised by his words. yet, she finds herself at a loss for words for a moment. she drags her gaze towards him, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks up at him. "how are you considered the smart one, again ?"

/ @fatesalign ; a meme i am too lazy to look for.

[casually-eat-my-soul]

The absolute sheer brilliance that would have been stiles and Lydia being bitchy best friends is super underrated. It’s diabolical/mad scientist friendship that sends people running in fear.

Like instead of falling in love with Lydia because she says something super smart, stiles just squints his eyes and rebuffs her. Bam Frienemies until they commit a crime together and instant best friends/siblings.

Ignore the whole Lydia being a banshee thing, like Lydia getting bite in season one instead and turning into a werewolf and best friend stiles. The dynamic would be unmatched. Her and stiles would have had that shit packed up in under an episode and maybe a half if they stop for coffee.

The only thing I’m not sure of is if Derek would have remained alpha because Lydia could have easily killed Peter herself. (I’m going to go with yes Derek does, as hale puppy pack has a special place in my hearts)

Derek wouldn’t have had the chance to even remotely fail because 1. Lydia knows that stiles is in love with him and refuses to let her best friend date a loser. 2. That is her alpha and she refuses to have a loser as her alpha.

Overprotective Werewolf Lydia and jealous Derek also would have been the funniest dynamic. Werewolf lydia and magic stiles would have been so so good.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

WOLF BOY

when ao3 goes down, we write tumblr fic... now on ao3 HERE lol

i used the 15/11/24 @sterekdrabbles challenge for this. the prompt words were GREEN, REACH and SCATTER. i'm also tagging @sterekdrabblesgonelong as it's around 1K words and therefore definitely a drabble gone long lol.

it's a spark!stiles slash derek whump sort of affair, just so you know what you're reading xp

.

The dagger is almost within his reach—so very nearly grabbable.

Other than being eight years old in a hospital room with the smell of rotting flowers clinging to the back of his throat, Stiles doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than this.

Again, Derek hacks out, “Just run, Stiles!”

Again, Stiles answers no—only this time, it's not with his voice but a yellow-green vine of pure light that extends from his fingertips as he pleads with each beat of his heart for the universe to help him, the tendrils stretching, stretching, then victoriously winding themselves around the handle of the blade. 

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, now with his actual voice, and then the vine of his will is pulling the knife flush into his grip. 

He looks up at the hunter, their face a billboard of surprise, before a shriek rips itself from her belly at the very same time Derek roars from where he's tethered and bound, the wolfsbane-laced chains melting further into his flesh as he tries in vain to once again break free.

Then the evil bastard is flinging herself at Stiles—and straight into the dagger aimed at her solar plexus that his light sends sailing across the cave, plunging it deep into her breast.

It might not be bullseye, but it does the trick.

As she drops to the dusty ground like a discarded ragdoll, the other two hunters' heads snap like whiplash to where Stiles is sprawled, a look of pure terror marring their faces.

The cowardly fuckers drop their weapons and scatter, leaving Stiles and Derek alone—other than the dead woman at their feet—in the large cave they'd dragged Derek into a few hours ago.

Derek's wrung out, and beaten down, but alive. 

At once, Stiles scrambles to his feet to get over to where the ʼwolf is chained up, almost falling back down again when his probably sprained ankle gives way beneath him. 

“Stop fucking hurting yourself,” Derek hisses, and for once in Stiles's insane life he wishes he could gnash his teeth and roar in response, and it have an effect that would be anything other than ridiculous. 

“Oh my god,” he protests instead. “I've just saved your offensively pretty ass with my new spark's apparently awesome Gio-Ju-ju, a-hole, so how ʼbout we be a little less sourwolf and a lot more gratefulwolf to ol’Stilesy boy here, hmm?” he sasses, finding the key to the padlock that's bolted to Derek's chains on the flat rock where his flashlight got dropped when confiscated by one of the hunters. 

Stiles feels petulant, and justified in that petulance as he discards the now unlocked padlock. Then he feels a little wrong-footed when Derek quietly mumbles, “Thank you,” because the guy sounds both in a considerable amount of pain and genuinely grateful to Stiles.

Stiles sighs and kneels down to start prizing the chains away from Derek's red-raw, still-smoking skin, the ʼwolf's forever-stoic face giving away nothing of the hurt he's obviously suffering at the cruel hands of the aconite still desperately trying to seep its way into his body.

“You don't have to do that for me, you know,” Stiles says carefully, hinting at Derek's display of endurance.

Derek's eyes flicker from mid-space to Stiles's face, and Stiles suddenly notices that their heads are actually dizzyingly close.

He swallows, and the sound of it echoes around the cave as if mocking him. 

The second he peels away the last link in the chain attached to Derek's skin, and before Derek can push him away, Stiles brings a hand to Derek's throat to feel for his pulse. 

When determined fingers find it, Derek's face does a thing that Stiles hasn't seen it do before; it's this combination of incredulous and vulnerable, and is so unprecedented, and so beautiful, that Stiles sort of wants to cry about it. 

“You can hear mine,” he superfluously reminds Derek, before saying what he really wants to. “It's not fair I don't get to know—that you're alive, I mean. Like, I know I can see it but… The tactile reassurance? That's, uh, you know, kind of nice, too.” 

Man, he spends way too much time with werewolves. 

Then, when he licks at his dry lips and Derek's pulse quickens under his fingertips, Stiles is so much more than simply placated.

Taking a steadying breath, he feels a million trillion miles away from anything even remotely resembling steady.

He studies Derek's face some more for confirmation of his suspicion, and finds something akin to bashful swimming amid the swirls of those gorgeous seafoam eyes.

Derek likes him back?

Stiles sinks his teeth into his bottom lip; Derek's pulse starts to race. 

Amazingly, it seems Stiles isn't alone in the want he feels deep in his gut, and as it grows and spreads to his extremities, his fingers and toes now tingling with it, he reckons he's maybe beaten-up and bleeding out and half-braindead enough to have the balls to actually do something about it. 

It must be biological, he thinks as he licks at his lips again, that his body somehow knows exactly what to do to hopefully get Derek to do exactly what Stiles wants him to—lick Stiles' lips for him, that is—without him making an actual fully-formed decision on the matter.

Although as soon as he's thinking that, the decision to kiss Derek is unequivocally made—even if it's going to get him shoved into the dirt for trying. 

He's about to lean in when one of Derek's already beginning-to-heal hands stops him by bracing his shoulder. 

“I can smell your pain, Stiles,” he says. “Let me help.”

Stiles tries not to smile as he lies through his teeth. “Hurts here, the most,” he murmurs, touching two fingers from the hand not at Derek's pulse to his bruised, bloody lips. He then curls the other hand further around the werewolf's neck, to hold on.

Derek starts to pant, and Stiles has to hold in a whine.

The werewolf sounds absolutely wrecked when he asks, “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me by wrapping your hand around my throat?”

Stiles's smile then brakes free and is wry as his wit as he answers, “I've been working hard to find out how to woo you for months now, big guy. What do you think?”

And when Derek lunges to crush Stiles's mouth with his own, teasing Stiles' lips apart with his hot, hot tongue and nipping at them with blunted canines, Stiles reckons he knows what it must feel like to howl. 

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to drop me a comment xp

[writerjayne]

This is a little sterek college AU (are they human are they werewolves who knows) one shot that I wrote on my phone with no beta or editing So apologies for the errors! The premise is a little vauge on purpose in case I want to expand this into a full story later but basically its an "Everyone grew up together" kind of vibe. Made Derek only 3 years older to make him still being in college realistic. Enjoy!

The car slowing to a stop woke Stiles. Blinking around and not fully conscious he asked confused:

"Are we there already?"

Derek glanced over from the driver's seat and chuckled. 

"No we still have like three hours. It's just a traffic jam." 

"Oh," stiles sat up a little straighter and looked around, clearly still half asleep. "We'll still get there early right?" 

"Yeah, gps says we'll arrive at 1, so plenty of time for move in," Derek assured as the traffic began inching forward. 

"Good, I need to talk to the housing department," Stiles pulled out his phone, fingers moving rapidly as he typed. 

Derek smiled indulgently. It was Stiles freshman year of college and Derek had never seen him so excited. 

"To get your key?" Derek prompted when Stiles didn't elaborate. 

"No, I need to see if they have any empty rooms," Stiles tone was almost vague, his attention on his phone. "Or any double rooms with only one occupant. Here look there's an alternative route-" 

"I'm sorry what?" Derek cut Stiles off. "You have to ask about a room? Stiles it's move in day! The day you move in!" 

"Yeah so I have to get a room to move into," Stiles rolled his eyes. "So the earlier the better! Here, take the next exit so we can get around-" 

"Mieczyslaw Genim Stilinski!!" Derek didn't roar, they were in a closed car but it was a close thing. 

"Hey hey hey, why are you middle naming me?" Stiles demanded. "Forget that, why are you first naming me?!"

"Because your father isn't here to do it!" Derek growled. "You don't have a place to live?"

"Well I did! But then Scott decided to room with Allison instead and I told him not to worry about it but when I called the place we were going to rent from they said I couldn't rent a two bedroom as one person so yes I'm going to talk to housing when we get there!" Stiles waved his hands around as he spoke, getting more agitated. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, stiles, ask the adults in your life for help?" Derek pointed out.

"Dad has enough on his plate and I had already told him scott and I were set," Stiles sounded embarrassed. 

"Your father is not the only adult in your life," Derek reminded, though not harshly. "What about my parents, hell Laura would have been happy to help or I don't know me??"

"Your parents were busy getting cora all set up," Stiles pointed out. "And I thought about calling Laura but her semester just started too..."

"And me?" Derek prompted. "I'm not exactly new at this!" 

"Honestly I forget you're an adult too," Stiles admitted sheepishly. 

"Stiles!" Derek groaned almost closing his eyes but the traffic began moving again and he focused back on the road. 

"I know I know!! That's why I want to get there early, so I can get this sorted out with the housing department!" Stiles desperately explained again before holding out his phone again. "So can we take the alternate route?" 

"What if you moved in with me?" 

Stiles jaw dropped and he half lowered the phone. Derek wasn't looking at him, the older man's eyes on the road but he was growing in thought. 

"What?"

"Move in with me," Derek repeated. "It's small but you wouldn't have to worry about rent, you could save the money you make at your job. It's technically off campus but it's not far to walk. There's also a bus stop out front-" 

"But you hate having roommates!" Stiles interrupted. "And isn't it a one bedroom?" 

"Yeah it's a little place but we can make it work. And you're not a stranger so I think I'll be fine," Derek smiled slightly. "What do you say?" 

"Okay," Stiles was almost breathless. "If you're really sure..."

"I'm sure Stiles. Now we've still got like two and a half hours to go so go back to sleep. I'll wake you up when we get there." 

"Okay," Stiles said again, smiling this time. "Thanks Der." 

"You're welcome," Derek responded with a smile. 

*****

"I'm sorry I have so many books," stiles frowned apologetic as they hauled the last two boxes up the stairs to the apartment. 

"It's fine, Stiles, I promise," Derek said for what felt like the hundredth time. 

They dropped the boxes by the half full bookshelves in the small living room before pausing to take a break. 

Heading to the kitchen Derek pulled a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, silently greatful he had come the week before to clean and stock the apartment. It hadn't been used in months and had been dusty. Derek had wanted move in day to have as minimal work as possible so he had come to prepare. 

"Are you sure about me not paying rent?" Stiles worried voice pulled Derek from his thoughts. 

"I told you it's fine. I don't pay rent, why would I make you pay rent?" Derek held out a water bottle to Stiles. "My parents own the building, specifically so family can use it without having to worry about paying for accommodations. There's always a few units empty. This one has been mine since I started school." 

"If you're sure," Stiles relented. "Do we need any groceries? I can make a run!" 

"Sure," Derek started but he was interrupted by a knock on the door and it swinging open. 

"Hey nerd, how's unpacking going?" 

Both men turned to see Erica kicking off her shoes by the door. 

"Hey Erica!" Stiles greeted brightly. "It's going pretty good! We got the sleeping arrangements sorted first then hauled everything in!" 

Erica froze for half a second at the sight of stiles before smiling. 

"What are you doing here?" She asked

"Oh I'm living here," stiles glanced between his two friends "did Derek not tell you?" 

"He did not," Erica gave Derek a pointed look and the older man rolled his eyes. 

"Cut me some slack, I didn't even know until like 3 hours ago!" Derek gave Stiles a face. "Someone thought they could show up on move in day and just find a place to stay!"

"Oh?" Erica grinned and Stiles blushed. 

"I'm going to go get some groceries now," he muttered avoiding Erica's eye and she laughed. 

"Whatever Batman," Erica plopped on the couch, pulling out her phone. "Bring me back some chocolate?" 

"Sure," Stiles agreed easily. "I won't be long!" 

"Ok be safe and call me if you get lost!" Derek said sternly. 

"This isn't the preserve Derek, GPS actually works here so I think I'll be fine!" With that stiles left, waving as he pulled the door closed. 

As soon as she hears the door latch Erica jumped up rouding on Derek. 

"This is a terrible idea!!" She exclaimed. "Why would you even suggest it?" 

"If you're gonna lecture at least help me unpack his books," Derek answered, dodging the question. 

"Seriously Derek, what were you thinking?" Erica grabbed a box and began opening it. 

"Well I wasn't gonna let him be homeless!" Derek hissed. "He's my best friend-"

"Who you've been in love with since you were what 8?" Erica crossed her arms. 

"If we're getting technical since I was 3," Derek admitted. 

Erica did the quick mental math before asking:

"God Derek, was he even born??" 

"Um not yet." 

"Derek!" Erica groaned. "What are you going to do if he brings someone home? You'll be in jail for murder!" 

"I'm not that jealous!" Derek said defensively.

"No but you are that protective!" Erica countered. 

"It won't be a problem anyway, Stiles isn't going to bring anyone home," Derek said dismissively. 

"Are we talking about the same stiles?" Erica raised an eyebrow. "Stiles stilinski? The boy who dated Lydia Martin! Stiles stilinski who dated your sister and your cousin not to mention half the lacrosse team! Say what you want but that boy can pull!" 

"Okay so we cross that bridge when we get there!" Derek continued putting books on the shelves, avoiding Erica's eye for a moment. 

"Yeah okay," Erica crossed her arms. "We'll see how that goes." 

"You want a tour or what?" Derek huffed, changing the subject. 

"Obviously," Erica grinned. "Why else do you think I came over?" 

Derek refrained from rolling his eyes and gestured for the young woman to follow him. He gave a quick tour of the living room and kitchen before opening the door to the bedroom. 

"There's only one bed?!" Erica rounded on Derek, her disbelief written across her face. 

"It's a king, we can share," Derek shrugged. "We have before."

"This is going to end so badly. This is a disaster," Erica stood dumbfounded. "Seriously what were you thinking?" 

*****

"I was thinking 'hey one less thing to stress over' Scott I wasn't thinking about how in each other's space it would be!" Stiles nearly threw his hands up in exasperation. "I didn't exactly have another option!" 

"You should have told me! Allison and I could have got a bigger place or you an I could have done this first semester together and she and I could have moved in together next semester!" Scott's worried voice came over the phone and stiles could almost see Scott nervously pacing. 

"It's Derek Scott, it'll be fine!" Stiles tried to sound confident. 

"Who you've been in love with since you were old enough to walk!" Scott pointed out.

Stiles groaned. 

"I know, I know. But honestly, how bad can this be?" 

[semicolonsspace]

TW: Boyfriend! Void Stiles, High sex drive!Reader, Mention of sex toys, Bondage(use of duct tape/zip ties), Somniphillia(previous consent given), P N V, Blowjob (f to m), Mention of cunnilingus, Dom!Void Stiles, Sub!Reader, Brat!Reader, Degradation/pet names(use of Dove & Pet), Praise kink(Mention of one being proud), Spanking/impact play.

------

Y/n could remember when she first met her boyfriend Void. He was sitting on the sofa at Scott's house. The Duct tape on his mouth and bandages on his stomach. While Mellissa bandaged him, Y/n could not take her eyes off his torso. Her thighs were constantly clenched as she examined him across the room. Eventually, Melissa left due to fear of the evil spirit and returned to the kitchen with the others. Y/n stayed, glaring at the thousand-year-old demon. Her legs were crossed elegantly, her arms on the arms of the chair while her foot bounced to ease her nerves.

Void couldn't help but stare back at the girl, seemingly being interested in why she wasn't showing fear. It looked like she was angry at him if anything, which he was used to... but she was calm and angry, and it intrigued him.

Y/n stands up, stalking toward the tied-up boy slowly. She squats down next to him and rips the tape off. "As much as the others hate when you speak, I'm curious how you are for myself, instead of listening to the stories."

His jaw moves to the side as a result of ripping the tape off, turning into a smirk. "Do you want to make stories for yourself, dove?"

Y/n opens her mouth to speak and it snaps shut as soon as it opens, Why the fuck did he call her that? And why did she feel more aroused? "You're not going to switch this game so you're in control. I can just put the duct tape on again," Y/n raises her shoulders with fake annoyance. She wasn't that annoyed, the only annoyance she had for him was he was the reason why she was so turned on. Ever since she stepped foot into the room she couldn't keep her eyes off him. How he looked like he hadn't slept in months, or how even when he was tied up he had so much confidence... For no reason... except he still looked so attractive.

Void tilts his head toward her, "Are we playing games?"

"Not yet."

Void chuckles at her. "Are you going to ask about Stiles or not?" Void sighed, knowing what was on her little mind of hers.

Y/n shakes her head, but then a question pops up in her head. "Do you know how he feels about things?" Y/n asks curiously. Void nods his head, pointing to it gesturing that Stiles was watching. "Does he hate me?" She asks sitting next to him, her legs at an angle toward his knees. She had a solemn face, her lips being chewed by her teeth.

Stiles and her would always bicker at each other. Anytime the other was near, the other would complain. Y/n always had felt subconsciously hurt about this. She didn't hate him, he just never gave her a chance.

Void blinked at her slowly, he looked at her like he knew. Like he knew what was on her filthy mind of hers. He eyes her clenching thighs, his eyes slowly connecting with hers. His eyes were filled with a predatory gaze. She noticed this, not being able to stop her body from clenching her trembling thighs. She craved him, and she just met him. A demon that was a thousand years old and possessed her sworn enemy.

"He's mean to you because he doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's young... Ignorant..." Void whispers, breaking the silence. The silence was more like sexual tension.

Her head snapped to his from her lap. "What?" Y/n asks before her brain can stop herself. What was he even saying? Of course, Stiles is young.

"You need someone with more experience- Someone like me, dove."

Y/n scoffs. She grabs the tape and slaps it back onto his face. "Can't believe I thought you wouldn't turn this into a game."

-

Now Y/n was lying next to her boyfriend Void. She couldn't help but keep thinking of that interaction. He knew that she was aroused because of him back then. And she knew as well... From the number of times, she squeezed her thighs hard and from her lustful gazes across the room, it was obvious to an old soul. And it was obvious to her now that he knew, like looking through crystal clear glass.

Luckily though, they both had an agreement. Stiles could use her for pain or chaos so he could survive and she could use him for any sexual deed that she wanted. At first, when he gave her the option to do so she declined. She thought he was crazy, that was when she was horny out of her mind again and came begging for him to fuck her so they could seal the deal. After that Void would follow her everywhere, much to the pack's disliking. But Void was compliant; Stiles was too, he tried to not bicker with his look-alike. Like a mutual agreement so everyone could have what they wanted. Sometimes it bothered Stiles how he would randomly smack her ass hard and suck the pain out but at least they tried.

Y/n rolls over off the bed, finally acting on her arousal. She quietly gets a box from under the box, grabbing the roll of black duct tape that lay under all her many of toys.

Now she was under the covers, pulling out his dick and sucking it as he slept. His dick was quickly hardening as she licked him, her mouth occasionally sucking. His thick length dripped precum as she did so, the salty taste that she loved bombarding her tastebuds. She bobbed on him, one hand handling his sensitive balls while the other lay on his stomach. His stomach muscles twitched against her hand, his breathing now becoming loud.

Before anything else could happen, she straddles him, stripping herself from her clothes. Now the zip ties were around his wrists and duct tape on his lips, not before checking if air came out of his nose so he could breathe.

"This has to be one of the nastiest things I've done," Y/n thought. But she didn't care, I mean she woke up with him eating her out numerous times.

Breaking out of her doubted thoughts she hovers over his dick, the red tip spreading her labia folds as it grazed against her. She starts bouncing slowly, her hands on his tied ones that were on his stomach.

Now the pressure and the horniness were going to her head. She gives up on trying not to wake him up. She bounces on him harder, her hands now toying with one of her tits while the other toyed with her clit slowly. Her slick made it easy for her to ride him fast, as well as his dick to rub against her ridges inside.

His eyes open abruptly, groans now filling the room louder. He watched her be in her own world. She hadn't even realized that he was awake yet.

In one quick moment, he rips open the ties, his tape next. Now she was on the bed, tape on her own hands and mouth. She was on her stomach. Her elbows were toward her chest, the tape restricting her movement anywhere else.

He slams his erect dick in her, surprised at how quickly the situation has changed for her, she yelps. "Such a naughty dove, using my body while I sleep... Interrupted my beautiful dream of me fucking you... kind of like this..." Void explains. His hands that were on his hips spread her ass, now massaging the needy flesh as he fucked into her hard.

Y/n licks the tape, wanting to be able to speak and moan for him. "Please Void... Fuck me like you mean it."

"Don't be such a brat, Y/n," Void spat. "You're-" He thrusted hard into her, grazing against her spot that made her eyes roll back. "The one that used my body- just like I told you could- I'm so proud you've finally done so... I've been waiting for months to fuck you like this," Void murmurs. He lands a quick smack on her ass, emitting a loud cry of pain from her. He rubs it, drinking the pain from her ass into his body. The black veins travel up to his face, his head rolling and his eyes rolling back in such beautiful pleasure. He lands another, "Such a good pet," He groans. His voice was so low, growling as he fucked into her as if his life depended on it, which ironically it did, he consumed that exoticness of him fucking her.

Next, he manhandles her, pulling her into his naked chest. His arm holds her under her chest, his other hand still on her hip. Y/n screams at the new angle. Thank the universe for allowing her to have no neighbors... He kisses her neck affectionately. He knows that she dies inside when he does that, moans and profanity flying out of her mouth. "My hands, please... They hurt too bad-" In an instant the tape gets snapped off. He held her hands, rubbing them while taking the pain. All while he does this his thrusts never stop. She turns her head to look at him- Just the domestic look in his eyes easily pushes her over the edge.

"Just because you finished, doesn't mean I'm done with you, Dove," Void Growls. He pushes her down, her face landing on the soft sheets of their bed.

[miguelschamp]

fearless

pairing: isaac lahey x fem!reader

summary: something is finally done about the lingering feelings between you and isaac

warnings: none. it’s quite literally just fluff

the bell rings dismissing you from your last class of the day. you walk out with malia by your side complaining about your teacher.

“malia, she’s just doing her job.” you chuckle

“i don’t care. she’s not making any sense when she’s explaining things and she’s the only one whose given us homework for the weekend.”

“that is true.” you mumble as you two stop at your locker

“it’s stupid.” she says rolling her eyes. she looks past you as you dig through your locker. a smirk takes over her face. “your boyfriend’s coming.”

you look up to her quickly, “what ?” she nods ahead as you turn to your left. your eyes widen as you see isaac coming toward you. “oh my god.”

“good luck.” she says. your head snaps to her. “what ? where are you going ?”

“away from here. the awkward flirting makes me nauseous.”

“wait, malia. please.” you beg

“no.” she mumbles, “isaac.”

you sigh as the boy stops beside you. he smiles lightly, “hey, malia.”

the girl hums before she walks off.

you and isaac had a little bit of a confusing relationship. you two weren’t dating, but it was obvious you liked each other. you didn’t really know what to make of it since he hadn’t asked you on a date or to be his girlfriend. it was just a little awkward whenever you two spoke to each other.

“uh, y/n ?”

your eyes shut tightly before you slowly turn to him. when your eyes open, you’re met with a smile.

“hey, isaac.” you say softly

“hey. how was your day ?” he asks

“it was good.” you nod. “uh, what about you ? how was your day ?”

“good. good.” he nods. you chuckle as you nod with him. “i actually wanted to ask you something.”

“okay.” you say as he starts digging through his bag.

“i wanted to ask if you’d wear my extra jersey to the game tonight.” he says as he pulls the jersey out. you brows raise as you look up at him.

“really ?”

“yeah.” he says scratching the back of his neck, “only if you want to though.”

of course you did.

“yes. yeah, sure.” you ramble

“okay. great.” he smiles wide as you take the jersey from him. “i’ll be sure to look out for you.”

his heart skips as you smile up at him. his blue eyes searching your face before he looks down at his feet.

•••

a couple of hours had passed and the game was starting soon. you sat in the bleachers with lydia and malia while isaac, scott, stiles, kira, and liam were out on the field.

you wore isaac’s jersey like he asked, but you put a long sleeve on under seeing as it was always cold in beacon hills. you also tied the end of his jersey around your waist since it seemed like it was huge on you.

“you know, wearing someone’s jersey basically means that you’re dating.” lydia says

“does it ?” you ask

“yeah.” lydia nods, “trust me. so many different guys have tried giving me their jerseys. it’s like showing other guys that you’re taken.”

you look down at the jersey, “oh.”

“so, he’s finally making a move.” malia says, “thank god.”

“is that bad to where you guys are hoping that we finally start dating ?”

“yes.” they both say. your mouth opens slightly as you try to respond, but you come up with nothing as the game begins.

you missed how isaac had looked into the bleachers for you. his eyes searching each row until they finally land on you. a smile instantly taking over his face at the jersey covering your body.

•••

the game was nearing the end with only a few seconds left on the clock. the teams were tied and you could see coach basically having an aneurysm on the sidelines.

you weren’t too much into sports. only going to the games because of your friends being on the team, but you were on the edge of your seat.

it’s not long before you see the boys running around on the field. your eyes looking for anyone on your school’s team to have the ball.

you gasp as the ball flies through the air and isaac catches. the students start to cheer in the stands as he runs toward the goal.

“go, isaac ! go !” you yell as the students cheer him on. unbeknownst to you, he had been listening to only your voice the entire game. so, out of everyone yelling at him and cheering him on, he only heard you.

you and the students in the bleachers stand as he gets closer to the goal. you feel your heart beat hard in your chest as the clock ticks down.

just as isaac tosses the ball toward the goal, the buzzer goes off. it’s quiet for a second before the ball goes in. isaac earned the game winning point.

the crowd erupts into cheers as the team runs over to isaac. you and lydia jumping up and down as malia cheers beside you.

a couple of people step off the bleachers into the field to celebrate with the team.

you, lydia, and malia make your way down the bleachers and onto the field. you guys spot stiles first. malia walking up and giving him a hug as you look around.

“he’s on the other side.” stiles says breathing heavily. you turn to him to see him already smiling at you.

“go get him.” lydia says tapping your arm excitedly. you chuckle at her before you make your way through the students.

isaac laughs as his team sets him down. he turns as his eyes scan the crowd for any sign of you.

“isaac !”

he turns and sees you pushing through some students trying to make your way to them. you dodge a teen running up toward a friend as he smiles at you.

as you run up to him, he holds his arms out. you two collide in a hug with your arms going around his neck and his around your waist.

he lifts you off the ground slightly causing you to laugh. he sets you down as you pull away, but don’t go far at all. your hands holding onto his arms as his stay around your waist.

“that was amazing. i’m so proud of you.” you smile

“thank you.” he says, before his eyes trail down, “you actually wore it.”

you look down before looking up at him with bright eyes. “yeah, of course. you wanted me to, right ?”

“yeah.” he nods, “you know, i couldn’t have done it without you.”

your brows furrow, “what do you mean ?”

“i was listening for your voice.” he says. your face softens, “while i was playing. it helped me focus.”

isaac searches your face for any reaction to what he said. he doesn’t expect you to lean up and kiss him, but he definitely accepts it.

you pull away slowly. your breathing a little heavy as you look up at him. “i really like you.”

his smile widens, “i really like you too.”

you chuckle as he leans in again, kissing you softly.

[ephemeraltapes]

burning candle - prologue

chapter: 0/?

pairings: reader x stiles, lydia x stiles, ?

word count: 754

synopsis: a glimpse into the year before, when your biggest concern was stiles finding out about your crush on him.

You tap your pencil against your lip while you listen to your English teacher drone on about the book you were supposed to read for class. You sighed, looking at the clock wondering if this will ever be over.

12:30PM. Only half an hour has passed and it made you groan internally. You glance over at Lydia to see if she was thinking the same thing. When you make eye contact with her it seems you’re both thinking the same thing. You crack a smile at her which she mirrors. She looks down at a paper in her notebook, quickly writing something down before passing it to you.

You open the folded paper. “I haven’t heard a single word she’s said this whole time.” You try to hold back a laugh while writing back a reply before passing it to her. She reads your handwriting and tries to hold back her laughter but she can’t. The teacher stops what she’s saying and turns to Lydia. “Is there anything you want to share with us Ms. Martin?” Lydia raises and eyebrow, “Don’t let my giggling stop you from your boring lecture.” The teacher sighs before turning to her desk and handing both you and Lydia a detention slip. You groan and put your head in your hands.

“Alright, let’s continue.”

As the bell rings signaling the end of your class, you feel a tap on your shoulder as you’re putting your books away in your bag. You turn, expecting to see Lydia behind you, only to come face to face with the boy you’ve been crushing on for ages. Stiles Stilinski.

The brown-eyed boy is saying something to you but you’re finding it hard to listen. You watch the way his lashes flutter against his cheek every time he blinks. He’s so handsome. You’re brought out of your trance as you hear him call your name twice in a row. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blink out of your thoughts, “Can you repeat it for me, maybe?” He shakes his head and does so anyways. “Listen to me,” He puts his hands on your shoulders, “you need to help me with the Lydia situation.” Your chest aches hearing those words come out of his mouth. Not this again. “Last idea didn’t go well?” You ask out of politeness, because you already knew the answer.

“Haha. Very funny.” The sarcastic tone is heavy in his words. “I don’t know why your advice doesn’t work. I mean- you guys have best friends for years and you know her better than anyone!” You frown, although it upsets you that his affection is directed towards your best friend you still sympathize with his situation. I mean, who could understand him better than you? You are literally in his exact situation. Although, you think you might somehow be worst off even though Stiles actually knows your name.

“I’m sorry to hear that Stiles. I think she’s really into Jackson right now. Not a day goes by where that man’s name doesn’t come out of her mouth at some point.” You pat his shoulder to comfort him. “There’s no guy out there better than you...” You inhale before continuing, “I don’t know... how she doesn’t see what’s right in front of her.” Your words make him smile, even if it’s just a little bit. “It must be tiring to hear me mope about Lydia all the time. I know I’ve already tired out Scott.” He tries to laugh off his words but you can tell that he’s actually a bit upset from the situation. “It’s normal to want to talk about your crush, especially if you’ve liked them for a long time.”

Stiles laughs at your words. “Then how come you never talk about your crush?” Your eyes widen but you try to shake off his pointed statement. “Well that’s because I obviously don’t have one.” Stiles narrows his eyes at you, you feel yourself start to sweat almost. Why does this feel like it’s going to turn into an interrogation?

“Fine. I’ll let it go.” You let out the breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. You never realized the prospect of Stiles finding out about your one-sided affection for him would have such an effect on you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. “But you’ll tell me someday, right? Maybe when you finally go on a date with him?” You let out what could be described as the most unconvincing laugh of all time. “Totally.”

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any fic recs that involve chasing? Like Derek gives in to the urge to run after stiles and catch him?

I kind of didn't really understand what you were asking lol so here are a few types of "chase" fics:

Mating Run Fics:

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

The Cursed Wolf by SinQueen69

2023 Suggestion Anon Wanted: Feral alpha Derek, who has been cursed and got in that feral state. The only way to lift the curse is the "sacrifice" of a pure heart. And Virgin Omega Stiles is willing to help him but the ritual has to be a mating run.

When Things Go Right by SylvieW

Stiles is nervous for the mating run. What if his soulmate is disappointed? Scott’s convinced that Allison will catch him, but Stiles isn’t so sure of his best friend’s girl, and the results could be upsetting for everyone.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward.

Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Stiles gets kidnapped and Derek gives a chase:

Out of Focus by exclamation

Stiles was taken prisoner by a coven of witches. Now his only chance of getting home is if he learns how to control his own magic… and stops blowing stuff up by accident. With surging power inside him that he can't restrain, Stiles must deal with memories of the nogitsune, and fears that he might end up hurting those he cares about.

Meanwhile, his family and friends don't even know if he's alive. His father desperately searches for answers, and Derek will do anything in his power to find Stiles, even if it means asking an Argent for help.

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Stiles runs away and Derek catches his ass:

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

If you wanted fics with their own chasing scenes, I am sorry to inform you that I have a memory of a goldfish, and do not remember any in particular, though I am sure they exist somewhere in the wild. If someone knows some, please, feel free to add!

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | mafia

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

So… I already have like 70 Sterek fic tabs open on my phone (there’s so many good authors in this fandom it’s not my fault!) but I was thinking that despite some fantastic tumblr posts about it I don’t think I’ve actually read a necromancer!Stiles fic.

I went through your fabulous tag page but I didn’t see one so hopefully I didn’t miss it. If you or your loverly followers have any recs I sure would appreciate it!

(And no rush, I seriously have so many tabs but I am greedy)

Hi @arora-kayd! @kevaaronday made this list for you.

Murder, Magic and a Masterclass in Denial by Noxnthea (9/9 | 41,940 | Explicit | Sterek) “No, seriously, I need to talk to you really quick,” Stiles interrupts. “Before Peter gets out here.” 

Derek braces himself. “Okay.”

“I need you to make sure I can be alone with the body for a few minutes.” 

Derek stares at him. “You get that that’s like…a really weird request, right?”

In the three months since Derek left the NYPD and joined the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, he’s gotten used to a lot of things: he’s learned to deal with seeing Peter every day, he knows how to hide his enhanced senses on the job, and he doesn’t mind the late nights and early mornings.

One thing he’s still not used to, however, is Stiles Stilinski.

You only Live Once… or Twice by WonderWolf (6/6 | 32,949 | Explicit | Sterek) “Anything,” Derek’s eyes are determined, boring into Stiles’. 

Stiles huffs a laugh, “Careful there, big guy. Don’t want to be promising anything to every necromancer you meet. Some might ask for your soul or someth—”

“I’ll give you my soul to bring her back,” Derek says, his voice steady and strong with resolve, “if that’s what you want.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes open for a moment before his brain kicks into gear and he stutters out, “N-no, I don’t ask for that. I only ask for money.”

(Or the one in which Stiles is a necromancer who needs help stopping a rogue alpha and Derek is the solution, but at what cost?)

I See Dead People by Asteria_Star (13/13 | 15,318 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles has been able to see Ghosts for as long as he could remember. Having a ghost tell you that you are a necromancer and that the supernatural exists was nothing. What isn't nothing is trying to navigate your best friend becoming a werewolf while trying to hide what you are. 

Features Stiles and Talia having a mother-son dynamic that I didn't know I needed.

Sarcasm, Suspicion and Raising the Dead: A Necromancer’s Guide to Getting the Guy (Your Murderer and/or Your Boyfriend) by Aerica_Menai (1/1  |13,917 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles met Derek’s blue, blue eyes - still striking, even bloodshot from crying - as he slid into the other side of the booth. Immediately, the request came tumbling forward: “Could - would you bring her back?”

“I can - I will - but only temporarily,” Stiles warned.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Whatever extra time I get with her will be - “ He took a deep breath as his voice broke. “ - appreciated,” he finally choked out.

And that’s when Stiles knew he was in trouble.

formed in the very poetry of nature by frankie_31 (4/4 | 7,984 | Explicit | Steter) Stiles can raise the dead. Stiles can put them back down. But what happens when one of his undead minions stays up?

Peter Hale is back from the dead. Kind of. And he'd like to stay that way.

Burial Rituals by aurevell (1/1 | 4,989 | Gen | Sterek) The necromancer freezes halfway over the fence, stuttering to a halt the second Derek flashes his red eyes. It’s an awkward pose to hold: leg hiked up over the waist-high bars, hands gripping the rail for balance. The fence’s wrought-iron spears dig into his calf a bit as he settles, clearly caught off guard.

“Uh,” he says lamely, his face pale in the scant moonlight. “Shit.”

Derek guards an abandoned cemetery. Stiles is the necromancer trying to break in.

[mysticallystilinski]

HOT TUB [ stiles x fem!reader ]

desc. HOT TUBS LEAD TO HEAT AS YOU AND STILES MAKE UP FOR LOST TIME

has : heavy making out, slight enemies to lovers, ( tatbilb references ), over-confident stiles.

stiles stilinski, the popular boy who just got over dating lydia martin. you, the slightly un-popular girl who just got the confidence to head on the school vacation to a cabin in the middle of the winter.

you thought in silence as you headed out the doors of the large estate talking with malia. “i don’t know mal, i just have a feeling somethings going to happen with stiles tonight.”, you joked. malia rolled her eyes as you made that slight statement. “y/n, you’ve been thinking ‘something will happen’ for about two years now, see the problem.”, she snorts. your face grew hotter as she said that, but you brushed off that pit in your stomach.

she took you by the hand and led you to the gazebo behind the hot tub. “look, theres stiles”, she groans out in disgust. you smirk in a way only she knows. “you’re not thinking about joining him? are you”, she snickers. you think in a daze of what would seemingly happen if you were to just meet at the hot tub coincidentally.

you walked over and around the gazebo as you heard a scoff coming from behind you. malias face was a mix of hurt, but also persuasion. you were met with a soggy haired stiles, staring into the deep blue water. stiles looked up from the hot water and connected eyes with you. he huffed a sigh as he saw you slowly take off your clothes revealing a purple bikini underneath it.

“you’re not really coming in here”, he laughed while shaking his head. “was that a threat stilinski?”, you say slyly with a smirk on your face. he throws his head back in a joking defeat as you head up the small steps, and step into the boiling water. it was a little too cold for your liking, but your skin never really warmed up. he licked his lips to rid of the moisture that was built up.

you stared into his soft lips as you slowly sat down in a corner to the hot tub. he scoffed as realization hit that you were probably going to stay a while. “you just had to come at the perfect time y/n”, he said in a hush. your face contorted as his little remark in confusion as if that was a good .. or bad thing. his face showed him being miserable, but his eyes told other things.

he scanned your body in tiny glances when he thought you weren’t looking. good thing you knew when people were staring at you. “stop staring stilinski”, you said while looking at the gazebo. out of the corner of your eye, you could see him roll his. “i’m not staring”, he says in his raspy voice. “i’m just admiring”, he groans as he slowly lifts his body out to the water.

he heads to your corner, and locks eye contact while standing above you. you lowered your head in embarrassment while he hovers. stiles took his hand, and slightly placed his fingers under your chin so that you’re now looking at him. he lowered his body deeper into the water, and connected his lips to yours.

they were soft, almost tasting exactly like cherries. his other hand lifted up to your hair, and intertwined with the locks. he pulled on your soft hair slightly, and you whimpered in response. you could feel him smirk through his face, and that cause you to feel butterflies.

he was so delicate, something you had never felt before. kissing him was like kissing a pillow. his fluffy lips interlocked with yours and he rubbed up and down your back with his hands.

he was different than the others. a little rough, but soft while his body connected onto yours. he unlocked lips and stood back up. stiles motioned for you to stand up also. “why did you stop”, you questioned. your hand was slightly grasped by his while he switched positions so he was now sitting in your corner.

you wrapped your legs around his torso and sat upon his swim trunks. you laughed while looking down at the starwars characters on the slight trunks. he looked down too, realizing what you were giggling at.

he slowly took his hand up to your hair. “you’re so pretty”, he whispered while locking eyes. your face began to flush once again. when he saw your face, he slowly lifted your chin up to admire your beauty. gladly, stiles managed to warm you up for the night. it was odd how genuine he could be when he wasn’t around others.

[kitchenisking]

June Fic Rec

Hello my loves! I know that I'm about 2 months late and I'm sorry. My life went haywire and the being of the month along side the bridgeton/polin brain rot. (trust me the brain rot is real)

July and August fit recs with post tonight and tomorrow so keep a look out!

Happy reading😘

Come find me now, we'll hide out (we'll speak in our secret tongues) byGorgeousgreymatter - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 23,569, sterek)

It’s not often these days that his wolf and human instincts are at odds -- not when they’ve been living seamlessly in sync for so long now.

But the wolfish part of him is looking at that boy, pale and too-thin, wearing that ridiculous red sweatshirt that, for one thing, wasn't nearly protection enough in this weather, and for another, might as well be a flashing, neon sign that says chase me, and all it appears to see is want.

Or: Stiles's post-graduation road trip goes terribly wrong, and Derek has to save the idiot human from freezing to death.

Untouchable by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 17,107, sterek)

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts.

See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding.

And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

Bundle of Accidental Joy by tearsandholdme - (Rating: Mature, Words: 69,901, sterek)

Stiles is just trying to live a simple life. Have a job, pay his rent, and survive enough to eat his next meal. But then he's fired from his job, watches a mother abandon her baby, tries to stop her and picks the baby up, and now everyone thinks the baby is his. Even his very handsome and moody boss, Derek Hale, who forces the responsibility onto him at the cost of keeping his job or else. 

----- 

Au of the 1956 film Bundle of Joy

Pack Night Out by jesuisgrace - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2,894, sterek)

What the fuck is my life? Derek thinks to himself. He’s standing in the corner, probably looking like a total creeper. The lights and the loud music drive his wolf crazy and he’s working hard to stay calm. But his pack is happy, and Derek loves seeing his pack happy. 

-

Derek takes the pack to Jungle. Stiles goes missing, and everyone but Derek seems to know what he's up to.

Derek Hale is Suffering Because of Stiles Stilinski's Oral Fixation by junixx - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,975, sterek)

"Stiles. You can't keep chewing on that." 

"Watch me."

Excess Energy by AClosedFicIsNeverRead - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 8,422, sterek)

What was he supposed to do about this? Wait… could he fuck Stiles? Derek’s brow furrowed as that question formed in his mind. Like… was fucking Stiles actually an option for him? 

- OR - 

The one where Derek has a bisexual awakening after a night of vivid, Stiles-centric dreams and decides to do something about it.

Come Alive by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,352, sterek)

Stiles did not expect to run into Derek Hale again after all these years, let alone tumble into bed with him. It looks like dreams do come true.

The Will to Power by snarkatthemoon - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,406, sterek)

'“Let me see you, Stiles.” Derek coaxes Stiles to open his eyes with a hand on his cheek, careful to avoid the fresh wound on his face. Derek’s looking at him like he can’t believe he’s real, and Stiles feels his cheeks and chest heat up with a flush at the intensity of it.

“I can’t bear the thought of losing you too.” His face scrunches up in pain at the mere thought and Stiles isn’t sure how to reply, but now understands why everything feels so potent. 

This isn’t just sex, this is life-affirming sex.'

The Pain is for Pleasure by Staleinskii - (Rating: Mature, Words: 5,711, sterek)

Fuck Derek Hale. That’s all Stiles thought as he got out of his jeep and made his way towards the school. Fuck his smug attitude, and his sparkling green eyes, and his god-like muscles that have the ability to lift Stiles up and slam him against every surface of the loft many many times in many different positions. That was exactly how Stiles landed in his little predicament in the first place: his inability to take one step without the ghost of last night shooting pain up his ass with every step.

(or the one where Derek is packing, and he makes sure Stiles knows it throughout his school day)

Beginnings II by sffan - (Rating: T, Words: 1,138, sterek)

Stiles is sad that no one wants to kiss him. So Derek does.

[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

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[wordsarelife]

—hits different

pairing: isaac lahey x fem!reader

summary: isaac and you both like each other, it just takes some time for you to realize that the other does as well..

warnings: underage drinking

notes: this should've been posted yesterday.. i'm so sorry

"have any of you seen y/n?" isaacs voice beamed off the walls of the large room and both derek and scott turned their heads so sudden, he wondered if he had just interrupted something.

"y/n?" scott wondered "haven't seen her since school"

"well, obviously she's not here" derek exclaimed with a roll of his eyes and isaac sighed.

"i know" he stretched "i just wondered if any of you knew where exactly she is" he widened his eyes to make a point, which was answered with another eye roll from derek and a shrug from scott. "well, thank you for all the help. i'll go find her myself then"

"she might be hanging out with stiles" scott said as isaac was already walking out of the door.

despite scott being not sure, isaac decided that it did not hurt to drive to stiles' house and have a look for himself. he often found you in the company of the boy, which sometimes made him wonder if there was going more than friendship between the both of you.

he stopped the car before stiles house and got out, walking up the front porch and knocking on the door.

"hey" stiles exclaimed when he swung open the door.

"hey" isaac greeted "i'm looking for y/n" he explained, before he tried to take a look inside "is she here?"

stile shook his head "no, she mentioned something about a club, and some other friend that was going with her"

"huh" isaac nodded, with a tight-lipped smile. "thats kind of weird of her, isn't it?"

stiles just shrugged his shoulders and isaac nodded finally.

"okay, ehm, thanks man"

"sure" stiles nodded with a tightlipped smile, at the lack of movement from isaac, he raised his brows "is there still something i can help you with?"

"uh, yeah" isaac smiled uncomfortably "what's the name of the club?"

"the sinema, i guess" stiles replied shrugging "it's the only club around here"

"yeah, right" isaac raised his arm, lazily waving goodbye, before he walked back to his car.

"is there one story that does not involve isaac lahey?" your friend, amy, loudly asked your, trying to be heard over the music.

"sorry" you replied "we're just very close"

"yeah, yeah" amy nodded her head, having heard enough of the boy in the last hour "that's exactly why you're gonna get drunk out of your mind and forget all about him"

"i'm not sure that's how it works" you noted.

"well it does in my books" amy furrowed her brows, holding the tequila shot in your direction.

you took the glass, admitting that you couldn't think of a better solution yourself, so it couldn't hurt to try hers. anything to get your mind of the blonde boy was greatly appreciated.

the night passed by quickly, you were a drunken mess, slurring about everything and anything.

"you know what i find weird?" you asked amy, both of you laying in the sitting booth of the club.

"no, what?" amy replied, a giggle breaking out between her lips. you joined into her laughter, unable to contain yourself, before you quickly shook your head, focusing back on the matter you were trying to discuss.

"well, scott said that isaac doesn't fancy kylie" you began, rolling your eyes at the name of the girl. at the same time you felt kind of bad, she hadn't done anything to you and yet here you were, saying her name like she had ran over your dog. "but if that's true, why is he always sending her these fuck me eyes?"

"fuck me eyes?" amy repeated, giggling once again "i'm not sure that's a thing, honey"

"i'm sure it is, i've seen it first-hand from stiles to lydia"

amy laughed even louder amidst the fact that you had spied on other people to prove your point.

"i think that's just stiles personally" she shrugged.

the thing about being drunk was that there was no way to direct any feelings, when you were drunk, your mood shifted like you were sitting on a roller coaster.

"can you please take this seriously?" you asked, your tone etched in annoyance and frustration.

"but you're being ridiculous" amy shook her head and you sat up, crossing your arms.

"i'm not trying to be" you muttered, the first tears escaping your eyes.

"y/n, sweetheart" amy cooed, sitting up as well and dropping an arm around your shoulder. "don't cry about him again please" you felt bad that it was your fault that the mood had shifted so drastically. both of you had so much fun all night and now you had gone and spoiled the mood.

"sorry" you cried. "i just miss isaac so much and i wish that he would miss me too whenever we're not together"

unbeknownst to you, isaac did miss you just as much as you were missing him.

"excuse me?" the bouncer turned around, raising his brows at the boy that was absolutely not dressed like he was going clubbing.

"what?" the man asked, watching the blonde boy expectingly.

"i was searching for my friend" isaac explained "she's about this tall" he held a hand up, before he continued to describe the color and length of your hair, what you were probably wearing and how your voice sounded "she's really pretty, really nice, most of the time at least" he ended his description.

the bouncer, who was ready to turn the boy away with an annoyed 'do you think i know everyone inside?', paused, when he noticed two girls stumbling out of the entrance. "that her?" he asked, pointing a finger in their direction.

"wow" isaac muttered impressed, before he nodded "yeah, thanks man" he patted the bouncer's shoulder, before he walked up to amy and you.

"isaac" you slurred as you recognized the boy behind amy.

"yeah, yeah" amy nodded "we already discussed him, honey"

"no" you shook your head, pointing again "isaac!"

amy almost sighed in relief when she noticed the boy approaching. even though she had the same amount of tequila shots as you, she had calmed down a bit and was way less drunk than you. she could handle alcohol much better than you anyway.

"hey" isaac smiled with a lopsided grin.

"isaac!" you slurred once again and the blonde boy laughed at your excitement.

"do you think you could take her home?" amy asked "my boyfriend just came and we want to stay a bit longer. i'd invite the both of you along, but i think y/n's had enough"

"of course" isaac nodded "no problem"

"thank you" amy smiled gratefully, before she hugged you goodbye and pointed her boyfriend out to isaac, so he was sure she was not alone waiting for him.

"bye!" you slurred in her direction as she took off.

isaac watched you in silent amusement. "let's go home, yeah?" he smiled and you nodded, your eyes already halfway closed.

he helped you to the car, all while you put on a tremendous rendition of taylor swifts 'love story'. you missed half the lyrics and weren't singing the right notes, but isaac didn't mind.

"pretty good" he complimented laughing once your singing had been finished.

"thank you, isaac" you smiled at him, dragging out his name. "your name is so beautiful" you smiled before you repeated pronouncing it slower every time.

the sunlight streamed through the window, hitting your face and waking you up with an unpleasant grogginess. your head throbbed, and your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. slowly, you opened your eyes and glanced around, realizing you were in your own bed. relief washed over you briefly before flashes of the previous night trickled back.

you remembered the club, the tequila shots, and then… isaac. you groaned, hiding your face in the pillow, trying to bury the embarrassing memories. what had you said to him? something about his name being beautiful. you cringed inwardly. you could not remember his answer, nor anything that happened after.

a sudden noise from the front door made you sit up abruptly, the room spinning a little from the movement. you steadied yourself, listening. someone was trying to come into the house. your heart raced as you quickly as you oustretched your hand, reaching for the phone on the bedside table.

"amy?" you whispered as soon as you friend had picked up.

"y/n?" amy wondered. you could tell that she had just woken up herself, her voice almost breaking. "who's that?" another voice asked and you could imagine henry, amy's boyfriend laying next to her, confusion evident on his face.

"it's y/n" amy whispered harshly, before her mouth was closer to the phone again. "what is it, honey? it's the middle of the night"

"it's past eleven" you whispered harshly "and someones trying to break into the house"

"what?" you couldn't see what she was doing, but imagined she was sitting up in bed, due to all the noise she was making.

"someone's breaking in" you repeated.

"shit" amy said worriedly "okay, it's alright, henry can come and-"

before she could finish, the front door flew open. you quickly slipped onto the ground so you could hide behind the bed. "too late" your voice was a pitch higher as you basically screamed in a whisper "they're inside"

"shit, shit, shit" you could hear rushed movements on the other side of the phone "get up, idiot" amy screamed at henry (you assumed) "our friend is getting murdered"

"amy" even after all the years at the side of scott and stiles and every bad situation they had gotten themselves in, you had never been so scared before.

"it's alright, babe" amy tried to sound calming, but failed miserably "we're coming to help you"

"y/n?" a voice called and steps neared your bedroom. you couldn't help the sigh of relief escaping your lips.

"are you dead?" amy screamed and you held the phone away, your ears ringing from the loudness of her voice. "did they find you?"

"well if they didn't before, they would have now" you muttered "i'm alright, it's just isaac"

isaac opened the door, just as you had finished speaking. you raised your hand, waving at him and he walked around the bed, eyebrows furrowed.

"i'll call you back later" you said into the phone, ending the call before amy was able to say anything else.

"so, what are you doing, exactly?" isaac asked, amusement sounding through his voice.

"i thought someone was trying to break in" you shrugged, you saw no sense in lying.

"oh sorry" isaac scratched the back of his neck "i didn't mean to scare, you asked me to stay yesterday, so i slept on the couch and went to grab some breakfast for us"

"oh god" you held your hand in your hands, not being able to look at him "i can't even remember half the car ride yesterday, let alone anything that followed after" you looked down and only noticed now that you were wearing a pyjama.

"you changed yourself" isaac quickly said as he noticed the worry on your face "you asked me to give you a pyjama and changed while i waited in the hallway"

"sorry" you shook your head "i shouldn't have assumed—“

"no, no" isaac quickly interrupted "it's fine, please don't apologize"

you stood up and both of you were now standing in front of each other. "did i say something embarrassing yesterday?" you asked. you weren't sure if you wanted an answer to that, but you had to know.

isaac smiled. "well, you told me that my name was beautiful, which no one has done before, so it's greatly appreciated"

"that's it?" you wondered.

"eh, no" isaac looked a bit uncomfortable now and your smile died down.

"did i say something inappropriate?" your eyes widened "did i say something that made you uncomfortable?"

"no, but" isaac looked out of the window behind you, his cheeks reddening more and more "you said that you really really liked me"

your eyes widened even more and you looked down in embarrassment. "oh my god, i'm so—" you paused, remembering a very important detail from the night before "wait, why were you at the club yesterday?"

isaac laughed. "i was searching for you, actually" he admitted.

"oh really?" you smiled up at him.

"yeah" isaac shrugged "that's also why i stayed even though i live three minutes away, because i really really like you too"

a wave of relief and something warmer washed over you. isaac's words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, your heart fluttered.

"you... you like me?" you repeated, hardly believing what you were hearing.

isaac nodded, his cheeks still tinged with a light blush. "yeah, i do. i have for a while now, but i didn't know how to tell you. when stiles said you were at the club last night, i thought it was the perfect chance to see you."

you couldn't help but smile, the nervousness in your stomach slowly turning into excitement. "you asked stiles where i was?"

"yeah" isaac shrugged, laughing "i thought you were with him, because i always thought there was something going on between the two of you"

"oh, isaac" you shook your head "that couldn't be more wrong. as i said last night: i like you and only you. stiles is like a brother to me, i couldn't never even, no—ew"

isaac giggled, before he stepped closer, his expression softening. "i'm glad we finally got that out in the open."

you nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation building. "so, what now?"

isaac's lopsided grin returned. "how about we start with breakfast? i got your favorite from the bakery down the street."

your stomach growled at the mention of food, and you laughed. "that sounds perfect."

[sexualtensiongrowing21]

Prompt: “Can I kiss you?”

Isaac Lahey X Reader Pt. 2

TW; None?

Word Count: 1341

Part One

AN: I decided to finally write part 2! I cant say its the most favorite thing I have written but I no longer hate everything about it! Enjoy!

That night you asked Isaac for his jersey so you could wear it to school. All the players' girlfriends wear their away jerseys to school the day of the game. This caught him off guard but he obliged with a wide smile on his face. He didn't want to admit it, but he has been dreaming of seeing you wearing his jersey since he joined the team. 

Walking into school you spot Matt walking towards you from the other end of the hall. Thankfully, you see Isaac standing at his locker talking to Scott and Stiles. ‘Perfect’ you think and walk up beside Isaac with a huge smile on your face. You lean up on your tiptoes giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning.” You hum sweetly intertwining your fingers in with him and smile at the boys across from you. 

Isaac is surprised as he stammers out “Uh- G-good morning.” His face is flushed and he's grateful you don't have werehearing as you would be able to hear the fast beat of his heart. You have always had this effect on him though. 

“About time!” Stiles exclaims patting Isaac on the shoulder while walking away with a laugh, making you roll your eyes at the spastic boy. Matt pauses taking in the sight before him. You can barely make out the angry expression on his face, before he continues on down the hall. 

You hangout listening to the boy talk about the next supernatural creature trying to kill us all. As the bell rings, you tell Isaac you will see him later and once again kissing his cheek and walking away to your first class. 

Once you walk away your brain won't stop buzzing. Did you really just kiss Isaac? Why have you waited all this time to be this close to him?

“What the hell was that?” Scott asks Isaac, pulling him from his obvious stare of your ass, as you walk down the hall. Isaac furrows his brows. “W-what are you talking about? We--uh. We are dating.” Isaac explains unconvincingly, while scratching the back of his neck. 

Scott laughs, dramatically wiping a fake tear from under his eye. “Right. You’re dating Y/N. Sure. You know I can tell when you're lying right?” Scott reminds him. With a heavy sigh, Isaac tells Scott the truth. That you needed his help to get Matt off of your back and that it was your idea. 

“Dude, you're so screwed. You can't fake date Y/N. You're totally in love with her.” Annoyed with the truth in the words that his Alpha / best friend stated, he rolls his eyes. “I know. But she needed help. I can't say no to Y/N.” Isaac pauses, thinking about how good you looked in his jersey. “Plus, did you see how hot she looked in my jersey?” He adds with a sheepish smile.  

Scott pats his back with a laugh, starting to walk to his next class. “You're hopeless.” 

Isaac has to keep reminding himself of this favor. But he can't help that it is making him fall for you even more. When this is over he knows he will be forever ruined, as your touch will linger on his body forever.

The rest of the day went by in similar fashion. Every time you would spot Matt, you would immediately find Isaac and kiss his cheek, hug him, or even hold his hand. Anything to convince Matt you two are dating. Which in turn has convinced the whole school. Though, that wasn't hard as everyone either thought you two were already dating or waiting for you two to date.

You couldn't lie, everything about being this intimate with Isaac felt… Natural. Like this is something you two should have been doing for years. 

The game starts soon and you go to your locker to put your books away. You see Matt walking towards you and you start frantically looking around the hall, then it hits you,  Isaac is in the locker room getting ready. 

Taking a deep breath you turn back to face Matt. “Oh. Hello Matt.” Matt smiles wide looking you up and down, sending a wave of nausea through you. Something about him has always given you the creeps. “Y/N! I've been trying to get you alone all day. It seems Isaac and you were attached at the hip today.” 

“Well, yes. That makes sense since we are dating.” You laugh nervously, shutting your locker hoping you can get out of this conversation quickly. Matt's face drops a little “Well, that makes sense. I mean the way he looks at you--” You cut him off. “What do you mean? How does he look at me?” 

He laughs “He has always looked at you like you're the only person in the world. It's obvious he's in love with you. I just thought you weren't interested in him.” 

During the whole game you had to keep reminding yourself that this was just to get Matt off your back. But now that he knows, you two can stop… But did you actually want to stop? 

There's only 4 seconds left on the clock and Scott passes to Isaac. Knowing that he can hear you with his werehearing, you stand up cheering loudly for your best friend boyfriend. He dodges the two players coming after him and throws the ball at the net. The buzzer goes off just as the ball is in the air. It's as if everything is in slow motion, then slap. The ball makes it in the net. 

The crowd goes wild. Allison is cheering for Scott, Lydia for Stiles. And you. For Isaac. Before you can think about what you're doing, you're running to the field heading straight for Isaac. Sensing you're near he rips his helmet off and opens his arms wide with that big goofy grin that you love on his face. 

His hair is covered in sweat sticking to his head but you can't seem to bring yourself to care. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he catches you and spins you around. When you start to pull away you look into his ocean blue eyes. When he looks down at you, you see the love in his eyes. The way that he will do anything for you, and you him. 

Ignoring the hammering of your heart, your hands snake up into his hair, pulling gently off the shorter strands on his neck. You swear you can hear him groan as you lean your head in and your lips meet his. The butterflies in your stomach expand, reaching every part of your body as you both move incense. 

Isaac feels as if the world stops and it's as if you're the only two on the field. His hands move from around your back down to hold tightly onto your ass, keeping you flush against him. He doesn't know what brought on this show of affection, but who is he to deny the girl he loves. 

Swallowing the anxiety bubbling within, you slowly lean your forehead down to Issacs. “Y/N, can I kiss you?” He whispers. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before. He is sure that Scott will give him shit for it later, but at this moment, he cant find himself to care. Being here, holding his best friend girlfriend, in his arms. This is the only place he would rather be. 

Without thinking, you immediately smash your lips to his. You can barely make out the cheers from your friends around you. All that you are able to focus on is Isaac. The way his lips move perfectly against yours, his hands on your ass. 

When you both finally pull away and he puts you down, you keep your hands around his neck. “So…. Are we not pretending anymore?” You ask breathlessly looking up into his bright blue eyes, trying your hardest not to get lost in them. 

“I never was.” He breaths.

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know!

My requests are open!

Isaac Lahey Taglist ~ @folklorde24 @rachlovesactors

[fuji09]

Stiles Stilinski isn't as... UNCARING as you think.

Part 1 of my "[character] isn't as..." series.

There are many things Stiles has said that gets used against him. Stiles uses humor and sarcasm as coping mechanisms.

We all know he has severe trauma like:

Losing his mom to an illness that made her not herself anymore and think her own son was trying to hurt her as she slowly wasted away.

Being physically attacked by his mom during a moment where she swore he wasn't her son and was trying to hurt her.

He watched her die in her hospital room while alone with her because his dad had to work.

The constant fear of losing his dad and trying to control anything he can, like what his dad eats to try to keep him healthy and alive for a long time.

The constant fear of losing his dad while he's on the job so he listens in on his dad's police calls, not only to be nosy but to know what his dad is dealing with and if he's in danger.

Living with his dad drinking too much after his mom dies and feeling like everything is his fault.

Seeing a dead body and thinking it was his dad for a minute until the sheriff finally appeared.

The constant fear of losing his only best friend Scott.

The fear in the back of his mind that he might get the illness that killed his mother.

Almost being killed by Scott multiple times when he first turned. (Not bashing Scott, just stating a fact)

Almost having to cut off Derek's arm.

His relationship with his dad slowly deteriorating because he has to lie and keep the secret about the supernatural, not only to protect Scott and Derek, but to try to keep his dad safe.

Finding Lydia bitten by Peter and when he tries to help her, Peter won't allow it and forces Stiles to go with him (abducting Stiles) to use him to find Derek.

Having Chris shove him against the wall and antagonizing him and Stiles mouths off about how the Argents killed Derek's family.

Being paralyzed twice by the Kanima and the first time it happened he was having to see and listen to a guy slowly die by being crushed by a car lift that his jeep is on.

Holding Derek up in the pool for 2 hours when Derek was paralyzed.

Almost drowning with Derek in the pool.

Erica bashing him on the head with a part from his jeep and he wakes up in a dumpster.

Feeling guilty when his dad is forced to stop being sheriff for a while because of all the supernatural shit which made him look incompetent.

Having to punch Derek awake multiple times.

Constantly harassed by Mr. Harris during class.

Abducted by Gerald and taken to the Argents basement where Erica and Boys are being tortured. Gerard beats the shit out of Stiles.

Almost losing his dad to the Darach.

Trying to keep Cora alive while she's dying from mistletoe poisoning.

Having reality slowly slip away from him, not knowing whether he's asleep or not, and having night terrors.

Thinking he got the illness that killed his mom (he literally had to live for a bit thinking he was going to die within a few years!) when it was really the nogitsune.

Being chipped away at and possessed by the nogitsune.

Living with the knowledge of what really happened with Scott's dad leaving and never telling Scott.

Committing himself to Eichen House to try to keep his loved ones safe but putting himself in danger and in a very toxic environment.

Being put into solitary confinement and sedated when he was trying to stay awake to keep the nogitsune from getting full control.

His first time having sex and it's not even really him doing it but the nogitsune, so he didn't really get to truly consent.

Almost having a hole drilled into his head in the Eichen House basement by his roommate.

Having guns and various weapons pointed at him.

Thinking Derek is dead multiple times.

Seeing multiple dead bodies.

Being infected during their SATs with some unknown illness.

Having a gun shoved against his forehead as his teacher counts to 3, saying if he doesn't tell him where his friends are he's going to pull the trigger and kill Stiles. Stiles stands there refusing to give in.

Stiles' teacher was shot right in front of him, blood splattered on his face and he thinks for a moment that he was shot. Then he sees Scott's dad who killed the teacher.

Taken hostage with Lydia by the Eichen House orderly Brunski and tied up in the basement and was almost murdered.

Stiles seeing Derek is dying in Mexico and he wants to stay with him but Derek insists he go save Scott, Stiles is trying to choose which to do but Derek tells him to go so he does, knowing Derek will be dead before he gets back.

Donovan attacking Stiles in the school parking lot and bites his shoulder. Then chases Stiles into the school library, trying to kill him and threatening to kill the sheriff once he's done with Stiles.

Stiles accidentally killing Donovan. It wasn't even self defense, it was an accident. Stiles pulled a clip to release polls to keep Donovan away from him but ended up with Donovan getting impaled.

Feeling guilty and scared about Donovan's death and worried someone will find out.

Theo blacking mailing Stiles.

Feeling like his worst fear of losing Scott was happening during the confrontation when Scott thought Stiles murdered Donovan and Stiles thought Scott saw his self-defense (technically accident) as murder.

Almost losing his dad when he was shot.

Being forgotten by everyone because he was taken by the Ghost Riders. Which was made even worse by him calling Scott and Scott had no idea who Stiles was and then Stiles finds his dad, thinks for a moment his dad remembers him, then his dad asks him who he is.

Being stuck where the Ghost Riders took him, some train station, and he's stuck with Peter.

Being shot in the foot.

I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting, but clearly Stiles has been through way too much in such a short period of time.

Stiles cares, he cares deeply, kinda to the point of too much. He neglects himself, his wants and needs, to take care of his loved ones. The guy would literally die for his dad, Scott, and Derek.

He lets himself hurt to protect his friends, he goes into fights when he is a human who has no powers but he doesn't hesitate to fight with his friends. He never tells Scott about Gerard kidnapping him and hurting him because he refused to be a message to Scott.

Stiles jokes about killing or letting Jackson, Derek, and Peter die. He doesn't actually mean it (except maybe a tiny bit with Peter, which is fair). He doesn't want anyone to die. He doesn't want to actually kill anyone. He jokes and is sarcastic as a coping mechanism.

He also keeps everyone at arm's length. Even his dad and Scott. He's got abandonment issues and he protects himself by not letting anyone in too much. He talks a lot but he doesn't actually say much. Gives the illusion that's he's an open person but he's really not.

Stiles says inconsiderate things, yes that is true. But what better way to keep people from getting too close than being a dick sometimes? Stiles isn't an asshole, but he can and does act like an asshole sometimes.

With his loved ones, he's loyal af too. Even when he doesn't agree with the plan, he stays loyal. Stiles cares a lot about the people he loves. He wants to protect them and keep them safe. He may not care about everywhere, which is fair, but he does his best to protect people. He will even stand in front of werewolves to try to protect them even though he is the squishy human.

Stiles has a lot of feelings that he shows, but he also has a lot of feelings that he doesn't show. He puts everyone's feelings before his own.

Stiles seems to always feel guilty about something. Usually stuff dealing with his mom or dad.

I see people saying how callous Stiles is but he's really not. Yes, he can be cruel if he wants to be, if someone really hurts him, but he isn't an uncaring person. He's a pretty sensitive guy who puts on an uncaring front.