#stiles does not care

[twpromptsillneverwrite]

Stiles: Okay, Plan B didn't work, so it's time to move to Plan D.

Lydia: What about Plan C?

Allison: And when did we do Plan A?

Stiles: Plan A was never going to work so I scrapped it, and we don't have the resources for Plan C yet.

Lydia: Why didn't you just rename them Plan A and B then?

Stiles: For tracking purposes!

[jupitermelichios]

while everyone is sad and in need of non-terrible sterek content, here's a minor headcanon I'm probably never going to get around to using in anything:

derek is a massive halo nerd, but hates all video games basically universally. he picked up one of the novels because he knows stiles likes the games, and he wanted to be able to contribute during stiles's periodic gamer info-dumps, but then got weirdly invested in the lore and now knows way more about the universe than any reasonable person should

stiles thinks this is adorable, obviously, but also hilarious, and spends a lot of times scheming ways to trick their friends into accidentally saying something that will activate derek's halo-heresy senses and trigger an angry rant. his crowning achievement was getting scott to read the drill 'masterchief's suit jacks him off' tweet out loud verbatim in derek's presence. neither of them have forgiven him for it, and he does not care because it was the funniest shit he's ever seen.

he's also started leaving 40k novels lying around derek's apartment. to date he has not taken the bait, but they both know it's only a matter of time before he caves.

[camellcat]

dunno if it really fits them but the thought won't leave my brain so here's a doodle

[skywitchmaja]

the thing about scott and stiles is that they both get that the supernatural chaos they get mixed up in is super dangerous and they both have an irresponsible compulsion to get involved anyway but the difference is scott needs to get involved bc he feels a personal responsibility to protect everyone and stiles need to get involved because he just knows it’ll be so fun!!

[gonnadosomethingwmylife]

I always find it funny when people are more mad at a character than the people they supposedly hurt are? I get it happens when a fandom is younger or it’s been truely written incorrectly based on the characters, but a lot of the times it’s not and it’s funny to see idk. I am looking at the teen wolf fandom.

[many-gay-magpies]

while im already on the train of teen wolf thoughts, i might as well say that i do not get sterek. romantically anyway. that ship is so intensely POPULAR and ive been seeing stuff about it for literal years, way before i ever even considered watching teen wolf or really knew what it was. pretty much every teen wolf fic i see on ao3 has some manner of sterek in it unless i SPECIFICALLY search for something else, like its just a given part of fanon, but now that im actually watching it im kinda like. where? like yeah they had that one vaguely homoerotic wall-pinning moment in season 1, they snark at each other a lot, but like. i don't even see them together that often. and that's not even MENTIONING the fact that in season 1 stiles is 15/16 and derek is fucking,, 22 (or 20, I'm not sure on his age but ik its at least a four-year difference),,, which is just. yeah no thanks

if anything they strike me more as, like, goofy, vaguely sibling-coded friends. stiles came along as a package deal with scott and started annoying the shit out of derek and derek had no say in the matter whatsoever, and i think that's beautiful.

all this being said, stiles is absolutely bisexual

[aurevell]

The heavy breathing constant refreshing ramp up as 'Week 3: Crime' approaches...

anon i am JUST finishing the last edits this morning - it’s such a weird messy fic for me but im so excited about it!! i really hope you’ll like it :)

p.s. it will be out tomorrow morning so save your refreshes for now!

[mejomonster]

Love between fairy and devil gave me too many romantic hopes

[casually-eat-my-soul]

Can someone please write a fic about that one scene where stiles grabs Derek’s face in magic bullet.

Where although he was out of it Derek could feel stiles fingers trail across his face. He could feel how softly and careful stiles was in that one moment. It had been the first touch from a human, from anyone, that did not cause Derek pain.

And when Derek wakes up he’s just obsessed with being touched by stiles again because he remembered how good it felt, how finally someone touched him and it didn’t hurt. Derek refused to wash his face for like three days after this because stiles had unknowingly scent marked him, and he couldn’t make himself get rid of the scent. How it made Derek feel like he wasn’t alone.

This action makes Derek’s wolf believe that stiles is pack, (stiles is the first pack Member!!) and he just keeps ending up in embarrassing situations trying to get stiles attention and his hands and him.

He probably just ends up blurting it out at stiles one day. Or maybe after killing Peter, he just get handle the weight of being alone, of killing the last member of his family, of being touched by Kate, of being hurt.

So he drags his body to stiles house and just gets on his knees and begs stiles to touch him, to make it stop hurting.

And stiles knows how hard it is to lose a family member so he does. He doesn’t think this will happen again, he just understands that Derek needs comfort. But Derek comes back over and over again and every time begs stiles to touch him. And stiles does, every time.

It becomes a comfort thing for the both of them, stiles running his fingers over the planes of Derek’s face. Derek gets to relax in the one place he’s safe, listening to stiles humming or muttering and the beat of his heart. It becomes a need, but soon stiles touching Derek isn’t enough, Derek wants to touch stiles. He wants to return the favour, he wants to scent mark stiles back. So everyone will know that stiles is claimed, that he is protected by an alpha who would kill for him. And he gets the chance to on the anniversary of stiles mother’s death.

Stiles is just so tired, his dad is working, will be all night. Scott is with Allison, and stiles doesn’t have the energy to beg him to pick him tonight. So he goes to Derek; Stiles isn’t really sure what this arrangement that he and Derek have but tonight he is the one who needs. He drives to the hale house and ends up sobbing by the time he gets there. He’s just sitting in the jeep in front of the hale house and he can’t move. And suddenly Derek is there.

Derek was already worried when he could hear the engine of the jeep pull up but when it turned off and all Derek could hear was stiles crying, he moved without thinking. He yanked the driver side door open and his heart broke. Stiles was sitting there trying to calm himself down, rubbing the tears from his face but nothing was working. So when stiles turned his head to him, eyes pleading and whining, Derek picked him up and carried him bridal style into the house. Derek just holds him for hours, memorizing the way stiles feels under his fingertips.

In the aftermath Stiles makes one joke about being a blushing bride (due to the blush on his face and being carried bridal style) and Derek is just hit with a vision of being married to stiles. Of being about to always be allowed to touch stiles and blue screens. Unfortunately Derek wolf takes this as expressed agreement that stiles is mated and married to them.

Derek buys rings the next day. Sure it takes him a few more years to propose but it’s the thought that counts. (Cocky Derek hale who flirts with stiles by calling him his pretty little wife, just to see stiles blush a pretty pink for him. But one day stiles responds that he doesn’t have a ring, so Derek just gives it to him.)

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  THE SAINT IS A PILLAR OF DIVINITY, COVETED AND WORSHIPPED ALL AT ONCE. she is made of the scraps of shedded skin, this body of hers metamorphosed twicefold... there is nothing / no one on this earth like her and individuality settles behind her flesh, seeps underneath her bones. she prides herself on her special holiness; the Saint makes an idol out of herself, an effigy of self - reverence. her figurehead - of - self is monotheistic to its core and she has no room for other beings, any other admissions of sanctity promptly squashed at its root wherever she can find them. this life is her garden, you see, and she must exterminate those weeds. this existence is a never - ending session of pruning, of careful removal around her flower beds. it shows when she speaks to her Right - hand, that greedy form who is just as hungry as she: the tongue slithers from her mouth in the form of a lashing whip, and she tells them to bare their skin in stinging anticipation. of course... the Leshy listens. of course... she cannot stand him.

TONIGHT: THEY BOTH SIT IN HER OFFICE - SPACE. the maggot is still as stone, the way she prefers them, and the Saint ( ! ) presses numbers into a calculator from where she sits. the air of silence is interrupted solely by the sound of nails pressing into plastic, the click - clack of key ruining the stagnation of atmosphere. the vampiristic woman speaks first, after a long stretch. ❝ i am deducting form your monetary compensation, just so you are aware. i like to think that i pay fairly, especially for what i have my workers do, but sometimes... ❞ the woman glances up at her gopher, a moment of consideration taken. ❝ oh, it does feel as if my instruction does not go through the thickness of your head... for instance, that last week –– ❞

the stone figure [ @lunaccult ] stirs from their position; the head moves slow to face the vampiristic being, eyes rapid to blink as if a defense were beginning to form. I knew you were speaking to me, they begin with a hoarse forcefulness. ❛ i knew it was you, but it was like looking in a mirror, too; i could never quite be sure which one of us was speaking. ❜ and the Saint ( ! ) feels her eyes go wide, her greedy hunger resisting an angry violence.

the air goes cold and stale and silent. the woman's mouth goes slantwise, then downwards.

❝ Oh... ❞ says she, a single syllable dropped into a bucket of vast quiet. now it is her turn to blink once, then twice. she looks towards the figure, inhales deep, familiarizes herself again with his scent, with the closeness of rotting flesh and marrow. she imagines a hollower gaze, eyes lifeless. their head torn from their body, a quick severance. her right hand balls into a fist, nails imprinting on flesh ––– the mouth waters..... her next movements are precise and slow: the Saint ( ! ), holy and singular in herself, lifts herself from her chair and glides across the floor, fingers light and swift as they lift from her side. her right hand cups their throat, nails sharpened to a point already making quick work of his flesh. she squeezes gentle, as if giving a warning, and then begins to tighten. ❝ .... do you think we are similar, gopher ? ❞

[dcangel]

kinda hyper-fixated on riding stiles and calling him a big boy at the same time.

because this man boy would sit there underneath you, bottom teeth scraping at his upper lip as he tries to contain his pretty whimpers that kept escaping him. his fingers gripping, digging into the pudgy fluff of your hips and thighs. “y’so tight.”

your nails scratched at his v-line, deep red lines being left by pretty maroon nails—his favorite colors. “jus’so fucking big, sti…” you breathed out, “such a big boy, hmm?”

“mm-mhm.” he whines softly. stiles couldn’t believe how turned on he was by her dirty words, by how much he wanted to please her. who knew such an innocent, doe-eyed girl could spew such filthy words from such a pretty mouth.

you couldn’t help it, with the way he was stretching your walls and pressing those oh so good spots inside you that your own fingers couldn’t reach, how were you supposed to maintain that ingenuousness?

his nails burrowed into your soft skin, leaving little crescent shapes. his eyes were glued to where he disappeared inside you with each bounce and thrust. the wet squelching noises were squalid, and most times he couldn’t hear much else. only when his view was obstructed by your face did his pull his eyes up to meet yours. you flattened yourself against him; your stomach on his, and your breasts resting on his chest. to stiles, the feeling of skin-on-skin contact was worth more than words. it was the only thing that could bring him back to this planet after you overworked him.

you smiled when you saw those gorgeous brown eyes of his finally connecting with yours. “there we go.”

stiles was overwhelmed; you were on top of him, giving him so many sensations, so many things to touch or relish in. he couldn’t choose. you leaned down to darken the fading hickey right at the base of his neck, having given him one in that spot a few days ago. you simply didn’t see a point in letting it fade. he might as well have gotten it tattooed if he wasn’t so afraid of needles.

a deep-purple mark bloomed right over the spotty red one, and you made sure he would still be able to hide it with his flannels for a few days. your thumb wiped the spit from the bruised skin so you could get a full view of your work. stiles knew he’d be admiring the mark in every mirror he passed by, thankful that it was only one tug of a shirt collar away.

your hips rocked against his, not even pulling up anymore. you just loved the way his tip grazed your cervix—like scratching an itch only he could get—and how your swollen clit ground against his lower abdomen.

“you’re so perfect,” his words came from a place deep in his mind, so breathy, so pussydrunk, “i love you.”

knowing stiles didn’t even care for a response in return, not that he’d even be aware of one, you kissed his swollen lips (both his and your doing) to bring him back down to earth, even if only for a few seconds. you thumbed over the plush skin, purely admiring your boy, feeling both proud of and admirable of his prevailing state.

“you’re so good, sti.” the words weren’t really meant as a praise for him. rather, you said it because you genuinely meant it. “my big boy. fillin’ me up so well.”

you swore you saw something behind his eyes malfunction. his cock twitched inside you as he grasped at your hips, unintentionally taking control for just a few seconds so he could move you back and forth, his dick slapping against your spongy walls. your fingers pressed into his shoulders as you clung around him like a vice.

stiles was whimpering desperately and hastily, each one interrupting the next. it was so refreshing that stiles wasn’t afraid to let those sound freely flow from his pretty mouth or be loud for you. he didn’t care if his noises weren’t deep and guttural, although they certainly could be at times. and you favored either or depending on who was taking care of who; his whiny whimpers and soft moans coming out when he was desperate and being especially needy, or his low, throaty groans and praises when he needed to show you how much he loved you.

“i—shit,” he whimpered, high pitched and needy like you adored. “f-fuck,” stiles groaned deeply. it was so broken up, his voice so cracked, so desperate that it sounded like he was pleading. not pleading for a release, but pleading for forgiveness. you quickly felt his reason for pleading spill inside you: warm and thick.

“sorry, sorry, m’sorry.” stiles’ breaths were reduced ragged gasps as he clutched your waist, his arms finding their home around your body. “love you so much.”

you bit your lip at the gushing feeling flooding your already-filled hole. “hmnn, stiles.” you felt him bury his face in your neck, sweaty skin on sweaty skin as he murmured apologies and compliments of how good you feel.

it was moments like these that softened your heart even through such intimacy; moments where he came without warning or any signs, where his forehead nestled perfectly in the curve at the base of your neck, where he was reduced to muffled, strangled whines and sometimes apologies if he could muster them. and all because of a few words—of course with the help of being inside you, but you were sure you could probably just make him come with your words alone.

somewhere along the way of your cunt throbbing in time with his milked cock, and slowly lifting your hips only to drop them back down lazily, you found your own sweet release. stiles was slightly overworked, slightly overstimulated, but this was such a perfect sight in your eyes.

you took a peek down at where the two of you connected, and a thin, white-ish ring was formed at the base of his length. each time you lifted yourself up, strings of milky white liquid kept another physical attachment with him. the build up was definitely worth it in its own way, but the release was divine. as always, though. stiles, even when he may not be completely all there in the moment, always knew how to send you hurdling toward what you swear is the best orgasm each time. he’s definitely fought you before for who had the better orgasm, ending in round twos all the way to round fives. how you two managed to make it that far was a damn mystery as well as a miracle.

but right now, you were only focused on your boy—your pretty boy, and the alluring noises seeping from those pink, kiss-bitten lips. “’love you more, pretty boy.” you halfheartedly chaffed.

his response was the reason for the returning gibes: a small muffled whine of some muddled words. and stiles never failed to live up to any nicknames or unserious expectations you tauntingly gave him.

[murdrdocs]

eye ... just had a thought but abt stiles (cw unprotected piv + creampies)

stiles fucking you, hips pushing into yours with a certain desperation you only get to see in small doses. tonight, he's let completely go, doe eyes bigger and more watery than usual, his tongue looser than it's ever been before as he babbles praises, his grip tight and unyielding against your skin. it's cute, adorable even, to watch him drive himself insane as you purposefully squeeze around him, your nails dragging along his scalp, pushing the sweat-matted hair off of his forehead affectionately.

you know that the cause of his demise is technically your fault, as you were the one begging to forgo the use of a condom for the night. you needed stiles, you really did, but he'd made you cum twice, and a third was brewing, and at this point you were more entranced with the way he managed to hold off throughout your own orgasms. you were transfixed with his appearance, eagerly awaiting for his warning.

the words follow quicker than you'd expected, a pathetic whimper of, "i'm close," slipping past his swollen lips. you know he's telling you to unlink your ankles from his back. he's asking you to let him pull away from you, to prevent a potential accident that would cause more trouble than it's worth.

but you couldn't care less right now, reckless behavior be damned. your link at his back tightens, you pull him closer into you, your nails dig into his scalp as a warning when his eyes widen, almost comically.

"sweetheart, ah, lemme, i gotta–" you shake your head, pulling stiles down for a kiss. he hesitates, but he could never resist your lips, his own puckering to meet yours in a messy, sloppy kiss that is more clashing of teeth and tongue and swapping of saliva than anything else.

your lips separate from his with enough room to speak, enough room for his attentive ears—used to seeking out your moans and whimpers and whines—to hear you.

"come in me, stiles. please, i need it."

stiles would never deprive you of something you wanted, much less something you needed. so he nods, obedient in nature, and then his thrusts get sloppy and he stills with one hard thrust, warm spurts of cum painting your walls. you gasp, unused to the feeling, back arching as stiles' thumb circles your clit. your own orgasm (the third of the night) sinks into you, sliding down throughout your body as stiles is still twitching from his.

he doesn't pull out, not yet, instead burying his head in the crook of your neck, letting you comb through his hair as the both of you attempt to regain your breath. stiles miraculously recovers first, lips appreciatively kissing over your sweaty skin, hand rubbing along your side until it stops.

he stills once more, lifting himself up to look you in the eye. "you took your pill this morning, right?" you nod, still a little hazy from the feeling of stiles' cum leaking out around his cock still sheathed inside of you. "and uh ... how much is plan b again?"

you shrug. "around 50 i think?"

a beat. "shit."

[camellcat]

Liam Dunbar fucking LOVES Sonic The Hedgehog. End of thought that is all

[derangedfujoshi]

Pacing my room with my hands in my hair because the one time Peter Hale ever cared about consent while in his "deranged fresh out of six maddening years of coma" state was with STILES and on top of that his refusal was a fucking LIE. The only time he offered the bite to someone he was actually interested in he was denied and it wasn't even TRUE how much does that have to burn of COURSE he's obsessed with Stiles even after years-

[sterekloverforever]

Whenever Derek (true alpha always) goes to different packs for pack business (gathering information, building connections, or checking in), he always takes Stiles for many reasons.

Who cares the most? Stiles

Who can be surprisingly diplomatic? Stiles

Who does all the talking? Stiles

Who is bossy? Stiles

Who gets shit done? Stiles

Who supports Derek? Stiles

Stiles cares so much, that he feels the need to always go with Derek (for alone time 😏 or because he doesn’t trust Derek to share all the information to the pack).

Derek shows his support to Stiles, listens carefully to everything said, will add comments when necessary, watch Stiles with wonder and love in his eyes. Derek wants Stiles to go because his beautiful mate and him work so cohesively together. Where one lacks the other excels. Like yin and yang.

The poor puppies mope without their pack mom and pack dad there to care for them but they do enjoy some peace and quiet from time to time.

[freedomfireflies]

Stiles blurb with him and the reader having a little makeout session then Scott barges in and Scott looks like a proud parent 😭😭

“Easy…easy, Princess—”

“Stiles…come on—”

“Shh. You can be patient, can’t you?”

You lean back and catch his eye, offering a flat look. “Have you met me?”

He grins, chuckling under his breath as he smooths his palms up your spine while tugging you closer. “Touché.”

With that, his kisses return to your throat, teeth scraping down your feverish skin as your head drops back and your eyes fall closed.

You’ve never needed someone so badly. So urgently. So salaciously. He’s fucking everything. 

And he knows it.

“Don’t go quiet on me,” he murmurs, nose nudging under your jaw. “Not after all that begging you did earlier.”

You whimper despite yourself, fingers in his hair as he rolls your hips over his. 

“It was cute.” He nips at your chest. “Hearing you beg me to touch you. Watching you squirm in your seat. Put my hand between your thighs under the table. In the middle of the goddamn library, too. S’that how bad you needed me?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. Your cheeks are already flushed, and your mind is hazy but Stiles doesn’t care. 

The sadistic prick.

“Does history turn you on? Is that it?” he teases, smirking when you whisper his name. “Had to drag me to the nurse's office just to fuck me? Is that it?”

“Stiles—”

“Say it,” he hisses, hand around the back of your neck as he squeezes, forcing your eyes on his. “Go on. Tell me what I wanna hear. Tell me how bad you fucking need me—”

“Stiles—”

“Stiles?”

The sound of a third voice brings your attention to the door, both of your eyes widening as you find Scott with his head peeking in from the hallway.

His eyebrow cocks up when he realizes what he’s walked into, blinking quickly as he mumbles, “Oh, my bad. Malia said you weren’t...feeling…well?”

Neither you nor Stiles move, somehow frozen as Scott’s mouth begins to turn up in a rather smug smirk. 

“But I see you’re feeling much better now,” he declares, nodding his chin at the two of you. “Carry on, Obi-Wan.”

And with that, he slips back into the hall and closes the door, leaving Stiles to groan as he drops his forehead onto your chest. “He gets the reference wrong every fucking time, I swear to God—”

“I thought you locked the door,” you laugh as you slip off his lap to do just that. “It’s like you want to get caught.”

He watches you suspiciously as you return to him, grabbing onto your hips as you straddle his waist. “Oh, I’m the one who wants to get caught, huh? When you were screaming so loud last time, half the station heard you.”

“Listen, it’s not my fault you had to have me right then and there,” you argue. “I mean, your dad was a few hundred feet away—”

“Right, and we would have gotten away with it, if you hadn’t done exactly what I said not to do, and moaned—”

“I couldn’t help it, baby,” you suddenly whisper in a needy purr, dipping down to ghost your lips over his as your fingers drag through the soft hairs on the nape of his neck. “Can never help it when it comes to you.”

And suddenly, he’s not so upset anymore, hands tugging at you until you both go crashing back against the small mattress.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, hands already slipping under your skirt. 

Your breath hitches.

“Then let’s make it two for two.”

~ Full Masterlist

~ Other Dylan Blurbs