luvflwergirl

[luvflwergirl]

ʚɞ

[luvflwergirl]

like the decision i’m making rn, to be awake at 2 am and watching smosh while scrolling through pinterest

[luvflwergirl]

i just binged all of this. i love it.

stiles stilinski masterlist

my home to everything stiles stilinski from mtv's teen wolf

⤷ back to my main masterlist!

fluff (❋) angst (⏾) nsfw (☒) smut (ꨄ)

one-shots:

꩜ stiles, are you hard right now? in which you and stiles end up in a... tight situation (☒)

꩜ in his flannel you show up to stiles' for a study session in a particular choice of clothing (❋)

꩜ dramatic lately, stiles just can't seem to catch a break, and everything is getting to be too much. luckily for him, stiles seems to have his own anchor (⏾)

꩜ that was the best sleep i've had in months taking a car ride nap never sounded so good (❋)

꩜ kiss it better stiles helps you calm down the only way he can think to (⏾)

꩜ do you want to have sex with me, yes or no?? it had been a week since stiles kissed you, and you began to question how he was feeling. lucky for you, nothing with stiles ever goes the way you expect it to (☒)

blurbs:

stiles stilinski, the touch-starved boy (❋)

stiles stilinski, who can't keep his hands to himself (❋ꨄ☒)

stiles stilinski can't get enough of you after your first kiss (❋☒)

headcanons:

high with stiles (❋☒)

roommates to lovers (❋☒)

[luvflwergirl]

just pulled up episode one of dallas cowboy cheerleaders season two! (from netflix) wish me luck💕

[luvflwergirl]

guys wait how do you get moots???

[luvflwergirl]

i quote this as much as i can 😼

the person who realised you could rearrange the letters in gossip girl to read “go piss girl” truly one of the great minds of our generation, madam your legacy

[luvflwergirl]

so my ex broke up with me a month ago and ever since i just miss him at the most random times and i’ll feel it so deeply in my bones and it sits like grief and i never know what to do and i just shut down and… yea

i don’t know

i miss him

[luvflwergirl]

[luvflwergirl]

never heard anything more true

the jump from 2015 to 2020 was 10 years but the jump from 2020 to 2025 was 11 months

[luvflwergirl]

⸻ luvflwergirl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓇢𓆸 stiles stilinski college roommate au!!

first week in, group project breakdown!!

The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was the volume. Not the music—though that was definitely loud, a tinny mix of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ blasting from somewhere between the couch and the kitchen—but the chaotic energy vibrating off every surface.

The second thing you noticed was Stiles Stilinski. One socked foot planted firmly on the ground, the other bare and twitching like it had forgotten its purpose, pacing in tight circles like a caffeinated hamster on wheels. His hands waved wildly, one clutching a battered highlighter, the other occasionally stabbing the air in emphasis.

And then there was the popcorn.

You shut the door behind you, eyes immediately drawn to the potted fern sitting in the corner by the window. It looked… different. Closer inspection revealed it was dusted in a fine layer of burnt popcorn kernels, blackened and brittle, some crumbled and scattered on the floor like tiny, crispy landmines. A faint wisp of smoke curled upward, carrying with it the unmistakable acrid scent of charred snack food — a smell that somehow felt oddly fitting in this house of academic horrors.

“Is that… popcorn in the plant?” you asked, your voice a mixture of shock and incredulous amusement.

Stiles whipped around like you’d just announced the apocalypse. “Oh my God — you’re home! You weren’t supposed to be home yet! And yes! No! I mean—yes, technically, but in my defense, there was science involved. And hunger. And a YouTube video that promised a fun twist on ‘traditional popcorn making,’ but left out the part where your microwave goes nuclear and tries to kill your houseplants!”

You stepped gingerly over a battlefield of crumpled flashcards, gummy candy wrappers, and an open biology textbook that had clearly given up and gone face-down in shame.

He was still talking.

“Okay, so—so the presentation’s tomorrow, right? But Jenny—you remember Jenny right?—Jenny who somehow made it to junior year with the digital skills of a confused raccoon—decides to redesign the entire PowerPoint last night, and now it’s got transitions that look like a Michael Bay film trailer and Comic Sans. Comic. Sans.”

Your lip twitched as you watched him, the urge to egg him on overwhelmingly strong. “The horror.”

“Exactly! And then—then—she adds these stock photos of smiling test tubes like the mitochondria is supposed to be cute now?! No. No, I refuse to let cellular respiration become a cartoon.”

You reached out and gently plucked a stray sticky note from his sleeve. It had a frantic scribble on it that simply read: “Mitochondria = POWER, not smiles!!”

You held it up, swallowing a laugh. “Compelling argument.”

“I panicked!” he wailed, tossing himself dramatically onto the couch, limbs sprawled like someone who’d just survived a shipwreck. “My brain imploded. I started color-coding and then lost the color order halfway through. And I—God, I don’t even remember putting popcorn in the microwave! I might be sleep-cooking. Is that a thing? It feels like a thing.”

“You’ve had like, six Sour Patch Kids today, haven’t you?”

He sat up abruptly. “Seven. But I chewed slowly. That counts as responsible eating. And I had gum. Watermelon flavored. That’s like a fruit. Right? That’s a fruit.”

You disappeared into the kitchen without a word, rummaging through the fridge until you found the emergency pasta—the one you’d made for exactly this type of situation. Emotional first aid in Tupperware.

He watched you with wide, frantic eyes as you microwaved it. “You’re not mad?”

“No.”

“You’re not judging me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh God.”

You brought him the plate and handed it to him like you were feeding a wounded animal. “Eat. Breathe. Maybe take the plant outside before it develops a complex.”

He looked down at the food like it was a holy offering. “You’re a miracle.”

You plopped down beside him, folding your legs up. “You’re a mess.”

He forked pasta into his mouth at lightning speed. “I’m okay with that .”

“Same thing.”

For a few minutes, there was blessed silence. The kind that follows chaos. The kind that settles over the wreckage like a blanket.

He finally exhaled. “Okay. Maybe I… spiraled.”

“Just a little.”

“My brain does this thing,” he mumbled around a bite, “where one bad choice triggers a full existential unraveling, okay? Like, why are we even doing school if people think Comic Sans is okay? Comic Sans is basically the equivalent to the pipeline who clap when the plane lands. How did we let that happen? What else have we failed to stop? Is Helvetica next? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

You smiled, leaning your head back against the couch. “It’s not that deep.”

“It is. Typography is the visual tone of society, and right now society is screaming.”

“You sound like you ate edibles.”

He looked offended. “I would never. I’m too anxious for drugs. Could you imagine me high? I’d accidentally astral project and never come back.”

You snorted. “Sounds kind of peaceful.”

He gave you a flat look. “Rude.”

You stole a bite of his pasta. “You love it.”

“I hate you.”

You watched him finally start to relax, the knot in his shoulders loosening, his foot no longer bouncing at a dangerous speed.

For a second, the two of you just… sat. In the quiet. Amid the absurd wreckage of the living room, wrapped in the weird warmth of domestic disaster.

Then Stiles blinked, suddenly remembering something. “Wait. I never offered you snacks. Oh my god, I’m so rude. I live here now, and I didn’t even offer—do you want a Capri Sun? I have Pacific Cooler. Or the Kool-Aid ones that aren’t as good but have fun straws. Or maybe popcorn, though I’d have to… you know, unstuff the plant first.”

You just laughed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m good. Really.”

He froze for a beat, then smiled—soft and lopsided, nothing performative about it.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Good.”

[luvflwergirl]

there’s something about stiles stilinski that is so ethel cain and it hurts my heart. i mean just listen to family tree or inbred and tell me it’s NOT stiles coded in the most heartbreaking way

[luvflwergirl]

⸻ luvflwergirl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

masterlist!!

𓇢𓆸 stiles stilinski college roommate au masterlist!!

[luvflwergirl]

⸻ luvflwergirl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓇢𓆸 stiles stilinski college roommate au!!

meeting him..!

The key clicked in the lock just as you slid your final book onto the shelf—spine facing out, the last piece in the puzzle of your freshly arranged side of the room. You froze mid-motion, fingers still lingering on the worn hardcover as the metallic sound echoed behind you.

A beat passed. Then another.

You straightened slowly, heart ticking up a beat like it had just remembered it had somewhere to be. Your hands dropped to the hem of your sweatshirt—fidgeting, smoothing fabric that didn’t need smoothing, like maybe that could prepare you for whatever, whoever, was on the other side of that door.

A stranger. A roommate. A name you’d only seen typed in bold black ink on a housing form.

You weren’t sure why the silence felt so loud now. Maybe it was the way the air seemed to pause with you—still and holding its breath, waiting.

The knob turned.

And then the door creaked open—and he stepped in.

He was tall—too tall for the doorway he half-stumbled through, as if the universe hadn’t quite decided whether he belonged in his own body yet. All long limbs and restless energy, he looked like someone perpetually caught mid-motion, even in stillness. Lean, wiry, a little chaotic in that accidental kind of way, like he’d tripped into his clothes and decided not to question it.

A threadbare flannel hung open over a faded Star Wars t-shirt, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, revealing a constellation of faint freckles and the faint twitch of nervous fingers. The flannel was fraying at the edges, one corner of the collar folded wrong, like it had been shoved into a bag and forgotten about. His jeans were slightly too long, bunched at the ankles above scuffed sneakers that squeaked faintly on the polished tile floor as he shifted his weight.

His hair—dark and tousled—looked like it had lost a battle with a car window or ten anxious fingers. Messy in a way that felt honest. Lived-in.

He paused just inside the room, duffel still hanging off one shoulder, and blinked—slow and a little dazed—like he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d walked into the right place or the middle of someone else’s story. His gaze swept the room, landing on you like an afterthought—and then sticking, like gravity had suddenly remembered how to work.

Or maybe he just hadn’t expected you.

“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”

You smiled, a little uncertain. “Hi.”

He blinked again, then glanced at the room number on the door like he might’ve made a mistake. “This is… this is 216, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Are you—?”

“Stilinski,” he rushed out, stepping fully inside now, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. His duffel dropped at his feet like an afterthought. “M. Stilinski. That’s me. I mean, not—me, me. Obviously my name is M. yknow? It’s just what —never mind. Yes. I’m your roommate.”

He winced as soon as he said it. “Uh. Surprise?

There was something immediately disarming about him. Something in the way he shifted his weight like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He scratched the back of his neck and avoided your eyes for a second too long.

You tilted your head. “Do you prefer Stilinski, or…?”

“Oh. Right. Uh, no—God, no. That’s—Stilinski is very formal. Makes me feel like I should be wearing a tie. Or being arrested.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from you, and he looked startled at the sound—like he hadn’t expected to be funny. His ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“You can call me Stiles,” he said, softer now. “All my friends do.”

There was a quiet moment. You both stood there, each trying not to fidget, like two radio towers picking up the same, strange signal.

You nodded slowly, repeating his name carefully as though you may break it if spoken too harshly. Before smiling at him and saying your own.

He repeated it under his breath, like he wanted to make sure it felt right in his mouth. “That’s a really nice name,” he said, then immediately looked like he regretted it. “I mean—not that names have to be nice. Yours just… is. Not that I’m judging other people’s names—wow, I need to shut up.”

Your smile bloomed, unbidden and wide. “You’re fine.”

He exhaled, his shoulders deflating in a visible wave. “Cool. Cool. I just—sorry. I get weird around people. Especially girls. Not that you’re just a girl. Obviously, you’re a person. Who happens to be—” He waved a hand in your general direction. “You know what, I’m gonna stop talking and maybe go unpack something now.”

You sat back on your bed and watched as he bent to unzip his duffel—muttering something about socks and shame under his breath—and for the first time since you’d arrived, the unfamiliar room didn’t feel so lonely.

His flannel slipped off one shoulder as he stretched. He caught you looking and flushed again.

“What?” he asked, blinking at you.

You shrugged, lips twitching. “I was just thinking… you’re not at all what I expected. In a good way. I think.”

He let out a nervous, breathy laugh—one that slipped out like he hadn’t meant to let it show. His hand lifted instinctively, fingers raking through his hair before settling at the back of his neck, where he rubbed like he needed something to hold onto. “Thanks,” he said, voice a little uneven, a little soft. “I think? No—yeah. Definitely. Thanks.”

He smiled, softer now—less performative, more real. “You’re not what I expected either. In a good way. In a really… really good way.”

His gaze lingered for a beat too long—not intense, exactly, but open in a way that felt suddenly, breathlessly personal. His eyes, a warm shade of brown with flecks of honey near the center, didn’t look away. Like he hadn’t decided yet if he was supposed to.

And for a moment, you didn’t want him to.

You felt it—a fluttery shift beneath your ribs. Small. Gentle. But real. Something about the way he stood there, all nervous limbs and too-big flannel, like he couldn’t quite figure out where to put himself in the world, made you want to inch closer instead of away. Like he was all sharp corners on the outside but soft in the middle, and somehow… familiar.

Then, as if realizing he was staring, he blinked and blurted out, “Do you like Pop-Tarts? I brought, like, six boxes. For emergencies.”

The words came out fast—rushed and unpolished—and it made you laugh before you could help it.

There it was again: that flutter. A spark that felt like the very beginning of something.

You smiled at him—really smiled this time—and nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

He grinned like he’d won something.

And that flutter in your chest? It didn’t go away. It settled in quietly, like it already planned to stay a while.

[luvflwergirl]

⸻ luvflwergirl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓇢𓆸 stiles stilinski college roommate au masterlist!!

meeting him!!!

project breakdown!!!

[luvflwergirl]

⸻ luvflwergirl ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

masterlist requests blogs

𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆 𓇢𓆸 she/her. stiles stilinski’s girl. romance and mystery novel enthusiast. cabin ten. dutch bros addict. cinnamon + lavender. james potter’s love. fangirl. german-american. aspiring lawyer. brooke davis reincarnate. pinterest addiction.