#stiles was too satisfied to care

[twpromptsillneverwrite]

Stiles: Do you think animals would like me if they could talk?

Derek: Why do you always ask weird questions when I'm inside you?

Stiles: My curiosity piques when I'm horny!

#teen wolf #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #derek x stiles #idiots in love #derek didn't answer the question #stiles was too satisfied to care

[crazyinluvfix]

1:1 WOLF MOON ( pt. 2 )

FATAL ATTRACTION - a stiles stilinski story

summary: after a lot of research, a lot of arguing, and a run in with a mysterious stranger, stiles and sera come to the conclusion that scott is a werewolf. sera struggles with this fact while simultaneously trying to keep them from finding out her own secret.

WARNINGS: none

series masterlist

5.5k words

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After practice, I headed straight to my shift at the hospital - an internship I got thanks to Ms McCall.

I was eternally grateful. Not because I had an affinity for medical care, but because a girl needs to eat. And nowadays I would rather suck my blood from a bag rather than a jugular; morality and all that.

The boys shot me a text saying that they were going to pick me up when I was done so we could continue last night’s target of finding the body, or at least just Scott’s inhaler - collateral damage.

I easily spotted Stiles’ Jeep, skipping over to hop in after watching Stiles kick Scott into the backseat.

“Man, that’s so unfair! Why does she always get to ride shotgun?” Scott protested, now sulking in behind us.

When I got in Stiles put his hand on the headrest of my seat to turn back to Scott, “Because it’s her seat.”

I stayed silent, my satisfied smile spoke for me.

My seat. It truly was. I was in this passenger seat more than anyone else so we dubbed it so. It was such a known rule that Stiles had even started to enforce it.

As we drove, Scott noticed me keeping my bag securely on my lap, rather than chucking it to him.

“What’s in the bag?” he pointed to my heavy-looking, extremely full bag.

‘Dinner,’ I wanted to say. But I didn’t. “Oh, just homework,”

Then Stiles looked over too, “God, your teachers must hate you.”

~

“I don’t know what it was.”

Me and Stiles wanted to go over Scott’s sudden, unnatural aptitude for lacrosse.

“It’s like… I had all the time in the world to catch the ball.” It seemed as if it didn’t make sense to him either.

“And that’s not the only weird thing…” his tone almost sounded worried, meanwhile Stiles was just intrigued. “I can hear stuff I shouldn’t be able to hear… smell things.”

“Smell things? Like what,” I inquired with a short laugh - I was trying to make light of the situation, but the more he spoke the less funny it became. Maybe it was all just placebo after thinking he got bit by a wolf, that’s what I’d go with.

Scott sniffed the air, “Like the mint mojito gum in Stiles’ pocket.”

Stiles scoffed, reaching down to prove him wrong, “I don’t have any mint mo-” and there it was. The half-wrapped stick of gum lay on his palm.

“Ew,” I muttered, trying to divert my feeling of unease.

“I’m scared that I’ve got some kind of infection from the bite or something,” Scott rambled like he was scared he was dying, although he seemed far from it, “like, what if my body is just flooding itself with adrenaline before I go into shock!”

Noticing the smirk grow on Stiles’ face as I waited for his witty remark.

“You know what, I actually think I’ve heard of this,” he stated as if he was suddenly a biology expert. Scott looked over with hope.

“It’s a specific type of infection,” his hand on his hips as he stopped in his tracks, feigning seriousness.

“Are you serious?” Scott questioned, knowing it was probably one of his jokes, but he was too desperate to care.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded and I rolled my eyes, obliging him since I was curious about where this was going. “It’s called… lycanthropy,” he stated solemnly.

I fought the urge to sigh, or even laugh, but I waited for Scott’s reaction first. Seems like we were on the same wavelength here… except my concerns were a little more real.

“What’s that?” Scott asked, his tone building in worry, “Is that bad?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles agreed quickly, shaking his head, “the worst.”

Scott got just a little more pale as Stiles carried on. “But, only once a month.”

“Once a month?”

“Mhm,” I stepped in, donning the same earnest expression as the boy to my left, “on the night of the full moon.” I felt Stiles’ eyes travel to me and out of the corner of mine I caught his smirk, a silent communication as to what we would do next.

We turned back to Scott and howled in sync, I put my hands around my mouth to amplify the dramatics before we both burst out laughing at Scott’s unimpressed look, him moving forward to push us.

“Not funny, guys, there could be something seriously wrong with me!” Scott stomped on the dry leaves and we continued walking.

“I know! You’re a werewolf!” Stiles put his hands up and growled like a monster.

Again, Scott’s only reply was a glare. “Okay, obviously I’m kidding.”

“I’m not,” I mumbled softly toward the ground, but they both turned around and questioned if I said something.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I looked up and shook my head innocently.

“Look,” Stiles always tried to lighten the mood, “just saying, if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver it’s ‘cause Friday’s a full moon,�� he ran with the joke, reaching back to tap me on the arm to ask if I heard that one. I didn’t want to laugh, but he was just too good.

Scott just ignored us - he had learned that was best sometimes - instead, mentally scanning the ground. “I- I could’ve sworn this was it.” he squatted down to examine what wasn’t there further. “I saw the body, the deer came running, I dropped my inhaler.” He started to root around in the leaves, retracing his steps.

“The killer might’ve moved the body?” I speculated, because he was right, it was gone, I couldn’t even smell blood anymore.

“Well if he did I hope he left my inhaler, those things are like 80 bucks,” he grumbled saltily.

Over the noise of our banter I must’ve missed the sound of footsteps because, in a moment of silence, I picked up another heartbeat, turning to the side to see a tall man dressed in all black staring ominously in our direction. My arm outstretched to hit Stiles and my leg to kick Scott, but before they could complain, they saw him.

Scott shot to his feet as the man started to walk over.

“What are you doing here?” his voice boomed as he approached, clearly scaring the two boys on my either side as I heard their heart rates pick up and Stiles’ hands fidgeted frantically.

We obviously didn’t answer quickly enough because he spoke again, “Huh?”

I waited for Scott or Stiles to reply first, but they were frozen, I sighed.

“This is private property,” the man warned, the dark tone in his voice unsettling.

Then I smelt it… Wolf.

I stepped up, putting on my best, well-practiced innocent face, and looked up at him. “Oh! We’re sorry, we had no idea. We were just looking for something my friend lost,” my wide eyes sparkled, but he didn’t seem to fall for it, instead, his eyes lingered threateningly on me for a few seconds longer than they did on the boys.

A moment of eerie silence came over us before he swiftly took something out of his pocket and threw it into Scott’s hands. His inhaler. Then, without another word, the man walked away, but not before giving me another creepy death stare.

When he was a few paces away and the boys were still a little too shaken to talk, I broke the tension and chuckled. “Well, he was creepy,”

If my suspicions were right, I knew he heard that.

Stiles spun on his heel to face us his hands jumping up and he looked at Scott as if he was stupid for not reading his mind. “Dude!” he took a step closer so he could talk quietly, “That was Derek Hale! You remember right? He’s only like a few years older than us.”

“His family all burned to death in a fire like 10 years ago,” he continued, but I wasn’t listening. I checked out the moment he said ‘Derek Hale.’

So I was right.

The Hales were a notorious werewolf pack down here on the West Coast, but I had no idea they were still around! I had also heard that they were a different type of wolf… stronger, as they were not bound by only turning on a full moon. But I didn’t exactly know how ‘different’ they really were.

And if that was true about the Hales… then I was correct about Scott.

~

I stayed up the whole night thinking.

Was I a bad friend for not telling them what I already knew? For making them figure this out for themselves while I could easily explain? Yes.

Was it selfish of me to keep such a big part of my life from them when they were the two most important people in my life? Also yes.

But all of this was for their own good. At least that’s what I kept telling myself to distract from the constantly looming cloud of guilt that hung over my head.

Matters only got worse when Stiles messaged me in a panic. A confirmation. They found animal hairs on the body. More precisely, wolf hairs.

~

The next day I got into school considerably late and very sleep-deprived - because despite what the fairy tales say, vampires still need their beauty sleep.

I was practically dozing off in third-period Chem without Stiles there to keep me awake since the team had a mandatory practice before the big game this week, so I excused myself to go to the bathroom and wander around the halls.

“Now listen, McCall. You’re gonna tell me exactly what it is and who you’re getting it from because there is no way you’re out there kicking ass on the field like that without some sort of chemical boost.”

I stopped my stroll around the halls at the sound of a familiar voice from around the corner.

“Oh, you mean steroids! Are you on steroids?”

Then Scott.

I poked my head out around the corner - Jackson had definitely noticed something was up and Scott wasn’t doing a very good job at keeping it a secret. This wasn’t good.

Crash. “What’s going on with you McCall!”

“You really wanna know?”

Uh oh.

“Well so would I! I can see hear and smell things that I shouldn’t be able to see hear and smell! And I-”

“Woah woah woah,” I ran over, replacing Jackson’s hand on Scott’s shirt with mine and pushing Jackson away, standing in between them.

Jackson looked furious, if he were in a cartoon smoke would be coming out of his ears. I stared him down.

He scoffed and took a step back, “You need your little friend to come rescue you?”

I quickly shushed Scott before he made the situation worse.

“Goodbye, Jackson,” I gave him a fake smile and waited for him to leave.

When he kept his eyes on us as he walked away. “I’m onto McCall. I’m gonna find out what it is you’re taking and I don’t care how long it takes.”

Once he had turned the corner I focused my attention back on Scott.

“Thanks, Ser-”

My hand took hold of his collar once more and did the same move Jackson had just done, another crash as he hit the lockers, his eyes wide and confused. “What were you thinking!”

“What do you mean!” he was incredibly confused.

I sighed, realising he doesn’t know what’s going on at all, so I let go. “You can’t just go around telling Jackson Whittemore this stuff! I know you’re scared but he is the last person you should trust.”

The way his expression dropped told me he knew I was right. But our little interaction was cut short by Coach screaming that their break was over.

“Listen,” Scott started as he stepped back towards the door of the locker room, “I’ll see you later at the game.”

“The game? I thought Stiles told you-” but he left before I could finish my sentence.

~

“Stiles!” I hurried over to where he sat on the bench, his leg bouncing frantically as he chewed on his bitten fingernails.

His head flicked in my direction, a look of relief on his face, “Sera! I haven’t seen you all day,” he stood up quickly and put his hands on my shoulders to make sure I was really there.

“I came in late,” I brushed it off.

“Have you talked to Scott?”

His head shook vigorously, “He wouldn’t listen. I’m waiting for him to come out so I can try again.”

Just as he said that I saw Scott walking out onto the field and we both approached him, trying to stop from going out onto the field.

“Scott!” Stiles shouted, his voice breaking as he practically bashed the helmet out of his hands.

“Look! I’m playing the first elimination guys, can it wait?” Scott threw his hands up in annoyance, completely ignoring our desperation.

“Man, just listen!” I put my hands on Scott to physically bring his attention to us.

Stiles spoke and he spoke fast. “I overheard my dad on the phone. The fiber analysis on the body came back from the lab in L.A. and they found animal hairs on the body from the woods!”

But Scott was already leaving. We chased after him, no longer bothering to keep our voices hushed.

“Wait! Just hold on!” I reached to grab his sleeve but he was too far, “You’re not gonna believe what the animal was!” Still, he didn’t look back.

Then it was just me and Stiles again. Scott was long gone, but I still finished my sentence, quietly as if only to myself, “It was a wolf.”

For the entirety of the game I could not tear myself away from Stiles on the bench, I simply sat down on my haunches beside him. The more I watched Scott the more my nerves started to skyrocket.

If he was good last time, he was phenomenal now. Before, it was unusual. Now it was plain unnatural the way he swerved and dodged, moving with agility that wouldn’t be out of place in a superhero movie. He even did a whole ass flip over three of the players, that was the kicker. I looked up to Stiles who was already looking back down at me, sharing my loss for words.

Once the game was over we were too lost to join in on the cheering. I knew what was up, and it scared me to know that Stiles knew it too.

Was it so crazy to say that Scott was a werewolf?

~

“So… what exactly are we looking for again?” my eyes wandered over to Stiles at his computer while I lay on his bed, filing my nails.

He was practically buzzing after popping a couple Aderalls the second we got back from school. “Something… Anything!” His hands continued their frenzied typing, the clicking of the keys becoming a soothing background noise.

This was more or less me and Stiles’ typical Wednesday night - him doing whatever at his desk and me simply just being there so I didn’t get too bored sitting at home alone. To be fair, we usually didn’t have the constant impending sense of doom over the fact our best friend might be a freaking werewolf.

But even though we were both here, we hadn’t directly discussed our thoughts or theories, we didn’t really have to. But my anxiety was starting to escalate. “Okay, Stiles!” I speak louder - I had been saying things here or there but he’d been too in his own world to hear.

Finally, he spun his chair around and looked at me with wired eyes, “Hm?”

“What are we doing? What are we thinking?” I longed for a peek into his brain on a regular day, but today I really wanted to delve into those spinning cogs.

He paused to find the words. “We are thinking… There is something seriously up with Scott, and dare I say it- something not even human,” a sigh left his lips that he had bitten to pieces. The way he said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’m thinking’ was almost a plea for agreement, to tell him he’s not going crazy here, and if he was, at least I’d be crazy with him.

I nodded. “Yeah…” it was hard for me to know how much I should or shouldn’t say, or what I could say. Because I knew a lot more than I was letting on, and it was a shitty move - but the more he figured out about Scott… the closer he got to knowing my truth.

Silence hung in the air for a minute before he called me over with a wave of his hand.

“Come, look at this,” he swivelled his chair back around to sift through the myriad of tabs he had open that made his computer run slow and make an awful whirring noise.

My feet carried me to stand behind his chair, bending down to have a look at the screen.

‘Lycaon’

‘Wolfsbane’

A bunch of gory, ancient images littered the screen as he pointed out key phrases from each website.

And then, finally, the word ‘WEREWOLF.’

He must’ve noticed my wide-eyed muteness as he prompted a response out of me.

“Well?” he waited. “Listen, I- I know it sounds crazy, I know that. But… tell me this doesn’t make perfect sense?”

“You’re right,” I admitted candidly. He was.

“Look I’ve texted Scott… I figured he’s the one with all this he should be here to hear it.”

I was left to wonder how Scott would react to all of this; but the fact Stiles had accepted it so quickly was a wonder in itself. Secretly, I think he loved it all a little too much.

Knock knock.

When two loud bangs came from the other side of Stiles’ door he practically jumped out of his skin, luckily I was behind him to hold his chair upright, puting my hand down on his beating chest that he clutched with his own.

I tiptoed toward the door, reaching for the handle, but it opened before I got there.

There he was, his trademark crooked smile plastered on his lips as he could tell from our faces that he had scared us.

“Get in here!” I beckoned.

That’s when Stiles scrambled up to drag Scott in by the collar and pushed him back to sit on the bed while he paced around the room, finally sitting down in his chair.

“I’ve been reading,” he spoke at the speed of light as I took a seat next to Scott.

“For hours,” my hint of sarcasm didn’t seem to be appreciated, so I let him continue.

“Websites, books, all of it!”

Scott chuckled, “How much Adderal have you had today?”

“Unimportant.”

I turned to whisper one last thing before I shut up, “A lot.”

“Remember the joke from the other day…? Not a joke anymore.”

Scott looked clueless.

“The wolf– the bite in the woods!”

Still nothing.

Stiles shot up out of his seat. “Do you even know why a wolf howls?” His hands were flailing about like they always did; sometimes I genuinely thought he moved faster than me, and I have super speed!

“Should I?”

It was a rhetorical question.

“To signal its location to the rest of a pack! So if you heard a wolf howling that means there could’ve been others nearby, maybe even a whole pack of ‘em!”

The poor guy had not taken a break since 3 o’clock. I got up and stood at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder for him to take a breath, “Shh.”

“A whole pack of wolves?” Scott asked, now intrigued.

“No…” Stiles had finally calmed down a tad, “werewolves.”

My insides physically churned upon hearing him say it out loud. Scott however, did not look impressed. He stood up and grabbed his bag, ready to walk out, “Man, are you seriously wasting my time?”

Stiles was about to step forward, but I took over, moving my hand in front of him to signal I had got it, and my other one a bit rougher to Scott’s to stop him from leaving. “Look dude, I saw you on the field today, Scott. What you did today wasn’t just incredible… It was impossible.” My eyes softened, trying to reason with him.

He was about to retort when Stiles jumped back in, “People can’t just do that overnight! You flipped over 3 guys, Scott,” Stiles almost laughed, “Since when have you been able to do that, huh? I mean- your speed, your reflexes! And there’s the vision and the senses,” he listed everything off on his fingers.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice you don’t need your inhaler anymore!”

“Okay, dude! I can’t think about this now, we’ll talk tomorrow.” He somehow brushed off everything thing we had said as if it was the latest school gossip.

But I was now consumed by the same fever as Stiles, scampering up to him and taking him by the shoulders, raising my voice to their volume. “Tomorrow?”

“What!” Stiles added.

“No!” our pleas ping-ponged back and forth rhythmically as we begged for him to just listen. “The full moon’s tonight! Don’t you get it?”

“What are you guys trying to do!” Scott pushed back, but there was nothing in our eyes other than concern for him… and Allison.

“Everything in my life is somehow perfect, for once! Why are you trying to ruin it?”

I could physically feel the shift in the air as Stiles raked his fingers through his hair, taking in a lungful of air. “We’re trying to help,” his sincerity was like a pang to the heart.

“You’re cursed, Scott.”

That somehow hurt even worse.

It was a fact. But I found myself longing again for just a glimpse at what he really thought. Did he think his best friend was a monster? Did he think less of him? My questions were inherently selfish; I didn’t care what he thought about Scott - not nearly as much as what he thought about me. Because imagine how he would feel discovering his other friend is even more cursed, riddled with a dark history of deceit, horror, and even murder.

But this wasn’t about me. “Scott, he’s right,” my face turned just as solemn.

“You’re not only about the risk of you physically changing… it’s also when your bloodlust will be at its peak.”

Ah, my old friend. I was one to talk.

“Bloodlust?” his repetition was incredulous.

“Your-” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Your urge to kill.”

Scott practically seethed as his eyes flicked between us, “I’m already starting to feel an urge to kill, Sera.”

But before I could offer a witty retort of my own, Stiles had begun reading a passage from one of the books on his ransacked desk, “‘The change can be triggered by anger or anything that raises your pulse,’” he snapped the book closed and I half-flinched.

“Alright? I haven’t seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You gotta cancel this date.”

Scott knew he was right, but I could hear the anger raising his pulse right there and then as Stiles shot towards his bag, scrambling around to get his hands on Scott’s phone to do it himself. “Screw it, I’m doing it myself.”

The next few seconds seemed to play in slow motion.

Scott’s voice shouted louder than I’d ever heard it, his actions much more aggressive as he practically flung Stiles against a wall in protest for his phone. A fist aimed at his best friend’s face, and his arm swinging back to push over the chair.

Too fast for either of them to notice I ran forward and intervened, pushing Scott’s now heaving figure away from a shellshocked Stiles. No one spoke.

Until Scott.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t sound sorry.

“I gotta get ready for that party.”

Tension in the room hung heavy, it was safe to say that was an unexpected turn.

And me? I was still stuck worrying that either of them had noticed the speed at which I got to them or the strength at which I countered Scott.

But when I finally came to my senses, I knew there was only one thing I could do.

Wordlessly I put my arms around Stiles, his naturally finding their place around my shoulders as I listened to the sound of his breathing.

Whatever was going on with Scott, I would take care of it.

~

The best way to stop Scott from doing anything stupid tonight was to keep an eye on him in person. He was with Allison at Lydia’s party, which naturally had half the entire school there even though it was announced just yesterday.

Which in turn meant that it might be a little more difficult to spot him than hoped.

Since I had come with Stiles I was immediately roped into one of his and his nerd friends’ conversations about something I had no clue about - it sounded like a foreign language. He could tell I was a little out of place, so he stuck by my side, his hand snaking around my waist as nothing more than a friendly gesture.

While we waited for a gap in conversation to seek out Scott, one of the jocks from the lacrosse team ‘bumped into me,’ a typical cocky grin on his lips. “Sorry, babe.”

It was so insincere I almost laughed in his face.

“Come here, I’ll get you a drink to make up for it.”

Gross. Stiles noticed the interaction and audibly scoffed, but I ignored him.

“Ew?” I said simply in the guy’s face, pushing him away with my fingertips and shooing him off.

This little interaction made the boys we were standing with suddenly aware that I was in fact a girl, and a popular one at that, turning them all even more awkward in the blink of an eye - Stiles found this incredibly stupid.

“Hey,” my demeanour screamed boredom and he must’ve noticed. “You go have fun. We can find Scott later, we’ve got plenty of time.”

My eyes lit up. ‘Thank God.’ “Ugh, you’re the best, Sti,” I grabbed his hand with both of mine and walked away, dropping it when out of reach. “Love you, man!” I pointed a finger at him before turning and skipping away.

There was a collective gasp from those boys, so shocked that Stiles could get a girl to say she loved him.

Poor losers. They’re lucky Stiles was a little nerd at heart because he was way too cool for them.

Outside seemed like my best bet to have some fun. Everyone was dancing, drinking, making out. This was my scene. You never outgrew a high school party (unless you were my buzzkill of a twin brother); just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you have to stop living.

I found some guy to dance with to kill my time, sipping a drink out of a red solo cup, all the while keeping my eyes peeled for that pesky little werewolf on the prowl somewhere.

And as we moved, there he was. He still looked very much human, and Allison didn’t look horrified, so it seemed as though we were all good.

The night moved quickly, 40 minutes had felt like ten and now there were even more people to block my watchful eye.

I could smell dog - or wolf rather - over the alcohol and teenage B.O., so Scott must be nearby.

But as soon as I told myself not to panic, my phone rang.

STILES…

Stiles

SCOTT

MISSING

CAN’T FIND HIM

GET OFF THAT DUDE AND COME

“Shit!” I cursed under my breath, causing the guy I was with to give a dumb ‘huh?’ which I waved off, excusing myself and running back into the house.

I soon found Stiles who was standing at the front door, keys in hand and ready to hit it.

But when we got to Scott’s house he had already left out his bedroom window. He would be back, there was no point in chasing him - not on a full moon, not out there.

Stiles went to sit on the bed while I paced, putting a hand on my forehead.

“Listen,” he stayed calm in an effort to soothe my nerves, “he’ll be back soon. I can take you home and I’ll come back to wait for him, I know you haven't been sleeping well.”

I spun on my heel to look him in the eyes, sincere enough to make my hand drop-down. “It’s fine you don’t-”

“Come on,” he stood up, not letting me finish and I didn’t want to argue - he was right, I was stressed, tired, and could not pull another all-nighter due to supernatural stress.

I was an overthinker in life, that was only amplified with being turned.

“Okay…” I admitted defeat, a once-in-a-lifetime thing to hear from me. Stiles even raised his eyebrows in shock that he didn’t have to do any more convincing.

“Thanks,” I paused, looking up at him. Maybe this was his way of making it even after I saved him from Scott earlier; he was the only one who ever saw that I needed saving sometimes too.

~

Late-night rides in Stiles’ Jeep were always a comfort. Music on, but not blaring, yet loud enough for me to sing along - quiet enough to hear my soft melodies over the recording.

I got him to drop me off down my road (as usual), using the excuse of ‘not wanting my brother to see me sneak back in.’

But the walk up to my house felt like a walk of shame. Every time I lied it felt worse. Especially to him.

After opening my door I sped straight up to my room, my swirling thoughts refusing to quiet for one second. I felt so alone in this fabricated life I had made spun. I couldn’t tell Scott or Stiles what I knew, and they were the ones fucking involved!

So I did the only thing I could do and called my brother.

“Damon?”

Immediately, he could hear something was up. Yeah, he was a rude, stone-faced, ladykiller (literally), but I saw his true heart of gold, just like when we were kids.

“Sera? Hey, what’s up?”

Where do I start?

Werewolves. My best friend being one of them. Thinking there might be more.

It was a long conversation.

~

After getting everything off my chest and a nice glass of bourbon, I slept like a rock.

In the morning, Stiles had finally managed to find Scott, picking me up on the way, but I wasn’t much entertainment. I was still half asleep, leaning my head against the window while I yawned.

“You needed that sleep, huh?” Stiles teased, wanting me to admit he was right to send me home last night.

My pride was too strong, but I did crack a smile, “Shut up.”

And soon, we saw a familiar, shirtless frame, wandering alone down where the road met the trees - did he have any idea how much of a werewolf cliche he was?

The car stopped beside him and he saw us, stopping to get in, looking downright shaken.

When he unlatched the door to my side he opened his mouth to tell me to get in the back, but Stiles interrupted before he could.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, hands still gripping the wheel, “you know the drill, climb through,” he nodded toward the back.

My smile widened. It had become a given.

Scott went to protest that he had just been gallivanting through the woods for a night, but Stiles cut him off with another noise, pulling a disgruntled sigh out of Scott as he dove over the middle console.

The drive was unusually tense. A strong vibe of ‘I told you so’ came off both me and Stiles that coerced Scott into silence who now felt bad for the way he reacted yesterday, because we were right.

After about 3 minutes, he finally spoke, “You know what worries me the most?”

Stiles craned his neck back to see his friend curled up against the metal frame, his face unmoving as he was still angry. “If you say Allison I’m gonna punch you in the head.”

“She probably hates me now,” he whined, not listening.

“I doubt that,” I interjected, “But you might wanna come up with a pretty amazing apology.”

“Or you could tell her the truth,” Stiles shrugged as we both cast looks at him to tell him that was stupid. “And revel in the fact that you’re a freaking werewolf!”

“But really, we’ll get through this,” he continued, not only looking to Scott but to both of us. “If we have to we’ll chain you up ourselves on full moon nights and feed you live mice. I had a boa once, I could do it.”

There he was. His tone was lighter again as he reached down into his bag to chuck Scott the shirt he brought for him since we were headed straight for school. It was Stiles. He couldn’t stay mad for too long, not at something he found as awesome as this.

It left me with a glimmer of hope.

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a/n: things are getting tense… check the series masterlist at the top for other parts x leave liked and comments !

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#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf #x oc #fic #fluff #angst #smut #crossover au #slow burn #tvd #the vampire diaries #salvatore #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #sera salvatore #klaus mikaelson #derek hale #derek hale x reader #isaac lahey #scott mccall #the originals #tyler lockwood #vampire #werewolf

[beaconfeels]

@like-lazarus kindly tagged me in a “Messy Draft Monday” and even though I’ve been too stressed to be actively working on anything right now, I wanted to share something. So have a little bit of one of the random steter stories floating around in my brain:

Peter finishes loading the last bag into his car and leans against the trunk for a minute. Overall, he feels satisfied. His revenge is complete, plus he’s an alpha, which is a nice little perk.

It’s a little galling to have to leave the Hale territory instead of ruling it, but if he stays here his nephew and that merry little band of budding psychopaths will kill him eventually. He’s lucky, but he’s not that lucky.

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps catches his ear first, then a quick heartbeat. He knows that heartbeat. He memorized that heartbeat one night that seems so long ago, but really wasn’t that long ago at all.

He turns around.

“Stiles,” he says, low, dangerous. Because he likes Stiles, but Stiles is most likely to come up with a murder plot that will actually work, so he’s not to be trifled with.

The boy pulls up short, staying well back from Peter. He’s breathing hard, and those pretty pink lips are parted, his cheeks flushed. He really is very lovely, Peter thinks.

Stiles has a large duffle bag weighing down one shoulder, his grip on it white-knuckled. “Take me with you,” he says.

Peter blinks. He thought he was beyond being surprised.

“You want me, right?” Stiles goes on. “You wanted to turn me. I can’t let you bite me, but I can be pack. Just take me with you. Let me stay with you and I’ll be pack. I’ll cook too, and clean.”

“Can’t let me bite you?” Peter asks. It’s not the only question he has, but it’s the one that sticks out the most in what Stiles has just laid on him.

“I don’t think so. Maybe? But right now it’s a no.” He bites his lip, taps his fingers on his leg. “Yeah. Definitely a no right now. Maybe forever. But humans can be pack, right?”

Peter doesn’t know why he’s even still standing here. Of course he’s not going to take Stiles with him. “You don’t even know where I’m going,” he says instead of what he should be saying, which is obviously no. It’s definitely not happening.

“I don’t fucking care,” Stiles says, and he sounds suddenly weary. “As long as it’s not here, I’m cool.”

Peter tilts his head. Stiles is such a mix of scents it’s always been hard to get a read on him, but Peter has noticed the anguish that radiates off the boy in waves. It’s a layer that runs under everything else— a steady, overwhelming sadness. “And what would your father have to say about that?” He still doesn’t know why he’s even engaging in it, why he’s giving the boy any hope.

Stiles snorts. “I left him a note that he’ll find whenever he finally realizes I’m gone. He won’t come after me.” He looks down and to the side, his hand clenching into a fist.

“Listen,” Stiles says, and he raises those big brown eyes to look right at Peter, “I can’t stay here anymore. Please. Just please, take me with you. I know I can’t promise not to be any trouble, you’d never believe that, but I can be useful. I can be good for you. I can be pack.”

He’s desperate, and that shouldn’t matter. If it were anyone else it wouldn’t matter, but this is Stiles. Stiles is unusual. He’s interesting. Now that he’s had his revenge, Peter is at a bit of a loose end. Not without plans, never without plans, but the future already looks a little boring. Stiles is many things, but boring isn’t one of them.

Plus, Stiles is the Sheriff’s son, and absconding with the son of the sheriff sounds like a delightfully mischievous, if misguided, end to his run in Beacon Hills. “Alright, you can come along.”

#my writing #steter #wips #I’m usually here for good dad Noah #but listen sometimes you need to take your dad issues out on innocent characters #for both catharsis and plot #also the irony of Peter calling Derek’s pack budding psychopaths is not lost on me

[causeofmayhem]

could you plz do headcannons of V with a fem reader who is also a masked anti-hero?

thank you and remember to drink and eat something!<33

Thank you so much for the reminder anon! I'm gonna make this a headcanon aswell if you don't mind

V x fem!Masked Vigilante!Reader

He first saw you on the news. The Voice announcing a new possible masked vigilante running around grabbed his attention immidiately.

That's when he saw you on the TV, in all your glory. Your porcelain mask perfectly fitted your face and by the looks of it, you had causes quite the scene with all the unconcious and possibly dead fingermen lying around you.

You would take space in his mind for weeks until he met you.

He was walking through alleyways, tring to find the best routes to run into, in case he ever needed it.

And that's when he heard it. The sould of a spaypaint can being shook.

He didn't recognise you at first as your back was turned to him, but whoever it was that was crossing out Adam Sutlers propaganda did pique his interest.

"Good evening Madame."

You turn your masked face towards him and you both are flooded with familiarity.

"So we meet. I've been waiting for this day, you know."

V tilted his head in curiosity "Have you now?"

You smiled under your mask.

"Yes. You basically inspired me."

So yeah that's basically how you met.

You two kept crossing roads with eachother, even starting a friendly rivalry. You would compare your collections, seeing who stile from Sutler more.

Eventually this turns into a friendship, and he tells you about what happened in Larkhill. İt takes a while to get to that point, with companionship and lots of support he eventually opens up.

"They experimented on you? This is putting it lightly but that must of been a nightmare." you say, having lazed around in the shadow gallery all day and now sitting on the couch next to V.

"It's all a relic of the past you shouldn't worry about." He says and a long sigh drags out of him.

"Besides, we should worry about the future more."

Time passes and he realises two things.

He feels lighter, more relaxed around you. Like he coulc just be himself and not care about the revolution.

He feels an emptiness when you're not around. A void he would rather fill with schemeing and plotting against Sutler.

But... It surely can't be it, right? There is no way.

Unfortunately, he realises that it is a bit too late, as he is dying in your arms, on that fateful day, November 5th.

You stop wearing your mask soon after.

Sorry for the angst ending! Hope you're satisfied!!

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #self ship #v for vendetta #v for vendetta x reader #v for vendetta self insert #v x reader

[sterekchub]

Fat Stiles, immobility, darker you say? How about Stiles using some of the lingering Nogitsune powers in him to kinda "gently persuade" his pack into taking better care of him... But what it ends up doing is plant an obsessive seed inside all of them to fill up the "hole" that is in Stiles after the Nogitsune left, and the best way they come up with is with food. It all turns into a cycle of obsessive feeding, fattening, pampering, ignoring Stiles pleading and whimpering as they "plug the hole"~

I love this 😍 Let them them fill you. Pig among wolves. You’ll never need to lift a finger. Obey. Swallow. Eat.

Stiles just wants them to notice him. Wants them to realize he can bend and snap and break and it’s takes him weeks for the bruises to fade and the cuts and scrapes to turn into scars.

And they hear in their minds doesn’t he look I’ll? So small and fragile? skinny next to the muscles of all the wolves. He needs to be fed. Need to be streeeetched full to show everyone how we care about him.

But the nogitsune twists it further, not content only for them to feed Stiles so in Derek and Scott’s mind; they get a further message this one is stubborn. Disobedient. You know need to show him who is in control. Who he belongs to. Make him beg for us. So needy that only we can satisfy.

***

“That’s enough,” Stiles snaps, pushing Scott away. “What’s with you, dude?”

“You’re too skinny,” Scott pleads, words sounding innocent but the look in his eye is sinister. “Let me take care of you….”

***

Derek pushing Stiles into a wall and forces a shake down his throat- forcing him to swallow or drown. Gives Stiles a few seconds to sputter and take a gasping breath before a second one follows up.

***

Jackson catching him between classes and pulls him into an empty classroom, tossing him a bag of fast food. “Eat. Or I’m not letting you leave.”

***

Lydia refuses to let him walk anywhere. Insists no matter how close- she’s driving him.

“Too many calories, don’t exhaust yourself. Get in. “

“I can walk, you know.”

“I will drag you into this car.”

So Stiles let’s himself be driven around town, let’s wolves carry his groceries for him…he half expects Scott to carry him from class to class.

***

Stiles has to give in. He has no choice. He can’t find against a pack of wolves. Even the Sheriff seems to be onboard- Stiles comes clean to his dad about what’s going on- although there’s no sane way to say “my pack is forcing me to get fat.”

Tells him anyway. His dad pushes a box of donuts in him, hand going to his side to rest on his gun. “Don’t think so much, son. Eat.”

****

And maybe the part of his head affected by the Nogitsune still tells him give in. Let them them fill you. Pig among wolves. You’ll never need to lift a finger. Obey. Swallow. Eat.

Eventually they stop letting him leave his house. Tell him it’s too dangerous. Anytime he tries- he gets pushed back in and held down and fed until his belly is rounded and sore and aching and he’s begging them to stop. But even when they drain the pain and the soreness- he doesn’t want to go anywhere with how heavy his stomach still feels.

“You’re not eating.”

“Derek just fed me a pot of Mac&cheese,” Stiles whimpers, arms clutched protectively around his middle. He’s been house bound for months and the scale he hides in his closet says 246. He has two lone stretchmarks across his belly but he knows they won’t be the last.

“You need more.”

“I can’t,” he wheezes. “Scott, please, I’m so full.”

“You need to be eating.” Scott tells him firmly. “Isaac made you brownies.”

“No I can’t I’m too f-“ he’s cut off mid sentence as Scott shoved a brownie between his lips. It feels so filling and dense it’s a struggle to even get it down.

****

Stiles mind starts to break and he stops thinking about escaping after awhile. It’s not all bad- he’s got company at all times, at least one or two members of the pack making sure he’s got something filling his mouth, even if it’s just sipping on sodas.

And they’re attentive. rubbing lotion onto his belly and stretchmarks like they’re something sacred, making sure Stiles is carried to bed when he’s too full to walk, replacing his clothes with bigger sizes when his jeans won’t button.

When Stiles eats willingly- they praise Stiles for being so full, so well fed for them. So eager to stuff himself to please them.

The sheriff tells Stiles “I’m proud of you, son.” When he finishes off enough fried chicken to feed a family, and there’s nothing like parental approval to solve his belly feeling like he’s going to split open.

When he doesn’t eat willingly? On the days they catch him trying to do push-ups in his room or throw his food into the toilet because the scale is flashing ERR MAX and he looks down and can only see the rounding width of his belly…then they call him their pack pig. The wolves’ pig- there to please them and eat for them and they’re going to plus Stiles’ hole with cream until he’s bursting like a balloon from it.

***

And he can’t deny they’re all attractive and good at plugging other holes too. On all fours while Derek puts a cake in front of him…making sure he eats it as Scott thrusts into him. Or Derek riding Stiles while he’s on his back, Scott funnel shake into his mouth until he can’t see Derek over the mountain of his belly. Jackson jerking him off slowly and tortuously as he makes Stiles finish the pile of hot dogs in a pyramid front of him.

They make Stiles beg. He doesn’t get to come until his belly is taut with food, stretchmarks red and angry and throbbing.

***

Stiles knows there’s no end in sight- gets complacent, even starts requesting food and more and more often starts his day-long food binge without any prompting. As he’s gotten fatter, his stomach capacity is greater, his appetite stretched beyond the point of going back. But then he starts hitting the point of being…too fat.

Realizes with horror he had to stop going up the stairs to his bedroom to catch his breath. He’s stopped wearing jeans and taken to only pulling on boxers and a t shirt. He doesn’t move as quickly now, each step laborious, thighs rubbing together, standing up in the shower has started to feel more and more like a chore.

His love handles have started to brush against the door frame as he enters the room.

Stands and front of the mirror and really notices that his neck is totally obscured by a second chin. His cock is buried in a fat pad and his belly hangs heavily onto cellulite ridden thighs. Realizes even his wrists and fingers are swollen with fat.

“I’ve gained enough.”

The wolves laugh at him. “There’s no such thing as enough.”

“I’m too fat.” Stiles pleads. “Please. I can barely walk on my own now. I’ve lost count of my stretch marks. Please, stop feeding me. Let me go.”

“You’re hungry,” Scott says dismissively.

“You can’t think straight without food in you,” Derek agrees.

Stiles turns to run for the front door but he doesn’t take more than one step before Jackson is blocking his path. “Silly pig, you can’t go outside. We haven’t filled you up enough yet.”

Despite his pleading, tears streaming from his face; the wolves carry him to his supersized bed and chain his hands and feed to the bedposts. They funnel feed him for days and days straight as punishment, telling him it’s for his own good, they care about him too much to him him underfed. They always want him close to bursting.

Stiles loses track of the days, a funnel always on his mouth, sometimes he’s lifted out of bed to be cleaned, other times he’s on his back, someone gripping his fat rolls as they mutter “going to fill you so full, Stiles.” Between the orgasms and the pain in his overfed stomach and the immediate heavy sleep that hits him after a day of guzzling down calories reaching past 6 digits….he can’t remember much: can’t speak much.

***

When he wakes up from his daze- he goes to get out of bed but finds he can’t, and while he can’t see the chains around his feet, assumes they must be there.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Derek asks.

“Y-Yesh, ...*BRRPFFBLTTT*... yesh” Stiles slurs. It’s so hard to form words, like something is pressing his lips together and the words don’t quite come to his mouth. He’s so hungry…

“C-Can ...*HRRPPphh*... I ...*BBBRRRpp*... get'sh ...*burRRPPpp*... o-out'sh ...*uhhmm*... of ...*aaahhh*... bed?”

“Of course.”

Stiles tries; face furrowed in concentration. He can feel sweat starting to drip down his forehead and back. He just needs to get a leg off the bed. That’s it!

Nothing moves. He feels so heavy. Only his toes wiggle.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder, his innocent look that Stiles doesn’t trust in his face. “Trouble?”

“I can’t *wheeze* move.” Stiles pants. “Untie…me.”

“You aren’t tied down.”

That can’t be right. Stiles tries to move his arm and finds he can wiggle his fingers and can lift his arm only an inch or so before it falls back down.

Derek laughs. “We finally overfilled you, Stiles. Just like we promised.”

“Ours forever.”

They point to mirror over Stiles bed. He can’t move his head much, neck fat obscuring his Movement, but he can look straight up and sees…nothing but himself. A behemoth, bed-bound sack of lard. Weighed down just by the sheer excess hanging off his frame.

Stiles doesn’t have any words, the realization hitting him thst he’s never losing weight. Never getting out of bed again. The pig trapped by wolves “T-Too ...*nggnhh*... ...*Bllbbfffttt*... much. ...*nggnhh*...too ...*hnnff*... ...*Rrrltbllpft*... f-fat.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You’ve still got a few inches of mattress showing,” Scott tells him cheerfully, slapping his many rolls of flesh. “We can fix that.”

Derek comes back over with the funnel. Stiles tries to shake his head, tries to protest, but the words are caught behind burps and groans and soon the funnel is back in his mouth and he’s stuck in the haze of food.

His only coherent thought before he slips away is wondering how fat a human can really get anyway.

****

His next awakened thought is the pack standing over him, all proudly flashing their eyes: Stiles feels a dull aching on his side that has nothing to do with a belly pumped full of slop. “Welcome to our pack, piggy.”

Even with the tube taken out of his mouth, Stiles can’t form any words but a drooling, wheezing grunt. The voice in his mind whispers I think you’re hungry…

#chubby!stiles #well this is maybe past immobility but #thank you for the prompt!!! #i loved writing this….

[asterekmess]

i saw your tags on that cop character post and like I totally agree like how am I supposed to believe Stiles who spent most of the show skirting the law or outright breaking it suddenly becomes mr goody too shoes fbi???? Like everything in the show happened bc he went looking for a dead body

Honestly, the only reason I can remotely understand him doing it is if he was literally trying to sneak into government databases. Like, his dad broke SO MANY LAWS as a sheriff, so many times. Stiles himself does not believe remotely in the sanctity of law or government (and he's right not to, considering his situation). So like, I *could* technically believe him joining the FBI. But only if his goal is entirely to get access to their databases and resources and to liberally abuse any and all perks and abilities that it would give him, in order to further the protection of the people he cares about. And also a lil bit to spite them because the politics and beurocratic bullshit behind law enforcement has done nothing but screw with his life, including before the SPN. SPending years worried his dad was going to lose his job just for not arresting someone fast enough has got to have made him HATE the entire concept of the job. Like, I love the sheriff. I love him in spite of his job, honestly. I believe he's a good man and at the same time I believe all cops are bastards, and because this is a fictional world, I FIRMLY believe that he is a shining *FICTIONAL* example of 'not all cops are bad cops'. But only because of how fucking desperate everyone is to get him fired. Like, if there was ANYTHING that would make me think this man was a "Good" cop, it would be the number of times everyone in his field has tried to kick him out, while the people he actually protects like having him there (aside from jackson's dad, who like, did not have all the facts). It's like people say, there are no good cops because the good cops don't get to stay cops. They get fired. They get transferred. They get Removed, because if they're good then they're going to cause problems for the not-good ones. And Sheriff Stilinski REALLY gives me that vibe. He ends up in a weirdly powerful position, and he uses and abuses it to do what is actually right, even when it doesn't provide timely arrests or satisfying answers for his bosses. And the FBI fucking hates him and they all make claims about how he's not good at his job, he can't close a case, whatever. They want him out. I won't deny that he as a character is absolutely cop propaganda and that there are PROBLEMS with how he abuses his power from a purely 'real' stance. But in the fictional world they live in, he as a *person* I think is awesome. And i headcanon heavily that he does not actually fucking like his job. He doesn't have the job because he even 'believes' in it. he has it for the same reason stiles would join the FBI. Because he's going to use it as a tool to get done what needs done. I the argents can infiltrate the school system and the law enforcement and everything else, then stiles can infiltrate the fbi, and the sheriff can have taught his son to do it by infiltrating their own precinct YEARS ago.

I'm absolutely rambling and off my rocker at the moment, but yeah. ACAB. Also we love the sheriff in this house. The wonders of this being a fictional world we're talkin about. *dreamy sigh*

#personal #rant #go for it #meta ramblings

[dreamlandforever]

@writersmonth Prompt: Day 18 - Free

Fandom: Teen Wolf | Sterek WC: 900

Warning: Kidnapping

AO3

XVIII. Free | Never Underestimate the Human

“Being son of the Sheriff does wonders for your ability to backtalk to any authority figure.” Stiles said simply, trying to ignore the pain that came from his wrists being tied together with a rope. Unfortunately for him, he had been kidnapped enough times that more often than not he was annoyed, rather than afraid. He had learned to trust his Pack, and himself. So, a single Hunter kidnapping him wasn’t really setting off any alarms. 

“Does it work that way for the Alpha, too? You know, with Raphael McCall being an FBI agent.” the Hunter responded, not even slightly bothered by Stiles’ inability to remain quiet. He kept playing with the knife he had used to threaten Stiles earlier. Stiles eyed it carefully, but focused on remaining as calm and as relaxed as possible. He thought he saw movement out of the left side of his eye, but the Hunter seemed to be on his own, so he ignored it for the time being. 

“You know too much about us, I don’t like it.” Stiles said out loud, while his mind was going a mile a minute trying to figure out just how much exactly this Hunter knew about them. He knew who Scott was, and he obviously knew about his father. But he didn’t mention anything about Derek, or the two of them being co-Alphas. 

The Hunter simply raised an eyebrow at Stiles, but said nothing else. 

“Okay, no, I want to actively ask things. Free me now.” Stiles called, trying in vain to break the rope around his wrists or around his ankles. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the Hunter asked, standing up for the first time and getting closer to Stiles. For the first time since he had gotten Stiles tied up to a chair half an hour ago, the Hunter seemed agitated instead of just calm. 

“Wasn’t talking to you.” Stiles replied, still pulling at his bindings. 

Almost at the same time, Isaac landed right next to Stiles, using his claws to free Stiles’ hand, not taking his eyes off the Hunter in front of him, who had already reached for his gun.

“Isaac.” Stiles said, with a heaviness to it that the Hunter didn’t understand, while he undid the ropes binding his ankles to the chair. 

Isaac, on the other hand, seemed to understand perfectly, because he suddenly wasn’t standing there anymore. The Hunter didn’t know what was happening, but he turned around with the gun. For the moment, the human wasn’t his priority. He had no clue when a wolf had found them in the abandoned factory, but he knew it wasn’t a good omen for him. 

“Boo” He heard someone say behind him, but by the moment he turned around, the wolf was already in front of him, holding his gun between two fingers, like it disgusted him. 

“What do I do with this?” Isaac asked Stiles, holding the gun higher so Stiles could see it, but keeping it as far away from himself as possible. Before Stiles could tell him anything, the Hunter was already throwing a fist to Isaac’s face, the wolf barely managing to get out of the way before impact. Stiles took a step towards the Hunter, punching him in the face as hard as he could.

“I don’t really enjoy people trying to hurt my Pack, dude.” Stiles hissed at him, shaking his hand in order to make the pain from the punch go away. “Also, very stupid idea to come after me by yourself.” Before the Hunter could retaliate, Isaac hit him in the head using the butt of the gun, and let both of them fall to the floor without a care.

“Is he unconscious?” Stiles asked, using a foot to prod at the Hunter on the floor. He didn’t move. 

“Yeah.” Isaac confirmed, after listening to the Hunter’s heartbeat for a few seconds. “Alive, but knocked out.”

Stiles nodded, satisfied with that information. “We need to call Argent, Hunters aren’t supposed to be after us here. Especially not after me.” Isaac just nodded, not really agreeing with Stiles. If someone wanted to harm one of the wolves in the Pack, Stiles was definetly the way to do it. Still, the werewolf reached for the gun and handed it wordlessly to Stiles, who simply made sure it had the safety on before putting it in the back of his pants to be dealt with later.

“Does Derek know you are here?” Stiles asked, already dialing Chris Argent’s phone number.

“You think he would have allowed me to stand back while you chatted with a Hunter, tied to a chair?” Isaac asked incredulously.  

“True.” Stiles agreed, rubbing slightly at his bleeding wrists. “Thank you, though. For waiting.” 

Isaac just nodded, leading Stiles towards the exit, while the human explained the situation on the phone. Isaac tried hard to ignore how much trouble he was about to get into once Derek figured it out, and did a quick recap of which half of the couple he was more afraid of. 

It didn’t take long for Stiles to start screaming directions and threats into the phone, and he decided that whatever Derek could do to harm him wouldn’t last half as long as whatever Stiles could do. So, he kept walking, trusting that he had sided with the right one. He patted himself on the back for noticing Stiles’ absence quick enough that he was able to find him by scent alone. At least that had to keep him alive, even if Derek did try and break a few bones.

#writersmonth2023 #writing prompt #jwritessometimes #sterek #teen wolf #isaac and stiles are unstoppable

[princeescaluswords]

Would you believe me if I said that I dislike (and did left) the Teen Wolf fandom purely because there's too many Stiles fics? I mean, yeah yeah I get it. Fandom Stiles is a cool, very smart, very witty, totally a mom-pack kind of guy, but where's my lovable sunshine Scott McCall where he actually has those traits, canonically?

I don't hate Stiles, per say. I think he's a lovable smartass, but the fandom version of him is... Ridiculously kind and nice— to the point I kept mistaking him as Scott— just made me dislike the fics I read as a whole. Especially if Derek/Peter is in the mix (usually as a love interest). Killed my mood for reading what I thought will be a good fic, but it ended up just as a whole "Giving a character's traits onto my favorite character cuz I'm the author and I don't give OOC tags haha sucks for you" shebang.

If I may, I think I will try to distill the essence of what I suspect is at the root of your discontent: you dislike the Teen Wolf fandom because most of the people in it are not fans of Teen Wolf.

They don't approach participation in the fandom as a celebration of what is on the screen. They approach it as a source of raw materials for their own use. If I may use a radical simile, it's like the Europeans descending on Africa and the Americas to strip the lands of its valuables and take those resources back to their home countries with no regard for what might actually already exist there.

Take Stiles Stilinski. As far as I can tell, they like Stiles because he's neurodivergent, insecure, and marked by tragedy but also because he was played by an aesthetically pleasing white boy. They dislike the fact that he was also portrayed as impulsive and mean, that he could be selfish and manipulative, and that he frequently acted as if anyone outside the small circle of people he cared about could die if it would protect those he was loyal to (which meant death to Derek, Peter, Jackson, Erica, Boyd, and Liam at various times). So they take only the parts they like in order to satisfy their own needs, most frequently romantic scenarios with older men or petty revenge on their childhood friends who they see as having wronged them. That's why Derek suddenly cares only for Stiles and hates Scott, or why they write Scott as "ditching" Stiles for Allison or Isaac or Kira or Liam or popularity or for adulthood, because that's what they perceive their childhood friends as doing to them. It doesn't matter that Scott never did any of that.

Take Derek Hale. Again, they lust after Derek because he's a rich, white, brooding, incredibly attractive scion of what, in many other urban fantasy stories, would pass for werewolf nobility. To them, he's a tragic Lost Prince who deserves to regain what was taken from him simply because he fits the aristocratic archetype. They dislike the fact that the show argued that his overwhelming tragedy does not justify him inflicting violence or practicing deception on others. They dislike the fact that the show had him look to its lead protagonist as a path forward and not set the world back to the days of Hale rule. So, once again, they take only the parts they like satisfying chronically popular tropes from a time when the only stories worth telling were the ones about high-born domination. It's why Beacon Hills is so often described as "Hale Land" with its implied mystical connotation, why born werewolves are praised over bitten, and why concepts such as "territory" and "left hand" appear in their fiction with absolutely zero base in canon.

Take Scott McCall. You would think that they would see the value in an asthmatic loser who gets the chance to pursue his dreams only to set them aside to protect other people, but that's the farthest from the truth. From Heart Monitor onward, the main component of Scott's story is his calling to protect others, even when it requires physical and emotional sacrifice from him. But why would they want to engage with a character whose arc insists that he consistently endure suffering and loss to protect others, even people they might not actually like? That's not why they came to the show. Scott overcomes his flaws and weaknesses to win; he's not treated as if he deserves to win for simply existing. What type of fantasy is that? And anyway, to them he's the wrong color and he doesn't obey the ones who are the right color. So, he gets moved to the Naughty List, whether that be as Fool, Annoyance, Antagonist, or Outright Villain; he's the character they can pin their frustrations on, which they have been culturally trained to target. It's why when they talk about how horribly he used Derek in Master Plan, the fandom never comes out and say that Scott should have let Allison be murdered by her grandfather. They can barely remember she is in the scene at all. It's why when they talk about Lies of Omission, the fandom pretends that Stiles doesn't have a history of lying, of suggesting murder as a solution, or of violence in defense of his father. The only thing they're interested in from these scenes is that they represent ways to remove Scott from his position as lead antagonist.

If I may be so bold, and forgive me if I cross a line, I suggest that when you feel there are too many stories about Stiles what you are really feeling is that there are too many stories about a stripped-down and mutated husk of Stiles. They've pulled a complex, rewarding character out of all context, snipped off the parts they didn't like, and presented him to the rest of fandom like Simba being presented in The Lion King. They've looted the show you enjoy and set up their pillaged version in AO3 like the Elgin Marbles in the British Museum. You're one of the people who are aesthetically displeased by this butchery. I'm another.

Now, because I like to provide some hard evidence to my assertions, I will point out one indicator for you. On AO3 as of last night, there were 1697 stories tagged Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf). I will constrain myself to the ones who actually claim the tag, though I believe that there are far more stories that indulge in this that are unlabeled.

Defenders of the 'fandom' will argue that fanfiction is 'transformational' and thus it is perfectly acceptable to twist or abandon canon entirely in order to tell a story, that the strength of this particular medium is how it embroiders and expands on the original. My problem with this is that this 'transformation' only goes in certain directions. If writing stories like this is about exploring alternatives to canon, why are there only 13 Bad Friend Stiles Stilinski stories? Shouldn't the central relationship of the show be explored in all its different variations?

In this baker's dozen of stories, two of them are about reconciliation between Scott and Stiles; three of them are described that way because Stiles opposes the Thiam ship (pardon me while I roll my eyes); two of them are Stiles-centric where his bad behavior is used to give him more angst; and two are satire and/or parody (full disclosure - one of them is mine).

But you know what doesn't happen? In none of them is Stiles murdered, maimed, or even beaten for being a bad friend to Scott, which is a common result in Bad Friend Scott stories (don't believe, there's a whole collection "101 Ways to Kill Scott McCall"). In none of which is Stiles's power stripped from him, none in which he is imprisoned, and none in which he is exiled from Beacon Hills, which also happens to Scott often. Maybe there just aren't enough written.

So, yes, I believe you when you feel alienated by the fandom to the point of leaving it. I would argue that this is their goal, to drive out those who would oppose their great work, but I suspect the truth is that they simply don't care. They have vast numbers of 'fans' on their side as they strip-mine the television show we enjoyed and turn the fandom into an aesthetic dumpster fire of racism and self-indulgence.

#scott mccall defense squad #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #pro stiles #pro scott #teen wolf fandom problems #teen wolf fandom racism

[udunie]

So I'm thinking like a dystopian abo society. Stiles is his typical self, bratty and loud mouthed etc and the sherif is worried bc as an omega he should be sweet and compliant so he sends Stiles to live with Derek who is like a correction alpha who just fucks the shit out of Stiles, roughly and forcefully until Stiles is cumdrunk and sweet as could be eating out of his palm.

Stiles keeps insisting he's not like typical omegas, wants to study and prove he's actually got a brain and not just a hole but with every rough funking he gets more and more dumb and sweet. Imagine public sex as normal so every time Stiles starts acting up in public Derek just forcefully bends him over the nearest object and fucks the attitude right out of him. When Derek's cock isn't fucking the braincells out of him Stiles is just stuffed full to boasting with dildos and plugs, or strapped to a fucking machine until he's sore and sobbing and yeah :)

Really just want Derek to grab a bratty Stiles by the neck and hold him down, struggling and yelling and all, and painful fuck him until he's a mewling, sweet, compliant mess that obeys his every command.

Sweet dreams, love <3

Anonymous asked:

I'm talking about big, hairy breeder balls Derek who'll have a drooling, cum leaking Stiles kneel by his feet, keeping his face firmly pressed into his sweaty crotch to keep him pliant and his omega hind brain satisfied

(I imagine this belongs with your ask :D)

I loooove this concept! (well, if it was me, I would want it with steter instead of sterek, but I 100% respect your choices)

I know a lot of people like a/b/o exactly to see people breaking out a toxic system, but for fun's sake? I adore seeing how those toxic systems work lol

Omegas as victims of their biology? Sign me the the fuck up

Like, would love to see omega hormones actually having a 'dumbing' effect? Like, every breeding causing such a huge surge of hormones that it damages the brain? Just a tiiiiiiny bit? I mean, regular human pregnancies have long-term adverse side-effects... Maybe the evolution of an a/b/o species would even encourage it? Omegas who are mated have an alpha to protect them, so they don't have to be smart, they just have to be fertile... (and anyway, evolution only cares about selection until you've popped out some kids, adverse effects on the long run wouldn't necessarily be selected against) And maybe Alphas are more attracted to omegas who are less contrary?

Maybe there are meds to negate it, like supplements or something that counteract the effects, but in 'traditional' circles it's frown upon using anything like that...

Maybe (if you're not against having different pairings in your sterek) John has a high-profile Alpha lined up to mate Stiles? But said Alpha expects Stiles to be completely well behaved and broken in by the time that happens?

Or heck, maybe Derek is the one to actually mate him? He could even like, mate him under false pretenses? Like, telling Stiles that he would respect his wishes, and would let him go to college? And by the time they are actually mated it's already too late for Stiles, and Derek can do whatever he wanted - and what he wants is a cum-drunk bitch stupid with heat at his feet :D

#prompt box

[usermischief]

♜Pairing: Briles ♜Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Lori Rohr, Donovan Donati ♜Tags/Warnings: attempted rape, violence, drug use, blood, mentions of self-harm, canon compliant up until 3b, canon divergence, Stiles goes to Devenford, ♜Words: 7037 ♜Bad Things Happen Bingo - Attempted Rape ♜Ao3

-----

broken innocence

Stiles has concluded that he does not like his worlds to mingle. But Beacon Hills is a small town. Keeping everything separated is like trying to keep your toys to yourself in kindergarten. Things become even more complicated when lacrosse is involved. Suddenly, even Beacon County looks like becomes a rural village where everyone knows everyone. He has absolutely no desire to be here tonight, watching his new school wipe the floor with his old one. He doesn’t have any interest in running into his old pack either. 

But Brett wanted him to come to tonight’s scrimmage, and Stiles learned rather quickly that it’s all but impossible to say no to Brett Talbot; for a variety of reasons, Stiles doesn’t want to dissect any time soon. 

Stiles twists the Twizzlers between his fingers, scanning the bleachers for Lori. Since most of his friends are on the field tonight, and he does not want to join the girlfriend league, his only options are sitting with Lori or sitting alone. He enjoys Lori’s company, so the other option has never really been one. 

“Stilinski.” Donovan cuts into his path, easily snatching the Twizzlers out of his grasp, and grins in a way that sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. “Just the man I was looking for.” Raising his brows, and clearly trying to bait a reaction, he opens the treat and bites onto it.

Well, there goes his dinner. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks, straightening his spine and shoulders almost instinctively. Donovan Donati is not supposed to be a part of his everyday life. Stiles made just enough room for his presence that didn’t interfere with anything or anyone else. That’s how his second shot at a normal life is supposed to work. It needs three pieces; the past he avoids, the present he tries to enjoy, and Donovan for when the darkness makes him feel too much or nothing at all.

Donovan’s grin is uncomfortably sharp. Then again, everything about him is, almost like he designed himself to hurt whoever comes too close. It’s enviable and pathetic. “You wanna come to a party later tonight?” It seems like all those unanswered text messages aren’t doing it for him any longer. 

Stiles didn’t expect him to care. “I hate parties.” Because joining Donovan and his gang has never been about socializing. It’s always been about feeling better. He couldn’t care less about it being Donovan. If he had a better option, he’d go for that. 

“Do it for me?” 

Stiles scoffs. “I hate you too.” But Stiles doesn’t need to like someone to spend time with them — as long as they prove to be useful. 

Donovan’s lips twist. 

“Hey.” Brett appears at Stiles’ side, one hand protectively curled around his shoulder. “What’s up?” Brett is polite. Brett is also the only person Donovan won’t cross. They are polar opposites, yet not impossibly different. Brett simply knows better than to go down the wrong path, probably because he has people who care about him. Donovan is surrounded by his little puppets.

Stiles shakes his head. 

Donovan sneers. “See you at school.” Without regarding Brett, he turns away, pointing the Twizzlers at Stiles like he would a loaded gun. Not even the most feral werewolf manages to make every single gesture look like a threat. Staying away should be easier, but Stiles keeps crawling back in desperate need to feel something — even if it hurts.  

Brett doesn’t look satisfied with the end of the conversation. “What did he want?” 

“Nothing.” Stiles shrugs his hand off, knowing full well he’s being a dick. “His usual bullshit.” 

“What’s his usual bullshit?” 

“Fuck, Talbot.” Stiles pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Talking shit. Acting tough. The fuck do I know.” His connection to Donovan is not supposed to leave the shadows. They don’t have this type of relationship. Nobody hangs out with their dealer. 

Brett does not look like he believes him, but he drops the topic. “The girls are—“

“I’m sitting with Lori.” The girls are nice enough, but Stiles doesn’t have the energy for them. He also feels a little weird about joining them. He’s not part of the girlfriend group, and he doesn’t want people to dwell on his and Brett’s relationship too much. It’s enough that Stiles overanalyses absolutely everything. 

Brett smiles, features getting unbearably soft. “I’m glad you came,” he says, and for a moment, he looks almost sheepish. “It means a lot.” 

Stiles smiles, hating the way his heart grows three sizes. This is not going to end well.  Not at all. 

— — — 

“You look like you haven’t slept a second,” Brett comments, sitting down opposite him. His backpack hits the ground like a ton of bricks. “Nightmares again?” 

If by nightmares he meant the questionable decision to join Donovan’s even more questionable party, then yes. Stiles should’ve known better, really, but it is what it is — and his bruised ribs are going to heal eventually. Stiles simply did not expect Donovan’s fucking minion to hit that hard. Sighing, he pokes his milkshake cup with his middle finger and shrugs. “It’s easier to tell you when I don’t have nightmares.” 

Brett sighs, crossing his arms on the table. “Stiles.” His name sounds as if Brett wanted to say something entirely different, only to lose his courage before opening his mouth. It’s an odd sensation. Brett Talbot doesn’t usually lose his courage. He shifts in his chair, long legs bumping into Stiles’. A warm breeze rushes down the street, rustling the menu and Brett’s hair. He fixes it, frowning at himself in the reflection of the ice cream parlor’s large windows.

Two girls sitting inside watch him transfixed — Stiles stops himself from doing the same. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he taps the menu. “I heard the banana split is great here.” 

Tugging on a strand one last time, Brett turns to look at him. “I don’t like whipped cream.” 

“Tell them you don’t want it.” 

Their legs are still pressed together.

Brett raises his brows. “Tell them…” he trails off, lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Such an easy solution.” His gaze darts over Stiles’ face while the wind is messing with his hair again. He’s not talking about the whipped cream any longer. Maybe he never has. Sometimes, he is as hard to read as Parrish. On other days, it’s easy to see more on his face than there really is. 

Usually, Stiles doesn’t have issues reading people, yet Brett still feels elusive. He’s never been able to look at Brett and feel like he knows him — unlike Brett is doing right now. And that’s the scary part. Although Stiles is not afraid of being known, he fears someone knowing him and leaving anyway. It’s not unreasonable. It happened before. It might just happen again. Perhaps that’s why being with Brett makes him anxious despite being unable to stay away. Losing Brett would break him all over again. 

Stiles licks his lips. “I died tonight,” he says then, knowing Brett would not drop the topic, “strangely enough, it helps feeling more alive in the morning.” It’s as close to the truth as he can get without telling Brett he spent the night at one of Donovan’s underground parties. It’s not the type of party someone like Brett Talbot would attend. It’s the type of party Jordan Parrish would shut down if he knew it happened right under his nose. It’s filled with drugs, with teenagers doing everything they aren’t allowed to, with people betting on others fighting in a cage, and with Donovan being the king of it all.

“How often does that happen?” 

“I think it’s easier to tell you how often I get a normal amount of sleep.” 

Brett shakes his head with a humorless chuckle. “I get it.” He stands up, now fixing his hair again. “You don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Stiles hums in agreement and sips on his milkshake, watching the other boy out of the corner of his eyes. He’d rather be open about everything he does. It would probably help to talk to someone about it — someone who isn’t Donovan, who deals in violence, or his therapist, who deals in prescription drugs. Neither is particularly interested in talking to him, much less listening. Maybe Brett would if he gave him the chance, or Stiles might ruin a perfectly good thing. 

“Banana split?” 

“Banana split.” 

Brett nods, pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans. “You want something else?” 

“I’m good,” Stiles says around his straw and watches as Brett walks into the ice cream parlor. There are six people in front of him, all of them wanting to enjoy the last days of summer. He scrunches up his face when the cold shake touches his teeth and bites down on the straw for good measure before leaning back in his chair with a grunt. A dull ache echoes in his ribs. Touching the sore spot carefully, he shifts in his chair. As much as he loves this place, they need to upgrade their furniture. If it weren’t so crammed inside, Stiles would’ve chosen the more comfortable benches. 

Stiles closes his eyes, trying to enjoy the warm rays of sunshine. He’s not felt at ease like this ever since he learned about the scrimmage. Stiles was aware that he would have to confront his old friends eventually. It still messed him up. Seeing them. Watching how their world simply kept turning without him being there. They looked like he never belonged anyway, as if his absence doesn’t leave the same hole Stiles is so desperately trying to fill right now. It’s pathetic, really. If they can move on as if it’s nothing, Stiles should be able to do the same. 

Yet he finds himself at Donovan’s fucking parties more often than he can count. 

The chair next to him scrapes over the asphalt. 

“That was quick.” Stiles blinks his eyes open, but it’s not Brett who settled into the chair. It’s Donovan. His blood runs cold. This happens entirely too often for his liking. “What are you doing here?” 

Donovan tosses a small bag at him. “You won a bunch of money last night.” His leg shifts, pressing against Stiles’. 

“Why the fuck,” Stiles snaps, snatching the money from the table, “are you giving this to me here?” It’s not like the next party will be months away. Donovan never makes it longer than a few days, and even if Stiles didn’t appear, there could have been a more subtle way. But it seems like Donovan is done with being subtle. He wants something else. Something Stiles won’t be able to give him. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” He pulls his leg away, hating the sensation of their bodies touching more than Donovan being here. There is something poisonous about the other boy, and Stiles doesn’t want to get it all over him. 

The response doesn’t seem to bother Donovan. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t want your boyfriend to know about us.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.” Because that’s the important part about everything Donovan said. But at least it’s the truth. Brett isn’t his boyfriend, and he most likely won’t be — not as long as Stiles doesn’t bother to get any better, and especially not as long as Stiles keeps a company like Donovan Donati. “And there is no us.” 

Donovan grins. It’s cold and calculating, and in a strange way, comforting. Because that is the Donovan Stiles is familiar with. “If it wasn’t totally unethical, I’d blackmail you with this.” That’s rich coming from the guy who makes sure to include a fight club in every single one of his parties.  

Stiles grinds his teeth before he forces himself to relax. “Because you’re a shining beacon of ethics, right?” Everything was fine for four months. Why does Donovan have to go out of his way to fucking ruin everything? “Just go away.” 

“Aw, Stilinski, you’re hurting my feelings.” 

“Good.” 

Something dark flicks over Donovan’s expression. His lips pull away from his teeth, and he leans closer. “I know what you want,” he says in a low voice. “Talbot can’t give it to you. Not the way I can.” His fingers creep towards Stiles’ hand and before he can pull it away, Donovan grabs it tight, squeezing it until his bones hurt. 

Stiles stares at him, eyes wide, heart hammering against his ribs, but he doesn’t struggle. It would only cause a scene. Donovan might be violent, however, he’s not stupid enough to pull a stunt on a crowded street. 

“I’ve let this slide for long enough,” he says through his teeth. His eyes narrow as he spits out his next words, “there is only with or against me. Make a fucking decision.” Without warning, Donovan lets go of his hand and gets to his feet. The chair clatters to the ground. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t put it back up again and isn’t particularly bothered by the surrounding people staring at him. Some are shaking their heads, others look like they want to make sure Donovan doesn’t spot them. It’s how you can tell who knows him and who has never heard his name. 

Stiles wishes he could disappear. His chest tightens. He should stop. He should fucking stop. There are other ways to get through this. Maybe he should find a new therapist, or maybe he should toss his principles in the bin and take the shit he prescribes him. But Stiles doesn’t want to take drugs. He doesn’t want to drink. Donovan isn’t that kind of dealer for him. Stiles goes to Donovan to get rid of his rage. He goes to Donovan so his body hurts whenever he moves, to make sure he knows his body belongs to him. 

To feel something. To claim this body as his own.

Winning money is just the cherry on top. 

Stiles ducks his head and bends down to pick up the chair, but somebody else is faster than him. 

“Talbot,” Donovan sings entirely too happy, “fancy meeting you here.” 

Brett sets the chair down with more force than necessary. “Donati.” His wallet hits the table. There’s no banana split in his hand. “I suppose you’re leaving.” 

“Don’t know, man. A milkshake does sound good, doesn’t it?” 

Brett does not reciprocate the grin that’s plastered on Donovan’s lips. Usually, he is too calm to look dangerous, but right now, Brett looks every bit like the predator he is. “Then I suggest you get something to go.”

Despite himself, Stiles reaches for Brett. His fingers find his wrist, pulse hammering under his skin, and curls his hand around his arm. The touch is soft. Brett barely would have to move a muscle to break free, but he relaxes instead, turning to look at him. Not everyone knows Donovan, but people know Beacon Hills’ rising lacrosse star. The last thing Stiles wants is for Brett to get a dent in his reputation because of someone like Donovan. He’s not worth it. Neither is Stiles. 

“Fuck, Talbot.” Donovan’s dark eyes are locked onto the spot where Stiles touches Brett. It takes a long moment for him to look up again. When he does, his almost feral smile does not reach his eyes. Maybe Donovan knows because he flicks his sunglasses down. “You gotta lean to share your toys.” 

Brett’s muscles go taut under his hand, and Stiles squeezes his arm in warning. “Ignore him,” he says under his breath, staring at his milkshake. He can’t bring himself to look up, not while everyone is still looking at them. 

“Leave.” Brett pulls his arm free and crosses them in front of his chest instead. “Or I’m going to share something with you, you won’t enjoy.”

Donovan barks out a laugh, sudden and cold, like nails on a chalkboard. “Damn, maybe I didn’t give you enough credit.” Or maybe he simply didn’t look close enough. Then again, why should Donovan pay someone like Brett any attention? He doesn’t need popularity because he already has a crowd following him around like lost puppies. After all, Donovan can provide them with whatever they want. 

Even Stiles fell for it. 

“Is there something you want?” Brett inquires icily. 

Donovan tilts his head just enough to give the impression that he’s looking at Stiles. It’s not a great feeling. “There’s always something I want.” 

“Then get it somewhere else.” Brett sits down, turning his back partially towards Donovan. The conversation is over. So when he grabs Stiles’ milkshake and takes a sip, it’s more than obvious that he is very much trying to prove a point. It’s kind of sexy. 

If Donovan is in any way bothered by it, he certainly knows how to hide it. Which is unusual. He’s not exactly known to mask his emotions very well. Without another word, he pulls his phone out and turns away, blending into the crowd without much of a problem. 

A few seconds later, Stiles’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores the itch to grab it. He doesn’t need to read it to know Donovan repeated his threat. There’s only with or against me. The decision should be easy. “You gonna finish that?” Turns out it’s a lot harder than he could have ever expected. 

“You gonna keep hanging out with him?”

Stiles lets out a breath. “I’m not—“

“It’s never,” Brett interrupts him, putting the milkshake down to grab Stiles’ hand instead, “a good idea to hang out with Donovan.” That’s not exactly a big secret. The guy comes with his very own warning brighter than any neon sign Las Vegas has to offer. It’s just that warning signs aren’t for everyone; some are blind to them, and others love to ignore them. Stiles belongs to the second category. “Donovan is… he is the opposite of friendly. As in, he is unfriendly. As in, don’t be friends with him!” 

Stiles blinks. “I’m rubbing off on you.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Brett huffs out a breath, sounding not unlike a laugh. His thumb brushes over the back of Stiles’ hand, causing a rush of goosebumps up and down his body. 

Stiles shouldn’t crave his touch so much. It shouldn’t make him feel like he’s wrapped up in a cloud of cotton candy. There is absolutely no reason for Brett to grab his hand either. There is even less reason for Stiles not to pull it away. “Donovan isn’t all that scary,” he says softly, trying his best not to intertwine their fingers when Brett starts playing with them absentmindedly. “I’ve seen worse.” 

Brett nods. “I know.” 

“I promise I’ll be careful.” It’s an admission. Stiles is aware of that, and so is Brett judging by the grimace on his features. “But, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be the first person I’ll call if I ever need help.” He’d probably be the only person he’d call for help. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Jordan, but having a werewolf on speed dial is still the safest bet. Besides, Stiles knows Brett would drop everything to come and help him. 

Humming in what can only be agreement, Brett slides his fingers in-between Stiles’. He looks up and smiles. “Cocky bastard.”

— — — 

Stiles watches Donovan argue with two of his friends about what food to get, lips pressed into a thin line. He shouldn’t be here. The second he saw that tonight’s location was a hotel instead of an empty warehouse, Stiles should have turned around and left. Donovan’s parties don’t happen inside expensive hotel suites. This feels more intimate. It feels like he shouldn’t be here. But he can’t be home alone either. Meeting everyone again fucked with his head much more than it should have. 

He eyes the cocaine residue on the glass table. His phone screen flashes, catching his attention. Stiles snatches his phone as Donovan moves next to him, almost as if to grab his phone as well. Pulling a leg onto the couch, he unlocks his phone. To his surprise, it’s a message from Brett. 

> Want me to pick you up tomorrow? 

Stiles’ heart does a very complicated thing, and he has to take a very deep breath before replying. 

I’d like that <

> How about we grab some breakfast before school too?

Why does this sound so much more like a date than meeting up at the ice cream parlor does? Stiles bites his bottom lip.

Surprise me. <

> Believe me. I will. 

> Sleep well

Stiles twists his lips into a pitiful grin. Yeah, sleeping probably isn’t going to happen. Not that he’d get a second of sleep by staying home. The darkness is a lot darker than since the scrimmage against his old school. As much as he hates being around Donovan, it helps. He swipes his thumb to stop the screen from going dark. Sleep well. His chest grows warm. 

He’s so fucked. 

You too <

Stiles bites his cheek, thumb hovering over his keyboard. Just yesterday, Brett held his hand, played with his fingers, and protected him from Donovan. Maybe, just maybe, Stiles should take the leap and stop seeing Donovan. 

Can’t wait to see you again <

The message is being read almost immediately. Stiles’ throat closes up. Part of him wants to throw his phone to the other side of the hotel room, but his grip around it tightens instead. He doesn’t have the money to replace it anyway. 

Brett sends him a heart. 

He sends him a fucking heart. 

Stiles grins, pressing his phone to his chest. Maybe he isn’t quite as fucked as he thought he might be. Maybe this is his cue to finally stop destroying himself. Not for Brett but because of this. This feeling. This giddy stupid sensation wraps around him like a safety blanket. The nogitsune didn’t win. It didn’t break him. Not entirely. He isn’t too broken to be liked — maybe even loved. 

His dad would be proud of him. 

All he has to do is end this. For good. And that’s why he came in the first place, right? Stiles isn’t entirely stupid. He noticed the changes. He noticed Donovan changing his approach. Stiles would have put his foot down if he were a better person. Still, part of him needs this outlet. If he really wants to change this — if he wants to change himself — tonight will be the last night. 

Donovan isn’t going to like that. 

But Stiles doesn’t care. He’s going break this fucking habits once and for all. He is going to quit tonight. If he’s got a chance with Brett, he doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“Stilinski,” Donovan drawls, his pupils are blown as wide as he’s high, “you shitting me?”

Stiles glances at him out of the corner of his eyes. The guy really had the fucking nerve to lean close enough to read his messages. “Privacy, fuckface.” He elbows Donovan away, who bares his teeth in a terrible copy of a grin. Sometimes he wonders if Donovan is ever sober and if he’s being perfectly honest. Seeing that he had to repeat his senior year twice because his attendance was abysmal, Stiles very much doubts that. He’s probably failing the year again — not that Donovan is actively trying to change that. But why would he? If he can rent a suite like this— 

The door clicks shut.

Stiles whips his head around. 

The suite is empty. Donovan’s friends left the room without saying anything. Unless maybe they’re grabbing food and drinks? Maybe they said something, and Stiles simply didn’t catch it. That’s entirely possible… right? “So,” Stiles says, trying to stifle the panic swelling in his chest, “where’s the rest?” 

Donovan lets out a huff. “What rest?” 

Licking his dry lips, Stiles turns around. Something about the way Donovan leans towards him makes him feel highly uneasy. He should have never come here, and he shouldn’t have acted like Brett’s worry was exaggerated. It wasn’t. Stiles knows something is wrong with Donovan. That’s why he attends his parties. Still, a person who gets drugs as easily as Donovan and offers people a violent outlet is dangerous. Or maybe, just maybe, Donovan simply likes to watch other people ruining themselves. That still makes him dangerous, just not actively so. 

He’s being stupid. 

How the fuck could he risk ending up alone with Donovan Donati?

“Well,” Stiles says, tightening the grip on his phone — Brett is just a message away. One single message. “The rest of the party.” His eyes dart around the room. He can’t help it. Keeping track of ways of escape is a necessity when running with wolves and other creatures of the night. It’s probably smart to treat Donovan similarly. 

Donovan merely scoffs and crosses the room, leaving the entrance unguarded. That’s good. That’s good. “You think I’d pay that much money for the room to be trashed?” He grabs a bottle of water, tossing it at him without warning. 

Stiles catches it awkwardly. “So… what’s this then?” He gestures a little, still not entirely sure what to make of this situation. He doesn’t get it. Who rents a huge ass suite to pre-party with their friends? It doesn’t make any sense. 

“To chill,” Donovan says and reaches for his glass of whiskey. “To have fun.” Despite everything Stiles knows about him, he manages to look like a sleazy politician who only cares about his pleasure. 

Stiles twists his lips. What does that make him? 

“Nobody needs to rent something like this for fun.” He makes air quotes with one hand before opening the bottle. It’s almost entirely silent. This bottle has been opened before. It has been tampered with, his paranoid mind suggests. Stiles twists the cap back and forth. Donovan’s eyes are on him. He can feel his gaze like a spider crawling up his spine. This is wrong. Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. 

Donovan sets his glass down. His posture is relaxed, yet there is something off about him. “Not thirsty?” 

“Not really, no.” Stiles shakes his head and clears his throat, trying to figure out what to say without giving Donovan a reason to fly off the handle. “I should… I think I should probably… go.” Stiles puts the bottle down, ignoring the rise of Donovan’s brow. Every second he stays here is a second too long. Why has he come here? Why didn’t he just ignore Donovan like he usually does? He could have called Brett. 

Fucking dammit. He’s so fucking stupid. 

“No?” Donovan turns on the couch, now fully facing him. There’s no humor left in his tone. “You go on a date with Talbot, and suddenly — poof — your innocence is restored?” 

Stiles glances in the direction of the door. If his gut feeling is right about Donovan, he won’t make it to the door. “I never said I’m innocent.” But that seems to have been the wrong thing to say… which he probably should have expected. 

And yet— 

Donovan’s grin remains a grimace, but he reaches his hand and places it on Stiles’ thigh. His touch is strangely soft, his thumb dragging a small circle over the inside of his jeans. “I can give you everything you want. I can give you everything Brett Talbot can’t.”

But that’s not the point. The point isn’t about getting what he wants. Not all the time, at least. Stiles isn’t fucking stupid. Sometimes, he’s gotta keep in mind what he needs. And Brett? Brett is capable to give him both. Brett is who he wants, but Stiles is aware that he’s not the person to let him get away with his bullshit. That’s not who Brett Talbot is, and that’s what Stiles loves about him. 

Loves. 

Shaking his head, Stiles pushes his hand off. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” 

But Donovan merely reaches for him again, moving closer in the process. His hand returns to his thigh — and this time, it’s a lot closer to his crotch. 

Stiles shoves it away again. “Stop.” 

“I think you owe it to me.” 

When Donovan reaches out this time, Stiles slaps his hand away. “I said stop.” He pushes his phone into the pocket of his jacket and gets to his feet. “I’m leaving.” Nothing in their relationship ever indicated that Donovan is interested in fucking him, and Stiles surely never gave him any reason to believe otherwise. 

“No.” Donovan jolts to his feet. “You’re not fucking leaving.” 

“Oh, but I am.” Stiles takes a step back, mindful of the table and the couch. If he stumbles, he’s— he doesn’t want to think about it. The last thing he wants is to get into a position of weakness in front of a pissed-off Donovan. “I don’t want y— this.” 

Without any warning, Donovan lurches forward. His grip is tight and painful, and so is Stiles’ back connecting with the wall. “I don’t care.” Sneering, Donovan forces a leg between his thighs, “it’s time to pay up.” 

Panic explodes in his chest when Donovan leans closer. He’s trying to kiss him. He’s trying to kiss him. 

No. 

No. 

It’s so much worse. 

“Stop.” His voice isn’t half as assertive as he wants it to be. It cracks as he turns his head away, merely avoiding Donovan’s lips on his. “Please, stop.” As if begging is going to lead to the desired result if struggling doesn’t do anything. As if Donovan fucking cares because he doesn’t. It’s like he doesn’t even notice Stiles trying to push him off. Maybe that’s why Donovan didn’t bother to grab his hands. He knew he was stronger. He knew he could easily overpower him. 

Fuck. 

Stiles wants to scream, but he can’t. It’s like the sound catches in the back of his throat, refusing to come out. He should have listened to Brett, but no. No. Stiles thought he knew better, and now this is what he gets; Donovan’s mouth on his neck. It’s a touch that makes Stiles’ stomach heave. “I said stop.” There. That came out a bit more assertive. 

But Donovan doesn’t back off. He doesn’t even flinch. He does, however, adjust his grip and places his hand at Stiles’ hip instead of his upper arm. 

And that gives Stiles enough room for a punch. 

So he does just that. 

The second his fist connects with Donovan’s cheek, a sharp pain jolts from his knuckles up to his shoulder. It feels like he’s punched a brick wall with full force. It’s a way too familiar feeling, and the shock freezes him for a moment. There is blood on his knuckles and blood on Donovan’s face. Stiles is pretty sure both belong to him. But that means… 

Donovan whips his head around, baring unnatural sharp teeth. Those aren’t what pushes Stiles to sprint to the bathroom. It’s Donovan’s silver eyes. 

Stiles rushes through the open door, almost sliding on the expensive tiles. His heart slams against his chest, panic making it hard to breathe. There’s no way out of this bathroom, but there is time to be found here. Stiles slams the door shut and locks the door. Nothing else but a small cabinet could offer any additional safety. It might only give him seconds, but maybe that’s everything he needs. 

With trembling fingers, Stiles pulls his phone out of his jacket. He doesn’t even think about calling the police or Jordan. He calls Brett. 

The doorknob rattles. 

“Hey, Stiles!” Lori answers in a singsong. There is soft music in the background and something that could be the soft rumble of an engine. 

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. “Is Brett there?” 

“Yes, sorry, I’m driving.” 

There’s a thump on the door, and Stiles covers his mouth to stop the panicked sound. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. He swallows, lowers his hand, and scratches his neck. “I fucked up,” he whispers, voice cracking all over again. There’s no way Lori and Brett haven’t heard that. “I need your help.” 

“Where are you?”

“The hotel downtown.” Stiles licks his lips, watching the doorknob wriggle again. “Brett, I’m sorry, I—“

“Stiles!” By the sound of it, Donovan slams his hand against the door multiple times, every punch feels angrier than the one before. “Open the fucking door.” 

“Is that Donovan?” Brett asks over the sound of his engine howling as he seemingly puts off changing gears in favor of gaining speed.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers again, backing away until he bumps against the sink. “I thought—“ 

“Stiles, don’t apologize.” The engine quiets. Besides the music, Stiles can hear Lori talking to someone. Her voice is muffled enough that he cannot make out what she says, but she sounds hectic. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” Although Brett can’t see it, Stiles nods. Brett breathes in and out audibly. “Listen to me. I need you to find a weapon. Whatever you can get your hands on, you hear me?” 

Again, Stiles nods, frantically looking around the bathroom, while Donovan is trying his best to get through the door. But there is nothing in this bathroom. What did he expect? This is a hotel. There are no personal items. There is nothing he could use — and it’s not like it matters. Donovan isn’t human. “I can’t—“ Stiles cuts off, feeling his throat close up. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. “I can’t find anything. There’s nothing here.” 

“Where are you right now?” Brett’s voice sounds unbelievably soft given the current circumstances. 

Stiles can’t tell if this is relaxing or stressing him more. All he knows is that there is nothing in this room that is going to help him against whatever Donovan is — or what he’s got planned. There is only Brett, but Brett is not here. Not yet anyway. “The bathroom.” Stiles swallows, grabbing the sink to stay upright even though every part of his body wants to drop to the floor and hide in the corner. “Please, Brett…” he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking him to do. He’s on the phone with him. He’s on his way here. What more does he want? To get out of here. Stiles digs his blunt nails into the skin of his neck. To get out of here with his bodily autonomy still mostly untouched. 

He’s worked for months to remember that his body belonged to him. Every day, Stiles is still struggling with it. That’s why he goes to those parties. Because the bruises and the pain are his choices. They are a reminder that this is his body, and he can do with it whatever the fuck he wants. He can destroy himself. He can rebuild himself. 

The door shudders. 

“Stiles?” Brett calling his name drags him out of his head. “Talk to me, Gorgeous. What’s happening?”

His voice drops to a whisper. “He’s about to get in. Brett, please.” 

“I’m almost there. Just a little longer. I need to you—“

The door finally gives way to Donovan’s violence, and the small cabinet does nothing to protect Stiles any longer. 

“Please, come quick,” is the last thing Stiles allows himself to say before he drops two phones. If he wants to have at least a fleeting chance to fight, he will need both hands. “Donovan, I— let’s talk about this.” ‘Let’s talk about this’? Stiles wants to bang his head against the wall. He can’t believe that’s the first and only thing he came up with.  

Donovan rolls his shoulders. There’s still blood on his cheek. “You should know how this goes, Stilinski,” he says in a low voice, advancing on him slowly — like he has all the time in the world. Perhaps he didn’t hear his conversation with Brett. Maybe, just maybe, Donovan does not have super-hearing. “The more you struggle, the more it’s gonna hurt.”

The bathroom is in no way big enough to rush past him, Stiles well and truly cornered himself coming here, but he’s trying anyway. That way, he at least goes down fighting. 

Donovan doesn’t even have to put any effort into catching him. He simply grabs him around the waist. For a brief second, he lifts him off his feet like Stiles is nothing more to him than a little unruly child that needs to be put into a timeout. “We could have had fun, you know?” Donovan snaps, clearly nearing the end of his patience as he curls his free hand into Stiles’ hair. “But you had to make it difficult.” 

And just like that, Donovan smashes Stiles’ head against the sink. 

The pain doesn’t come immediately. For a little while, there is nothing. That’s what it feels like at least. There is no light. There is no pain. There isn’t even any sound. All of that only returns when he opens his eyes. 

Stiles groans, pressing his eyes shut again. Light explodes behind his lids. The pain makes him sick. There are hands on his body, cold and rough, dragging him over hard tiles. He should open his eyes. He has to open his eyes. But he can’t. His lids feel too heavy. His whole body feels so fucking heavy. But someone moves it. Someone moves him. His elbow connects with the hard ground. The pain shooting up his arm startles his brain into action again. 

He’s inside the bathroom. 

Those hands touching him belong to Donovan. 

He’s not wearing any pants. 

“No,” Stiles mumbles, trying to move as a cold finger hooks into his boxer briefs. “Stop. Please. Stop.” He twists his hips, but Donovan’s grip is vice-like. There’s no getting away. There’s nothing he can do. Stiles forces his eyes open. The lashes of his left eye stick to his skin. There’s blood on the floor. Blood on his skin. Blood on the rug in front of the bathtub. What happens here tonight will leave a stain. Eventually, the hotel will throw it out. Because it doesn’t matter. They might never know what happened here. If they do, they’ll hide it. Nobody wants to rent a room where somebody was raped. 

He sobs.

His stomach heaves violently when Donovan raises his hips off the floor. There’s a tug on his boxer briefs. 

Then his body collapses onto the floor. 

Something crashes behind him. 

“Stiles!” Feet appear in his vision. The tip of white sneakers dips into his blood. “Stiles. It’s me. It’s Lori.” She crouches down next to him, offering him a hand. His blood drenches her jeans. She doesn’t seem bothered. 

Stiles takes her hand. 

“Careful,” she whispers. Her touch is gentle as she helps him sit up. “Careful, your head.” She places a hand on his cheek, tipping his head just enough to study the damage better. “You should get that checked out.”

Nodding turns out to be a terrible idea. He closes his eyes, collapsing against the girl next to him. Another sob claws its way out his throat. It hurts. Everything hurts.

Lori curls her arms around him, pulling him as close as their awkward position allows. “It’s going to be okay.” 

It’s easy to say, and right now, it’s almost easier to believe. Stiles opens his eyes. His pants are lying in a heap next to the cabinet. His shoes have been tossed in the direction of the hallway. One has tumbled through the door. It’s now sitting next to Donovan and Brett’s legs. 

Donovan doesn’t move, pinned underneath Brett, who can’t seem to stop moving. He brings his bloody fists down and down again. There are no other sounds than Donovan’s near maniacal laughter and a fist connecting with somebody’s face. Over and over and over again. It’s a sound Stiles is more than familiar with. He’s caused it more nights than he cares to count. 

And it was all for nothing. All those fights didn’t mean shit in the end. All those nights he spent running with wolves, and he still couldn’t fight off a single supernatural creature. 

Stiles closes his eyes. 

“Hey, hey.” Lori jostles him. “Stay with us.” 

Slowly, Stiles blinks his eyes open again. His view is obstructed by a pair of legs. There is more blood on clothes, but this time, it doesn’t belong to him.

Donovan isn’t laughing any longer. 

“You gotta stay awake, Gorgeous.” Brett crouches down, smiling a little. If not for his busted knuckles and Donovan’s blood sticking to his skin, it would be easy to believe nothing at all happened.  “Can you stand?” He holds out both hands.

Stiles doubts he’ll be able to get to his feet without help, but he wants to get out of here. He needs to get away from Donovan. Swallowing dryly, he grabs Brett’s hands. They feel so different from Donovan’s. They’re so much safer, so much softer. His eyes burn at the thought of it. His throat closes up again, making it almost impossible to breathe. But he pushes through it and nods very carefully when he realizes Brett waits for his sign. 

Getting his feet under him is a slow process. Frustrating almost. His legs don’t feel like his own. The pressure in his head is sheer agony. When he stands, the world tips and turns. Stiles is pretty sure any movement might cause him to throw up. Concussion, the rational part of his brain suggests. 

“Look at that,” Brett says, the smile audible in his voice, “steady as a newborn fawn.” 

Despite himself, Stiles laughs. “Fuck you.” But the short feeling of happiness doesn’t last long. The second he takes a step forward, is the moment his legs give way, is the moment he starts sobbing again. “I’m sorry.” Stiles lets go of Brett’s hands and wraps his arms around the wolf instead, hiding his face. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve listened. I should have—“

“Hey, hey. Don’t.” Brett hugs him to his chest, his arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders, and kisses the top of his head once. “There is nothing you have to apologize for. This isn’t your fault.”   

Stiles curls his fingers into Brett’s shirt, holding onto the other boy for dear life. 

“It’s okay,” Brett whispers. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

---

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #teen wolf #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #*tv:teen wolf #*w:complete #*s:briles #*w:bthb

[sapphireginger]

Seatbelt!

Stiles was very protective of his pack even if they didn’t think seatbelts were necessary.

AO3 Link

Stiles was adamant that seatbelts were always worn by everyone, Lupine, feline, bovine, divine, it did not matter. Seatbelt! The pack took longer to comply. Derek was used to it but Stiles refused to leave until all seatbelts were fastened. That was how the trip to the water park ended up canceled and Stiles changed the Netflix password.

The next time they went to the water park, the pack followed their Alpha’s lead and buckled up. Liam and Kira had joined the pack by then and waited patiently for the van to leave but it didn’t. They looked at everyone confused.

“Seatbelts!” Stiles called out.

Liam snorted and Kira blinked, her eyes wide in confusion. Why did they need seatbelts? Neither of them buckled up.

Kira finally did when Lydia elbowed her but Liam still didn’t. “When are we leaving?”

Stiles looked at him in the rear view mirror. “When we’re good and ready. Right now we’re good but we’re not ready.

Derek turned to look at Liam and subtly gestured to his seatbelt.

Liam huffed and went to object but Stiles beat him to it. He whirled around to face the baby wolf and spoke. “I do not want to hear about how you are a werewolf and don’t need to wear one. I do not care what you seem to think about it because here’s what I know. You all rely on your strength too much. You think you’re invincible but here’s the thing Liam, you’re not! You’re. Not. Invincible!

“Sure you probably wouldn’t exactly die if we crashed but you’d have broken bones, shattered bones, torn muscles, torn ligaments. Hell, maybe you’d even lose a limb and—” Stiles stopped and took a deep breath.

“I know to you it may seem stupid, but you’re my pack and I love you guys. Maybe bruises are more annoying than painful but I don’t want any of you to get hurt even a little. It happens in our life way too often to avoid but I won’t do anything to give fate or our enemies a helping hand. So, please put on your seatbelt. Reconcile it if you have to by doing it to protect me and my heart.”

Without hesitation, Liam put his seatbelt on. Satisfied, Stiles wiped at his face, cleared his throat and gestured to his alpha. “Away we go.”

Derek laced their fingers together and pulled away to start their journey to the water park. He knew how hard it was for the wolves to understand why Stiles was so adamant but he also wasn’t surprised that from that day on, no one, lupine, feline, bovine, or divine, forgot to put their seatbelt on.

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #fluff #protective stiles stilinski #alpha derek hale #spark stiles stilinski #pack mom stiles stilinski #liam dunbar #lydia martin #kira yukimura #light angst

[mirrorthoughts]

Steterweek day #2 - Mon, 25th July

The next day for @steterweek! :D This thing is complete but unedited and unbetaed 😂

I used both the prompt and the picture again :3 Have fun!

(It also can be read on AO3)

(cw: (unimportant) ppl are getting killed)

Stiles woke up and everything hurt. His head first and foremost but also his legs, his knees, his side, his chest, his arms and his wrists that were for some reason raised above his head.

The head didn’t surprise him. The last thing he remembered was the pulsing of bodies, flickering lights in gold and orange, people screaming and singing, their hands raised in the air as they watched the band on the stage play their hearts out.

He also hadn’t been alone. He had been safe with Peter by his side and Derek and Braeden in the crowd. Had Cora been there? He didn’t know. He still was too tired with everything hurting and the fear, that was not his own, building up in his chest.

He was alive. Whatever had happened, he was alive.

He must have made a sound, maybe with whatever was still holding his arms, because there were suddenly voices, steps and a rough hand on his chin.

„Stop playing dead, bitch! We know you’re awake!“ „Maybe he isn‘t, Drake—” „Shut up, Idiot!“

Stiles had to keep himself from smiling. His guards sounded rather stupid and maybe he would be lucky and they were even more stupid than they seemed.

He slowly opened his eyes, keeping a confused and frightened look on his face while he reached for his spark. „Wha—… who are you? What happened? Where are my friends?“ he stammered in fear that wasn’t there.

He felt glee as he connected with his magic, letting it rush through him to heal his wounds with a soft caress that always reminded him of his mum.

„Oh, you don’t have a clue, do you?“ the man still grasping his chin said as he let go, seemingly satisfied that Stiles was now awake. „I don’t understand— who are you people?“ Stiles almost cringed at his own ‚ignorance‘ even if he just acted. Once upon a time he had been just that stupid.

But not as stupid as ‚Drake‘ and his buddy.

He sent reassurance down his pack bonds, now that he finally was healed and awake. Adrenalin did a good job of that when coffee wasn’t available. And the rest was helped by his magic.

And now it was time to play.

He started with a slight rattling of the front door that made Drake‘s buddy flinch. Drake himself either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He had started to lecture Stiles about ‚who lay with wolves would be put down like one‘ or something. Stiles didn’t really care.

Instead he started with one of his favorite magical effects: The feeling of a thousand eyes staring at you. Or in this case at Drake and his buddy.

It didn’t take long for both of them to get nervous. And that’s when Stiles slowly sat up and let his shackles fall as he lowered his arms. This time he allowed the pleased smile on his lips as he crossed his legs in a more comfortable position, looking up at his kidnappers with black eyes.

„You didn’t do your research, did you?“ he asked without wanting an answer. Instead he raised his hand, waving his fingers at both hunters his smile turning into a smirk. „My wolves are not the only supernaturals around.“

He didn’t give them the time to react, just clenched his hand into a fist, pushing it to the side. Both men‘s heads jerked around with a loud snap. And as Stiles raised to his feet, their bodies crumbled to the ground. Idiots.

He was just sorry for their families, if they had any.

With a sigh he used a bit of his magic to clean himself up as he stepped over the bodies to the lone door in the room. Now that there weren’t two idiots in front of him he could finally take a good look around, even if it didn’t give him much.

They had been in a small, round room with concrete walls and floor and the door he now leaned against to listen to the outside.

He couldn’t hear anything but that didn’t mean much since he still only had human hearing. He also wasn’t stupid so he first listened to the pack bonds in his chest to find them full of rage, now they knew he was okay. There still was fear for him but no pain, which told him more than Drakes blathering had done.

They probably wanted to use him as bait. Most likely they had drugged him in some kind of way. Or just hit him and went off with him. It was easy to abduct someone from a venue like the concert he had been on with his friends by acting as if he’d drunken to much and needed to be brought home. And yes, as he looked down to his clothes, he still wore the - now teared - jeans and the black vest with hood and the rest of his concert outfit.

No wonder his wolves were or of their mind!

A sound caught his focus and he sent his magic slowly behind the door. He couldn’t feel other people in the room behind it, so he slowly opened the door, listening closely to the sounds he could hear.

The door opened into a small storage room of some kind. Presumably a disguise for other people since he could see the curtain next to him that was probably for hiding the door he‘d just stepped through.

But he wasn’t able to look around any further as the storage door in front of him was ripped out of his angles and a big wolf in beta shift, his eyes glowing red, appeared behind it.

Stiles smiled as the wolf seemed to sink into himself as he saw Stiles safe and sound. „Hey babe,“ he murmured softly, knowing quite well how sensitive the ears of a shifted wolf could be. Especially when they were out of their mind with worry. „Seems like their trap worked, huh? Just not like they wanted to.“

He laughed silently as he suddenly was pressed against a hairy chest that got only slightly less hairy as Peter shifted back to better press his face into Stiles‘s neck. Stiles smiled softly, wrapped his arms around his wolf and started to brush his fingers through Peter‘s hair. „I’m alright, love. I’m alright and they are not. Everything is alright.“

It wasn’t how he‘d imagined their one day off to end, but at least he had been the only one hurt. Peter would probably see that differently, but right now Stiles strength to argue about anything was waning anyway so that would have to wait.

He rubbed his cheek against Peter’s head and closed his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into the embrace. „Let’s go home,“ he whispered, getting more tired with each moment as the Adrenaline started to wear off. He knew he was safe. And he knew that his wolf and their pack would still keep him safe. The last he felt before slipping back into sleep, were Peter’s warm arms holding him as he got carried outside.

#steterweek #steter #teen wolf #sei's writing #seikaze #steterweek 2022 #steterweek 2022 day 2

[sterekchub]

When Stiles gets too fat to jerk off, too fat to see his dick at all, he quickly realizes that he can hump his own fat and fat pad to get off, all he has to do is just kind of rest his arms on his belly and rock back and forth. This is great news because it's something he can do basically anywhere without anyone really realizing it -- of course the fat guy is flushed and winded and sweaty, just look at him, it's a miracle he can even walk at all. Of course Derek catches on fast, and decides to see just how many times he can encourage Stiles to get off untouched by anything but his own fat in a single day.

Derek finds out and teases him for days. Stiles is being fed and throughly fucked by the pack…and yet that even that isn’t enough to satisfy him. Derek’s caught Stiles more than once now stuffing his face greedily, cramming food into his mouth, chewing it so fast crumbs go flying everywhere, and gulping it down. He doesn’t care how it tastes- he just wants that feeling of being full and stuffed, wants to eat until he’s painfully full and achingly hard.

So he’s not totally shocked that Stiles’ figured out a way to get himself off after so many desperate attempts and failures. But Derek takes such pleasure in watching him- because short of being in all fours with his face buried in food, nothing else makes Stiles look quite as pig like as this. Arms that cant even wrap around his flabby middle, rocking and humping his flab like a hog, sweating and out of breath like he’s been running up stairs.

It’s the hottest thing Derek’s ever seen. He’ll ignore Stiles pleading and whining and complaints about how it’s not the same, it’s too much work….because he loves watching his pig

[luckylulu82]

It's so Pedro leaving his clothes in London that doesn't surprise me at all 😂 but even so, his stylist could have chosen a more appropriate and less ugly outfit for the world premiere of a long-awaited show like this and knowing that many people outside his fandom on the Internet were going to see it and make fun of it. But well... I don't care what the fashion editorials say, Julia made him so dirty and I prefer Fabio stiling him

They make fun of him in clothes fabio puts him too, just before julie, fans were saying he needed to leave fabio and get another stylist. To be frank there no satisfying this fandom because either way their will be mass complaints and mocking.

#anon reply

[oldcoyote]

(same anon from just now ab teen wolf)

man i genuinely love getting all my knowledge of a show from tumblr its so much better genuinely. glee let me down so badly

also there may be a fic w stiles/peter/chris and it has some (presumably) bts gifs at the top which were the inspiration and its.. very good. (Talk to the Potential Kid-Napper - MusicLover19)

also while i was looking for the fic again i discovered i now have more teen wolf than glee fanfics bookmarked which is very funny to me. ive been here since the neaf days (i didnt vote klaine on ur poll mostly bc i got v against blaines characterisation and now cant read klaine fic anymore without cringing but i loved it back then) and thought id read a lot of glee fic! it may be that i read it other places than ao3.. there was one site which was something like scarves and coffee?

ive tangented now but going back round, i think you might have been a contributor to my diversion into teen wolf fic.. i have a fair number of sterek ones bookmarked too. there’s actually a really nice series (depending on squicks/triggers etc) which is called D.N.C.E (i think its like.. desperate need for care & ecstasy?) which is one of the few sterek ones i reread these days

god so many shows have literally set me up to think they were going to finally live up to their potential and then pulled the rug out from under me. Teen Wolf did it really badly, so you dodged a bullet let me tell you

OOH thank you for the rec! i'm almost exclusively sterek these days but i will ~dabble elsewhere when the mood strikes thank u

i tell you what i did not bookmark any glee fic at all on anything long term because i am hopeless?? my AO3 bookmarks are a wall of sterek and then a wall of wangxian lol. i'm sure i read all my glee fic on livejournal, tumblr, and scarves & coffee for sure, not AO3

honestly if i was a contributor to bringing you to teen wolf fanfic then i am satisfied at a job well done, i remember the day i fell in love with sterek and found the fic and holy shit it was better than anything i'd ever read before. there was just so much good shit it was like an abundance of riches coming in after season 2

i don't think i've read that one! i'll have to check it out. honestly if you don't mind AUs and love sterek the best fic i have ever read in the fandom was DILF by twentysomething the build up is so goddamn good. i also reread a great hurt/comfort (i am a WHORE for h/c) fic the other day called Integral to Survival by fuzzytomato so check that out too. or just like dive into all my bookmarks i'm contrawise on AO3 <3

[hotgirlstiles]

i dont particularly like 'stiles pushed out the pack' fics but i do enjoy 'stiles doesnt think hes pack' fics bc i think miscommunication about whos 'allowed'/needed in a pack is an interesting idea and bc those fics usually end with the pack/derek telling stiles how awesome he is and how much they want him around and i just personally enjoy that lol

WAIT YOU ARE SO RUGHT!!!!! the way these fics are also stiles-centric in a way bec they deal w his insecurity & also abandonment issues.. the underlying & lingering feelings too of being such a ‘troublesome child’ to his dad after claudia’s death.. WHEW!!!! dear god anon. can u send me some fics like this if it is ok :-) i cant remember a fic like this that ive liked lately!! the ending is always so so satisfying and sweet too.. just the pack being so sweet to their stile.. oh man … 😭😭😭💖💖💖 u r also my new fav person jow. i persobally enjoy these fics too a little too much.. stiles being loved and cared for is soemthing that can be so personal actually.

WAIT ALSO re the ‘whos allowed’ IS SO CUTE TOO i love the tiny werewolf lores everyone does uts always so fun to compare & contrast it w other fics .. i personally love finding out who’s derek’s second in fics bc its soso cute.. i do have a preference for boyd as his second it’s so cute!

#answered #any fic that has the pack being so so sweet and affectiobate to stiles (+ the stiles centric issues) is always a godtier fic to me