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This is a multi-fandom account. I write for myself mostly, but I love sharing my writing with you! Fair warning, I have little in the way of order and propriety. You’re more than welcome to ask me questions; I also love receiving feedback and ideas!!
"And now I'm still hanging on
I was at the end of every tether waiting for what once was."
[Angst with a happy ending; Fluff; Friends to Lover to Exes to ???; not proofread; might be edited idk; Allison is alive here guys; 2.4k words] Ex Boyfriend!Stiles Stilinski remained in your life, and it's becoming a quiet disturbance.
This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.
AN: MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU! (has nothing to do w that but he would've said it) lowk thought of this less than eight hours ago and wanted to write and get something out really badly. Haven't written in so long he started to feel like an ex boi.
“Why did you guys break up?”
A question you’d both heard a million times over. Something you both kept to yourselves for your own reasons. Of course, there were reasons you gave. Immaturity on his part, too guarded on your part. A problem many couples deal with, an easy solution, an opportunity to grow together. But the truth was you were both too scared to fix it. That maybe if you’d have worked through it, it would last forever. Forever looked insane to two young adults facing other forevers. So, you broke up. Even if you were perfect for each other, even if there was still something there. Existing like that was fine. You didn’t pretend to hate each other or avoid each other, but it wasn’t ever brought up–the relationship. The relationship that was so perfect, how crazy it was that you two clicked so well as friends that love came that easy. How easy the breakup came, too.
It was weird for everyone, how you two were together and then you weren’t. As if, for you guys, the step between friends and lovers wasn’t nearly as steep as it should’ve been. And it stayed like that, frozen in the space you both knew was more comfortable–more free, you thought. You stopped accepting his help. When he’d pop into doorframes in the morning with coffee how you like it, fill your water bottle, hold your things, you shook your head and held the burden for yourself. The burden of making your own coffee, filling your own water bottle, and holding your own things. You remembered to think that was only a luxury with Stiles and, if you didn’t want to be terrified again, you'd accept the loss. As if that was the loss.
An impromptu reunion. Scott texted you, you came to lunch where the group used to in high school. You sat across from Scott, adjacent to Stiles, beside Lydia, one over from Allison. Stiles always made a point to get your attention and wave. A white flag, a check-in.
Are we still friends? You always nodded back, softly smiling.
That’s how you all ended up at Lydia’s lake house, a much-needed break before the summer reached its height and you were all tied up with work or otherwise. The night you got there, you gathered around the fire and talked. The relationship wound had healed, you remember thinking as you fought yourself avoiding glances at Stiles. He wasn’t looking at you, either. It was normal again, you thought. And then you started talking about rooms. Lydia jumped in, “You can room with me.” Blurted out, really. Awkwardly. “Y’know. Since…”
You shook your head, “It’s fine. I know you have a really strict nighttime routine and a phobia of people in your bed. I’ll-I’ll room with Stiles. It’s not a big deal. Right?”
Stiles was staring at you awkwardly, “Yeah. Yeah, no–we’re friends, guys.”
Stiles was in bed before you. You brushed your teeth and stepped into the hallway. Lydia stopped you, apologizing for being awkward. You brushed it off and reasoned. “He’s still my friend, we’re still close. Just not romantic or anything. It’s fine.”
★★★
You woke up with the weight of Stiles’s head on your chest. His arm hugged you softly, but heavy enough that it comforted you. You rubbed your eyes, sighing, and slowly pushed his shoulder off of you. He stirred when you got out from under him, but collapsed back into the pillow when you got up. You turned to look at him in bed, cheek pressed against the pillowcase, arm still out like you could crawl back in bed with him if you wanted. You squeezed your eyes shut once and turned to the bathroom. When you came back, Stiles was awake, still lying down. You ignored his eyes as they followed you tentatively. You walked to the bed and picked up the blanket you had kicked off of yourself in the middle of the night and the pillow that had fallen to the ground. Folding the blanket, Stiles’s eyes remained on you.
“You used to push me off of you just like that.” He said it lightly, as if you were both on a completely different page. The one you told everyone you were on. What it meant was that you still pushed him off like you wouldn’t mind if he stayed and, this far out of what once was, it was dangerous. You shrugged it off, pulling at the blankets and beginning to–
“And make the bed around me when you knew you’d get up before me.” This time it wasn’t so light, he was running a hand through his hair and trying to brush the memory off, but it wasn’t happening.
You pressed your lips together, feigning a playful tone, “That was forever ago, Stiles.”
“Forever happened way faster than we thought it would.”
Which forever?
Stiles sat up, his shirt creasing as he twisted to stretch. His eyes caught yours as he stood out of the bed and walked out to the restroom. You made the bed in his absence and quickly relocated to the kitchen for some space. He was never so intense in the mornings. You wondered if that was him now, if he had different opinions on things or even feelings.
Starting a morning routine, you began to make yourself breakfast. You turned on some music on your computer, almost silent but enough for you to hear while you cooked. With how early it was, you figured you’d get your own breakfast made and eaten before anyone woke up to see you. Stiles would probably go back to sleep, and you’d get the small moment of peace you had planned for yourself. That was until Stiles rounded the corner. You only turned one light on, so it immediately cast itself over him when he walked quietly into the kitchen. You ignored it, grabbed a coffee mug, a pan, a–
He was throwing you off–your routine. You hated it. You hated waking up next to him and feeling like maybe it wasn’t that long ago. You set the mug down, put the pan on the stove to heat up, took out a plate, and kneeled by the fridge. The extra light illuminating the groceries Scott and Allison had grabbed for everyone. The drinks you had all asked for in the group chat. Stiles’s choice staring at you, Root Beer. You grabbed an egg out of the carton, set it on the plate by the stove and turned to start your coffee.
But your mug was gone, and you registered the sound of the coffee machine running. Coffee was filling your mug slowly from across the kitchen, and Stiles was grabbing a cereal from the top of the fridge. It was his turn to pretend your eyes weren’t on him, studying. You continued making your breakfast, and you’d turn to find something you were just about to get right in front of you. When you found your mug of hot coffee sitting on the counter next to you, you turned to face Stiles. He was eating his cereal at the table, his eyes innocently looking around. Shaking your head, you opened a cabinet to look for sugar.
“S’already in there. Two spoonfuls, right?”
“One and a half.”
“Oh. Might wanna dilute it a little or something.”
You looked down, stirring the coffee. “What are you trying to do?” Stiles looked up from his cereal, tilting his head while he chewed. He took a beat, a breath in. Then out with difficulty.
“I just…want you to know I’m here…for you.” His brows pinched and his shoulders shrugged. Your heart sank with the weight of your feelings for him. Old feelings. What he went through, you went through it, too. But you two were past all this.
“I’m sure there’s a way to do it that doesn’t bring the past into this, Stiles.”
“Not that I can think of.”
You turned away, back to the stove. A sharp sensation on your skin, longing. Your eyes burned and you focused on the food, the music. The soft guitar you heard somehow, over your beating heart. You weren’t used to the intensity in his eyes, especially since you broke up. He always made it easy, as did you. No guilty looks or lingering touches. Easy. It scared you, the thought that everything he’d been doing these past two years was with you in mind when you tried to stray the furthest from him you possibly could. Of course, it didn’t work. Stiles got up to wash his dishes. You stiffened, offensive, like your thoughts needed to stay your own. It never used to be a problem with him.
He dried his hands and leaned on the counter, laughed to himself. “Y'know...Everyone can tell I’m waiting on you.”
He noticed the deep breath you had to take, the clenching of your fists before you delivered reassurance calmly. Always doing damage control for his sake. Softening the blow with ‘that’s just how it is, isn’t it?’ “Maybe it takes you longer to move on, Stiles.”
“Maybe.” He nodded, and your fists unclenched. Thinking maybe he’d be okay with you being so scared of the future that he’d give up on you. He leaned on his arms and watched you crack an egg into the pan. “Maybe I did. Maybe I went away, got a job, lived a little. And maybe I didn’t mean to, but I saw a life with you, and I don’t want to unsee that.”
If your heart wasn’t racing before, it was now. You had all battled fear before, in very physical forms, but this…this was way different. A fear that fed off of closeness and hope; the parasitic kind that ate at old photographs and childhood homes. You knew by the time the edges of the photo were worn and torn, or the house was a skeleton of itself, that it was too late. You didn’t want to be standing inside when you realized, so you walked away. Stiles knew that fear, and he believed exactly as you did, that the best bet was to loosen the reigns. You were still just kids, and the thought of something that should be forever starting so soon made you sick. Forever is supposed to be a long time and a long way’s away.
“You know I love you, Stiles.” He waited for a shutdown, the kind that would send him sulking to the room, but you just kept making yourself eggs. As if that was enough for today.
“Why did we break up?”
“Stiles.”
“I know what we told everyone. What we told ourselves, but what was your real reason?” You stood silent, eyes cast down. Stiles continued, “I know those reasons we said were true, but I was really just focused on getting out. I thought if we stayed together, you might never forget how scared you could be. No matter how safe I kept you.”
The reminder of what happened to both of you. It was a valid reason. He stepped closer, knowing how you felt about crowding, knowing how nervous it made you feel. Knowing how it used to make you feel better if it were him.
A different hot sting shot through your hand and you flinched away from the pan, holding your finger. Immediately, you squeezed at the pain, grabbing the pan with your free hand and shaking the hurt hand. You dumped the eggs onto your plate and put the pan in the sink to cool, tears pricking at your eyes. You cursed and Stiles finally took over. He set the plate further away from you, took your hand and ran it under cool water. You blinked angrily at yourself, it was the easiest emotion to reach. A kinetic frustration that his tenderness only fueled. Stiles held one of your hands in both of his.
“This is my fault. I’m sorry.” He shook his head and looked over the small burn. It made the emotion stronger, anger. But it was short-lived and it fell at the feet of sadness.
“Just stop, Stiles. Please.” You cried. His hold on your hand faltered, unsure of how to hold such a confusing love in such determined hands. His face looked tortured at how you’d broken, at how much this contained. You let him keep that physical connection, though. As the cold water ran, you let tears fall and looked down at the pink mark on your finger. “You…You want more than I could give you.”
Regardless of confusion or elaboration, Stiles took a deep breath in, praying you’d mirror him. When you did, through tears, he set his mind on being that person for you. The one who could get to you through tears. You wiped your cheek again, but Stiles took over for that eventually, too. “I plan and I worry, and you plan and you expand. I can’t keep up with that.”
You sniffled. Stiles dipped his head lower, “I can slow down. I can learn, you know that.”
“Stiles, you can’t learn to stop wanting things you really want.”
“I can, though. I can try.’
“You can’t even stop wanting me.”
He bristled, searching for a counterpoint. Your eyes were guilty when they shouldn’t have been, “You want a life with me. Who knows what that’ll become if we let it happen? What if you want kids, Stiles? What if you want something I don’t? If I can’t give that to you, I can’t be with you. What you deserve–”
“I would never ask you to be something you’re not. I would never put you in a place to sacrifice your happiness for something I want. I don’t–” He turned the water off. His face was hardened hearing you speak. “You think I’m going to change my mind on what I want someday. And that what I want will somehow be something you’re not.”
He found a towel to dry your hand, the faint sting of the burn surfacing in the warm air. “I know that ‘cause I know you. And I love you, and I just want to be with you. I’m not gonna increase the price on what it takes to get that because there isn’t one. You never had to go through what we went through for me to love you. It just worked out, okay? And I’ve been hoping this whole time it’ll keep working out, so just let me work it out.”
You were still angry. At yourself. He’d done all this soul-searching, in a place where he was scolding you for shallow, insecure thoughts. To be fair, you both were pretty out of your depths with love. Heights that you couldn’t even surmount, let alone fall from. Stiles held you into his side, kissing your cheek and parting from you to look for the first-aid kit. You stared at him as he applied ointment to the burn. As you let him start to work things out.
The kind of fuckass song they’d play when Stiles and I are having issues on Teen Wolf and he turns the Jeep around the find my car in the rain, yelling at me to pull over so he can kiss me
I have a crazy good fic concept for The Librarian but y’all aren’t deep enough to know the vibes. Someone sound off before I turn it into a Doctor Who thing and everybody’s upset
You go out for supplies for your small camp in a house, further now that everything in the near radius had already been looted. Stiles tags along for protection. He’s swaying as he walks, carelessly meandering, observing the quiet world. You watch him silently, watch his muscles move beneath his shirt—his arms flex within the sleeves. Watch his belt come to rest lower on his hips. Thank God the apocalypse spared him.
Maybe he wasn’t fully spared, per se. At least, he wasn't the same kid you grew up with. He got leaner--yet, stronger--and it was obvious.
“Y’know, this is just like those zombie movies.” A work of art until he opened his mouth. But you didn’t mind; you actually appreciated his white noise in the quiet streets—only quiet in the wake of brutality.
“Oh, yeah?” You questioned, watching his neck strain as he looked up at a building and answered.
“Yeah, survivors walking through the abandoned city. We're the good guys--obviously--and they turn the corner to find a huge horde of zombies. Every person in the city turned, all grotesque and snarling in one, big mob."
"Hm." You didn't even think up an answer. Usually, you'd say something like 'let's hope that doesn't happen' or 'life is stranger than fiction,' something sarcastic or blunt. Lately, you'd been really focused on the little things, and not in a soul-searching way.
Loud voices in the building beside you sent you running on first reflex. Stiles was your second thought, but he quickly surpassed you. His legs pumped, pushing him ahead of you, head tilted down in determination to get away before you were noticed. You huffed, deciding to focus on the same. You quickly aimed yourself for an alley, then a doorway in the alley. Stiles would figure out his own hiding place, you just had to make it there before you could be seen or heard.
With the momentum you'd gained, you knew turning yourself into the doorway wouldn't be smooth--much less stopping. You slipped into the doorway, landing on your hands and knees in a small storage area of the building. You were fine with the fall, you were out of sight and that's all that mattered. Turning you body to sit, you let yourself lean against the wall to breathe. Stiles came careening down the alley, too, heels sliding across the rubble of the adjacent buildings strewn on the ground, and into the storage area. He ended up crawling inside, really. Right up to you.
"They're all over the building--inside the store." Holding his hand over his torso, he swallowed thickly, "Coming this way."
It was information, something like that. Hard to focus on when he'd basically crawled right up on top of you in what little space you had to get himself out of the open, panting and swallowing the air he could manage. His chest heaved as he turned off of you onto his side, head tilting back in exhaustion.
"Man, I haven't ran in a while."
You thought your own breathless wheezes spoke for themselves, so you just breathed in response, staring at him bunched up against you. The air was stale enough as it was, cooler than out there under the sun, and it helped to make any space between you two less intensely unbearable.
"What's your deal?"
Hm? Oh, wait-- "Hm?"
"You're freaking me out. You keep staring, zoning out like you're falling asleep with your eyes open." His breaths were leveling out, his words soft for the moment, "Is there something you're not telling me?"
The look on your face was both resigned and amused. Boy, is there.
His face immediately fell serious, eyes falling to your arms. He took up your left arm, inspecting it. Oh, yeah. Then your right arm. You weren't bitten, infected, but you let him. It's not like you had a better excuse for your behavior. Maybe he'd find a stray scratch from the rough ground you threw yourself across and put you out of your misery. "I'm not bitten."
Stiles sat up, pulling the hem of your jeans up, checking for anything from those sneaky crawling zombies that hid from the sun under cars and trucks. Nothing. His mouth formed a thin line, eyes scanning your face for the truth, or maybe the lie. You weren't sure.
"Lift up your shirt."
You looked away.
"Just let me see."
Obviously, there was no reason to lie. About this at least. So, you sat up and lifted your shirt. He ducked his head to see more in the light, then leaned to check your back. "Okay."
You sighed and your eyes drifted outside. He looked back up at you, eyes expectant. "Well?"
"Don't worry about it. I've just been weird lately."
"Tell me about it."
When you didn't take offense or smack him, his head turned to you. You were already facing him with an occupied look. "See, that's what I'm talking about! You're quiet when you shouldn't be and you're just fixated on something. What the hell are you looking at? Can you see ghosts? Cause I'm pretty sure there's like a thousand here to be expected--"
"I'm looking at you, asshole. Now, be quiet."
"Tell me."
You stared, for the first time that day, intently and with focus out of the door. Pretending that Stiles's face wasn't less than a foot from yours and staring you down. He had said it in such a way that sent your alarm bells ringing. This bothered him enough that he wasn't going to brush it off. Granted, it had been a few days of this and, to be completely honest, weeks before he started to notice it. He didn't care that there were other people--the most dangerous thing at the time--roaming. The likelihood they would even be looking for other people was scarce. He wanted something he now had time to push for. Answers. All the time in the world.
"Look, I have been weird lately. I just--" His face changing from determined to attentive to your words frustrated you further, so you sat up and leaned on the wall away from him. "I think you look good, Stiles. I'm not trying to be weird, I'm just so caught up in everything else and what I need to do and how to do it and I look up and you're--"
Sure enough, you looked up from your rambling and he was...there. Leaning on his arm, eyebrows pinched, head tilted, legs extended--crossed at the ankles, and hair spiked with sweat and dirt. "Don't get cocky, okay? You're distracting, and the stupidest distraction I could possibly fixate on at the moment, so we can just ignore this until I get bored and focus up, alright?"
"You're acting weird because I look good now?"
"Don't make me sound stupid, Stiles. You don't look that different." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, whatever."
You leaned forward to peek out of the doorway. Stiles held you back by your shoulder, "Wait a minute. We gotta talk."
"We just did."
"No. You talked, I listened. My turn."
"I don't need you making this into some big thing, alright--"
"Hey. My turn." You rolled your eyes, very intent on making this a matter of facts. You were distracted, the solution was to let it blow over. Problem solved like a fever or a cold. Stiles sat you back against the wall. "Here I was, thinking you were about to kill me dead in some dingy abandoned alley, hiding a zombie bite from me, and you just tell me I look good?"
summer outside. micro bikinis, big and sexy hair, tanned skin, a perfume that you've designated to be used for only these 3 months. drinks with the girls, beach days, poolside, concerts and bars. and, of course, your boyfriend, jack abbot.
date nights squeezed in. pictures sent in the middle of the night because, for him, it's basically the middle of the day. goodnight texts from him to you when he's clocking in and you're snuggled beneath your sheets. good morning texts from you to him when you're waking up and he's clocking out. elation when you're finally able to get together and you feel his calloused hands on your smooth skin. the two things he says most to you is "you smell so good, baby" and "you look so pretty, baby". the couple of times where you need to drop by the hospital for some reason and everyone looks at you like you're some ethereal being because you're (gratefully) able to get in lots of sun and it's obvious from the inside out.
How it feels to genuinely enjoy the Pitt and not get caught up on every little bad thing a character has done because they’re all complex human beings and none of them are truly evil like everyone in this fandom seems to think
