mccallslut

[mccallslut]

teen wolf meme: 7/7 hairstyles + outfits

[mccallslut]

this blog hates donald trump

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

[mccallslut]

LOVE BITES ─── LIAM DUNBAR

summary! it was easier for liam to believe in werewolves and chimeras than it was to believe in fate.

word count! 1k

liam dunbar wasn’t the kind of guy that believed in fate.

not the way scott did, with his unwavering optimism. not the way stiles did, with his conspiracy theories about the universe conspiring against him. liam believed in instincts, in action, in fighting for what you wanted.

which was why he didn’t know what to do with you.

you were… frustrating. annoying, even. always smiling, always radiating warmth, always making people around you feel things they had no business feeling. it wasn’t normal.

liam had spent years keeping his emotions in check, locking them away before they could get the best of him. but you? you made it impossible.

and it wasn’t just him.

people gravitated toward you like you had some kind of supernatural magnetism—because, apparently, you did.

“you’re a what?” liam stared at you, mouth slightly open.

“a cupid,” you repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “you know, love, romance, soulmates? that whole thing?”

liam scoffed. “yeah, no. soulmates aren’t real.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that’s a bold statement coming from a werewolf.”

“that’s different.”

“is it?” you tilted your head, studying him. “you believe in supernatural creatures, but love is where you draw the line?”

liam huffed, crossing his arms. “it’s not that i don’t believe in love. i just don’t think some magical force decides it for you.”

you grinned. “good. because that’s not how it works.”

liam frowned. “it’s not?”

you shook your head. “people think cupids force love, but that’s not true. i don’t make people fall for each other—i just… push them in the right direction. if there’s something already there, i help them realize it.”

liam wasn’t sure why that made his stomach twist.

maybe it was the way you were looking at him, like you knew something he didn’t. like you could see inside him, past the walls, past the anger, past the fear.

and that terrified him.

avoiding you was impossible.

not just because you were friends with the pack, but because every time liam turned a corner, there you were—laughing, teasing, looking at him with that knowing glint in your eyes.

it was infuriating.

even worse? you got him.

when he was irritated, you didn’t try to fix it—you just sat with him, letting the storm pass. when he was angry, you never flinched, never treated him like he was dangerous. you weren’t scared of him, weren’t afraid of the monster lurking beneath his skin.

you saw him, and that was the problem.

because the more time he spent around you, the harder it became to pretend he didn’t feel something.

it hit him like a freight train one night after a pack meeting.

you had been talking to mason about some ridiculous matchmaking theory when liam caught himself staring. not just staring—memorizing. the curve of your lips when you smiled, the way you leaned in when you were really listening to someone, the way your fingers danced absentmindedly over your wrist like you were tracing invisible constellations.

and suddenly, the world tilted.

because he wasn’t just looking at you. he was seeing you.

and damn it, he was in love.

liam tried to fight it.

tried to push it down, to ignore the way his heart kicked up every time you so much as breathed in his direction.

it didn’t work.

because one night, after weeks of agony, after pretending he didn’t want you when every fiber of his being screamed otherwise—he snapped.

“you need to stop,” he blurted out.

you blinked at him, confused. “stop what?”

liam ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “stop looking at me like that. stop making me feel—” he cut himself off, jaw clenched.

you tilted your head. “like what?”

“like i—like this is real.”

you were quiet for a moment, and then, softer than he could handle—“it is real, liam.”

his breath hitched.

he wanted to argue, wanted to tell you that it wasn’t, that whatever this was between you was some cruel trick of the universe. but he couldn't. because the truth was staring him in the face, undeniable, inescapable.

and before he could overthink it, before he could stop himself—he kissed you.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t careful. it was desperate—a collision of teeth and lips and months of pent-up frustration.

and when you kissed him back, when you curled your fingers into his jacket and pulled him closer, liam realized something terrifying.

love wasn’t about fate or destiny.

love was about you and him.

liam didn’t believe in fate, but he believed in this.

in the way you melted against him, fingers tangled in his jacket like you were anchoring yourself to him. in the way your lips parted beneath his, like you had been waiting for this moment just as long as he had.

when he finally pulled back, breathing hard, he expected you to say something witty, something teasing.

but you didn’t.

you just stared at him, eyes soft, searching, like you were memorizing him just as much as he had memorized you.

“liam,” you murmured, and he shivered at the way you said his name. like it was something precious.

“i—” he swallowed, struggling to find the words, to make sense of the storm raging inside him.

you placed a hand over his chest, right above his racing heart. “you don’t have to say anything.”

but he wanted to.

he wanted to tell you that he was scared, that he didn’t know how to love someone without ruining it. that every time he let someone in, he lost them.

but somehow, you already knew.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, tugging him down just enough to press your forehead against his.

“i don’t need fate to tell me this is real,” you whispered. “i already know.”

breezy babbles: for my sweet angel baby dolly 🤍

tags ⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭: @daylighted @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @jasvtsc @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @bluemerakis @tortureddarkstar @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @misatxox @cowboysandcigarettes @deansenvy @hoffmansgirl @eepwtf @lawboysammyy @jjmbbg @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @whisperingdaze @abox-of-rocks @starzify @acklesgal @beausling @deanswidow

[mccallslut]

HEARTSTRINGS ─── ISAAC LAHEY

summary! isaac wasn't necessarily anti-love, but he also wasn't sure it really existed. until he met you.

word count! 1.1k

isaac had never believed in love.

not the real kind, anyway.

sure, he’d seen people fall for each other—watched scott and allison orbit one another like gravity, seen stiles practically worship lydia from a distance—but love? the deep, unwavering, all-consuming kind? that had always seemed like a fairytale. a luxury meant for people who hadn’t been raised in a house where love was just another word for control.

and then you happened.

you weren’t supposed to.

isaac had spent most of his life avoiding the kind of softness you carried. love wasn’t something he wanted to believe in. it was messy and complicated and never ended well. but from the moment you showed up in beacon hills—warm and radiant and terrifying in the way you looked at him like he was someone worth something—his carefully constructed walls started to crack.

because you weren’t normal.

at first, he thought you were just another supernatural anomaly—maybe a witch, maybe something worse. you had this way of drawing people in, of making them feel seen. it was unsettling, how easily you got under his skin. how, when you spoke, people actually listened. how, when you touched someone, even just a brush of your fingers against their arm, they seemed to relax.

and then you told him.

“i’m a cupid,” you said one night, as casually as if you were telling him your favorite color.

isaac had laughed. he was halfway through rolling his eyes when you waved your hand, and suddenly, the bickering couple across the diner turned toward each other, eyes softening, tension melting away like it had never existed.

his heart had dropped into his stomach.

you were telling the truth.

“you make people fall in love?” he asked, staring at you like you might be a hallucination.

“i help them find what’s already there,” you corrected. “love exists whether i intervene or not. i just… nudge things along.”

isaac had wanted to run. because if you could see love, if you could sense it, that meant—

“you’re scared of it.”

his jaw clenched. “i don’t—”

“you are.” you tilted your head, studying him in that way that made his skin prickle. “i can feel it. the way you pull back whenever something good gets too close. the way you push people away before they can hurt you.”

“yeah? well, maybe i have a good reason for that.”

you didn’t argue. you just watched him, eyes softer than he could handle. “i won’t push,” you said simply. “but you should know… you’re capable of love, isaac.”

he didn’t answer.

because deep down, that was the part that scared him the most.

weeks passed, and you didn’t push.

you didn’t force anything, didn’t try to fix him, and isaac wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. because without the pressure, without the expectation, he had nothing to fight against.

instead, you just… existed.

you showed up at the loft with takeout when you knew he’d forget to eat. you leaned against him during movie nights, like you belonged there, like it wasn’t a big deal. you looked at him like he was someone worth knowing, worth loving.

and the worst part?

isaac was starting to believe it.

it happened one night when he wasn’t expecting it.

you had just finished explaining some cupid-related nonsense—how you didn’t actually use arrows, how your abilities worked on emotions rather than physical attraction. isaac had listened, nodding in all the right places, but mostly, he had just been watching you.

the way your hands moved when you talked. the way your lips curled when you got excited about something. the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

and then, before he could think about it, before he could stop himself—

“i think i’m in love with you.”

the words were out before he could take them back, hanging in the air between you like a loaded gun.

you blinked, lips parting slightly. “isaac—”

“i know.” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. “i know it’s probably stupid. i know i suck at this. i just—” he swallowed, hands clenching at his sides. “i didn’t think i could love anyone. not really. not after everything.”

you were quiet for a long moment, and then—

“i never use my abilities on you.”

isaac frowned. “what?”

“i never nudge anything when i’m with you,” you said softly. “everything you feel is real.”

his breath caught.

because if that was true, if this wasn’t some supernatural interference—

if what he felt for you was real, unprompted, untouched—

then maybe love wasn’t a fairytale.

love was you.

but love, as isaac had learned, was never easy.

even after that night, he struggled with it—with the weight of what it meant. just because he admitted he loved you didn’t mean he knew what to do with it. he wasn’t scott, who loved with his whole heart, or stiles, who wore his emotions like armor. isaac had spent years convincing himself that love was a weakness, a trap waiting to be sprung.

and yet, he wanted to try. for you.

so, he let you in, little by little. he let himself touch you more—his fingers brushing yours when you passed him something, his knee pressing against yours when you sat too close. he let himself reach for you in his sleep, waking up to find his face buried in the crook of your neck, your fingers tracing absent patterns along his spine.

and he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserved this.

one night, as you both lay tangled together on his couch, the glow of the tv casting soft shadows against your skin, he found himself speaking without thinking.

“do you ever get tired of it?”

you blinked, turning your head slightly to look at him. “of what?”

“love,” he admitted. “seeing it all the time. feeling it. knowing how it’s supposed to happen.”

you smiled, a slow, knowing thing. “love isn’t a formula, isaac. it’s messy. it’s unpredictable. that’s what makes it beautiful.”

he let that sit for a moment before asking, “do you ever get scared?”

“of course,” you said, surprising him. “loving someone means giving them the power to hurt you. but it also means trusting that they won’t.”

isaac swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “then don’t.”

it was that simple, wasn’t it?

love wasn’t about being fearless, it was about being brave enough to try.

so as he lay there with you, your fingers warm against his, isaac finally let himself believe that love wasn’t just for other people.

it was for him, too.

breezy babbles: for my natty girl 🤍

tags ⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭: @daylighted @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @jasvtsc @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @bluemerakis @tortureddarkstar @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @misatxox @cowboysandcigarettes @deansenvy @hoffmansgirl @eepwtf @lawboysammyy @jjmbbg @tinas111 @soldiersgirl @whisperingdaze @abox-of-rocks @starzify @acklesgal @beausling @deanswidow

[mccallslut]

For those whose requests I have in my drafts I’m super sorry that it’s been soooooo long since I’ve updated. Life has been crazy and I’ll get to your requests as soon as possible.

[mccallslut]

breaking point | stiles x reader

pairing: stiles stilinski x f!reader (best friend/witch)

word count: 2,589

warnings: brief mention of having a period but one sentence! cursing, angst, kissing (oh my!)

summary: set at the end of 3b. you pride yourself on being the strong one in the pack so your friends don't have to be. but after recent events - watching stiles get possessed, losing allison and aiden - you can't push your feelings away any longer. thankfully, there's a sweet boy outside your window ready to be there for you this time.

author's note: i have so much i can say about the world in which this story lives but don't want to drone on and on...so another note at the end and more to come. hope you enjoy! <3 (and for anyone following me for jamie tartt x reader content...do not give up on me yet!)

You couldn’t remember the last time you cried. 

You think it had to have been when you were a kid. Maybe a scraped knee. Maybe after you had rewatched Bambi for the thousandth time.

What you do remember is the core reason you stopped letting yourself cry. 

Seeing Scott after his parents divorced taught you there were worse things in life than cuts and scrapes. You’ll never forget the look on his face the day his dad moved out. You and Stiles tried every trick in the book to make him smile but it took days for you to see his crooked grin again. 

Though, that was nothing compared to when Stiles lost his mom.

You had never experienced grief like that, that wasn’t a cartoon animal in a movie. It was anyone’s guess why your families let Scott and you attend the funeral, but the three of you were already codependent by eight years old. You were overwhelmed by the sight of seeing your silly, sweet best friend cry so hard, and it was harder to watch his dad fight through his own tears. Even Scott got choked up. But not you. 

Of course, you were just as devastated. Claudia was like a mother to you. But observing the equally upset people trying to comfort young Stiles made you want to be the one person in the room who could just be there for him and let him mourn. Even as a little girl, you had the selfless instinct to put your feelings aside and prioritize your friend’s.

You stay strong so they don’t have to; that became your mantra, even subconsciously. 

No matter what shit you were going through, you swallowed your own fears, pain, and anger so you could be there for whoever needed you. And that decision soon became a part of your programming. Even if no one was around, you never let yourself break, no matter the situation. 

You stopped crying during movies, no matter how depressing. 

The first time you experienced period cramps so bad you had to stay home from school, you just bit your tongue and didn’t shed a tear. 

As you transitioned to middle school school, and into high school, and your feelings for Stiles went from innocent crush to more, you pushed any heartbreak down when he looked right past you at Lydia Martin. 

Admittedly things have gotten harder the last year. Being there when Scott was bitten by a werewolf was startling but you swallowed your fear for him and focused on his well-being. You even held it together when you started learning of your own supernatural abilities and family secrets that changed everything you thought you knew about yourself. In moments of danger and near-death, you focused on making sure Stiles was okay. Making sure Allison was okay. Lydia, Derek, Isaac, even Jackson at times. You were physically incapable of taking a minute to assess how you felt about things, your mind just redirecting to concern for your friends and loved ones. 

There were some close calls. Mainly when it came to Stiles.

The night he played his first lacrosse game with you cheering in the stands ended with Gerard kidnapping and scarring him. The second you saw his face afterwards, you nearly let the damn break. 

It was no surprise that the last few months were particularly challenging. You could hardly stomach watching Stiles, Scott, and Allison nearly sacrifice themselves to save their parents, your hands plunging Stiles into the ice cold water. It was nearly impossible to watch him become the shell of who he was in the weeks following until he wasn’t himself altogether. 

And then Allison…

You felt the loss of Erica and Boyd heavily but you knew Isaac and Derek were taking it harder, so you were there for them. However with Allison…she was one of your best friends and that made it infinitely more difficult to bear. But she was Lydia’s best friend. Scott’s first love. They needed you more than you needed to cope on your own. 

And then, tonight. Just as you finally put an end to the horror that was the Nogitsune, your pack was hit with another loss: Aiden. Lydia’s relationship with him was complicated, but that didn’t make her any less devastated as she ran out of the school and took in the scene. Holding your friend while she sobbed over the death of two of the most important people in her life is traumatizing, but reaffirming nonetheless; you had no right to cry when someone else was going through worse. 

It was an unhealthy and ridiculous thought, but it was what your brain had been conditioned. 

So here you were, slowly entering your room at an ungodly hour after making sure Lydia would be okay on her own. If it were up to you, you would have stayed with her, but she remained firm that she needed to be alone. And you trusted she meant that. You drop down onto the edge of your bed, heavily, the weight of the last few days - weeks, months, year - making you collapse. Normally, you could push any swirling thoughts away and mindlessly get ready for bed, but as you struggle to pull off your boots, your mind is racing. Scenes of Allison dying, Lydia’s scream, Scott’s face, Stiles collapsing, play in your head. Your lip is quivering. Your hands shake as you drag the shoe’s zipper down your leg. And then suddenly, the unfamiliar feeling of a hot tear streams down your face. You wipe at them hastily, trying to snap yourself out of it but they keep coming. 

You’re on the verge of hyperventilating when you sense someone outside your bedroom window, hearing something bump against it a second later. Without another thought, you’re up and pulling the curtain open, your hand nearly raised to cast one hell of a spell on whoever could be lurking outside at this time after the night you experienced. But your stomach drops when you see Stiles perched on the other side of the glass. Even quicker now, you pull open the window and yank him inside anxiously. 

“Woah, you’re quick. I didn’t even get a chance to knock,” Stiles mutters softly.

“Stiles!” you gasp out as quietly as I can, “What the hell are you doing? You should be in your home, asleep, resting, safe! And you’re risking your life for the second time tonight climbing up here!”

As you scold him, your hands grip onto his flannel, searching him up and down for any sign of distress. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Stiles whispers, his hands reaching out to gently rub your shoulders, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” you shake your head, “You should be home. You should be with your dad, the last few weeks have been killing him.”

“I texted him,” Stiles bypasses quicker than he should, “I just wanted to see you.”

You look up at him for the first time since he’s been in the room, your eyebrows pinching, “You what?”

“Yeah, I…” Stiles pauses as he observes your face. He gently lifts his right hand to cup your face gently, his thumb wiping a tear, “You’re crying.”

Shit. You’d forgotten about that. 

You swallow thickly, making half a move to pull away from him, but he’s instinctive and doesn’t let you get far. You start shaking your head, averting your gaze again and aggressively wiping at your own face in another attempt to hide. 

“No, I’m okay. I’m fine.” you insist.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Stiles argues. 

“No it's not,” you shake your head more, “God you shouldn’t be comforting me, you almost died tonight.” 

“But you’re allowed to be upset. A lot has been happening.” 

“But Lydia and Scott…”

“No, Allison was your friend, too. It's been a rough few days...”

“No, Stiles, stop, it's not that!” your voice cracks as you quietly exclaim, looking at him firmly now, “The last few days have been…awful. I am so sad about Aiden, and I am devastated about Allison, but I can’t stop thinking about how Scott and Lydia must feel.”

Stiles sighs, “You cared about them too.”

“I know that, but Lydia lost her boyfriend and her best friend within days. Scott lost, like, the love of his life. And that’s what makes my stomach hurt. My mind keeps going to how much it must be hurting them, and I can’t even comprehend it- I can’t even go there because it seems excruciating. And then I feel guilty for even thinking about that, when that’s not what happened to me. They lost their person, and you’re still…” 

Your voice trails off when you realize the implication of what you’re saying.

He’s your person and he’s still here. 

You feel your eyes widen as you process what you just admitted to your best friend. You take in his own surprised expression as he realizes it, too. His hands are still on either side of your face as you look down and sputter, trying to form another coherent sentence. 

“I just meant…so many bad things have happened the last few days, but the one thing I can't stop thinking about is how I almost lost you tonight…” you whisper. You force yourself to look at him again and his lips part, still in a state of…shock? Awe? 

When he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds, you hurry to fill the silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying or thinking any of this.”

You make another attempt to pull away from him, but he pulls you closer. 

“No, no,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to say anything to make me feel better, in fact that’s the last thing you should be doing,” you continue rambling.

“Hey, stop it. You don’t ever have to apologize, especially not to me. Just because someone may have gone through worse, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to react or mourn or feel. You’re always so strong for us but it's okay not to be sometimes. And…” Stiles takes a deep breath, “You’re not the only one thinking about what-ifs tonight.” 

You look at him curiously as he continues. 

“What if I had been stronger? None of this would have happened - that thing couldn’t possess me. What if I had been smarter and figured out how to stop the Nogitsune sooner? What if I had really hurt you when he was in control? What if he targeted you the other night or tonight? What if we lost you instead. Despite everything that happened with everyone there, I can't stop thinking about you, you, you. What if I had lost you?” 

You feel your eyes beginning to well up again, at your body’s mercy with no way of stopping it. You could hardly process Stiles' words, in disbelief of the weight they carried. 

“Stiles…” you whisper, but are unable to complete the thought. 

“That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t stomach being away from you right now.” Stiles pauses, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I'm sorry for not saying it sooner, and sorry for every second you have spent thinking I don’t feel the way you do. You are the most important person in my life, and all I care about half the time. I am…crazy about you. Maybe that’s a poor word choice after my mental state the last few weeks, but it’s true. And if I’ve learned anything from all of this, it's that life's too short. And I don’t want to spend another moment of my life not being with you.”

You stare at Stiles, forced to blink away stray tears. Your heart is racing and you’re still unable to form words, with a million different thoughts swirling in your head.

Not encouraged by your silence, Stiles starts to grow anxious, slowly stepping back and removing his hands from your face as he speaks again, “Was that…way too much, way too fast?…I can go.”

You hardly let him move an inch before you’re stepping back into his space and holding his arms firmly in place. 

“You mean it?” You ask emotionally, “It’s not just the near death experience talking? You really mean it?”

Stiles nods excessively leaning closer, “Every word. You’re my person, too.”

Your lips twist, as if trying to smile but your emotions are all over the place and it just leads to you choking out a sob. In seconds, Stiles' hands move from your face to wrap tightly around your waist as you sink into his embrace.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t wake up tonight.” You cry into his shoulder as he rocks you back and forth. 

“I’m here. I’m okay,” Stiles whispers soothingly, “Mostly because of you.” 

You try to steady your breath as you reply, “Scott and Kira did most of the work.”

Stiles rubs your back, “Not just the ritual tonight. The thought of getting back to you is what held together the last pieces of sanity I had left.” 

You slowly pull back so you can look up at him again, “Really?”

Stiles nods, reaching up to gently wipe your face, “Yeah…I don’t think I could have survived any of it without of you.”

You take a deep breath, briefly thinking about how much torture the last few weeks have been for him, but push the thoughts away when it becomes too much to stomach. You tenderly place your hands on his face. “I’m sorry we couldn't bring you back sooner.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think about that. I’m here now, yeah?”

You nod, your eyes flicking around his face, taking in every detail you can see in your dimly lit room. “Yeah…”

Stiles gently brushes a piece of your hair back, whispering, “Right where I want to be.” 

As if by a gravitational pull, your face inches closer to him, your noses brushing first, before your lips finally meet in a soft, timid kiss. Your first real kiss. It only takes seconds for the two of you to become more comfortable, any trepidations fading away as you practically melt into each other. You sigh as his hands move down the curves of your body, your own hands gripping his hair. You would have never, ever pulled away if you didn’t need to breathe. Stupid lungs. 

You stay in contact, pressing your foreheads together. 

Breathing heavily, Stiles asks, “Can I…stay here tonight?”

You nearly laugh, “If you even had half a thought that I was going to let you leave after this, you’re out of your mind.” Not even a second goes by before you realize what you had said, your eyes going wide but then you see half an amused smile on his lips.

Stiles shakes his head, shushing you as he pulls you back in for another kiss. 

After a few more moments of kissing, and after you finally change and curl up in bed with him, your thoughts turn back to the recent events and you find yourself crying again. But unapologetically, comforted by Stiles' embrace and the fact that he was feeling the same things as you. And that it was okay to feel them. You both mourn Allison and all the friends you've lost. And eventually, you fall asleep in each other’s arms. The last few weeks had fully broken you. But it was okay, because you had someone to help pick up your pieces whenever you needed. And you’d be there to do the same for him. 

---

author's note: lmao i never know how to end things. but there it is! my first stiles fic in years. some may have read some of my old work from a years ago, but writing for stiles was my one of my first forays into fanfic over a decade ago. i always fall back on my stiles hyperfixation and with the return of fall, its back in full force.

i envision this work as part of the oc/reader character i've developed (mostly in my head) over the years, where she grew up as stiles and scott's best friend, pining over stiles and eventually finds out she is a witch. however, i never fully committed to a teen wolf rewrite, so i've written a few tidbits a while ago. i have an overall narrative i think she follows, but i also love the idea of playing with different ways stiles and the reader can get together, and this was the idea i've had most recently thinking about season 3b. i imagine the reader had already admitted to her feelings, but the timing wasn't right so she's finally giving into them and stiles finally reveals he reciprocates them. i could go on and on about the details for this "world" and the many alternate routes it can take.

let me know if anyone has any interest is seeing more of witch/bestie!reader x stiles in all of its shapes and forms, and feel free to inbox me any questions/thoughts/anything. also let me know what you thought of this! it finally got me writing again after a year, so i'm a little rusty, but eager to get back into it again <333

and again, i haven't forgotten my jamie series...i am trying to get over a hump of writers block for the next chapter but after that i'm locking in. :)

[mccallslut]

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood to friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic. 

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you. 

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be. 

But they aren’t you. 

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start. 

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car. 

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue. 

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow. 

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something. 

Fuck, what if you know? 

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense. 

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it. 

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin. 

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days. 

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder. 

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.” 

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you. 

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love. 

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life? 

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing. 

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you. 

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment. 

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen. 

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.” 

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.” 

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.” 

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.” 

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem. 

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again. 

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip. 

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.” 

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats. 

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?” 

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip. 

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture. 

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.” 

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, “I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated. 

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him. 

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse. 

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.” 

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense. 

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard. 

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.” 

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him. 

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth. 

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply. 

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have. 

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles. 

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you? 

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter. 

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling. 

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship. 

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say. 

He remembers falling in love with you. 

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues. 

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?” 

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there. 

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead. 

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.  

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy. 

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?” 

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission.  “No gin.” 

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.” 

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. ) 

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?” 

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.” 

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses. 

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway. 

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers. 

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either. 

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly. 

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons. 

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image. 

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something. 

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.” 

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours. 

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.  

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence. 

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating. 

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.” 

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk. 

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight. 

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count. 

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life. 

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window. 

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.” 

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts. 

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?” 

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake. 

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless. 

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long. 

And then, he’d kiss you. 

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing. 

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.  

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly. 

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!” 

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him. 

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him. 

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand. 

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below. 

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.  

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass. 

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously. 

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned. 

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration. 

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there. 

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion. 

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline. 

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand. 

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same. 

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint. 

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles. 

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day. 

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage. 

It doesn’t come. 

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.  

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.” 

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.” 

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.” 

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth. 

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours. 

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.” 

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly. 

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.” 

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends. 

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”  

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek. 

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow. 

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?” 

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever. 

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.” 

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth. 

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his. 

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe. 

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs. 

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

[mccallslut]

Imagine what Peter would have been like with Erica. Peter likes Lydia because she had the strength and isn’t afraid to give his sass and snark in return. Erica would be the same. She doesn’t care if he’s a former Alpha or that he’s Derek’s uncle, if he starts acting up, she’s quick to put him in his place.

And Peter never seems to get mad at her. Maybe because he admires her courage and strength, maybe because he sees a part of himself in her (the social outcast who was hurt—him with the fire and her with her epilepsy that nearly killed her). Maybe it’s the fact that she reminds him of Laura.

Imagine Peter not knowing how to be ‘nice’, but there are little things he does to show how he feels: bringing Erica a glass of water, saving the last dumpling when the pack is having takeout and giving it to her, rushing to her side of the pack is attacked, helping her to her feet during training, sitting with her when the full moons get rough.

[mccallslut]

liam dunbar bf hcs

sfw

- always gets up freakishly early for lacrosse practice

- tries not to wake you up but he makes so much noise in the morning you get up anyways

- mostly the little spoon but when he is the big spoon he wraps himself around you like he's your backpack

- always has his head on your shoulder either from behind you in a backhug or leaning his head onto you when you're sitting together

- never does PDA in front of stlies though

- chronic whiner, always complaining and whining about something

- you try to record him when he's in one of those moods and as soon as he sees it he starts acting macho

- its lowkey an ick

- he's such a brat and doesn't listen to anyone but as soon as you say something he turns super agreeable- it makes mason super upset

- chronic pinkie-linker

- gaming nights with him turned sleepovers because he literally doesn't let you go after

- you guys would get super serious about iphone games and always try to beat each others high scores

- you know how guys lose on purpose ?? he's not doing that shit

- you always keep up with him though, but he refuses to give you credit

- your first genuine fight would be about a game because he refuses to back down

- would really be into doing "secret projects" for you like knitting you something, or baking you something, and makes sure that you know "how hard and difficult it was :(( "

- he's lowkey really bad at all of it though

- you know the whole "this one's for you babe" thing, he'd do that but he'd whisper it to himself before taking a shot "this one's for y/n"

- whenever something happens, he always asks scott to look out for you and makes sure you're okay- you guys love taking walks in parks and walking through cute trails in beacon hills

- you'd have lots of spots in the beacon hills forest

- scott and stiles love having you around because it tames liam so much more

- he doesn't let theo talk to you

- after theo finally gets to talk to you he looks and liam and gives him a little smirk "liam you were keeping this from me ??"

- he loves braiding your hair and figuring out cute little hairstyles for you

- he would keep a hairtie on his wrist all the time in case you need it

- he would love when you play with his hair and scratch his head

nsfw under the cut !! mdni

- he would be a top and leans more submissive

- sometimes he's tired from lacrosse and just loves fucking you while you're spooning

- he'd be really really enthusiastic about getting head, you could use it as leverage for anything

- would be the type to tear up

- around full moons, he gets a lot more aggressive

- really be into biting, like you'd have to have a conversation about it after the first time

- he'd be into hickeys in places that are easy to see, so you'd have a harder time covering it up

- has sensitive ears

- gets off on you complimenting his body because he worked so hard for it

- crazy stamina

- he'd be into you edging him

- but it would take absolutely nothing for him to start begging you to let him finish

- he'd get extremely pink - pink-cheeked, pink-lipped, pink-nosed, pink-eared

- lowkey shit at aftercare in the beginning, but he'd work on it

- after you guys finish, he'd need to be attached to you for at least 3-4 hours

[mccallslut]

PROLOGUE

FATAL ATTRACTION - a stiles stilinski story

summary: Sera Salvatore moved to Beacon Hills for a break from the supernatural. But her life was once again turned upside down when she and her two best friends get thrown head first into a world of werewolves and mystery. But it’s hard for her to protect her friends when a single werewolf bite is what could kill her for good…

WARNINGS: mentions of blood

a/n: this is just the intro ! future parts will be longer, that’s where the story really begins ;)

series masterlist

1.8k words

┌──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┐

Beacon Hills was supposed to be a sanctuary from all things supernatural.

After what felt like over a century (because it was), Sera Salvatore needed a break.

Which was admittedly a little hypocritical considering she herself was a vampire, but she was desperate for an escape from all the drama and chaos that her family - namely her brothers - had brought to Mystic Falls. So she decided to start afresh, again.

After only one year of living back in her hometown, she picked up and went to the furthest most point in the continental United States, which just so happened to land her here. From Georgia, all the way to sunny California. It would be a nice change.

She was fortunate enough that she could pass as quite young whenever she settled in a new place. With the help of makeup, clothing, and a healthy amount of dishonesty she managed to blend into freshman year at Beacon Hills High without anyone even batting an eye.

It was now one year ago today that she had started her first day, which turned out to be a breeze.

~

January 3rd, 2010

“You’re humiliating,” I expressed my annoyance flatly as I stood by the door, waiting for my brother to let go of my jacket that he had been straightening before I left the house.

He patted my shoulder with a motherly smile as if he was sending his child off to kindergarten, then took a step back to play the role further.

“Have you got everything?” he asked as he nodded to my bag.

I let out a breathy chuckle. I didn’t hate him as much as I let on… mostly.

“I packed you a blood bag for lunch,” he continued, that smirk of his right at home on his smug face - never a dull moment.

My hand reached for my keys on the side table as I walked backward towards the door, shaking my head to stop my lips from forming a smile of their own. “How thoughtful,” I retorted sarcastically.

But just as I was about to step outside I stopped to say one last thing, “Thanks for helping me move in and all,” my tone was much more genuine than it typically was when speaking to him, but I really was grateful.

Moving across the country would’ve been infinitely harder without his company on the road, and without being able to play the little sister card and sit back while he does the heavy lifting. But… and I would never admit it… but even now, starting a new school was just as scary as it always has been and a part of me liked that I had my big brother there to see me off.

I quickly cut our sappy little chat short with another comment, “But, I expect you to be gone when I get home.” I arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at him.

He was definitely the fun brother, but with fun comes impulsivity - a trait that must be genetic, and must have skipped my twin - and with impulsivity comes a long string of ‘animal attacks’. And that was exactly the drama in question that I wanted to escape, so I had brought along a surplus of blood bags to hold me until I found a more permanent solution.

He held his hands up in surrender, “I’ll be out within the hour.”

“Okay. I’ll see ya,” I said finally as I stepped outside, hiding from the brisk winter cold in the confines of my leather jacket.

My words were met with another smile and a nod from my brother before he spoke again. “Tell me how it went when you’re home.” The protective mother was back. But this time, it wasn’t just a joke, he was lucky we had no witnesses since he’d hate to ruin his tough-guy persona.

I almost laughed at him again, but I didn’t. As humans me and my brothers were incredibly close, but over time that faded. Me and our other brother never really settled that, but over the past year back in Mystic Falls me and the eldest fell back into old patterns.

“I will,” I gave in with a joking eye-roll. “Bye Damon,” I waved his way.

“Bye Seffie,” he returned, getting a kick out of my suddenly sour face.

Seffie. A nickname he saddled me with at the age of 4 and has stuck with me ever since. But my real name was a mouthful, so I chose to go by Sera - a fact Damon will insist on disregarding for the rest of our eternal lives.

As I walked away my once friendly hand gesture turned into a middle finger as I heard him laugh behind me and shut the door as I made my way to my new school.

~

The moment I stepped foot in the doors I noticed some heads turn, some overheard whispers from passers-by that fuelled my ego just that bit more as I walked up to reception and signed in.

First-period English went smoothly, then it was History which ironically was focused on the confederacy (not me and my siblings' proudest fight). And it was safe to say the teacher was thoroughly impressed with my knowledge on the subject, little did he know I quite literally lived it.

But after class was when my day took a turn.

“1076, 1076,” I repeated under my breath as I went to scour the halls for my new locker, but the break rush made my search all the more difficult with what felt like a million people charging around.

But finally, I seemed to be in luck as I read the numbers to my right; 1080, 1079, 1078, 1077, and…

Crash.

I took a deep breath and a frustrated sigh at the smug-faced, blond jock who had just practically booked it into my side, knocking all of my books out of my hands, and causing me to jump at the deafening sound of them hitting the tile floor. ‘Great,’ I thought satirically. The prick didn’t even bother to look back! Let alone be kind enough to help me pick them back up again.

But someone else did. In fact, two other boys seemed to have played witness and immediately came scrambling up to my side.

“Hey, uh-” the one with darker features and a crooked jawline, giving him a somewhat goofy smile stuttered, stopping after his friend who stood politely next to him not-so-subtly jabbed him in the side with his elbow, causing him to bring a hand to it and shoot his friend a glare.

“What he meant to say was, do you want a hand with that?” The slightly taller friend with the buzzed brown hair asked after his friend's failure to do so.

I could do nothing but laugh slightly at both of their clear excitement and reply with a smile, “I’d love one.”

Picking up books was a simple task that I most definitely could’ve done myself in probably half the time, but nothing compared to watching them both drop to the floor and bat at each other's hands in a frantic competition to ‘help the most.’ My smile grew wider and I brought a hand up to rest on my forehead. This was already a refreshing change since none of the boys back home would have ever done the same.

Soon, they both stood back up in front of me, proud looks on both of their faces as they put the books in my open locker for me.

“Thank you,” I chuckled in response.

“No problem,” the more hyper one added before quickly speaking again at a constant, lightning pace. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” he gestured to himself, “and this is my buddy, Scott,” his hand moved over to pat the other boy on the shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles and Scott,” I nodded back at them, still trying to bite back an amused grin, “I’m Sera.”

“You’re new here right?” Scott spoke again with an innocent look of pure curiosity.

I put my hands together behind my back and rocked on my heels slightly, “Mhm, started this morning,” a somewhat nervous chuckle left my lips, which the one called Stiles seemed to pick up on because he quickly interjected.

“I mean, we’d be happy to show you ‘round if you wanna hang with us,” he offered, a hopeful shrug on his shoulders and a pout on his lips.

“Wouldn’t we, Scott,” he then batted the back of his hand against his friend’s arm, glaring at him to respond.

Scott quickly blinked and nodded rapidly, “Oh, yeah, of course.”

I bit my lip in contemplation, they did seem awfully nice. “I’d love to, but I’ve gotta go to the office quickly, but maybe I’ll catch up with you guys later,” my counter seemed to be accepted without a second thought as I studied their expressions.

When I stepped backward I noticed how they didn’t leave just yet, so I said, “Bye boys, I’ll see you around,” with a small wiggle of my fingers as a wave.

“See you around, Sera,” Stiles repeated as he and Scott both mimicked my step back, his hand raising up to do a little salute before we turned our backs to each other.

I could not help the quiet giggle that escaped my mouth after I was out of their eyeline, but I also could not help but hear what they were saying to each other down the hall.

“Why the fuck did you salute?” Scott whispered, hitting Stiles back in retaliation for earlier.

“I- I don’t know, okay?” Stiles replied slightly panicked.

My smile grew. What idiots.

As for the conversation with the receptionist, it went smoothly with a little help from my immaculate ‘people skills’.

“I’m sorry but we insist on transcripts. And your immunisation records seem to be missing,” the lady said, peering over her glasses as she looked through my files.

My sigh was followed by me leaning forward, looking into her eyes as I watched her pupils dilate - she just had to make this more difficult.

“Please look again, I’m sure you’ll find everything you’re looking for.” A proud smirk laced my lips as she did exactly that, nodding and sending me on my way. Too easy.

During lunch, I did end up joining the boys at their table, taking a seat next to Stiles and definitely not missing the wide-eyed look he gave to Scott, along with his stuttered breath as I leaned over him to reach my pen that had rolled across the table.

The portrayal of vampires in Twilight had always annoyed me due to its incredible inaccuracy, but it was beyond amusing how easy it was for me to read their minds, even without special powers.

~

That day had ended with new numbers in everyone’s phones and Sera scoring a new ride to school and back every day in her new friend’s beaten-up old Jeep (which she thought had enough charm to distract from the deafening sound it made when running).

And from that moment forward, the three were inseparable.

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hope you enjoyed !

this was basically to just tell you what to expect from the rest of the series. might not post it all on here unless you want me to so check out my ao3 and wattpad ( @crazyinluvfix ) like and comment x

└──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┘

[mccallslut]

Were Dating?

Stiles x Reader

His signature blue jeep pulled into your driveway at exactly eight. Surprisingly the brunette was on time for once. As soon as he parks he’s jumping out of the jeep, giving you his dorky smile before opening the passenger side door for you. You just chuckle at his actions. 

You and Stiles have been friends for years though it was only lately that he's been acting somewhat differently. He’s been sweeter to you, more thoughtful, you contribute it to the fact the two of you have been spending more alone time together. Tonight the two of you are going to see a new horror movie that you’ve been dying to see. 

You and Stiles just buttered your popcorn when you bump into Scott and allison. Coincidentally they are going to see the same movie, so you decided to join each other. ‘A double date’ in Stiles' own words. The night went amazing, after the movie the four of you decided to get food. At the end of the night Stiles drives you back to your house. Even going as far as walking you to the door. Just as you're about to say goodnight he kisses you. You freeze when his lips meet yours, completely stunned by the boy's bold move. 

“Uh.. What was that?” You weren't against Stiles kissing you but you wanted to know why he's kissing you out of the blue. 

Stiles tilted his head a blush still coating his cheeks, “It’s a goodnight kiss, can’t I kiss my girlfriend” Now you're really confused. 

“I’m your girlfriend?” 

“Of course you're my girlfriend”, he chuckled thinking you were teasing him. It's only when you ask since when with a completely straight face does he realize you're being serious. “A week in a half, I asked you out two tuesdays ago.”

It took a few seconds to place the day. It was an average day, Stiles was driving you home like he does everyday. Only this time when you pulled up to your house he stops you. “Hey before you go I wanted to ask you something” He was oddly nervous but you didn't think anything about it, giving him a nod of encouragement. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang-out, like just the two of us.” Why he’s so nervous to ask you to hang out you don’t know but you answer right away. 

“Of course, I don’t know why you were so nervous to ask. I could never say no to you.” A huge smile blooms on Stiles face, his dimples fully on show. 

“Thank goodness, I was so nervous that you would say no” you laugh at his reaction, why on earth would you ever say no. 

Now looking back on it’s so obvious that he was asking you on a date. In your defense he never used the word date or the word girlfriend. So it wasn’t totally your fault for not connecting the dots. 

“I didn’t realize you were asking me out” your voice is soft 

“Oh” an awkward silence covers the two of you as both stare at each other. He had no idea how to respond, this whole time he thought you were his girlfriend, but you thought the two of you were only friends. He had no idea how you thought the two of you were friends. He wasn't hiding his affection for you. The two of you would hold hands, and cuddle yet you thought you were friends. He felt like an idiot, he just kissed you when you saw him as just a friend. “Well then goodnight I guess sorry I kissed you let's just forget about it” he tried to laugh off his discomfort, this is not how he thought tonight was going to go. This morning he was dating his longtime crush and now he’s finding out it was all a lie. He just wanted to run away and die of embarrassment. 

Before he could leave you grab his arm pulling him back to you and placing a kiss on his lips. His mind short-circuited, he’s on a rollercoaster. One second he's dating you then you're rejecting him and now you're kissing him. 

“Stiles, do you want to be my Boyfriend?” 

“Yeah I would love too” his smiles huge 

“That's how you ask someone out” you giggle out

“Well when someone takes you on dates and holds your hands that means your dating” the both of you laugh kissing each other once more.

[mccallslut]

24 Crayons || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: A boy met a girl in the midst of innocence, and formed a friendship that would last the ages. Words: 1.1k Warnings: omg just cuteness to the max Notes: written in third person, remaining chapters set in first person!

part one of TWENTY FOUR - a stiles stilinski series (masterlist)

Innocence was the simplicity of a sunny day; the way the light warmed skin and caught reflections in a twinkling gleam. It was the gentle hum of a small Californian town, filled with buzzing townsfolk in suburban settings and singing birds that found sanctuary in the surrounding wilderness. It was the floral scent of garden-lined sidewalks that was encapsulated within a plethora of beautiful flowers. But most of all, on this very particular day, innocence was the budding friendship between two children on their first day of kindergarten. Brown, doe-like eyes, peered upward as lips jutted out in a pout. They belonged to a young boy as nerves overtook his small body, worried about being alone and away from his parents. His hands were small as they gripped onto the pant legs of his father before cementing his little feet to the pavement below. He was refusing to move; head shaking, frown quivering, cheek rubbing against khaki-coloured material. "Stiles, honey..." A tender voice cooed, a woman with dark brown hair and the sweetest of smiles now moving to crouch to his level. She was among the shining light of the sun, ethereal glows highlighting her frame before a hand with a loving touch cupped the young boy's face. "You'll have the best time, I promise. Once you make some friends, you will love it here." "B-but you and dad are my friends!"

The woman's gaze saddened as they flickered up toward her husband, a mutual conversation of silent expressions and empathy. With a tender pat to her shoulder, the woman stood, instead replaced by a man with kind eyes and a gold badge that glimmered in the light. Stiles' focus moved to the word 'Deputy' as his small finger dragged over the engraving on the golden metal, his sobs quietening only in the slightest.

"Do you want to see the special big boy present we got for your first day, bud?" The man spoke with a gentle tone before being met with a sniffle and hesitant head nod from his son. He was careful as he dug through the spiderman backpack in front of him, his facial features contorting with funny expressions to make Stiles laugh. The sound of happiness made the man sigh with contentment as he pulled out a yellow box - colours, one of every rainbow shade, were lined up perfectly and ready for a creative imagination.

"Crayons!" Any prior sense of despair had dissipated as the boy's eyes grew, childlike wonder and jovial sounds now becoming his persona in the way his parents had always known him. The box was grasped with delicate fingers before small arms were thrown behind the father's neck, holding him in a loving embrace.

The man smiled. All surroundings slowly faded as this family of three stood within their bubble of perfection - of love, and purity. Everything was right in the world, and nothing could stand in their way.

Stiles stood off to the side; his senses were on alert, nervousness working through his small frame as he overlooked the large classroom and the many bodies that took up its space. He was too shy to speak to anyone, and he felt as if the room began to close in on him the longer he isolated himself. He dreamed of being back in the arms of his father, to be looking up at his mother's graceful smile that made all the scary moments go away. Everybody seemed to have someone and Stiles had never felt so alone.

It wasn't until he looked across to the far side of the room - past the children playing with their toys, and his new teacher talking to other adults that he didn't know - that he spotted another that seemed as lonely as he did. She had her back turned to him, but he could tell that she was sad by the way her pencil moved slowly over the page in front of her.

Little feet padded with caution as Stiles made his way toward her, the box his father gave him clutched tightly to his chest as a reminder that he was a big boy now and that alone was enough to give him some courage.

He cleared his throat, voice quiet as he peered over her shoulder, "Can I sit with you?"

Her head shot up with surprise to hear another voice, body turning quickly to see a young boy with the biggest brown eyes she'd ever seen. She nodded eagerly, pushing the chair beside her out for him to drop beside her. Stiles felt relief, his smile wide with anticipation as he stuck his hand out - something his father taught him when saying hello to new people. The girl looked at him funny before she smiled too, her hand sliding against his easily.

"Hi, my name is Mieczyslaw!" He spoke quickly, the sound of his name amusing as it came from his young squeaky voice. It didn't make it any easier to understand with the tooth missing from his bottom row, either.

Her head tilted, lashes fluttering as she thought of what he said. The girl hummed, "Mich.. ca.. slor?"

Stiles laughed loudly, his grin growing wider, if even possible. The boy nodded, "Kinda, but it's okay, it's hard to say sometimes."

The girl giggled along with him, her body turning further in her seat until she was facing him front on. "That's a funny name!"

"It's my grampa's name.." He started, shuffling closer to the girl, "But you can call me Stiles! Erry'one calls me that."

"Okay, Stiles. That's a funny name too!" She followed his earlier sentiment as her small hand was thrown toward him, ready for another shake, "I'm Y/n."

He took it gladly, "I like that name, it's pretty. Y/n."

A red hue dusted her cheeks, a mix of excitement and happiness as she found someone to talk to. And he was someone that made her laugh, which she liked most of all.

Stiles wasn't afraid as he put his box of crayons on the table between them, a sense of pride filling him as he saw her eyes widen in amazement. He patted the top, "My dad and mom gave me these."

"Wow! And you got the big box too, with all the good colors!"

Stiles' smile never faltered, and he knew that he liked you straight away. You were going to be a good friend. "Yeah! I haven't opened 'em yet. Did you wanna color with me?!"

That was the beginning of an unbreakable friendship, the first chapter in the lives of you and Stiles Stilinski.

[mccallslut]

“I like you a lot”

Isaac lahey x fem!Reader

TW: Smut, oral (fem receiving), use of pet names, claws, nipple play

+16 read at your own risk. I’m not your mommy A/N: first smut to write + english isn’t my first lang word count: 2.5K

You were at school, leaning against your locker. smiling at and laughing with Stiles, until you caught Isaac glaring at you across the hall, visibly upset.

"alright Stiles I've got to go now, I'll see ya" you walked away after Stiles nodded and walked to Scott, and you made your way to Isaac.

"hey" you flashed him a smile and he blushed. How could he not? he thought you were the most beautiful thing ever.

The beta glanced over Stiles before turning back to you. "hey.." he spoke softly.

"Just tired... I uhh, I’ve got a lot on my mind lately" he said slowly and softly, not wanting to ruin this moment between you two.

You nodded slowly, feeling bad for him. "well you know, you can always talk to me" you said softly, reassuring him that he's got someone by his side.

You watched him closely as he looked at you quietly, and you didn't want to rush him to speak, you knew how sensitive Isaac is. It made him feel pathetic when he opened up to anyone or asked for help, that's what his dad has taught him. That a man is a man, boys don't cry, but Isaac knew you, he loved you, trusted you, and he knew your listen and get him anytime.

"I've just been going back.. thinking about my family" He looked down as his expression softened.

"oh" you whispered softly and placed your hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently. "I know you've suffered from your dad your whole life, but his death Isn’t your fault".

Isaac flinched, but he didn't move away from you. Even though your gesture was tiny, it felt huge to him, It made him on top of the world. He let out a soft sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know... I just-" he paused, unsure if he can keep going or not, but he really counted on you, so he kept going. "I didn't even cry at the funeral and everyone thinks I don't care, that I was wishing the whole time i'd get rid of him, and the problem is.. it's true. I was relieved that he's dead"

"Honey listen to me" you took a step closer, placing both your hands on his shoulder. "your dad used to lock you in a freezer. that night.. that night he hurt you and you ran like any other night, because you didn't know what he would die" you then place your hand on isaac's cheek, caressing it softly "you were just scared, you did nothing wrong"

Isaac paused for a moment and leaned into your touched as he shivered. The relief he felt when his father died was a burden to him, but he knew you were saying the truth so he bit his lip thoughtfully. He wanted to say that your hand felt to right on his skin, but he didn't and rubbed his face with his hand then looked at you hesitantly as he spoke. "I- Iwas scared" his voice trembled as he stammered softly, making you unsure if he meant you to hear him. he slowly smiled at you softly and leaned into your touch again, causing his breath to hitch.

you sighed softly as you try to build up some courage and confidence to ask him to go out with you, but you were too scared that he'd turn you down so you just looked quietly at the ground until you heard a familiar 5 taps on the locker next to you and looked to the direction to see lydia. She must have noticed your flustered face because she tilted her head at Isaac and winked at you. You two have been talking about it and she was eager for you to confess to him, and apparently she was so sure Isaac wouldn't let you down for a reason she wouldn't tell.

you snapped out of my trance as Isaac cleared his throat and looked at the same direction you were just looking at, except there was nobody there.

"sorry about that. I was just wondering if you would want to go home with me? I mean-" You paused and took a deep breath. "why don't you come over and we can just.. relax?" you asked nervously as he just looked at you quietly. "Scott's sneaking out with Allison again and our mom won't be home until ten.. so I was thinking if you'd want to just come over instead of staying alone or with Derek, he could be lame sometimes" I chuckle nervously and put on a fake confident grin.

Isaac stayed quiet for a moment or two, taking in your words, and he thought there was no way he could turn that down, the thought of you and him alone in the house with no distractions. He knew he wanted it but he wasn't sure if you did. if you were just doing him a favour because you felt bad, but he decided to push his paranoia to the side and smiled at you softly with a blush on his cheek, nodding. "I'd like that, if you're okay with it"

"ahh perfect! we are gonna have so much fun! we can watch the notebook too if you want to, or maybe cook or play or just" you pause for a second or two, not wanting to creep Isaac out with your sudden excitement. "we could just.. chill you know?" You looked up at him with a smile.

The two of you walked to your house, as Stiles has already left with his jeep, and while you were walking you felt Isaac's hand brush against yours until he took it in, intertwining your fingers together. you could feel how his hand shakes softly and you knew his stomach was probably flipping, he was a nervous wreck.

You held his hand confidently the way home until you reached it and opened the front door for the two of you. After walking in, you turned to Isaac and smiles. "do you wanna stay in the living room, or go to my room? or we can even cook something!" you asked excitedly.

"Your room...?" He asked hesitantly. Your room was usually off limits, that's where you go to relax on your own, away from the pack. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to be there with you. But part of him knows it won't end at just being in your room. Not that he had a problem but that he was worried from Scott's reaction if he knew Isaac was in his sister's room alone in the house. Scott and Isaac were best friends and Isaac didn't want to risk it, but he still loved you.

you saw the look on isaac's face as he started to look overwhelmed, and more anxious than he was, so you decided to cool it down. "I mean it's okay but if you don't want to that's fine. we can sit in the living room" you shrugged, leaving the decision for him to make as you looked at his eyes.

Isaac nodded slowly, looking at your lips then your eyes. "your room" he said softly and carelessly. He wanted to be with you alone. he didn't care what scott would think, he didn't care what the whole pack would think, he only cared about you and being with you, he wanted you.

you smiled and tilted your head for him to follow you. you walked past Scott's room until you reached your room then you walked to the bed, After taking off your shoes, sitting on the bed, then patting on the space next to you for Isaac to sit on.

Isaac followed you to your room, closing his door behind him. His heart skipped a beat when you asked him to sit next to you and the only thing he could think of is how nervous he is. he looked at you and he thought you look so vulnerable, sitting alone waiting for him to join you, so he took a few steps, trying to regulate his breath before sitting next to you. He was so close and nervous, slowly turning his neck to look at you.

"so.. what would you like to do?" you asked softly, trying to make sure he's not uncomfortable.

Isaac looked at you and for the first time he has walked in the room, he didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss you and see what happened but he didn't want to make you pressured, and he didn't want to risk kissing Scott's sister, he was the leader of the pack, so he let the silence between you linger before he decided to break the ice.

"can I be honest with you?" he stressed.

"of course, I won't judge" i nodded in reassurance

Isaac struggles to speak so he leans closer to you. He just wants you to understand him, he needs you to know how he feels, what he's been thinking of, but it's hard for someone like him, someone whom emotions always were rejected. He took a deep breath and leaned closer as his eyes fluttered between your lips and eyes then he opened his mouth to speak but he failed so he looked one more time at you before smashing his lips on yours as he moved one hand on the back of your neck as the other ran over your back to your hips, pulling your whole body into his lap while you froze in shock before pulling him closer, cupping his cheeks while you kissed him back with the same amounts of passion.

After a few moments he pulls away, and looks at you in shock, he had expected everything other than you kissing him back.

"I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have kissed you and if scott finds out he's gonna kill me and-" you cut him off pulling him in another kiss, slowly pushing him to lay down as you move on top of him.

"Scott doesn't have to know" you whispered pulling him in a deeper kiss that made him forget everything.

he was in a daze as he pulled away from you. "you look so beautiful when you kiss me like that" he said softly with a soft smirk that caused you to blush.

He smiled softly as he gently ran his fingers thorough your hair. "you're so beautiful you know? it's just so hard to focus on anything else when we are like that, when you're with me. We can take this as slow as you want"

you pulled him for a kiss in response, breaking it as you smiling against lips, and he moaned softly, slipping his hands under your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

"i want this. you. Right here, right now, But I also don't want to hurt you so tell me what you want, darling." he whisper in your ear as his breath hit your neck, causing you to shiver.

"i want you, please" you whined and pulled him into another kiss as your tongue begged for entrance in his mouth. he let out a soft involuntary moan, as his caresses on your back got faster. His tongue danced with your and he began to grind on you, making you feel the hard bulge in his jeans that rubbed your throbbing pussy, until you pulled away from the kiss breathlessly, pushing him up by his chest, reaching to his shirt, playing with a soft fabric slowly. He sat up on his knees in front of you between your legs, taking off his shirt. You looked up at him, slowly placing the balm of your hand on his chest, tracing your finger over it to his stomach. He let out a low groan while he watched you trace your fingers over his chest, his muscles tensed under your touch.

"you're killing me honey" He whispered, moving closer to you as he kissed your neck slowly, then he sat up again as his hands found their way between your legs. Should undo your bra, or maybe start with these pants?" he teased, and sprung his claws out, moving them swiftly above you, tearing off your clothes.

"i loved that set" you pouted and he smirked

"i'll get you new ones" he pulled your clothes off your body, tossing them away on the floor with his shirt.

He smirked when he saw the blush on your face when you looked away, leaning down to your neck. "don't be shy baby" he whispered, before tracing kissed down your collarbone.

you moaned softly, moving your hands to caress his back softly and he let out a sigh against your skin. His hands found your thighs as he rubbed them slowly, kissing lower and lower. His kisses and nibbles reached your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling and sucking around it while he groped the other one with his hand, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly.

"I love you, so much" He showered your stomach with smooches and pecks, until his mouth found your slit, running his tongue through your wetness, humming in satisfaction. "so wet baby" he flicked your clit with his tongue as you struggled to answer him back, running your fingers through his hair as you pulled them gently. He took one of his hand, wrapping it around my waist to keep me down while he slid a finger in you with the other, slowly and gently, causing you to moan softly.

he sucked your clit harder making you pull his hair tightly, causing him to moan which vibrates against your pussy as his fingers go faster, feeling you clench around them, sucking them in. "Fuck Isaac" you whined. "i'm so close" you whispered, wondering if he even heard you, then he confirmed as he added a finger in, moving his fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching you out as you pull his hair tighter. "Isaac!" you warned, and he understood as you reached your climax, coating his fingers with your cum while he kept his gaze on you then he pulled them out, lapping at your pussy hungrily, taking in your juices.

"you're so sweet baby" he moved up to kiss you as you taste your own arousal. He pulled away from the kiss and you bit your lip, panting for air and you moved your hand to his head, pulling him back down to kiss you, you couldn't get enough of him.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you guys liked this 🎀

[mccallslut]

24 Crayons || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: A boy met a girl in the midst of innocence, and formed a friendship that would last the ages. Words: 1.1k Warnings: omg just cuteness to the max Notes: written in third person, remaining chapters set in first person!

part one of TWENTY FOUR - a stiles stilinski series (masterlist)

Innocence was the simplicity of a sunny day; the way the light warmed skin and caught reflections in a twinkling gleam. It was the gentle hum of a small Californian town, filled with buzzing townsfolk in suburban settings and singing birds that found sanctuary in the surrounding wilderness. It was the floral scent of garden-lined sidewalks that was encapsulated within a plethora of beautiful flowers. But most of all, on this very particular day, innocence was the budding friendship between two children on their first day of kindergarten. Brown, doe-like eyes, peered upward as lips jutted out in a pout. They belonged to a young boy as nerves overtook his small body, worried about being alone and away from his parents. His hands were small as they gripped onto the pant legs of his father before cementing his little feet to the pavement below. He was refusing to move; head shaking, frown quivering, cheek rubbing against khaki-coloured material. "Stiles, honey..." A tender voice cooed, a woman with dark brown hair and the sweetest of smiles now moving to crouch to his level. She was among the shining light of the sun, ethereal glows highlighting her frame before a hand with a loving touch cupped the young boy's face. "You'll have the best time, I promise. Once you make some friends, you will love it here." "B-but you and dad are my friends!"

The woman's gaze saddened as they flickered up toward her husband, a mutual conversation of silent expressions and empathy. With a tender pat to her shoulder, the woman stood, instead replaced by a man with kind eyes and a gold badge that glimmered in the light. Stiles' focus moved to the word 'Deputy' as his small finger dragged over the engraving on the golden metal, his sobs quietening only in the slightest.

"Do you want to see the special big boy present we got for your first day, bud?" The man spoke with a gentle tone before being met with a sniffle and hesitant head nod from his son. He was careful as he dug through the spiderman backpack in front of him, his facial features contorting with funny expressions to make Stiles laugh. The sound of happiness made the man sigh with contentment as he pulled out a yellow box - colours, one of every rainbow shade, were lined up perfectly and ready for a creative imagination.

"Crayons!" Any prior sense of despair had dissipated as the boy's eyes grew, childlike wonder and jovial sounds now becoming his persona in the way his parents had always known him. The box was grasped with delicate fingers before small arms were thrown behind the father's neck, holding him in a loving embrace.

The man smiled. All surroundings slowly faded as this family of three stood within their bubble of perfection - of love, and purity. Everything was right in the world, and nothing could stand in their way.

Stiles stood off to the side; his senses were on alert, nervousness working through his small frame as he overlooked the large classroom and the many bodies that took up its space. He was too shy to speak to anyone, and he felt as if the room began to close in on him the longer he isolated himself. He dreamed of being back in the arms of his father, to be looking up at his mother's graceful smile that made all the scary moments go away. Everybody seemed to have someone and Stiles had never felt so alone.

It wasn't until he looked across to the far side of the room - past the children playing with their toys, and his new teacher talking to other adults that he didn't know - that he spotted another that seemed as lonely as he did. She had her back turned to him, but he could tell that she was sad by the way her pencil moved slowly over the page in front of her.

Little feet padded with caution as Stiles made his way toward her, the box his father gave him clutched tightly to his chest as a reminder that he was a big boy now and that alone was enough to give him some courage.

He cleared his throat, voice quiet as he peered over her shoulder, "Can I sit with you?"

Her head shot up with surprise to hear another voice, body turning quickly to see a young boy with the biggest brown eyes she'd ever seen. She nodded eagerly, pushing the chair beside her out for him to drop beside her. Stiles felt relief, his smile wide with anticipation as he stuck his hand out - something his father taught him when saying hello to new people. The girl looked at him funny before she smiled too, her hand sliding against his easily.

"Hi, my name is Mieczyslaw!" He spoke quickly, the sound of his name amusing as it came from his young squeaky voice. It didn't make it any easier to understand with the tooth missing from his bottom row, either.

Her head tilted, lashes fluttering as she thought of what he said. The girl hummed, "Mich.. ca.. slor?"

Stiles laughed loudly, his grin growing wider, if even possible. The boy nodded, "Kinda, but it's okay, it's hard to say sometimes."

The girl giggled along with him, her body turning further in her seat until she was facing him front on. "That's a funny name!"

"It's my grampa's name.." He started, shuffling closer to the girl, "But you can call me Stiles! Erry'one calls me that."

"Okay, Stiles. That's a funny name too!" She followed his earlier sentiment as her small hand was thrown toward him, ready for another shake, "I'm Y/n."

He took it gladly, "I like that name, it's pretty. Y/n."

A red hue dusted her cheeks, a mix of excitement and happiness as she found someone to talk to. And he was someone that made her laugh, which she liked most of all.

Stiles wasn't afraid as he put his box of crayons on the table between them, a sense of pride filling him as he saw her eyes widen in amazement. He patted the top, "My dad and mom gave me these."

"Wow! And you got the big box too, with all the good colors!"

Stiles' smile never faltered, and he knew that he liked you straight away. You were going to be a good friend. "Yeah! I haven't opened 'em yet. Did you wanna color with me?!"

That was the beginning of an unbreakable friendship, the first chapter in the lives of you and Stiles Stilinski.

[mccallslut]

Chapter 29 - [ AO3 | FFN ]

“Sadie, please! I don’t know how to stop it!” “How to stop what? Lydia, what’s going on?” “He—he won’t stop talking to me. He’s always talking to me. I don’t understand. And his—his eyes—I just want him to go away. Please make him go away, Sadie.” My first instinct was to ask when Jackson had started bothering her. Last I checked, they hadn’t really spoken since the day of the break in, when they’d fought and then kissed. Now she couldn’t get rid of him? But the longer I stared at her, the colder my heart grew. The nightmares, her terror, his eyes—I knew exactly who she was talking about. I was overcome with another wave of hatred for him. Even death didn’t stop him from hurting my friends. In that moment, staring down at Lydia as she unraveled, I was ready to watch Peter Hale burn to death all over again. I pulled Lydia to my chest, letting her sob into my shoulder. “I know, Lyd. It’s okay. He’s gone. He’s not real.” “You don’t understand,” she wept. “He is! He is real! Everything is so real, and I—I don’t want to believe him!” “Lydia, what is he telling you?” “That…that you’re lying to me. He says that you’re dangerous and that you’ve killed people and that…you’re the reason he attacked me…” My blood turned to lead in my veins. Peter roaring as I emptied a magazine into his chest. Kate bleeding on the ground in front of me, screaming as I shot her in the shoulder. Me, shivering on the lacrosse field under Peter’s pleasant smile as he offered me an ultimatum: accept the bite or let Lydia be teared apart. I’d never told Lydia that part of the night. So how did she know now? “I don’t want to listen to him, Sadie,” she whimpered into my shoulder. “I don’t! I just want him to go away!” “Okay, Lydia, listen to me.” I took a deep breath and pulled out of the hug so I could look her in the eye. I held her face in my hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “He is not real. You know why? Because you beat him. You beat him, Lydia. You survived the attack, and he’s gone. So next time you see him, you tell him: ‘Sadie said you’re not real. So you can fuck off.’”

[mccallslut]

Sports Knowledge - Stiles Stilinski

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski x Emma Thomas Word Count: 1,276 Warnings: fluff, set in summer 2012, Smut: no | yes; Requested: Yes. This is so short, I'm so sorry!! 😩 But, I hope this meets your expectations, @fandom-princess-forevermore A/N: Hi, friends! We have - 🥁 🥁 🥁 - A STEMMA FIC fic!! I miss them, hahaa. We're gonna stick this in between seasons 2 & 3! I hope you like this! If you do, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

“You’re wrong.”

“How am I wrong? I know more about this team than you do.”

“Fine. How many World Series have they won?”

“Two. Next.” I looked at Stiles, taking a bite of my sub sandwich. 

I could tell that Stiles was thinking about his next question for a moment before giving me an opened mouth smile. “Best player-” I went to interrupt him, but he cut me off with the rest of his question. “-ever.”

Taking a deep breath, I thought about it before asking, “Personal preference or statistically?”

“Let’s go statistically,” he smiled, popping a chip into his mouth.

Sighing, I had to wrack my brain for the answer, looking dead into Stiles’ eyes. “Is it…-” I looked down at the table, my eyes dancing around as I muttered, “Fuck, I know this.” Looking back up at him, I asked, “Is it… Tom Seaver?”

Stiles’ eyes almost shot out of their sockets with how wide they went. “Holy shit, that’s right?” Looking under the table, he asked, “You got your phone out or something?” When he brought his head back up, he looked at me as I laughed, my hand over my mouth.

“No,” I said, trying to control my laughter.

“Well, then how did you know that?”

I couldn’t help the scream that came out, my hand still covering my mouth as I laughed. “Because you told me!”

Leaning closer to the table as I snorted, Stiles whispered, “You’re making a scene. Calm down.”

“I’m trying,” I laughed, wiping at my eyes. Taking deep breaths, I still had a smile on my face. Hearing snickers had my attention turning a few of the lacrosse players that were on the team with Scott and Stiles.

“Who’s the best lacrosse player on the team?” I asked, a little too loudly.

Confused, Stiles turned to see who or what I was looking at; seeing Joey Anderson and their goons from the team. He turned back to look at me, seeing the rage in my eyes that I was sure was there. Casting his eyes down to look at his food, he sighed, “Let it go, Em.”

“How the hell can I let it go?” I asked. “They almost cost me my spot on the team.” I looked at Stiles as his head snapped back up to look at me.

“You’re the coach’s niece,” he deadpanned. “You’re not gonna lose your job.”

I sighed, sitting back in my chair, playing with the straw in my cup. When I looked at him, he was resting his chin in his hand, a small soft smile on his face. “What?”

Stiles shook his head, looking down while crossing his arms across the table, leaning on them. “You’re just… so beautiful.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, trying not to smile as I looked out the window. When I side eyed him, I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my lips as he said, “You’re so pretty.” I raised a brow at him, his smile ever present on his face.

“You’re beau-,” Stiles said, but was interrupted by Joey and his goons.

“Hey, Stilinski!” Joey said. “You trying to fit in now or what?” Stiles stiffened, Joey’s words getting to him. He was growing his hair out and I was loving it. His hair had the smallest of spikes to it; baby spikes, if you will. I was sad when I woke up one morning and his baby face was all but gone. His new hair makes up for it.

“Hey, Anderson,” I said, standing from my seat. I started walking over towards his table, but Stiles’ hand in mine stopped me. “How about you - I don’t know - go home and spend time with Mary Palmer and her five sisters while watching your favorite porno site since, ya’know, you can’t get any.” I didn’t wait for a reply as I turned and grabbed my stuff, food included, and walked out of the restaurant to Stiles’ Jeep.

Feeling Stiles’ body next to mine, I looked up at him, sheepishly. “I can’t open the door.”

“Why not?” he asked, confused

Holding my hands up, I showed him the items in my hands; my phone, drink and bag that I had put my sandwich back in after wrapping it. “My hands are full.”

He sighed, exasperatedly before moving to open the door for me. I knew he would anyway. He’d been doing it since Noah taught him how to drive this hunk of junk.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, walking away from me. 

I chuckled and got into my seat, setting my sandwich bag on the floor by my feet, taking a sip of my drink as Stiles got into the driver seat, starting up the Jeep. He stopped all movement as I looked over at him. “What’s up, babe?”

Stiles looked over at me, looking into my eyes for a second before softly smiling. Shaking his head, he said, “Nothing.”

With a fake sad face, I looked at him and asked, “Is it because I was starting to kick your ass in sports knowledge?”

He chuckled, backing out of our parking spots to head to our next destination. “No. And we barely even got started before Anderson distracted you.”

“Eh, he’s just mad I won’t spread my legs for him. He’s also a dick. Like, the biggest. I mean, his stats on the team aren’t that great. He’s barely even on the field, his stats are not great, and he’s just a fucking tool.” I was silent for a moment while I thought my words over, my eyebrows scrunching in finality. “Ya’know what? Fuck him. He’s not even worth my time.”

Looking over at Stiles, I asked, “Ya’know what is worth my time?”

“What?” he asked with a chuckle, that smirk I loved so much on him showing up.

“Kicking your ass in sports knowledge.” 

When he spared a glance at me, I smiled big.

“Okay, sassypants,” he said. “Give me the top 5 Mets players on the team right now.”

Without missing a beat, I answered, “In no specific order; David Wright, Matt Harvey, Jon Niese, R.A. Dickey, Ruben Tejada.” I looked over at Stiles, straw between my teeth as I watched the blush on his cheeks rise up. Trying to hide the smile that was forming, I asked him, “Are you blushing?”

In that Stiles way that I loved about him, - no, we haven’t said those words yet - he started to get even more flustered, as he looked between me and the road. “Bl-blushing?” He scoffed, trying to act all cool and shit. “Pshh. I don’t blush.”

With the most deadpan expression I could muster, I replied, “You do and you are.”

“N… no.”

“Stiles.”

“Okay, fine,” he breathed. Looking over at me, I saw the hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s hot, okay. You knowing all this stuff about the Mets.”

Reaching over to card my finger through the hair at the nape of his neck, I smiled and replied, “Well, I have the best teacher.”

That hint of a smile on his face grew into that fucking smirk that could make my panties drop. Opening my mouth to say those three words, I stopped myself, instead bringing my hand from his hair to his hand, lacing our fingers together.

Beating me to the punch, Stiles brought my knuckles to his mouth, placing soft kisses to each one. “What do you say to us going home, grabbing my laptop and marathoning Back to the Future while we finish our subs.”

I smiled so big, my cheeks were sure to hurt within the next five seconds. “I’d love that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! gif is supposed to be stiles all flustered and shit. let me know what you thought about! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i hate that this is so freaking short.. i'm off my stiles game, lol. also, if the world series thing at the beginning is wrong, pls excuse the error! my research might've been wrong..

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of Jeff Davis.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on February 29, 2024

[mccallslut]

Tell me you want this

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Stilinski!Reader

Warning(s): canon-level stuff, blood, making out, mentions of sex

Summary: In a life that is constantly on the move, you appreciate the small moments much more. Especially if they're with Isaac.

"It'll just heal in a few minutes, you know," Isaac said.

"I know," you replied, sitting on his bed next to him.

You pulled a baby wipe from its package and held Issac's chin between your thumb and forefinger, moving his head to look him over.

It had been a particularly bad fight, for everyone. The kind of fight where you needed the rest of the night to just heal; physically, mentally, emotionally.

And, of course, you wouldn't let Isaac do it on his own.

You began wiping at a spot on his face, gliding the cloth over the apple of his cheek.

"If Stiles finds out about this, he's gonna be upset," Isaac said, watching your face contort as you worked.

"Yeah, well," you moved his head to the other side, frowning at the mention of your brother. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

You and Isaac had known each other forever. Being in the same grade, it would’ve been hard not to notice one another, but even besides that you had a connection. You were sort of friends.

Not the kind that hung out outside of school, but the loners who ate lunch under the bleachers and spent free periods in the library.

You also covered for him whenever he wasn’t in school, finding out about his home life after his dad had a particularly bad day.

You’d cleaned him up then, too.

Isaac gently grabbed your wrist, "and Derek-"

"Derek's not gonna hurt me."

You'd long since perfected sneaking into Derek's loft to see Isaac. You suspected that he knew you were there. Being a seasoned werewolf, you were sure he could hear the extra heartbeat, if not smell your scent.

But you didn't care, and clearly neither did he.

But Isaac? Isaac cared.

Ever since he became a werewolf, and you were further pulled into the bullshit that came along with that, he’d been protective in a way he hadn’t before.

You weren’t sure if it was a wolf thing or if Isaac felt some kind of obligation to you. Either way, you wouldn’t let him keep you out of it.

Tossing the wipe in the trash, you put your hand to his now clean cheek. "Relax."

He eyed you for a long moment, searching, before he took a deep breath and leaned into your touch.

The shape of his jaw pressed into your palm, his hand wrapping around your wrist gently, as if just to touch you.

Silence surrounded you, only the sound of your heartbeats and breathing cutting through.

That and the tension that hung palpably in the small space between you.

"You know," he pulled at the new hole in his shirt. "I think you better get this one, too."

You smiled, shaking your head. "I guess I better."

He wasted no time in pulling the material over his head and tossing it somewhere else in the room, making you laugh.

You scooted closer to him, crossing your legs under you and pulling another wipe from the package.

"Oh, Isaac," you said, taking in the wound. "It must've hurt."

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much the adrenaline can mask...and I'm used to pain."

He was so close now, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek as you cleaned him up.

You focused on the task at hand because if you didn't, you'd notice the way he was staring at you. And you weren't sure what you'd do if you met his eyes.

He was fitter than he used to be, the tone of his chest and abs more prominent, his arms more muscular.

You unconsciously lifted your other hand to drag it down his chest.

He shivered under your touch. "Y/N..."

You swallowed, stilling your hand on his shoulder as you continued to clean him up.

"Y/N," he said again, making you look up at him.

His eyes were already on you, as you suspected, looking at you with so much intensity you wondered what he was thinking.

"Yes?"

He was so beautiful, especially this close.

You could see every line on his face, every freckle, every mole. The sculpt of his nose, the part of his lips. The dim light made the blue of his eyes seem darker, or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you.

He lightly pushed down your hand that had stilled on his chest so that he could lean closer, brushing his nose against yours.

"Tell me you want this."

His breath fanned your lips, and you sucked in a breath. "Isaac-"

"I can hear your heartbeat," he said. "I can tell how nervous you are...don't be. Tell me you want this."

You released the breath, shakily. "Yes. Yes, please, kiss me."

He leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You kissed him back, hesitantly. So hesitantly that he stopped, but didn't go far, allowing you the power to continue if you wanted. And you did.

More confidently this time, you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

You didn't realize how much you'd wanted this until now. How kissing him felt akin to breathing; natural, easy, like if you stopped, you might die.

It was a natural progression that he pulled you closer by your waist, his hands rough but gesture gentle, slow.

Your hands slid their way over the shape of his arms, then shoulders, then neck before they finally stopped to tangled themselves in his hair.

He hummed into your mouth, dragging his tongue over your bottom lip, and you parted them. His tongue slid over yours, experimentally, trying to find a rhythm.

You tugged against his hair.

That caused him to moan.

His fingers were ghosting just under your shirt when-

"Isaac, I need you to- oh my god."

You jumped apart, faces burning, as Derek stood in the doorway of Isaac's room.

It was pointless to try to look innocent, Isaac was shirtless for Christ's sake.

"Okay, I've clearly let this go on too long, I don't need you having sex in here."

"We weren't going to have sex!" Isaac protested, and you hid your face in your hands.

"Maybe not yet," Derek replied, crossing his arms. "How'd you get here anyway?"

"Walked," you replied sheepishly.

"Great, now I'm going to have to take you home. They're going to think I've kidnapped you."

"I can walk home."

"After that fight today? I'm surprised you made it here, let alone getting back."

"I can take her back," Isaac offered.

"And have you get busy in my car? Yeah, no, thanks."

"We wouldn't-" Isaac groaned. "Fine."

"Let's go. Now."

Too embarrassed to protest, you stood and followed Derek out the door.

Boyd and Erica were sitting in the main room and looked at you with wide eyes when they saw you come out of Isaac's room.

Great, you thought. Now it looks like a walk of shame.

"Y/N, wait."

You turned as Isaac came out of his room, holding your jacket in his hand.

"You, uh, forgot this," he said, blushing as everyone looked at him.

Face hot, you took it from him. "Thanks."

You put it on as Derek grabbed his keys and the two of you disappeared out the door.

Then Boyd and Erica's eyes drifted back to Isaac.

"...what?"

Erica split into a grin. "So, Stilinski, huh?"

"Shut up."