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Stiles Stilinski Imagine - Blog Posts
Fuckboy Series Masterpost
A girl who loves too easily and a boy who never loved before. When both of them get involved with one another on a rather complicated and tricky note, disaster is bound to happen. Whose heart will make it out unscathed? And whose heart is going to be broken ruthlessly? Or will they both find what they’ve been looking for all along? Maybe in one another?
Find out in:
Don’t get involved with a Fuckboy - It’s bound to break your heart / Fuckboy!Stiles Au:
Part 1: The Benefit of the Doubt & The Broken Heart
Part 2: The Conflicted Mind & Hidden Feelings
Part 3: More Tears & More Heartbreak
Part 4: The Things I Wish I Would’ve Said
Part 5: Two Broken Minds & Two Scarred Hearts
Part 6: Could This be Our New Beginning? Or the Beginning to an End?
Part 7.1: Everything is About to Change!
Part 7.2: For the Better or for the Worse?
Part 8: Crushed At Last
Part 9: Feelings of Betrayal
Part 10: Hear Me Out
Part 11: Maybe it’s Time for Forgiveness
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𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+
𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 1 — 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐞
| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |
You'd both sworn. You'd sworn that you wouldn't subject yourselves to sex in the Jeep ever again. Not after the last time ended with so many unnecessary injuries between the two of you. Following one rolled ankle, a noticeable egg on the back of your head, and a bruise to Stiles' elbow that had been so worryingly dark that the purple had been mottled with spots nearly black in color, it was decided that handjobs were fine, blowjobs were great, fingering was.. sufficient. But full-out sex — You had sworn, never again. And, yet..
You can't find it in yourself to care when the dizzying warmth of Stiles' breath falls against your spit slick, kiss swollen lips. Your mouths have separated only as a result of the way he's trying to maneuver you into a better position, a closer position, large hands encasing your waist as he drags you over to straddle his lap. The moment you've settled against his thighs, his hands are already pushing their way up underneath your skirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties as his mouth finds its way to your cheek, your jaw, your neck.
And fuck if your own hands aren't already scrambling to undo the button on his jeans, tearing them open and pushing up on your knees just enough that you two of you can work his pants and boxers down his thighs just a few inches.
His cock springs free, already almost fully hard with the anticipation of what's to come, and your mouth nearly waters at the sight. You will never tire of the sight of Stiles' cock, you're sure of it. When your hand wraps around him, your fingers don't meet, and when you give the fat length of him a gentle tug, he groans deliciously into the skin of your throat, hips jerking up as he chases the feeling.
“Hey, slow down, why don'tcha?” Stiles teases softly, “Why're you in such a hurry, huh? Got somewhere else to be or-” He cuts off with another quiet groan as you twist your wrist the way he likes, “Or something?”
“Shush, you.” You reply with a smacking kiss to his mouth.
His fingers are moving in a teasing touch beneath your skirt, skimming the sensitive skin of your belly before finding home on your thighs. He gives the softness a pinch just hard enough to have you gasping before he's slipping beneath the fabric to drag long fingers between your folds.
“Shit, babe,” Stiles groans, his lips finding your cheek again before he drops a light kiss to your chin, “You're this wet already?” He asks, as if you haven't been working each other up for the last twenty minutes with heated touches and even hotter kisses.
He punctuates his question by slipping two fingers inside you in a ridiculously easy glide, the stretch making your eyebrows pull together as your jaw falls slack. He's giving you shallow thrusts, trying to open you up a little and get you ready for what will come next, and your free hand falls to his arm, tethering yourself with fingers circling his wrist in a firm grip. The way the muscles in his arm work with each drag out and then back in has your fingernails digging little crescent moons beneath the dark hairs on his forearm.
Your head is thrown back in pleasure, and it feels like it might weigh a million pounds when you drag it forward again to drop your forehead to his, your hips rocking down onto his fingers and your hand still working him to full hardness, closing over the head of his cock and collecting his precome just to slip back down his length again and again.
It had been days of longing glances across crowded rooms, and lingering touches that were a little unnecessary but desperately craved, and pushing maybe a little too far into each other's space when one of you needed to grab something just to feel the sparks along your skin. Each tiny moment shared had built upon one another slowly, day after day, and now that you're together, skin on skin and teeth and tongues on lips — that fire between you finally burns bright again.
You're both panting a little breathlessly already, worked up beyond belief after not finding moment alone like this in what feels like ages. Hot breaths mingle between your parted lips, the sound of it broken up by the quiet little noises clawing their way up your throats.
You've missed him desperately amidst the chaos that the week has brought. You find yourself wanting him to wreck you beyond repair, to turn your brain inside out until he is all that remains — no stresses about infuriating assholes in the form of college professors, or pack disputes, or the supernatural threat of the week — and the way Stiles continues to work his fingers inside you, pushing in deep until he's caressing that spot that makes your vision white out a bit at the edges, you think he's well on his way toward that wreckage.
“Condom?” You question desperately, tugging at his wrist in signal for him to extract himself from you.
He's muttering to himself while he fumbles to get access to where his back pocket is scrunched up beneath his thighs and you push up onto your knees all the while, maneuvering your underwear down one leg and then the other until you're free of them. When he produces the little foil packet, you take it from him without prompt, tearing it open and rolling it down over him in a quick, practiced motion that has him biting his lips together to hold back a curse.
Stiles slides his hips down the seat a bit further and grips the backs of your thighs to support you as you guide his tip to your entrance. The moment you start to sink down, his fingers dig into the doughy flesh of your thighs, fingertips curling below the curve of your ass to help spread you wider as he fills you up nice and slow.
“You got it, baby,” Stiles praises quietly, lips catching against your cheekbone to leave a small peck to your flushed skin, “There y'go.”
You're shuddering through your breaths as you accommodate to the stretch, knowing that every inch just a precursor to where he's thickest at the base. It's slow going, painful and delicious all at once, but when your hips finally meet his, clit nestling right up against the thatch of hair that trails from his belly button down to where you're connected, you let out a breathy sigh of relief.
Now that you're seated, his hands leave your backside to skate higher, rough fingertips dragging up to the back of your skirt to massage at your spine. You feel him fiddle with the zip at the back, his eyes meeting yours in silent question before you're nodding and he's giving it a tug and freeing you from the thick fabric.
You can't help but look down, and that first glimpse of where you've sucked him in, where he's filling you to the brim, has you eagerly rocking your hips a little to test the stretch. There's still a bit of an ache, a sharp little sting where you're stretched the widest, but it's lessening already and you can feel that pleasurable fullness behind your navel settling in.
“Almost,” You update him quietly, combing your fingers through the strands of his hair and grinning softly when he cranes into your touch, “Jus' need another minute.”
“Take as much time as you need,” He returns earnestly, “You know I'm just enjoying gettin' you like this. Missed you. This week was the worst.”
And it truly has been. Nearly every minute of every day, start to finish, has been an onslaught of lectures and assignments due and pack bullshit that you're both inevitably dragged into every goddamn time — the presence of the token pack humans always necessary if only to give another perspective to a mundane issue that, really, probably could've been solved by your brother and his co-alpha alone. Scott and Derek really shouldn't need to drag the two of you into every little problem — which in turn would leave the two of you with ample time to sneak off somewhere to do this, perhaps in a bed, without the risk of bonked heads or twisted ankles or the bruises that came with ravishing each other in such close confines. And yet, and yet.
You nod in agreement, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape to give it a soft tug, “Been so busy with classes. N' there've been way, way too many pack meetings,” You complain in a quiet huff, “Not enough time for this..” He grumbles his own agreement as your thumb finds the large beauty mark beneath his ear, “I missed you too.” You return softly.
Stiles is patient as ever, his fingers taking the time to explore every bit of exposed skin on your body with a gentle touch. His arms circle your waist only to release you a second later to run his warm palms up your spine and give your shoulders a squeeze. His movements slow for a moment when he finds the band of your bra, pinching and unclasping it in a practiced motion, and then his big hands are making their way back to the front of your ribs, thumbs dragging against the soft underside of your breasts as he dips his head to press kisses to the newly exposed skin.
You lean back a bit to give him more space to work, savoring in the feeling of his mouth peppering soft kisses over your breasts as your own hands fall from his neck to rest on his pecs. Your fingers trail over dark freckles that dot his skin, nails scraping ever so gently into the patch of hair at the center of his chest.
Even with the windows cracked to let in a bit of the crisp autumnal air, the temperature in the Jeep creeps higher, the windows already fogged over with a thin sheen of condensation that smears lightly when you brace your right hand against the window. Five little streaks through the microscopic drops of water covering the cool glass, one to mark where each of your fingers scrape across the surface as you finally rise up onto your knees.
A pitiful little grunt falls from your lips as you drop back down, the sound pushed out with the sheer depth that his cock manages to reach in this position, so full that you can nearly taste him at the back of your throat.
You settle into a slow rhythm and Stiles grabs a hold of your hips as you do, but he's not guiding you, no. He's not aiming for control, not pushing you to go harder or faster, but rather simply holding on and following your movements, his thumbs tracing little concentric circles against the sides of you belly as you go at your own pace.
“Fuck,” You groan when your knees slip a little against the leather seat. It pushes him impossibly deeper than before, driving his tip against your cervix in a way that erupts goosebumps along your skin even in the warm car. “You’re so deep. 'S so big, baby. You're so big-”
You're not even sure what's coming out of your mouth, already a little drunk on the feeling of being filled so completely, on the slick drag every time you rise up and then the sharp jolt to every one of your nerve endings with each thrust back down. Despite the ramblings falling from your lips, or perhaps because of them, Stiles begins to make little noises of his own — guttural moans against the curve of your throat, quiet grunts each time he hits deep.
He tips his head back and the warm brown in his eyes is almost completely taken over by black with how his pupils have blown wide. You catch sight of a small bead of sweat as it works its way out of his hair and begins a slow trail down his temple but you're kissing it away before it can reach his cheekbone. The salt of it lingers on your lips when your tongue runs over them just a moment later.
Dark eyes watch you move with rapt attention, his lips parted to let out low groans of encouragement. It takes a few minutes for him to find his voice, but when he does, his words send heat flooding through you.
“So good,” He tells you, hand tucking a lock of sweat-dampened hair behind your ear before his wide palm settles against the side of your neck, his voice thick with arousal, “Always so good. You're- Shit, y're so tight. So warm. So perfect.”
The thumb resting at the bottom of your cheek creeps up higher, rubbing the plush of your bottom lip until your jaw falls slack in acceptance and then he's cupping your chin and pushing the pad of his finger down against the softness of your tongue. You bite down softly with a moan and your bottom teeth dig into the meat of his palm with just how deep he's got his thumb before you're pulling off just a little and closing your lips around it, sucking and swirling your tongue and reeling at the way his eyes flutter shut with a groan, like he can't quite handle the sight in combination with the way you're riding him slow and deep.
When he removes his thumb, you suck harder to combat the spit that threatens to cling to the digit, but it doesn't make much of a difference because he's already sliding his hand around the back of your neck and bringing your mouth down against his.
You brace one hand on his stomach to aid your moments as your tongues meet in a hungry kiss. A whimper finds its way up your throat when he rubs his free hand achingly slow up and down the front of your thigh, around to grope your ass and then back, smoothing and squeezing along your skin like he wants to be touching you more — Harder, tighter, everywhere all at once.
He's so, so deep like this and you can tell it's affecting him too. His kisses are hungry as he licks into your mouth, a little messy while his nose presses into your cheek and his fingers graze your waist on their journey toward your chest. He's thumbing over the peaks of your nipples, swallowing up your moans with his own, breathing a little like he's the one getting the air punched out of his lungs every time you seat yourself, burying him deep enough that the head of his cock is driving into that spot that makes you see stars.
Your brain goes a little hazy with your budding orgasm, tiny noises becoming more frequent, falling against his mouth a bit like a plea. You don't need to explain, Stiles is already dragging his hand up to push between your thighs, thumb circling your clit the way he knows you like. Your eyebrows furrow as you slip from the kiss, far too focussed on chasing your high now. You bounce a little faster, shallower, fingers scraping at the pale skin of his chest, eyes pinched shut as your thighs tremble with exertion and your knees ache.
Heat licks across your body, a bead of sweat trickling down your spine as your movements start to become a little more difficult. You're so close — so close-
“C'mon, you're doing so good, baby.” Stiles says with far too much tenderness, far too much amazement.
“Fuck,” You whimper, shaky breaths tearing from your chest as you teeter closer and closer, “Fuckfuckfuck-”
“You got it. You can do it. C'mon-”
His gentle praises send you careening over the edge and your whole body shakes as you try to work through it. You're struggling, but then Stiles' hands are under your ass again, guiding you this time, gripping the backs of your thighs tight as he supports some of your weight and helps you ride out your high. Every nudge of his cock against the deepest parts of you has you moaning louder, brain going a little fuzzy as your orgasm peaks but never quite dies off.
Your arms curl around his shoulders, digging your face into his neck as you gasp against his skin, thighs shaking as he keeps guiding you back and forth, not pulling out nearly as far now before he's dragging you against him and filling you back up. Your breasts are pushed tight against his chest. The smell of his aftershave is in your nose and your forehead is pressed into his sweat slicked neck. You're panting, nearly drooling on his shoulder as you try to lock your knees to hold yourself in place, thighs feeling exhausted and like jelly all at once.
“Sti. Fuck, baby, I can't-” A moan cuts you off as it rolls off your tongue, “My legs can't-”
“Aw, your legs too tired, baby girl?” He asks, and it comes out a little condescending. You can practically see the satisfied little smirk on his face, even from where your own is buried in his neck as you nod. He lifts you up a little higher, hands still grasping at the crease where your thighs meet your ass as he adjusts his hips beneath you, “Need me to do the work now?”
The teasing in his voice has your body going traitorously pliant, your voice weak when it finally comes, “Please.”
“I got you,” Stiles promises, taking a little pity. He drags one hand toward the center of your spine while the other falls to the outside of your knee to hold you steady, “I got you..”
The first thrust up into you has you crying out. Not hitting nearly as deep as before, but he's driving in so much harder, so much faster. It pulls whiny little gasps from your lips with each thrust and your jaw's gone slack where it's buried in his neck as his skin slaps against yours with every snap of his hips. The sound of it is loud, and the combination of noises both lewd and salacious only proves to turn you on that much more.
“Shit.” Stiles grunts, voice a little hoarse and yet somehow high as it catches in his throat, “You make the prettiest noises, baby. Fuck. Just listen t' you.”
You don't entirely mean for it, but your next moan is just a little louder in response, unabashed and desperate even as you attempt to muffle the sound of it in the curve of his shoulder. The pitch his voice has taken is one that you only get to hear when he's getting unbearably close to his own peak. The sound of it is so, so sweet to your ears, mingling with the obscenely wet glide of his cock sliding in and out of you.
“'M gonna come,” He warns, his hips jerking just a bit rougher, a bit less coordinated as he fucks up into you, “Shit. Shit, sweetheart, 'm.. gonna.. come-”
His arms curl and lock around your waist as he does, dragging you down against him and burying himself so deep that it has you crying out again, fingers digging into his shoulders where your arms have curled under his to hold tight. He comes with a moan and a grunt that both get muffled with the way his face is now hidden in your hair, his cock kicking up inside you as he releases into the condom.
The increased stimulation against your sensitive walls has you going a little teary in the best way, overwhelmed but loving every moment of it, and you roll your hips over him despite the soreness in your thighs just to hear the way he groans in response.
You pull back just enough to lock your fingers in the hair at his nape and tug him into a sweet kiss, it's warm and a little sweaty as your lips slide together but it's also so full of unspoken thanks and emotion and undeclared love.
When you lean back again to collectively catch your breath, his thumb finds your wet eyelashes and swipes at them gently.
“Oh- hey, you good?” He checks with concern, his free hand already at your waist and drawing soft patterns along your skin, “You okay?”
You turn your head into the hand on your cheek and press a kiss to the center of his palm, scraping at his scalp beneath sweat-dampened locks, “I'm good,” You promise, “Gonna be sore as fuck tomorrow though, God.”
A smirk finds its way onto his face, “Fucked you so good you're gonna have trouble walkin', huh?”
“Shut up,” You huff, a laugh slipping out in contradiction to your weak display of annoyance, “But with the way my thighs feel right now? Yeah.”
You wince as you push up onto your knees, both from the ache left behind as he slips out and from the soreness in your legs. When you rise up a little higher, your head hits the roof with a painful thump and you can't bite back a curse.
Stiles is quick to bring a hand up to the back of your head with a sympathetic wince, cradling the tender spot on your skull softly, “Oh, shit, y'alright?”
“Ow,” You respond with a pout, your own hand reaching back to cover his over your hair, “Stupid Jeep n' stupid metal roof..”
“Hey,” Stiles frowns, “Don't blame the Jeep, alright? It's not Roscoe's fault you bumped your head.”
“Is too.”
It comes out in a huff and Stiles chuckles in amusement at your disgruntled expression as he slips his hands under your thighs to help you dismount from his lap completely. You fall into the seat beside him and drop your calves over his knees, bumping your forehead against his shoulder in a silent gesture of gratitude.
After a few long minutes wrapped up in each other as you collect yourselves, you both gather your haphazardly discarded clothing and redress. Stiles digs out a new air freshener from the glove compartment and adds it to the hoard of them already hanging from the rearview mirror. Another little tree to the collection, this one a pretty shade of purple and smelling of berries, dropping to sit right atop number of similarly shaped scented hangers in a wide array of colors.
And later, when you're forced to part ways, you push up onto your toes as you lean back in through the driver's side window of the Jeep for one final kiss. The breeze is cool against your thighs as it catches beneath your skirt, goosebumps causing you to tighten your fingers around the window frame as you prepare to lean back. Stiles has a hand coming up to the back of your neck to hold you in place at the first sign that you're about to pull away, stretching the kiss out for as long as he can get away with. It's a sickly sweet press of lips. One that will hopefully be enough to hold you over until you get the chance to have him like this again.
A glance over your shoulder as you walk away has your gaze meeting Stiles one last time, elation and melancholy both pulling at the edges of your lips until you're left with a saccarine smile to pair with your tiny wave goodbye. Your fingers come up to brush your lips as you begin to turn away, and when you extend your hand in his direction Stiles nearly throws himself out the open window to catch the invisible kiss that you've sent his way. His unnecessary enthusiasm has you stifling a giggle as you finally turn your back to him and make your way down the street.
You're forced to jog around the block from where Stiles has dropped you a safe distance from your house, hopping into the shower the moment you get home to wash away any and all evidence of the afternoon from your skin.
It's with skin scrubbed clean and a heavy heart that you head to the washing machine and dump your clothes inside to extinguish the lingering smell of Stiles that you know clings to the fabric, of you and Stiles, together.
And when Scott pauses the load mid-wash with the intention of throwing a shirt in, your brother is sure to complain about the way you've pointedly used the scented detergent — the overpowering artificial smell of lavender much too strong an irritant to his overly-sensitive, supernatural, wolfy nose — But, you remind yourself, if you want to keep up this thing with Stiles, which you desperately do, then that's just how this has to go, because, well.
𝐒 𝐜 𝐨 𝐭 𝐭 𝐲 𝐃 𝐨 𝐞 𝐬 𝐧 ' 𝐭 𝐊 𝐧 𝐨 𝐰 .
𝐚/𝐧; 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝!𝐌𝐜𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠!! 𝐢 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬. 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐦 — 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬.
stiles x autistic!partner hcs
a/n: april is autism awareness month and i wanted to do smth with our favorite boy! 🫶🏻 reader has lower support needs ( as this is based off of my experience as an autistic person with lower support needs ). not everything will be applicable to all readers.
he’s not unfamiliar with autism, exactly. he knows a lot of his adhd traits intersect with autism traits, but he’s never had a reason to explore it further.
until you.
when he learns that you’re autistic, he goes on one of his adhd deep dives ( sort of like when he went on the werewolf dive when scott was first bitten ).
he knows a LOT about diagnostic criteria ( and sometimes wonders if he himself fits it but that’s for another time ).
he also learns what your dislikes are— tastes, textures, sounds, etc. so he can do his best to keep them away from you. he also knows that are perfectly capable of doing those things yourself but he keeps track anyway because he loves you and he wants to help.
he’s never infantilized you before and he knows that you are your own person. god forbid anyone tries to take your autonomy or imply that because you’re autistic, you can’t do simple things or basic tasks.
but if you do end up needing a little help here and there, he doesn’t mind. he knows what it’s like to struggle with neurodivergence and he’s had a lot of practice with his own. maybe he messes up sometimes but he has good intentions.
he notices shifts in your behavior almost instantly. most of your friend group does but that’s due to supernatural senses; stiles just has an innate focus on you and learns to tell when something is different.
and he does his absolute best to soothe whatever is causing your distress. if some of your classmates are talking too loud or yelling across the cafeteria, he asks to take you outside away from it. or if you’re at a party and suddenly there’s too many people around, he’ll take you to somewhere more secluded. overstimulation is a feeling he knows well, so he sympathizes and does what he can to aid you.
he memorizes a lot of your coping mechanisms. whether it’s the way you tap your fingers together or how you brush the fabric of your skirt back in forth because it’s a texture you like or the rapid onset of blinks that seem to go like clockwork, he knows them all. sometimes he uses them too.
YAP SESSIONS. having an adhd boyfriend is a blessing when it comes to conversation.
he can talk for hours on any of his given topics and so can you. hyperfixations and special interests go hand in hand and god forbid if both of you have the same one at the same time. it happened once and you both ended up staying up all night without realizing it because you were too in depth with your conversation.
and just because he likes to talk, it doesn’t mean he won’t let you talk. sometimes when he needs his brain shut off, he’ll ask you to talk about one of your special interests. not because it bores him, but because he likes listening to the sound of your voice and because your passion for the subject makes it interesting to him. he likes knowing why you enjoy things so much and it helps him when he’s feeling overwhelmed.
he downloaded a text-to-speech app for you for times when you go non-verbal. lydia did too but he was the first because he wanted to make sure that everyone was still able to understand you. communication king.
stiles is REALLY bad at following schedules but if you need one, he makes sure he has it memorized and reminds you when it’s time for something. he can do it for others but when it comes to himself ? not so much.
you went to give him a hug once and his shirt was a fabric/texture you hated, so he threw it away. he wants you to be comfortable around him.
he keeps your safe foods stocked at his house and some in his backpack just in case. once, the cafeteria decided to experiment with the menu and it did not turn out well.
if someone asks “what kind of autism do you have?” he gets defensive. as someone who has dealt with adhd stereotypes and ignorant comments, he hates to see it happen to you.
so anyway if anyone wants to write a void!stiles smut fic based off of the beast by lady gaga ….. i just think that would be neat ok ( this post is me giving express permission for someone to use this idea just tag me when you finish it for .. academic research purposes )
stiles lets his anxious girlfriend run her hands through his hair as a coping mechanism i don’t make the rules
— signed, someone who actively does this
stiles and his best friend who is in love with him and he can’t see it.
it’s no secret stiles stilinski is a nerd. he’s awkward sometimes and he’s never had that many friends— not that he really needed more than scott and you. he says his thoughts without thinking and his sarcastic nature gets him in trouble more often than not. and he’s never been good at talking to girls. girls he likes, that is. he’s been in love with lydia martin almost as long as you’ve been in love with him. except you can count on one hand the number of times he’s spoken to the redhead without making a complete fool of himself. and if you weren’t wishing it was you that made him trip over his words, you’d find it funny. but you do wish it was you, and you don’t find it funny that all she does is blow him off.
it’s not as if your affection for stiles is a secret. he’s one of your best friends, of course you hug him and run your fingers over his buzzed hair and fix his shirt collar and help him with homework and joke about his jeep and do all of the things best friends do. but there’s a yearning in all of those actions, a desire to mean more to him than what you are that consumes you. the lingering glances and the just-too-long touches are obvious to everyone else but stiles. he doesn’t recognize that the way you act around him is the same way he acts around lydia. how could he? he’s never been the one girls want ( as far as he knows ).
scott tries to help. he really does. he sees how much you care for his best friend, can sense just how far gone you truly are. but it doesn’t work. after all, if scott can be with allison, why can’t stiles be with lydia? it could work. those words were said verbatim and it crushed you. why can’t he see that someone already loves him? that the way he is now is the way you want him, always and forever. that he doesn’t have to be popular or first line or supernatural or anything other than who he is at his core.
and when someone mistakes you for dating one another, he laughs. he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard and says, “she’s my best friend.” and the finality in his tone snaps your heart in two but you smile and nod along as if it’s ridiculous that you and stiles would ever date. as if it’s not the one thing you want more than anything, as if it’s not the wish you make every time you blew out a birthday candle, as if it’s not the subject of your happiest dreams. stiles doesn’t see you that way. he never will.
stiles and his best friend who can’t take the pain of being in love with him.
stiles misses you
a/n: i have no excuse for this except i’m on my period and i love crying. this can be interpreted as the reader is dead or they broke up, whichever makes you cry more. xoxo 🫶🏻
stiles misses you.
he misses the sweet scent of your perfume when he walks past you and the lingering daze he’d be in from looking at you. he misses the saccharine smiles you’d give him and the playful ones you’d respond with when he winked at you in class. he misses the color of your hair and the way it shone in the sun like a beacon signaling home. he misses the sparkle in your eyes when you finally figure out something that’s been bugging you.
he misses the sound of your laughter, bright as bells and unapologetic, echoing through the halls and in his brain and how it was so much more intoxicating when he was the one who made you laugh. he misses your kind words, the gentleness in your tone and the way you can make anything sound sweet. he misses how you’d comfort him when he cried and whenever he had a bad day, rubbing soothing circles into his back and quiet murmurs of reassurance.
he misses the familiar sound of your voice, the way he hears it first out of every sound that goes through his adhd-riddled brain. he misses hearing your voice and knowing everything would be okay because you’re here and you’re safe and you’re all that matters to him.
he even misses the way that you fight. riding in silence in his jeep until you can’t take it anymore and yelling until you can’t breathe until you finally give in to one another and have it out the way you need to. whether it’s harsh or disappointing or all-consuming heartache, he misses all of the feelings you give him.
he misses your heartbeat. the steady sound of it pounding in his ears as his head lays across your chest and your fingers thread through his hair as you hum softly to him. he misses the constant calmness that comes with you being around when he’s alone, mind racing with anything and everything that won’t let him sleep at night.
he misses your clothes, the ones you’d leave around his house after sleepovers or just in case you ever needed an outfit replacement after some supernatural horror ruined yours. he misses the way they smell like you because the ones he has are beginning to fade and he’s afraid he’ll forget what that smell is. the smell of home.
he misses driving around beacon hills with you in the middle of the night when you’re stuck doing werewolf patrol, the silly games you’d play and the way you’d make up some outlandish rules to twist the odds in your favor.
he misses the way he always had someone on his side, how you would always believe him no matter what anyone said or did. you always held firm in your belief that stiles was right. he misses having someone to stick up for him about his ideas and having someone in his corner, rain or shine, right or wrong. he misses the feeling of togetherness, of being half of a whole.
stiles misses your stupid texts, the ones you’d send him while bored in class, not caring if you got caught and had your phone taken away. he misses the heart emoji you’d always put at the end of every one as a reminder that you loved him. he misses the texts in the middle of the night about questions neither of you can answer, whether philosophical or entirely improbable. he misses the way you’d text him good morning and how you’d always text him to make sure he got home okay.
he misses the hours-long phone calls talking about everything that was going on in your world, supernatural or not, good or bad. he misses being able to say whatever he wants to say without fear of judgement or apprehension. he misses the stretches of silence that come after you fall asleep on the phone together, your voice slurring as you fight sleep but you don’t want to hang up because you just want him. he misses knowing that you’re on the other end of the line, always waiting for him.
he misses you so bad that it chokes him, hot tears on his pillow as he looks at the picture of you two that he keeps on his nightstand. he misses you so bad he can’t breathe through the pained sobs that plague him every night, holding onto the pillow you used to use when you slept over, trying to cling to the memories that are starting to fade.
stiles misses you.
i have this idea in my head but i don’t know if i should write it out properly or just do a bullet point post for it. i feel like i’m better at bullet point format posts but what would you guys prefer??
eek thank you for the tag !! <3 i might make a drabble out of this lol i love the vibes he’s so lover boy
tags: @lastolympus @kowbelll @obriengf @star--stilinski @darkintothedawn & anyone !
; 𝘁𝗮𝗴 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲 .ᐟ
It's time for another tag game everybody! This one's because I missed valentines day... So here ya' go! Sweet treat from Joy 🤍
; pick a fictional character, a small gift and a sweet treat. Your date is perfect now!
npt: @pizzaapeteer @moonpascal @foodiegoogie @notyaslol @lov3notts + anybody who'd love to join!
Have fun, hun 🤍
jealous stiles.
ok so i know i have a few jealous bsf! stiles posts but let’s talk about jealous BOYFRIEND stiles ( this is shorter than i wanted it to be but alas )
stiles is very unaware of how attractive he is. it’s a fact of life and you’re honestly baffled. so he’s surprised he even has an s/o at all.
in the beginning stages of dating, he has more of an insecure jealousy. he knows you’re attractive, so he’s never mad at you for it.
he just thinks that you’ll realize he isn’t good enough for you.
so he never really directly says he’s jealous and sometimes it causes a rift.
he gets silent and somewhat distant, brushing it off as being busy or supernatural drama. but you begin to catch on to his tricks and how it only seems to happen when you’ve been asked out or flirted with in front of him.
and you reassure him that you love him, standing firm in your stance and while you’ve never been secretive about your relationship with stiles, you begin to broadcast it more. for his sake ( and maybe just because you like bragging about your boyfriend. )
but i think once you’ve been together for a while, he gets comfortable with your relationship. cocky, even.
it’s evolution to his natural confidence and you love it.
someone flirts with you and he drapes an arm around your shoulder, a lazy smirk on his face as he says that you’re spoken for.
public displays of affection are common for you two but it does seem to ramp up when he notices you getting more attention than normal.
and you ask him if it bothers him and he goes “only because they think they have a chance with you.”
when it’s not outright jealousy, it’s shown in the form of possession.
you wearing his lacrosse jerseys, his jackets, him driving you to and from school, making it known that he’s with you. also hickeys. lots of them.
that possession also extends to his own appearance. he lets you mark him up any time you want and that makes him feel just as good as it does when you tell off some jerk for hitting on you when they know you have a boyfriend already.
his jealousy is never angry, only annoyance and it fuels his desire to show that you’re his partner and only his.
if someone has particularly bothered him or you about your relationship, he seeks you out and his actions are somewhat petty ( again, not towards you ).
he’ll kiss you in direct view of the person who asked you out, borderline making out in a way that is not appropriate for a public setting. or asking about your plans later in a voice that’s a little too loud for the school hallway just to make sure they hear that he’s the one you have plans with.
Hi, gorgeous! How do you think Stiles would execute breakfast in bed? Beautiful disaster maybe? Or would he be super careful and tame his clumsiness?
(I hope you're feeling much better! 💜)
omg hi lovely !! i am feeling a bit better now <33 and this is SUCH a cute prompt, thank you for asking and giving me this :))
as stiles is our resident adhd disaster i think he tries really hard. but alas, i don’t think he is as successful as he hopes.
as his mother died when he was young, he wasn’t really taught to cook and since noah works most of the time, i think it’s a lot of junk food nights and simple meals. ramen, mac and cheese, anything easy to do. and while i do think some aspects of breakfast are easy for him to cook, the elaborate breakfast in bed idea is a bit too advanced for our dear boy.
maybe it’s valentine’s day, your birthday, or a random day where he wants you to feel special and he gets the idea in his mind. so he tries his absolute hardest.
he gathers all the ingredients and lays them out and he has a system, he swears he does but you’d never be able to decode it. at first, it’s going well. the eggs are fine and the bacon is sizzling in the pan, but things start to decline when he forgets the toaster oven. he’s humming to himself as he pushes the bacon around in the pan, dancing a little in the cute little apron he’s wearing ( i told you, he’s committed to the bit ). and his mind wanders a little to you and how happy you’ll be and suddenly the smell of burnt bread fills his nostrils and he freaks. it throws him off his game.
so in his attempt to clean up the burnt toast and rid the kitchen of the smoke and the acrid smell, the bacon in turn gets forgotten about. it fries to a crisp and is unable to be salvaged. by now, the eggs are cold.
it disheartens the poor boy. so he probably just brings you takeout breakfast instead ( which is still just as sweet because he took time out of his day to bring you food. )
in summary, i think he would try so hard to make it perfect which it what ultimately messes him up. and he learns it’s much more fun when you cook breakfast together, being goofy and where he isn’t as in his head about it being the “perfect” breakfast in bed. besides, once you’re done cooking you can always take the tray of breakfast foods back to bed and cuddle while you eat.
OKOK BSF STILES WHEN ANOTHER GUY IS LIKE ACTIVELY HITTING ON U INFRONT OF HIM AND HES ALL JEALOUS.
okok so i feel like bsf!stiles and bf!stiles are different types of jealous hear me out. also this isn’t like being hit on directly in front of him but this is what came out when i sat down to write so i’m sorry if you wanted smth different :/
bsf! stiles who knows he has absolutely no claim to you romantically, but still abhors the thought of someone that isn’t him being with you in a romantic context.
bf! stiles who is insanely possessive over you and borderline more territorial than any of his literal werewolf friends ( i’ll elaborate in another post )
imagine if you’re at school, fiddling with your locker because the stupid thing just won’t budge and before you can open your mouth to cuss it out, a voice asks if you need help.
you spin, startled, but smile as you take in an unfamiliar face. a new kid, more than likely, and you accept with a grateful smile. after fiddling with it for a few seconds he yanks it free and you thank him, offering him a tour of the school in return as a thank you.
and he’s nice. he listens to your ramblings about certain teachers and which people to avoid and where to sit at lunch and the best places to hide if you want to skip class. he laughs at your jokes and offers you soft smiles that would make any other girl practically melt at the sight.
as you’re walking to class stiles rounds the corner and you beam, jumping at the opportunity to introduce the new kid to someone else so he isn’t entirely a fish out of water. and stiles can see the way he looks at you. the guy’s eyes are alight with a curious fascination as they flicker between you and he can see the moment he decides the two of you are just friends. when he decides stiles isn’t a threat to the plans he seems to be making.
his jaw sets in a firm line, greeting him casually but there’s something hard in the tone of his voice that you can’t exactly pinpoint. it makes you pout, because why is stiles being so decidedly unfriendly? it isn’t like your best friend to dismiss someone out of hand unless he has a damn good reason. and from what you know, he’s never met this guy before in his life. instead of questioning it the way you want to, you shrug it off and tell stiles you’ll see him later. maybe he’s just having a bad day. he mumbles a goodbye and you return it half-heartedly, turning back to your companion.
little do you know, stiles tracks you all day. he watches you as the guy openly flirts and you don’t seem to reject his advances. he watches as you direct him to sit with him and the pack at lunch. he watches, and that ugly green-eyed monster in the pit of his stomach grows. he’s practically livid but he hides it well to the untrained eye. and he watches at the end of the day as the guy asks you out. he doesn’t stay to hear your answer.
it’s all he thinks about at practice, the scenes replaying in his head at a torturous pace and his annoyance is on full display. it’s a distraction, one that gets him berated by coach more than once, even earns him questioning looks from his teammates and an interrogation from scott.
he’s not upset at you. god, how could he be? you’re perfect. smart and pretty and kind and loyal and utterly captivating. he knows that it’s inevitable for someone else to see you the way he does. he just wishes he’d have actually done something about it. but he doesn’t even know if you feel the same way. and he isn’t going to ruin the friendship you two have just because he was the idiot who fell in love.
( part 2?? maybe?? do we want it?? )
𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.
warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl
word count; +3.5k
a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.
please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me
“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”
You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.
“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”
You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.
“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”
“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”
You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”
“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”
Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.
“What about you?”
His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”
He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”
You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.
“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”
You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.
“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”
You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”
“Three-?”
“What about you?” You interrupt.
You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.
You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.
“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.
“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”
Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.
“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”
You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”
“I don’t know!”
His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.
“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”
Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.
The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.
“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.
It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.
You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.
You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.
They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.
On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.
When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.
Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.
“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”
Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.
“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”
You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.
“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”
“Stiles!”
You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.
“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.
“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.
“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.
“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”
Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.
“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.
Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.
“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”
Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.
“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.
“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.
“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.
His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.
“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.
“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.
Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.
Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.
It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.
His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.
Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.
You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.
“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”
“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”
His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.
“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”
“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”
“You think I’m pretty?”
He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”
“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.
“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”
“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”
The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.
You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.
He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.
You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.
The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.
“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”
“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”
He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.
“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”
“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.
“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.
A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.
“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”
“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.
A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.
“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”
His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.
“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”
Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.
Hii! How's dairy queen Stiles doing!?
Hi! He's good, but he's anxiously waiting to see a certain someone again...
A little drabble based on the Dairy Queen!Stiles AU.
Word count: 291
Stiles never thought he'd be excited to go work at a fast-food restaurant, but his entire world was flipped last week when he met an angel.
He wakes up before his alarm, something he's never experienced before, but he's not upset about it because he can use this time to search every corner of the internet for the mystery girl. There's only so many people living in Beacon Hills; he's bound to find her eventually.
Yes, he knows she has a boyfriend - Victor, or whatever, but after watching them interact, he doesn't imagine they'll last very long. He hopes not, at least.
The minutes seem to pass like hours at work. He spends his downtime conspicuously gazing out of the windows, hoping he'll catch a glimpse of her hair or something, anything. His head whips over to the door every time the bell rings, signaling a customer's arrival. Just those seconds of distraction are enough for disaster to strike - just what he needs, more messes. He remakes drinks, refills cartons of fries, and mops up puddles of ice cream even more often than usual.
The whole process is frustrating, but he's getting increasingly slick to avoid more angry rants from the manager. His acting skills have improved greatly, though he's sure his smile is looking faker as the days go on.
When he finally goes home and collapses in his bed for the night, his dreams are filled with fantasies of beating the shit out of that douchbag boyfriend and spending peaceful, romantic moments with the angel he can't wait to see again (mostly the latter). He knows it's possible that he never will, but he also knows that if he does, it'll be absolutely magical, just like the first time.
This is the sweetest thing ever! Fantastic job, once again. I can't even form words-
stiles x autistic!partner hcs
a/n: april is autism awareness month and i wanted to do smth with our favorite boy! 🫶🏻 reader has lower support needs ( as this is based off of my experience as an autistic person with lower support needs ). not everything will be applicable to all readers.
he’s not unfamiliar with autism, exactly. he knows a lot of his adhd traits intersect with autism traits, but he’s never had a reason to explore it further.
until you.
when he learns that you’re autistic, he goes on one of his adhd deep dives ( sort of like when he went on the werewolf dive when scott was first bitten ).
he knows a LOT about diagnostic criteria ( and sometimes wonders if he himself fits it but that’s for another time ).
he also learns what your dislikes are— tastes, textures, sounds, etc. so he can do his best to keep them away from you. he also knows that are perfectly capable of doing those things yourself but he keeps track anyway because he loves you and he wants to help.
he’s never infantilized you before and he knows that you are your own person. god forbid anyone tries to take your autonomy or imply that because you’re autistic, you can’t do simple things or basic tasks.
but if you do end up needing a little help here and there, he doesn’t mind. he knows what it’s like to struggle with neurodivergence and he’s had a lot of practice with his own. maybe he messes up sometimes but he has good intentions.
he notices shifts in your behavior almost instantly. most of your friend group does but that’s due to supernatural senses; stiles just has an innate focus on you and learns to tell when something is different.
and he does his absolute best to soothe whatever is causing your distress. if some of your classmates are talking too loud or yelling across the cafeteria, he asks to take you outside away from it. or if you’re at a party and suddenly there’s too many people around, he’ll take you to somewhere more secluded. overstimulation is a feeling he knows well, so he sympathizes and does what he can to aid you.
he memorizes a lot of your coping mechanisms. whether it’s the way you tap your fingers together or how you brush the fabric of your skirt back in forth because it’s a texture you like or the rapid onset of blinks that seem to go like clockwork, he knows them all. sometimes he uses them too.
YAP SESSIONS. having an adhd boyfriend is a blessing when it comes to conversation.
he can talk for hours on any of his given topics and so can you. hyperfixations and special interests go hand in hand and god forbid if both of you have the same one at the same time. it happened once and you both ended up staying up all night without realizing it because you were too in depth with your conversation.
and just because he likes to talk, it doesn’t mean he won’t let you talk. sometimes when he needs his brain shut off, he’ll ask you to talk about one of your special interests. not because it bores him, but because he likes listening to the sound of your voice and because your passion for the subject makes it interesting to him. he likes knowing why you enjoy things so much and it helps him when he’s feeling overwhelmed.
he downloaded a text-to-speech app for you for times when you go non-verbal. lydia did too but he was the first because he wanted to make sure that everyone was still able to understand you. communication king.
stiles is REALLY bad at following schedules but if you need one, he makes sure he has it memorized and reminds you when it’s time for something. he can do it for others but when it comes to himself ? not so much.
you went to give him a hug once and his shirt was a fabric/texture you hated, so he threw it away. he wants you to be comfortable around him.
he keeps your safe foods stocked at his house and some in his backpack just in case. once, the cafeteria decided to experiment with the menu and it did not turn out well.
if someone asks “what kind of autism do you have?” he gets defensive. as someone who has dealt with adhd stereotypes and ignorant comments, he hates to see it happen to you.
Here's a little pep talk from Stiles 💜:
"Hey... Hey, look at me. Life sucks, I know. It's horrible. It's a big, ugly, mean monster with sharp teeth and a really bad comb-over and- ok, I'm getting off-topic, sorry. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that there's probably always going to be something bad happening, but there will also always be something good.
"No, no, don't look away. Eyes up here, remember? There we go. Much better. So, like I was saying, there's good stuff out there too. It can be hard to find, especially these days, but it's there. Just... take a moment to look for it. Take a nice, long, deep breath, and look around for a second. It doesn't have to be anything crazy. Maybe the wind is blowing in your favor to show off how hot you are, I don't know. It could be anything.
"And in really dire situations, because, yeah, there's plenty of those around here, look inside yourself. I know it's scary, I don't like doing it either. But the more you do it, the easier it'll get. Start small. Like... What's one thing you tolerate about yourself? You don't have to love it or like it, it's just something you're ok with. You've come to terms with its existence.
"Then, move on to something you do like. Even just a little bit. Come on, don't look at me like that! You're smarter than you think you are, there's gotta be a bunch of things. Alright, it's ok if there's not yet, but there will be eventually! We'll work on that.
"Now, as much as I love giving you all the love in my heart, you gotta give yourself some of the love you have in your heart too. I can't take all the credit, that would be greedy. Besides, have you seen yourself!? My God, I could pass out at any second, I'm serious! And even if you aren't vibing with the physical stuff, you have so many lovable qualities and talents that blow my mind every single day. You're not a useless blob of goo, ok? You're beautiful - inside and out - and special. You're very precious to me and so many others, even if they don't tell as often as they should.
"You're doing great, I promise. You're trying, that's all we can do, you know? Everything's gonna be ok. Well, eventually. It might seem like forever, but it'll happen, I know it. I love you so much."
Sorry to ruin everyone's day, but Stiles holds hands when he cries, without a doubt.
Maybe he holds his love's soft palm against his own cheek while he speaks with a tremble, using it as a tether to help him work through his emotions. Their hands are practically soaked from all of his tears, but he doesn't even notice. He's only focused on her and all the love he feels radiating from her touch.
Or maybe she's sitting with him while he waits for his appointment with his therapist after a long, hard day. He squeezes her hand, trying to take deep breaths and ignore how much his leg is shaking. He wipes his face of the tears that escape with a bit of annoyance at his vulnerability in a public space. Sure, there's only a few other people in there with them, and they're all there for the same reason - to get help - but Stiles has always been good at bottling his emotions up. Why couldn't he do it now?
And especially during his panic attacks, when every muscle in his body feels like it's on fire and when his lungs can't grasp the air he's reaching for, he uses both of his hands to hold onto hers, so tightly that they shake. Sometimes he presses their hold against his chest or his forehead, needing to know that it's real, she's real, she's there with him.
Also, just imagine little Scott holding little Stiles' hand as they walk home from their elementary school after getting into another fight with the biggest bully in the second grade. Maybe boys aren't "supposed to" hold hands, like everyone says when they're eight years old and clueless. Stiles doesn't care, though, he knows he needs this (yes, he waited until they were in his neighborhood, away from any curious gazes).
The moral of the story is that sweet, sweet Stiles needs physical touch to survive. Everything becomes easier when he has a hand to hold, and this goes far beyond just crying.
I'm passing away from my cramps right now so let me just make it known that Stiles would be the best cuddler when his girlfriend is on her period.
We all know that he gives great hugs and loves to snuggle, but his attention to detail really shines when his girl is in pain. He knows exactly what to do to help depending on what kind of pain she's in.
If her cramps are in front, right by her belly button, he'll lay behind her curled-up form, gently placing his hand on the affected area, which acts as a biological heating pad of sorts.
In the opposite scenario, where her cramps creep to her lower back (literally me right now), he'll let her bury her face into his chest while his arms wrap around her to allow his fingers to carefully massage those tender muscles.
He will happily stay there for as long as she wants and needs, or move so she can switch to a different position. He doesn't mind, only wanting her to be as comfortable as humanly possible, despite all the"disrespect", as Stiles would say, her body is giving her.
Anyway, the moral of the story is that the boy knows how to take care of his girl, and boy oh boy do I wish that I was that girl right now.
I'm about to go to bed, I can't take this heartache right now - I just can't.
stiles misses you
a/n: i have no excuse for this except i’m on my period and i love crying. this can be interpreted as the reader is dead or they broke up, whichever makes you cry more. xoxo 🫶🏻
stiles misses you.
he misses the sweet scent of your perfume when he walks past you and the lingering daze he’d be in from looking at you. he misses the saccharine smiles you’d give him and the playful ones you’d respond with when he winked at you in class. he misses the color of your hair and the way it shone in the sun like a beacon signaling home. he misses the sparkle in your eyes when you finally figure out something that’s been bugging you.
he misses the sound of your laughter, bright as bells and unapologetic, echoing through the halls and in his brain and how it was so much more intoxicating when he was the one who made you laugh. he misses your kind words, the gentleness in your tone and the way you can make anything sound sweet. he misses how you’d comfort him when he cried and whenever he had a bad day, rubbing soothing circles into his back and quiet murmurs of reassurance.
he misses the familiar sound of your voice, the way he hears it first out of every sound that goes through his adhd-riddled brain. he misses hearing your voice and knowing everything would be okay because you’re here and you’re safe and you’re all that matters to him.
he even misses the way that you fight. riding in silence in his jeep until you can’t take it anymore and yelling until you can’t breathe until you finally give in to one another and have it out the way you need to. whether it’s harsh or disappointing or all-consuming heartache, he misses all of the feelings you give him.
he misses your heartbeat. the steady sound of it pounding in his ears as his head lays across your chest and your fingers thread through his hair as you hum softly to him. he misses the constant calmness that comes with you being around when he’s alone, mind racing with anything and everything that won’t let him sleep at night.
he misses your clothes, the ones you’d leave around his house after sleepovers or just in case you ever needed an outfit replacement after some supernatural horror ruined yours. he misses the way they smell like you because the ones he has are beginning to fade and he’s afraid he’ll forget what that smell is. the smell of home.
he misses driving around beacon hills with you in the middle of the night when you’re stuck doing werewolf patrol, the silly games you’d play and the way you’d make up some outlandish rules to twist the odds in your favor.
he misses the way he always had someone on his side, how you would always believe him no matter what anyone said or did. you always held firm in your belief that stiles was right. he misses having someone to stick up for him about his ideas and having someone in his corner, rain or shine, right or wrong. he misses the feeling of togetherness, of being half of a whole.
stiles misses your stupid texts, the ones you’d send him while bored in class, not caring if you got caught and had your phone taken away. he misses the heart emoji you’d always put at the end of every one as a reminder that you loved him. he misses the texts in the middle of the night about questions neither of you can answer, whether philosophical or entirely improbable. he misses the way you’d text him good morning and how you’d always text him to make sure he got home okay.
he misses the hours-long phone calls talking about everything that was going on in your world, supernatural or not, good or bad. he misses being able to say whatever he wants to say without fear of judgement or apprehension. he misses the stretches of silence that come after you fall asleep on the phone together, your voice slurring as you fight sleep but you don’t want to hang up because you just want him. he misses knowing that you’re on the other end of the line, always waiting for him.
he misses you so bad that it chokes him, hot tears on his pillow as he looks at the picture of you two that he keeps on his nightstand. he misses you so bad he can’t breathe through the pained sobs that plague him every night, holding onto the pillow you used to use when you slept over, trying to cling to the memories that are starting to fade.
stiles misses you.
Happy International Women's Day! 💜
Mentally, this is how I'm spending it 🤭
THIS IS SO CUTE, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I LOVE THIS AAAAHHH!
stiles and sandman!reader blurb
a/n: this was inspired by the song “at all costs” from wish and i was going to do a full length fic but i can’t quite get it right so right now here’s a blurb! testing the waters to see if it’s smth y’all would want <3
you weren’t supposed to dream.
in all of your years, you had never dreamt. no terrifying nightmares, no reliving moments of your past, no outlandish fantasies that fleeted from your brain the second you woke. not even when you were little. it had never been unusual to you, knowing that your family were dream guardians— or more commonly known in lore, sandmen.
you weren’t sure when it had started, when the images of a boy with dark hair and equally dark eyes had started to come to you. but the longer it went on the more you grew attached, to look forward to sleep and to seeing the serene face in your dreams. there was no name, no identifying factor other than his soft features that brought you comfort rather than disturbance.
you kept it a secret. not because it was particularly dangerous or untoward ( as far as you knew ), but rather because it felt good to have something uniquely your own. and maybe because you were afraid if you told the other members of your family, the dreams would stop. and selfishly, you couldn’t let him go.
stiles had never kept track of his dreams. most of the time they were weird and nonsensical and filled with allusions to his favorite nerdy media. and they never repeated. sure, some of them had the same premise or started the same way but there was always something different about them, something that made each one different. that was, until a few months ago when he had begun to dream of a mysterious girl. the first time he figured it was a product of his imagination, a fantasy he had created to combat his lack of a relationship. but then he dreamt of her again.
and again. and again. and again.
always the same over and over. the girl frozen in time, her eyes gentle and her smile kind. she never spoke but it seemed like she wanted to. of course, he had to be going crazy. how could a figure in a dream want anything? wanting was so completely and utterly human, something he knew very well after dreaming of her for months. he wanted to know her so much it bled into his waking hours, leaving him desperate for the time he’d close his eyes and see her again.
he didn’t tell anyone. with all of the nonsense he and his friends went through, this small pocket of peace that he found in his sleep was something he wanted to keep to himself ( and maybe he was afraid they’d make fun of him for making up a literal “dream girl” ).
for months they dreamt of each other. always watching, memorizing until they could recall the features of the other as well as they could their own. neither of them understood the true depth of their connection, nor that it was real and more tangible than any dream had a right to be.
after all, the saying is “dreams do come true”.
I think a singular kiss on the cheek from Stiles could actually cure me of all ailments. THAT BOY, I CAN'T! And the smirk he gives afterwards... Yeah, I'll be passed out on the floor.
Cute
I'm a little late, but here's more of the twins, Stiles and Stuart Stilinski! And bis thanks to @darkintothedawn for the inspiration! I couldn't have done it without your phenomenal ideas!
Word Count: 965
She couldn’t remember falling asleep, nor how she ended up so perfectly snuggled between her two favorite boys. She did, however, know exactly who was who, just by feeling them breathe against her. Stuart was lying on his back, his arm bent so that his hand held the back of his neck, creating the perfect nook for her head to rest on his chest. Her arm was already wrapped around his waist when she instinctively pulled him closer. Stiles, being the more deliberate twin, was behind her, spooning her and keeping her in a tight embrace while his nose stayed buried in her hair.
When the three of them began dating, snuggling was sometimes more comparable to a cold war: no physical attacks, but verbal arguments and even threats about who should be where and what positions they should lay in. The poor girl had to be the mediator, begging them to compromise somewhere in the middle for her sake. They had been whipped since they first met her, so it’s no surprise that they listened, although somewhat begrudgingly.
At this point, they have nearly mastered the art of going with the flow or, in other words, letting her get comfortable first, and then sliding in on either side, always taking turns facing her. Many things are like this in their relationship since their circumstances are somewhat unusual.
As if on cue, they both lifted their heads to look at her and she looked between them in turn.
“There she is,” Stiles said with an adoring grin.
“It’s about time,” quipped Stuart.
The last time she was conscious, Stiles was driving them back to their house after their date at the zoo. Seeing her beam about each animal as they wandered through the park ignited more love in their hearts for her. There wasn’t a single thing she could do that wouldn’t make them ruminate on her excessive amounts of ‘cuteness’, as they say. Apparently, all of that walking and enthusing tuckered her out, because she was out like a light, slumped against Stuart’s shoulder in the backseat. She figured one of them must have carried her inside and upstairs.
“What time is it anyway?” she said before yawning.
Stuart glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Almost eight.” His fingers traced random patterns on her arm, still wrapped around his waist.
“Wow. I’ve been asleep this whole time?”
“Yeah, it’s very cute,” Stiles said, nuzzling into her hair blissfully.
“Again, with the ‘cute’ thing? Aren’t there any other words you can use to describe me?” As of recently, she’d been growing tired of their teasing insistence. ‘Cute’ was basically their new favorite word.
“Nope. You’re cute, it’s time to accept it,” Stiles stated simply.
“I’m not rejecting it!”
“Yes, you are. And it’s not very nice,” Stuart added.
She couldn’t believe they turned this onto her, yet again! The few times they actually work together are spent teasing her. Not when she asks them to stop bickering about nonsense, no, that would be too easy. They just have to throw a wrench in the works.
“What!? How am I not being nice?” she exclaimed.
“You know exactly how. Don’t try to act all innocent.” Stiles was too sly for anyone’s good.
“I’m not-”
“Oh, come on. We all know what you’re doing,” interjected Stuart. “You’re fishing for compliments! You know, your greed is gonna catch up with you eventually.” He wore a poker face that was convincing enough to make her face flush, turning rosy.
Stiles lifted his head and caught a glimpse her warm pout and chuckled, saying, “Oh, don’t do that, you know we’re just messing with you.”
“Whatever. I’m hungry.”
“So that’s why you’re so grumpy,” Stuart started, but stopped and furrowed his eyebrows when he felt her begin to release herself from their holds. “Wait, where are you going?” He and Stiles both tightened their grasps.
“To the kitchen. I’m hungry.” Her repeated words were blunt because, to her, it was obvious.
“Woah, wait a damn minute, you can’t leave yet!” Stiles said.
“Why not?” She narrowed her eyes at him, looking behind her.
“Because.”
“Because? That’s it?”
“Yes!” he asserted.
“What he means,” Stuart glared at his twin, “is that we... uh... really, really don’t want you to.” He wore a pained expression, knowing full well that his reasoning was probably only hurting their cause, and Stiles gave him the death stare right back.
She sighed, beginning to move again, and he knew this meant he only had one choice left. “Ok, ok, we’re sorry, we’re sorry... Please don’t get up. Seriously.” He paused to think, then continued, "Hey, how about you stay here, and someone brings food to you?”
The girl smiled slightly and began to relax into the bed again. “Alright. I can agree to that.”
Stiles’ face lit up. “Perfect! Stuart will go.”
Stuart’s eyes widened with rage. That scheming bastard! he thought, and he sat up with malintent radiating off of him, causing Stiles to practically duck, burying his face in her hair yet again. He huffed, knowing that he can’t beat his brother’s ass when their girlfriend is anywhere near him; he would not take that risk.
He took a couple of seconds to relax (for now, he’d get his revenge after she went home), then leaned down to press a sweet kiss to her forehead. “Anything for the cutest girl in the world.”
Seeing her soft smile almost made the trip downstairs worth it, but he knew tackling Stiles and throwing him down those same stairs later would cure him.
As soon as Stuart left the room, Stiles pulled her impossibly closer, relishing in the few moments of alone time.
“You know Stuart is going to kill you, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
Hi, friends! I hope everyone is doing well.
If I have time this week, I'd like to write some fluff for the twins (Stiles and Stuart) trope, but I don't have any ideas or inspiration. If anyone does, please let me know! I absolutely love hearing from you all! Thank you! 💜
AH! He's so cute, I love your take on this! And I must say, it sounds pretty accurate! I'm glad you're feeling better, my dear 💜
Hi, gorgeous! How do you think Stiles would execute breakfast in bed? Beautiful disaster maybe? Or would he be super careful and tame his clumsiness?
(I hope you're feeling much better! 💜)
omg hi lovely !! i am feeling a bit better now <33 and this is SUCH a cute prompt, thank you for asking and giving me this :))
as stiles is our resident adhd disaster i think he tries really hard. but alas, i don’t think he is as successful as he hopes.
as his mother died when he was young, he wasn’t really taught to cook and since noah works most of the time, i think it’s a lot of junk food nights and simple meals. ramen, mac and cheese, anything easy to do. and while i do think some aspects of breakfast are easy for him to cook, the elaborate breakfast in bed idea is a bit too advanced for our dear boy.
maybe it’s valentine’s day, your birthday, or a random day where he wants you to feel special and he gets the idea in his mind. so he tries his absolute hardest.
he gathers all the ingredients and lays them out and he has a system, he swears he does but you’d never be able to decode it. at first, it’s going well. the eggs are fine and the bacon is sizzling in the pan, but things start to decline when he forgets the toaster oven. he’s humming to himself as he pushes the bacon around in the pan, dancing a little in the cute little apron he’s wearing ( i told you, he’s committed to the bit ). and his mind wanders a little to you and how happy you’ll be and suddenly the smell of burnt bread fills his nostrils and he freaks. it throws him off his game.
so in his attempt to clean up the burnt toast and rid the kitchen of the smoke and the acrid smell, the bacon in turn gets forgotten about. it fries to a crisp and is unable to be salvaged. by now, the eggs are cold.
it disheartens the poor boy. so he probably just brings you takeout breakfast instead ( which is still just as sweet because he took time out of his day to bring you food. )
in summary, i think he would try so hard to make it perfect which it what ultimately messes him up. and he learns it’s much more fun when you cook breakfast together, being goofy and where he isn’t as in his head about it being the “perfect” breakfast in bed. besides, once you’re done cooking you can always take the tray of breakfast foods back to bed and cuddle while you eat.
Stiles Stilinski valentine’s day💌💐
✮⋆˙ Stiles would show up to your house and knock on the door before you’ve even woken up. He’s just too excited to spend this whole day that he’s planned. ✮⋆˙
✮⋆˙ He’s come over with your favourite breakfast, drink and a bunch of flowers. His bag filled with all your gifts and cards. ✮⋆˙
✮⋆˙ The day is a simple day but tailored to you. Your favourite lunch, he’s got it. Your favourite place, you’ll be there. Whether that be the arcade, aquarium or even a museum he is taking you and paying for the whole thing. ✮⋆˙
✮⋆˙ Of course he brought you lego to do. A shared interest between you too. The lego flowers were made together. The star wars lego you bought him was built together too. ✮⋆˙
✮⋆˙ The day ended in you and him cuddled up in bed watching some movie he let you choose. Eating and drinking your favourite food that he bought you.✮⋆˙
JJ Maybank and Spencer Reid coming soon…
This is so adorable, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? AAAAHHH 💜
first kiss
s1!stiles stilinski x gf!reader
creds: roseraris for dividers!
you were perched on stiles’ bed, watching him pace back and forth across his room, his hand moving animatedly as he talked about the latest werewolf drama involving scott.
the police radio scanner on his desk crackled with static, and his wall was covered in red string and newspaper clippings - his latest attempt to piece together all the supernatural happenings in beacon hills.
“and then scott practically wolfed out in the middle of practice!” stiles exclaimed, running a hand through his short hair.
“like dude, we talked about this! control! but no, apparently catching greenberg’s crossbody was worth risking exposure to the entire lacrosse team!”
you couldnt help but smile at his sarcasm. this was classic stiles - all nervous energy and rapid-fire words, trying to keep his best friend alove while maintaining some semblance of normalcy in their increasingly bizarre lives.
“stiles,” you said, trying to interrupt his rambling to no avail. “stiles!”
he stopped mid-gesture, turning to look at you with those warm brown eyes that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “yeah?”
“come sit down before you wear a hole in your floor.” he glanced down at the path he’d been treading, then shuffled over to sit beside you, his knee bouncing with restless energy.
“sorry, i just… there’s so much happening, y’know? between scott’s furry little problem and trying to figure out who the alpha is, and my dad’s cases, and-“
“and you’re carrying all the weight of it.” you finished softly, placing your hand over his fidgeting ones.
stiles fell quiet, a rare occurrence that made you look at him more closely. his eyes were fixed on where your hands touched, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head.
“how do you do that?” he asked suddenly.
“do what?”
“just… know exactly what to say? how to calm me down?” he turned his hend over to lace his fingers with yours.
“you’re like my personal adderall, except, y’know, prettier and less medical.” you laughed, feeling your cheeks warm.
“did you just compare me to you ADHD medication?”
“i did, didnt i?” stiles groaned, his free hand coming up to cover his face.
“that was supposed to be romantic. in my head, it was definitely more romantic. can we pretend i said something smooth instead? like, i dunno, ‘you’re the moon to my werewolf’ — wait no, that’s worse, that’s definitely worse—“
you cut off his rambling the only way you could think of – by leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. for a moment, stiles froze, and you could practically hear his brain short-circuiting.
then his hand came up to cup your cheek, and he was kissing you back with all the pent-up energy he usually put into solving supernatural mysteries.
when you pulled away, stiles blinked at you several times, his mouth opening and closing without sound – another rare occurrence.
"did you just—" he started.
"kiss you? Yeah."
"and I—"
"kissed me back? also yeah." a grin slowly spread across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"that was... wow. that was awesome. can we do that again? we should definitely do that again. like, right now. or whenever you want. im free for the next, like, forever—"
this time when you kissed him, you were both smiling too much for it to be perfect, but somehow that made it even better.
the police scanner crackled again in the background, and somewhere in beacon hills, scott was probably getting into more werewolf-related trouble, but for now, none of that mattered.
stiles pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "just so we're clear," he whispered, "this means you like me, right? because i really like you, and it would be super awkward if—"
"stiles?"
"yeah?"
"we’ve been dating for 6 months."
"oh yeah… cool," he breathed, then immediately cringed.
"i mean, not cool like 'whatever' cool, but cool like 'this is the best thing ever' cool, and im going to stop talking now because im pretty sure im ruining the moment, and—"
you silenced him with another quick kiss, and felt him smile against your lips.
"you know," he said when you separated, "i think i just found my new favorite way to be shut up."
the police scanner suddenly burst to life with his dad's voice reporting a disturbance downtown, and stiles' eyes lit up with that familiar mix of curiosity and excitement.
"want to go investigate a potentially supernatural crime scene with me?" he asked, already reaching for his keys.
you laughed, standing up and pulling him with you. "only you would think that's a romantic second kiss location."
"hey, i contain multitudes," he protested, but his grin was infectious as he led you toward his jeep.
and just like that, life in beacon hills continued – only now with the added bonus of being able to kiss your adorably sarcastic boyfriend whenever he started rambling about werewolves.
Effort for Love ❤️
Word count: 1,078
Happy Valentine's Day!
Stiles had it all planned out. It was going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever. It had to be; it was their first spent together as a couple. Some (Isaac) might say he was taking it too seriously, but he strongly disagreed. It was his duty to make his girlfriend feel as special and loved as possible.
With a big smile, he drove to the surprise destination, stubbornly refusing to answer all of her questions. She was radiating with excitement in the passenger seat – she had never had someone so dedicated to her happiness. It took all of her strength not to peek under the blanket in the backseat which was clearly hiding a menagerie of items for their date.
She was giddy, and seeing that on her face made Stiles giddy too. He did that. He was the one who was making her feel that way. And knowing that was the best feeling in the world.
“Can I at least get a hint or something? I need to mentally prepare!”
“Absolutely not. And don’t worry about mentally preparing, you’ll be very relaxed, I promise.” Stiles spoke with a calm yet adamant voice, though he couldn’t ignore his nerves. This was a big moment for him.
“Oh, I’ll be relaxed? Does this mean there’s a massage in my future?” she teased.
He smirked. “Maybe later if your gift is as good as I think it’s going to be.” He glanced at the neatly wrapped box sitting in her lap, filled with all of his favorite goodies and the new video game disk he’s had his eye on for his Xbox. She knows him better than he’d like to admit.
“Well, I guess we both just have to wait and find out then.”
“I guess so.”
The next ten or so minutes were peaceful, their chatting and laughter filled the air. That was until an unsettling screech made a bold interruption. Before they knew it, the Jeep was slowing down. Stiles instinctively pulled off the mostly empty highway. See, he took a route that he knew she wouldn’t recognize, one that most wouldn’t take on a holiday because it leads away from town and past all the popular scenic spots.
The poor guy was trying not to panic. He had just recently gotten major work done on the vehicle, so watching it break down yet again was beyond frustrating. He put it in park and stepped out with a huff, closing the door with a little bit more force than he meant to. Steam flowed from the front of the Jeep as he lifted the hood, making him cough a couple of times.
Seeing his anger and devastation as he cursed out his car was worrying for his girlfriend. She knew that he had spent over a week planning this, but she started to truly realize how much he truly wanted to do this for her as she, too, stepped out, making her way to his side.
“Stiles-”
He shook his head, looking at her with sincere remorse as he interjected. “No, look, I’m sorry. I know you were excited and this kind of ruins everything I had planned, but we could try again another day, you know? We could have another Valentine’s Day next week and just forget everything-”
She couldn’t believe what he was saying. Yes, he had always been hard on himself, but this was just ridiculous. “What? No. Stiles, I don’t care if it’s not perfect or not exactly how you planned, weren’t not just going to throw it all away. We still have time; we still have the whole evening.”
“Yeah, but we’re not going to make it to the beach in time for sunset and a tow truck could take hours, maybe all night!” he blurted, his frustration at the situation still growing.
Warmth filled her cheeks and a soft smile grew on her face. “You were taking me to the beach for the sunset?” she said delicately. Her heart had never felt so full.
“Yes,” he sighed. His hand then gestured toward the still steaming Jeep as he spoke, saying, “Yeah, I was… Until this stupid piece of-”
“You’re the most adorable, romantic, sweet, and loving man in the world.” Her words were filled with such sincerity that Stiles froze, his face turning to the same rosy red as hers.
“Wha-… Really? You’re not, like, mad or something?” For some incomprehensible reason, he was struggling to believe the situation at hand. How could she be so understanding? Why was she so calm? And smiling? What the hell was going on?
“Of course I’m not mad,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Why would I be mad when I have the world’s perfect boyfriend all to myself on Valentine’s Day?”
He was faltering, his hands barely making contact with her waist. “I’m not perfect…”
Her lips were firmly pressed against his instantly. “Shut up. Yes, you are.”
Stiles was floating, a nervous, blushing mess. How did he get so lucky?
After a little more convincing, Stiles agreed to go through with his plan on the side of the highway instead of the beach since they were still miles away. He made his girlfriend wait in the passenger seat with her eyes closed (he was very firm about that) while he moved the blanket from the backseat to the pavement and set up the red candles, red and pink flowers, sandwiches he made himself, and boxes of chocolates for dessert.
The scene in front of her when she opened her eyes was straight out of a romance movie. She was practically speechless as she moved towards the blanket to sit with her beau, both of them grinning uncontrollably. The evening turned out to be the most magical moment imaginable, beginning with a call with the towing company, of course. They spent the five-hour wait basking in the love they had for each other and the sunset that still made an appearance.
When it became too cold to sit outside any longer, they packed up and sat in the Jeep again, where Stiles opened his gift with glee. He nearly crushed her ribcage with the bear hug he gave her. And yes, it earned her a massage, of sorts, in the backseat.
Curled up against each other under the blanket, they exchanged handwritten love letters and read them out loud to each other, closing their very romantic date with a loving bang.
How do you think stiles would react to finding out his gf was cheated on in the past?
He gets busy and forgets to let her know he’ll be late to their movie night and she immediately assumes the worst and he’s shocked to find her upset and self conscious and insecure when he finally makes it home.
I bet he would feel so bad even though he genuinely didn’t do anything. He would be absolutely flabbergasted that anyone would dare step out on her. He would probably even get genuinely angry at the idiot when she tells the full story.
Oh my gosh, this is so sad yet sweet at the same time!
Since he doesn't already know that she was cheated on, walking in to see her in tears and unable to keep eye contact with him would be beyond confusing and concerning for him. He'd rush over to her, immediately wanting to hold her and talk everything out, asking what was wrong, only to painfully watch her take a step back from him.
"Where were you, Stiles? Where the hell were you?" she'd sob out, keeping a cautious hand between them.
He'd be thrown off by the question, not expecting an interrogation and stuttering his words out. "I-I was just helping Scott with a lead after practice, that's it, I swear..."
"Call him." she'd order, trying to sound like she has a grip on the situation, but her insecurity is evident.
"What?"
"Call him!" At this point, she's desperate, needing certainty and concrete proof that he's telling the truth.
Stiles almost jumps, still so confused about why she's so upset. "Ok, ok, I'm calling him right now. See?" He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns it so she can see what he's doing. He calls Scott right away.
Without giving him any context or revealing her presence, Stiles asks him to tell him all about their previous whereabouts. Scott speaks casually and simply but is clearly lost on why he's doing this. However, she knows he's telling the truth because he's not really known for his lying abilities...
Stiles hangs up right after she gets her proof. "There. Do you believe me now? Or can you at least tell me what's wrong? I hate seeing you like this, you know I hate it when y-" He stops at the feeling of her body practically crashing into his as she clings to him tightly, letting a few more soft sobs out. His mind goes blank for a second before he gets his bearings and wraps his arms around her in a firm embrace. "Hey... It's ok. I got you. Just talk to me. What's going on?"
With a shaky voice, she tells him everything. Certain details are harder to get out than others, so at some point, Stiles leads them to the couch, still holding her close as she curls up against his chest.
Empathizing with people can be hard for Stiles sometimes, but never with his sweet angel. A menagerie of emotions swirls inside of him as he listens to her well - guilt, anger, disgust, sympathy, protectiveness, the list goes on and on.
He gently holds her face in his hands, looking straight into her eyes as he makes her a promise to never do anything horrible like that to her, to never show her any disrespect, to always be faithful to her, and to always let her know if he'll be running late from then on.
Still cradling her against him, they decide to watch something innocent and peaceful, and land on Bambi. Stiles will never admit it, but he teared up at the mother's death, squeezing her even tighter. Thankfully, she fell asleep before the movie ended
Thank you so much for your submission! I'm pretty sure I switched tenses halfway through, but I am far too tired to reread and edit this... My apologies, we'll all just have to deal with it. 💜
Dairy Queen Dream
Word count: 1,030
I'm so sorry that this took me so long to write, but here it finally is! Big thanks to @sleepyminyard for the encouragement! I'm considering making a second part someday, but I'll let you guys decide. Also, if you've seen American Assassin, I used Victor's name and description (kinda) from that movie to help myself visualize better. My sincerest apologies for the slight angst, but I hope you enjoy!
Stiles walked into work with a sigh. He was officially an employee of Dairy Queen for a whole week, though it already felt like it had been a year. He thought working at a fast-food establishment would be easy; he was wrong. Training nearly killed him, thanks to that stupid ice cream machine. Maybe it was his clumsiness that made using it such a struggle, but he believed the thing had it out for him. If his Jeep wasn’t in grave shambles and didn’t require every penny he had, he might consider walking away and finding some other job. But alas, Dairy Queen was a necessary evil.
He supposed it was sort of fun sometimes. He enjoyed discreetly tossing a few bits of candy into his mouth now and then, and talking to the costumers in the drive-thru with the headset made him feel like he was receiving orders from his captain on a spaceship.
However, he already had six little burns on his poor fingers from the fry oil, and he accidentally exploded another blizzard yesterday – the fourth one thus far. The manager gave him a warning, but they both knew that Beacon Hills’ DQ was quite understaffed. They needed him, or someone like him. Stiles was the only applicant in many months.
Hearing the bell above the door chime, signaling that another customer was entering, he made his way over to the counter, not paying any attention to what was in front of him. “Welcome to Dairy Queen. What can I get for y-” Stiles froze as his eyes made contact with hers.
Just looking at her made his face flush, turning a deep red, and his hands suddenly felt clammy. He had never seen someone with such pure beauty. Every little detail pierced him as his gaze took her in. She was almost overwhelming.
Her smile at the awkward moment reeled him back in and he cleared his throat, blinking a few times. “Sorry, uh... How can I help you?”
As she gave him her order with that euphonious voice, he felt dizzy. And when the blizzard she asked for was the exact same as his favorite (since he was five years old), he almost felt out of breath. He couldn’t stop the grin that formed on his face. Stiles was smitten!
He could see it all, right then and there: the sparkling ring he’d put on her finger, the long white dress she’d wear, the quaint home they’d live in together, the fuzzy puppy they’d adopt. Everything would’ve been perfect. Until he watched painfully as a tall, well-built, Ryan Gosling lookalike wrapped an arm around her waist and began listing his order too.
A pit formed in Stiles’ stomach, making him nauseous. He knew nothing about the guy, yet he already hated him. He unknowingly blocked out everything he said, too busy with the jealousy that began to spark inside of him.
He rubbed his forehead, trying to get his bearings. “Um, what was that?”
An annoyed sigh left the ‘man’ before he recited his order again: the most disgusting concoction Stiles had ever heard. Yep, he definitely hated him.
Stiles stared at him from around the corner as he made his blizzard, s He was too consumed to notice his hands drifting away from the mixer, causing ice cream to splatter everywhere, including all over him. “Fuck, not again...” he muttered, his eyes closing and his head tilting back in frustration. The only bright side was that it wasn’t her blizzard that exploded.
That stupid guy had the nerve to look over and laugh, pointing a finger at poor Stiles. “Oh shit! Is it baby’s first day? Do you need a napkin?” he mocked, followed by more obnoxious laughter.
Holding back because he knew his manager was in his office, Stiles bit his lip. To his surprise, a voice did come through to defend him.
“Knock it off, Victor. He’s just trying to do his job.” The angel of a girl stepped in front of him and urged him to take a seat in one of the booths. She then looked back at Stiles and gave him a sweet, sympathetic smile, which he returned. “I’m really sorry about him.”
“It’s alright. I’d probably laugh too.”
“Maybe, but that wasn’t just a laugh...” She lowered her voice as she continued, embarrassed by her boyfriend’s actions, “That was an outburst.”
Stiles suddenly felt horrible for her. The look on her face showed that this wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and the guilt she clearly felt wasn’t fair. Everything inside of him told him to hop over the counter and save her – run away with her, hug her close, and make her feel safe, loved, and appreciated. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option, and Victor looked like he could knock him out with one good punch.
“Hey, really, it’s ok. Don’t feel bad on his behalf.”
Her smile partially returned. “Well, thank you. I’ll make sure he gives you a good tip.”
“Alright, I’m looking forward to it,” he said, chuckling.
With that, Stiles quickly wiped up what he could and made a new blizzard for the douchebag, this time without making a massive mess and a fool of himself. Once all of their order was together, he carried the trays to their table, making sure to flip both of the blizzards. He completely ignored Victor’s existence and focused on the beautiful smiling angel instead.
Walking away was harder than he thought it would be. In the short amount of time since he met her, he somehow grew attached to her. He couldn’t explain why or how, but he knew he felt something strong for her.
He decided that watching her enjoy a meal with that scum was too much for him to bear, so he went on his lunch break and got some fresh air outside. He hoped that he’d at least see her lovely face one more time before they left, but when he came back inside, they were gone, just a crumpled ten-dollar bill left in their place, and his heart cracked. Stiles had no idea if he’d ever see her again, but he certainly hoped so.