Stiles Fanfiction - Blog Posts

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.

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.

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.  

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.  

hii! this is my first time requesting, buuut could possibly you write something with stiles and a popular reader? maybe they’re paired together on a project and realize they have a lot in common? maybe a sort of an enemies to lovers type thing 🙏

No worries! I actually love this idea, thank you! I just got kind of busy and couldn't put much time into this, but I tried my best so hopefully you enjoy it :)

Alright folks, here we go...

Project

Word count: 1,241

(Stiles' POV)

You know those incredibly rare days when you wake up and don't immediately hate everything? When you have a sliver of hope for something good to happen? Yeah, those lovely, delicate, beautiful days, I know you know what I'm talking about.

So my point is, I had (or thought I had) one of those days when my alarm went off one morning, but evidently, I was wrong. And not just a whoops-a-daisy type of wrong. No. I'm talking about the utterly horrific, catastrophically disastrous type. I realized this when I heard who my math teacher paired me with for the graph poster project.

Hearing her name made me immediately roll my eyes and I had to force myself not to audibly groan in agony. I glanced over at her from across the room and saw the same look of distaste on her face that I had on mine. 'Great,' I thought, probably still glaring at her.

Usually, I don't mind popular girls because they're so far out of my league and don't give me the time of day to even reject me in the first place. However, when it comes down to this girl - no. That is way too kind. This evil, mocking, slimy, sinister, know-it-all wench was too intolerable for me to cope with that day. Despite the fact that I've never actually had a conversation with her or even said a word to her, I always had a bad feeling about her. I just didn't trust someone who was so clearly sucking up to her teachers to get away with stuff. Ok, fine, I didn't know if that was exactly true. But how did no one else hate her? How did she even get that popular in the first place? It didn't add up and I didn't like it.

Once the bitch who destroyed my hopes and dreams for the day finally finished blabbing about the damned project, I waited for my infuriatingly slow partner to come sit down at my table so we could start. For some odd reason, when I looked over at her, she was still sitting in her seat, apparently waiting for me to go over to her. She tried waving her hand in her direction to draw me in, but I held my ground, scoffing at her sad attempt. Rolling her eyes, she reluctantly got up and sat down next to me, clearly having an attitude. And then we just sat there for a moment, festering in uncomfortable annoyance until she eventually looked at me.

"Are you going to start the project, or not?" she said bluntly, which caught me off guard.

"Um, excuse me? Am I? Me? Are you serious right now? Do you know what the definition of a partner is? Because I highly doubt that tiny brain of yours does if you think I'm doing this shit by myself," I hissed back.

"Wow, you are just as dramatic as I thought. Obviously, I'm not that dumb, I was just trying to piss you off enough to actually speak instead of just scowling in your seat."

I stared at her in disbelief, incapable of understanding the audacity that girl just had. However, begrudgingly, we started the project.

"You're doing that wrong by the way," she spoke casually. My eyebrows furrowed and I stared intensely at the equation I was solving.

"Uh... No, I'm not."

For some reason, she started getting frustrated with me, even though she was delusional for thinking I was doing absolutely anything incorrectly, saying, "Um, yes you literally are. Have you not been paying attention this entire unit?"

I looked at her with incredulity as I spoke unconfidently, "I... Well... More than you have, for sure. You're always busy chatting with your little minions. Besides, I don't even need to pay attention. Math isn't that hard for people with more than three brain cells."

"Then how come you're doing it wrong?" She looked at me with amusement and it almost made me nauseous.

Then, I snapped at her - probably more aggressively than I should have - but she earned that reaction when she intentionally pissed me off. And so, our spiteful jabs continued as we worked on the project.

By the time we finished, things started getting quiet between us. She pulled out a small book from her backpack and began reading to fill the extra time left in class. I tilted my head as I read the title: "The Fellowship of the Ring." I couldn't help but smirk to myself, but unfortunately, she noticed.

"What?" she said, her eyebrows furrowing.

My eyes quickly lifted to hers as I spoke, trying to sound innocent, "I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, but your face did."

My lips parted, suddenly feeling like I had switched roles and was talking to a version of myself. I've said those exact words about a hundred times - what parallel universe did I just teleport to?

Suddenly, her pencil hit my face, snapping me out of my apparent staring, and she continued, "Is there a reason why you're looking at me like that, or are you just a creep?"

"I, yeah, um... No. Wait, what?" I stuttered, making a fool of myself.

"Are you on drugs or something?"

"Um, no, definitely not."

"Ok, then what the hell is wrong with you?"

I quickly rubbed my face, trying to get a grip. Truth be told, I had no freaking idea what was wrong with me. I couldn't even form a coherent sentence. For the first time since I was in the womb, my mind was empty.

Finally, after looking like an idiot for way too long, I cleared my throat and tried again in a nervous tone, "Do-... Do you like the movies?"

"Huh?" She looked at me like I was crazy.

"The movies. The Lord of the Rings movies. You like them, or...?"

"Oh, um, yeah. I've been wanting to read the books for a while but kept forgetting to renew my library card." Her expression seemed to soften quickly, which made me smile slightly for a reason I didn't understand at the time.

"Yeah? It's been a while since I've seen them, but they were some of my favorites as a kid, after Star Wars, of course."

It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that only a month later, we were cuddled up under a blanket on her couch, binge-watching The Lord of the Rings movies to celebrate her completion of the books. I looked down at her, enjoying her company more than whatever Frodo was complaining about, and just smiled.

I never thought that I would have a conversation with the most well-known girl at Beacon Hills High School, let alone hold her hand around the halls, hug her before class, or kiss her before dropping her off at her house after a date. But, apparently, all those corny quotes that English teachers love are, in fact, true: you really can't judge a book by its cover, and you also can't fold the corner of a book page (your girlfriend will smack you in the face). Oh, and also, your hope getting snatched away by your math teacher doesn't mean that nothing good will come out of the experience that you get from it. Who knows, maybe you'll end up falling in love with and losing your virginity to the most beautiful, wonderful, perfect girl in existence, just like me.

I'm hoping to write this weekend, but feel free to send any other fluffy ideas you have! I love hearing from people, it makes me so happy to know that my little efforts to do Stiles justice have reached others! Thank you all for your contributions. 💜

I don't know when I'll have time to write again, which I apologize for - it makes me sad too. However, when I do get around to it, what would everyone like to see first?

(The Wampus Cat AU has a reader x Stiles childhood friends to lovers trope :))

I don't know when I'll have time to write again, which I apologize for - it makes me sad too. However, when I do get around to it, what would everyone like to see first?

(The Wampus Cat AU has a reader x Stiles childhood friends to lovers trope :))

◇◈◆ Stiles Stilinski Masterlist ◆◈◇

Emojis symbolize holiday-themed prompts

◇◈◆◈◇

◆ General:

◇ Break-In 

◇ Lost in the Dark 

◇ Pen 

◇ Imagination 

◇ Project 

◇ Fiasco 

◇ The Recoil 

◇ Butterfingers 

◇ With the Deer 🎄

◇ A Date Before Midnight 🎉 

◇ Mollified

◇ Effort for Love ❤️

◈ Rants, Headcannons, etc:

◇ Wrapping Presents 🎄 

◇ Stiles finds out his girlfriend was cheated on

◇ A kiss on the cheek could cure me

◇ Period Snuggles

◇ Holding hands while he cries

◇ A pep talk from Stiles

◆ Stiles x POTS(Chronic Illness)!Reader AU:

◇ Battle Together 

◆ Dairy Queen!Stiles x Reader AU:

◇ Dairy Queen Dream

◈ Rants, Headcannons, etc:

◇ Anxiously Waiting

Heyy, I saw you were looking for requests and I was wondering if you would be willing to write Stiles Stilinksi asking reader on a date? What is your interpretation of his approach? What would the pining stage look like? Would he trip over his words? Is he still his usual cocky self? Would he be straightforward? Hopefully this gave you some inspiration and don’t feel pressured to write this if you don’t feel like it <3

I love this so much and it actually inspired me to write a New Year themed imagine, so thank you! Sorry it took so long to respond, but the holidays are a hectic time for everyone. I hope you like it and Happy New Year! 💜

A Date Before Midnight 🎉

Word count: 2,001

Stiles woke up on New Year’s Eve with a heavy weight on his shoulders. Everyone around him, all of his friends, even his father – they were all ecstatic about the fresh start and the chance to improve themselves again, as if all of those unrealistic goals weren’t going to disintegrate within the first few weeks, just like every other year. It was a waste of hope. But that’s not why Stiles was feeling so discouraged with himself.

That day was his last chance to achieve the goal he made 364 days ago: ask her out. One of his closest friends, favorite people, and biggest inspirations was the girl he met when he was a wee tot and had the privilege of growing up with. She always knew how to make him smile and she always let him go on lengthy rants, no matter how ridiculous they were. She listened and talked back, and made him feel normal and safe. This girl was everything he needed when he was lacking something. Somehow, she figured it out and did her best, resulting in a very happy and fulfilled Stiles.

He didn’t realize how truly drawn to her he was until last December when he saw the purity and kindness in her eyes as she handed him the thoughtful, personal Christmas present she made just for him. Plus, watching her go through and finish puberty was an excellent, yet sometimes painful, bonus (wink wink).

Every single day began with determination and ended with despair and frustration. He was so good at talking, it was one of his many talents, and he used it to give himself the advantage in all settings. So, he couldn’t understand why the words “Will you go out with me?” refused to make an appearance while he conversed with her. They constantly raced through his head, but shoving them out of his mouth was like forcing a mule to bake cookies.

Maybe it was fear, or doubt, possibly a dash of incredulity. Or maybe all of the above. Stiles had no clue because his desire to just say the damn words was eating him alive. His tongue was burning, but instead of putting out the flames, he subconsciously diverted his attention by bringing up some other lame conversation topic. He wasn’t sure if he had control of his own brain at that point due to how incredibly long this was taking him.

He decided to do it at the pack’s celebration at Scott’s house. He would pull her aside at some point and casually let it slip out, and it would all be fine. Right? The party was starting at nine, giving him two hours and fifty-nine minutes to figure it out. That’s plenty of time. Right? Right...?

Stiles was frantic and pacing around his room. He didn’t intend to put it off this long, he honestly and wholeheartedly wanted to achieve his goal before the year ended, but the stakes were getting higher and more intimidating. Plus, getting rejected would be a horrible way to start a new year. He had enough bad luck, he couldn’t handle any more.

“Fuck...” he groaned under his breath, running his hands through his hair and down his face.

“Do I need to pull out the swear jar from when you were ten?”

Stiles nearly broke his neck while whipping his head to look at the man standing in the doorway of his bedroom. “Dad? What- I mean, uh, no. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be doing your sheriff duties and arresting middle-aged drunk uncles?”

“I’m leaving for the station in a few hours, it’s only noon.” Noah wasn’t too excited to lead to night shift, especially on New Year’s Eve, and Stiles’ lips made a thin line when he realized that most people weren’t drunk yet. “Why are you so tense?”

“I’m not tense!” he spit back, a little too quickly, earning him raised eyebrows from his father. Stiles relaxed his shoulders as he attempted to make a smooth recovery. “I’m just mentally preparing for all of the self-improvement I’m going to be doing tomorrow.”

The sheriff remained unamused and disbelieving. “Like what?”

“Like... jazzercise?” Stiles winced as soon as he said such an absurd fib, knowing well that it wouldn’t get him out of his interrogation.

“Really? You too?”

The boy’s jaw dropped. There was no way... “Wait, what?”

Smirking, just like his son had done countless times, and turning to walk down the hall, he said, “I better not have to arrest you too tonight.”

Stiles let out a breath of relief and called out after him. “I’ll be on my best behavior! Don’t you worry, Pops!”

With clammy hands, he drove to Scott’s house, already losing time because he was running late. He may have cut himself while attempting to shave the peach fuzz on his chin, and there was a lot of blood. Embarrassing for him, but his intentions to look his best for the biggest night of his life thus far were undoubtedly sweet.

Parking against the curb across the street, he recognized the other cars around him, signifying that he was the last to arrive. The clock was ticking way too fast. He didn’t want to believe that it was already 9:38, but he sort of had to. He had shit to do.

He took a long swig of water from the plastic bottle that had been festering in the cupholder for who knows how long, took a deep breath, and swung his door open. Marching up to the front door, he tried to shake the anxiety out through his hands and focused on taking more deep breaths, but suddenly he was sweating all over and his mouth was dry yet again. These side effects made him shake his head and roll his eyes at himself. He’d known this girl forever, the worst she could say was no. Or laugh in his face...

He slapped his own cheek and whispered harshly, “Get it together, Stiles. Be a man. It’s just a few little words. You’ve had all year to do this. You’ve done enough preparing. Be a man.”

At last, he stepped into his best friend’s home and saw everyone seated around the coffee table, playing Uno with two decks: Aiden, Isaac, Allison, and Ethan were relaxed on the couch as Scott, Kira, Malia, Mason, Liam, and Stiles’ favorite gal sat on pillows and cushions on the floor. Well, except for Malia – she “didn’t care about a hard floor” and “grew up on them.”

“Stiles! You’re here!” That pretty voice and smile caught his attention. “Here, come sit with me, you can just be on my ‘team’ until this game is over,” she said, scooting over and making room for him on her cushion.

His heart just about melted and he quickly sat down next to her, against her, which sent tingles through his body.

The game continued, but all he wanted to do was demand that everyone leave them alone so he could spill his guts and beg for a date. He was beginning to feel a bit hot and queasy, and he repeatedly checked the time as the minutes slowly passed. However, he watched her closely during her turns and quietly whispered strategy advice over her shoulder to aid her in disposing of her cards. Hearing her whisper back, raving about how smart he was made him blush furiously.

“Hey, what happened to your chin?” she asked while Allison played her turn.

Stiles looked at her with confusion at first. “My what?” Realization washed over him as his fingertips brushed over the tender mark left behind from his earlier incident. The fact that she noticed made his face turn another shade darker. “Oh, that. It’s nothing. Basically a paper cut.”

“Basically?”

“Kind of. Almost.”

“Almost a paper cut? How does paper almost cut you and still leave a mark?” she said, a smile growing on her face.

Chuckling, he gave in. “Alright, fine. I cut myself while shaving. But I swear it wasn’t my fault. The razor just came at me out of nowhere!”

Hearing her laugh at his dumb joke made him grin like a doofus (a cute doofus).

“Wow, I didn’t know you even knew how to shave. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“Hey! I’ve been shaving for years, you just haven’t noticed because I’m so skilled at it. I’m as precise as a ninja.”

“Clearly not, since you cut yourself,” she pointed out, smirking.

“I told you; it was the razor!”

After a couple more games of Uno, the group diverted into other activities: chatting, dancing, snacking, arm wrestling, etc. But every time Stiles could pull away and hunt her down, someone would drag her into another conversation or game of Connect 4. Usually, he wouldn’t mind yanking a person wherever he wanted, however, that look of joy she wore made it impossible for his hands to reach out.

Additionally, a stronger feeling of guilt was creeping over him. The fear of somehow violating her and making her feel uncomfortable with their friendship formed a blackhole in his stomach. He couldn’t bear being responsible for flipping her whole world upside down. What if she didn’t want to see him again? Or what if she tells everyone that he’s a creep? What if he has to disappear forever?

Of course, these scenarios he was conjuring were completely unrealistic; he knew that because he knew her. He knew almost everything there was to know about her. He studied her soul with interest and delight because she was so enticing and alluring to him. She was like a beautiful mystical creature who blessed him with companionship. Though, as the time inched closer to his deadline, he seemed to lose his sense of reality.

Before he knew it, the pack was gathering around the TV, watching the countdown on the local News, and finding a couch, chair, or fireplace to jump off of and into the New Year. Stiles’ heart was thumping and he felt faint. He was pulled up onto the couch by the hood of his jacket, and he looked over to see that pretty smile again, but he only frowned as people began counting down.

“10, 9...”

“Stiles?”

With a shaky jaw, he bit his lip.

“...8, 7...”

“What’s wrong?”

“...6, 5, 4...”

“Stiles-”

“...3, 2...”

“Will you go out with me?” he finally blurted, feeling hot tingles rush through him in waves.

Her jaw went slack.

“...1! Happy New Year!”

Everyone jumped down and cheered in celebration, blissfully unaware of the thick air surrounding the pair who awkwardly stepped down from the couch.

Stiles stared at her blank face before deciding to let his stupid hopes and dreams die in that living room. He didn’t want to keep looking into those eyes with the knowledge of the inevitable consequences that would soon be coming his way.

She glanced around and saw a couple kisses being shared, but when her gaze returned to Stiles, he was turning away, preparing to walk out of there as quickly as possible. Letting her instincts take over, she grabbed his shoulders, turned him around and placed a sweet but firm kiss on his cheek.

The boy’s eyes widened and his face and neck turned bright red, once again.

“Yes, I will go out with you.” She beamed at him with rosy cheeks.

Stiles kept staring at her with wide eyes until he cleared his throat and somewhat pulled himself together. “Oh, yeah, cool. That’s, um, really cool.”

“Cool? Stiles, I’ve been waiting forever for you to ask me out, and now that you have, all you’re saying is ‘cool’?”

His eyebrows shot up, realizing how insanely inappropriate his reaction was. “Oh my god, I am such an idiot, that is not what I meant at all, I swear-” He stopped suddenly. “Wait. You’ve been waiting for me to ask you out forever?”

She simply smiled at him again. “Happy New Year, Stiles.”

Rules on request??

Can you do one where Stiles finds out his girlfriend has a chronic illness like lupus or something and he adjust his life to be there every step for her. Even the time in the hospital he stays and sleeps in the bed with her holding her. He always seemed like he would be the golden retriever type 🩷 and she doesn’t or does know about the pack you choose

This is literally the sweetest request ever and so on brand for him! I decided to "give" her something else because I don't know anything about lupus. I am definitely not a medical expert of any kind and I do not claim to be, but I have a couple family members who have the chronic illness I chose, so I am slightly familiar with it. Everyone should always do their own research though! What I wrote mostly focuses on the events before finding out, but I can continue this and go into more detail on what happens afterwards if people would like me to. Also, I apologize, but the last third, give or take is kind of rushed. I hope you like it though! Thank you for the request!

Also, I will take any request with a grain of salt and tweak things if I need or want to. But I'm open to anything!

Battle Together

Word count: 1,658

His heart was racing and falling at the same time. There was no way this was actually happening, right? Not to her.  

His hands shook as he gripped his phone to his ear. Focusing on Scott’s voice was getting increasingly more difficult as he tried not to spiral. Why didn’t her dad tell him? Why wasn’t he with her right then, holding her hand and sweeping away her worries. Shit, he was so worried, and Scott clearly didn’t know all of what was actually going on.  

“Scott, wait, what are you saying?”  

“She’s here. In the hospital. All my mom told me was that she passed out and now they’re doing brain scans.” His friend was plainly shaken up too. 

Brain scans? Stiles felt sick. Everything he witnessed his mother go through when he was a little boy crashed into him all over again. What if this was the same thing? What if she had what his mom had? What if- 

“I’m on my way.” 

Stiles broke nearly every traffic law in existence as he raced to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, to his beloved girlfriend. He needed to get there as fast as possible; he needed to know what was going on. He absolutely despised being out of the loop. 

Frantically sprinting into the building and nearly running into not one, but two nurses who were going home for the night, he arrived at the front desk. But where the hell was Melissa? 

His feet almost left the floor when the sweet voice broke through his rapid breathing, saying, “Oh good, you’re here. Come with me.” 

Stiles turned to look at the curly-haired, soft-eyed woman. He couldn’t help that his voice trembled as soon as he opened his mouth. “What’s going on? Is she ok? Did something happen to her? Have they found anything yet? Why did-” 

“Stiles.” Melissa placed her aged hands on his shoulders in an attempt to ground him. “Breathe. Everything’s going to be fine. She’s going to be fine.” 

“Do you really know that...?” he asked hesitantly. 

She paused for a moment, understandably. There was no way to know anything for sure. Not yet, at least. 

“Let’s just go see her for now, ok?” 

He nodded and let her guide him to his girlfriend’s room. As they walked, Ms. McCall told him everything she knew. She explained that the poor girl had passed out in the kitchen while helping her dad prepare dinner, banging her head on the corner of the granite countertop and burning her forearm with spilled gravy in the process. Her father practically carried her to the car as soon as she hazily woke up and brought her in to the hospital. Her second-degree burn was cleaned and treated before the doctor decided to check for a concussion. Hearing the true explanation for the CT scan relatively eased Stiles’ nerves, but there was still so much to decipher. He needed to see her, preferably immediately. 

They reached the door of the room she was checked into when they moved her from the ER. However, Melissa did not reach for the handle, causing Stiles to give her a look of curiosity. 

“Stiles,” she started, exhaling a deep breath, “I want you to be prepared for whatever this is.” 

His curiosity deepened and twisted as the spires of concern within him sharpened and stood taller. “Wha- what does that mean?” 

“It means that, sometimes, something as small as passing out isn’t always as small as it seems...”  

The woman’s eyes were filled with a specific type of pain, one that Stiles was familiar with, but hadn’t seen in her for years. Since he was so young when his mother was sick, he never truly realized how much agony Melissa experienced as she watched a dear friend (and that friend’s family) of hers suffer. It brought her a horrible aching sensation to see the damage a singular disease could inflict on three good, genuine people, and not be able to do something significant to help. That was her job – to help. But there was really nothing she or anyone was capable of to improve the situation.  

Stiles swallowed in a faulty attempt to soothe his suddenly dry throat. He simply nodded, and in return, the sweet nurse gave him an empathetic smile. Of course, she didn’t want to scare him with what she said, but she had given bad news too many times that week. 

“Are you ready?” 

He sighed, trying to take her advice and finding it incredibly arduous. “Yeah, I think so.” 

As they quietly entered, Stiles’ eyes softened upon seeing the girl who stole his heart sitting up on the hospital bed. She looked incredibly tired, but watching her mouth curve upwards when her gaze met his made him feel like the luckiest man alive. Not because of the situation, obviously, but because that cute little smile was for him.  

“Hey, stranger.” Her raspy voice was surprisingly gleeful, all things considered. Perhaps Stiles just had that effect on her. 

“Hey,” he chuckled. “You feeling ok?” 

She simply shrugged and glanced at her father who was standing next to the bed.  

Begrudgingly, the man cleared his throat and excused himself from the room.  He supposed that giving the lovebirds no more than a couple minutes wouldn’t result in an utter catastrophe, even when Stiles is one of the pair in question, who hastily sat down on the edge of the bed as soon as the door clicked closed.  

“Are you sure you’re ok? Do you need me to get you anything? What can I do?” He took her hands into his. 

Her smile grew as she saw the love and devotion he had for her, not to mention the worry. She didn’t want him to stress himself out, but she had to admit that those wide eyes were adorable.  

“I’m fine, I swear. Just... stay with me for a while?” she said, her voice turning bashful. 

“Absolutely. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Got that?” His hands squeezed hers as he leaned forward. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, her face approaching his, “I got that.” 

As if he had a sixth sense for his daughter’s desires, the man swiftly entered the room again, causing both of the teens’ head to lurch backwards. Stiles tried to be sly as he slowly and awkwardly pulled his hands away and stood from the bed, backing away cautiously. A doctor stood in the doorway, along with Melissa. 

“Dr. Vandenberg wants to run a few more tests while we wait for the CT scan results, just in case it’s not a concussion.” Her father began pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I have some things I need to do for work, but I’ll be back in the morning, alright? Is that ok with you?’  

The information that was sprung on her felt like a spear piercing her spine and sending a poison of anxiety rushing through her bloodstream. All she could do was nod. There was no other option, anyway.  

He nodded back at her before his eyes locked onto Stiles. “You’re staying with her.” 

It was more of a command than anything, but the boy would never object to that regardless of whose mouth those words left.  

“Yes, sir.”  

Stiles was by her side for as many tests as he was permitted. He could tell that this was more frightening for her than she was divulging; it was harrowing. Therefore, he desperately desired to bring her some semblance of comfort. And he succeeded, to a degree. 

Afterwards, their time together was briefly ceased while he picked up the closest thing to a couple of “real” burgers Beacon Hills could provide. They contentedly ate their late dinner together, squished against one another once she made room for him next to her. He kissed away the condiment that was smeared on the corner of her mouth, making her giggle.  

Additionally, he held her close and kept his eyes glued to her form, making sure she was snuggly falling asleep without interruption. Without realizing it, he, too, was swept away into a slumber. Their trepidations momentarily fizzled and were replaced by fantasy-filled dreams, and morning rolled in fast. 

When her father returned, the doctor explained the various test results they received. Stiles’ girlfriend was officially diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), a chronic illness which frequently inflicts dizziness and fainting due to a lower blood volume returning to the heart. It can be managed with an increased intake of salt and water, but will be part of her for the rest of her life.  

Stiles felt a surge of anger at the news – there was nothing he could do to make this nuisance of a disease go away and his girlfriend did nothing to deserve it. However, he swore to himself that he would stay by her side, hold her hand, and keep her safe whenever her body got the best of her.  

He kept his promise throughout the rest of school, their engagement after he proposed, and their marriage. He did whatever he could to help, whether necessary or not. He always went the extra mile for her, even though it wasn’t an illness that would debilitate her from living her life. However, it was definitely inconvenient and dangerous at times. 

There was an instance in which she passed out while driving on the freeway, leaving her car to drift into the guard rails. Thankfully, there was very little traffic, so no one else got hurt. However, she was back in the hospital with a few minor injuries and her husband (for every minute of the stay).  

This battle was never fought alone, and Stiles had a unique talent for making her feel cared for without any semblance of being coddled. He knew how admirably strong she was and exactly when she needed him to step in and hold her. POTS would not break her, nor their bond.  

I can't stop thinking about clumsy Stiles...

Butterfingers

Word count: 460

Everyone knows that Siles Stilinski can’t be trusted with something fragile for too long. His dad didn’t let him hold baby until he was twelve. And where was the sheriff? He was less than a foot away with his hands ready to catch the infant, just in case he knew his son as well as he thought he did. 

Now that Stiles has the girl of his dreams, he does everything he can to protect her from any possible threat, no matter how big or small: open cupboards, hot plates of food, table corners, you name it. If he has to take the pain for her too, he will without hesitation. He welcomes those small, mysterious bruises for her sake.  

Though, sometimes he can’t stop those threats, and sometimes he’s the cause of them. Accidentally, of course, because everyone knows about his slippery fingers. Just like last week. 

His precious girl was perfectly draped against him as they relaxed on his bed. Thank goodness he remembered to hide the heap of laundry that was in their place just a few minutes before she came over. Anyway, her head settled perfectly against the front of his hoodie and she kept her arm tucked around his waist. Even as he scrolled through his phone, he couldn’t help but let his eyes flick downwards, unable to resist and needing to make sure that moment was truly real. 

Everything was so peaceful. Until it happened. This was far from the first time that his butterfingers got the best of him, and it wouldn’t be the last.  

The poor girl’s body jolted immediately after a hard block of technology crashed right into her head. Stiles’ eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He brushed his phone away as she lifted her head to look at him with a pout. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do that.” His words stumbled out of him as quickly as his hands began to gently caress her little injury.  

“Every single time, Stiles.” 

He looked at her with sympathetic eyes, frowning. “I know, I know, I’m the worst.” 

“No... You’re just a butterfingers,” she mumbled, settling against him once again and hoping the incident wouldn’t result in a headache later. 

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Guilty as charged.” He massaged her scalp, forgetting all about whatever he was looking at on his phone. 

“If I end up with a lumpy head because of you, I’ll kill you.” 

Stiles couldn’t contain his smile as he spoke softly, “Hey, I’d still love you. You wouldn’t have to go that far.” 

“Ok, fine. You can live,” she yielded, sighing as comfort washed over her again. 

“Oh, what a relief. Just don’t go bald, ok? I don’t want to see the damage.” 

P.S. I'm considering going back and adding word counts for all of my little imagines because they are so convenient and I just got a new laptop! Shout out to writers who add word counts lol 💜

Also, if you want to take a peek at my future plans/ideas, here you go. No pressure though!

My apologies, I know I made this forever ago. But I was vey conflicted with the results because they are so, so close (23 to 24) and I don't have as much of a backstory for the Guardian Angel concept as the Wampus Cat one. I know, why did I bother making a poll if I have an idea for one and not the other? Well, I wanted to see what people would be more interested in. Since both seem to be appealing to people and I couldn't brainstorm literally anything for the Guardian Angel concept, I made a tough choice.

At some point, I will write the backstory of the Wampus Cat girlfriend/reader (I try to make my work easy for people to insert themselves into, I like doing that too), but it won't have a specific storyline. It will just be an AU that I can make little imagines based on. I think that will work much better for me and my personal schedule and mental status.

As for the Guardian Angel concept, I would still love to make an AU based on that too, but it will not be prioritized yet. Also, if anyone has ideas for her backstory (where she came from, if she was born as a guardian angel, if she's from a different dimension, etc.) please, please let me know because my writer's block is driving me insane and I don't want to let go of this idea.

Again, I have no idea when I will get the Wampus Cat backstory written and out there, perhaps after the holidays. I'm sorry if this is disappointing news for anyone - I want to be an official writer on this platform, but I keep falling into pits; I'm disappointed in myself too. Requests are still open, regardless of when I get to them. I will gladly accept any and all ideas. Thank you!

TEAM. I NEED YOUR HELP.

I'm contemplating writing a Stiles x supernatural reader series (childhood best friends to lovers trope), but I'm torn between two ideas. To be frank, I can't promise when or if this will actually happen, but in case it goes at some point, I want to know ahead of time so I can start planning in the back of my mind.

• Option 1: Wampus Cat.

-I've done research on this legend, but if I write about it, I will twist it a bit. Or a lot. In my version of it, there's a curse that gets passed down to every first born son's first born daughter, giving her cat-like and hypnotic abilities, some of which are similar to or opposite of werewolves. Obviously, I will go into more detail in the series, but that is a quick glimpse.

• Option 2: Guardian Angel.

-For this idea, Stiles finds out that his girl best friend is actually his guardian angel, wings and all (including some extra pizzazz), when she rescues him. There will be some "angel rules" that are broken and some other religious themes, but I, personally, am not religious and do not intend to offend or invalidate anyone's religion or religious beliefs.

Thank you for your help! If this does end up happening and you'd like to be notified, I can make a tag list, just let me know. 💜

TEAM. I NEED YOUR HELP.

I'm contemplating writing a Stiles x supernatural reader series (childhood best friends to lovers trope), but I'm torn between two ideas. To be frank, I can't promise when or if this will actually happen, but in case it goes at some point, I want to know ahead of time so I can start planning in the back of my mind.

• Option 1: Wampus Cat.

-I've done research on this legend, but if I write about it, I will twist it a bit. Or a lot. In my version of it, there's a curse that gets passed down to every first born son's first born daughter, giving her cat-like and hypnotic abilities, some of which are similar to or opposite of werewolves. Obviously, I will go into more detail in the series, but that is a quick glimpse.

• Option 2: Guardian Angel.

-For this idea, Stiles finds out that his girl best friend is actually his guardian angel, wings and all (including some extra pizzazz), when she rescues him. There will be some "angel rules" that are broken and some other religious themes, but I, personally, am not religious and do not intend to offend or invalidate anyone's religion or religious beliefs.

Thank you for your help! If this does end up happening and you'd like to be notified, I can make a tag list, just let me know. 💜