#stiles angst

[filmjules]

── ★ ˙🔦 ‧₊˚ that was the worst part . . ᵎᵎ

ೃ⁀➷ pairing : post void!stiles x bsf!fem!reader

˗ˏˋ synopsis : the pain from the nogitsune doesn't leave with him and you're left trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart without your best friend. ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𑁥౿ note : feeling angsty... hope u guys enjoy!!☺️ barely proofread, description heavy, miscommunication and arguing, the title is based on the demo of my boy only breaks his favorite toys by taylor swift and i would recommend listening to that if you can because omg it's so sad, maybe a happy part two ?

you knew stiles would never see you like that.

you knew. and yet you still couldn't help but feel it—a terrible, gut-wrenching need for him. all of the small, friendly, moments you could romanticize in your head meant more to you than anything any other guy had done for you.

there were plenty of them to choose from, you had guys lining up to treat you right. but you couldn't get yourself to like them.

you expected to live with this sinking feeling in your stomach every time he was around lydia—or any girl he liked—forever. he had no idea what it did to you, and you wanted it to stay that way.

but of course, of course, the nogitsune would see it. and of course he would use it. because why wouldn't he?

it was perfect.

you were stupid to not realize. the confession, the moment he kissed you, everything after that. it was all fake.

not the dream kind of fake, where you could accept that it was in your head, but the kind where it happened and still none of it was true.

it was a spirit, doing it for the sole purpose of your pain.

after the whole nogitsune and oni thing was over, you thought it would go back to semi-normal. you knew he knew. stiles had said he remembered everything.

everything, every moment he used your feelings to hurt you.

and you knew stiles, he wouldn't completely hate you for feeling like that. he probably wouldn't even be mad—probably not even uncomfortable. you thought he would come back to you no matter what, like he always said he would.

it started to slip your mind for a while—the death of allison, the whole introducing malia to the group, issac leaving—it wasn't your biggest problem.

but a week or two passed, then a few more, and the thought crawled right back in. it stayed at the forefront of your mind, torturing you all the time by never leaving.

you never talked to him.

you spoke—very briefly, in a group setting—but never talked.

you weren't expecting a love confession, or even to talk about any of it. not your feelings, not the things you assume he wouldn't want to relive. but you expected to at least have your best friend back.

every time you saw him it was like another stab in the chest. he stopped instinctively smiling at you but frowning, he avoided eye contact, he avoided sitting or standing beside you.

but he had no issue with malia, who was clearly all over him.

of course, that thought had you feeling insanely guilty. none of anything that was happening to you was her fault.

the day you finally snapped was when stiles deliberately ignored you.

you sat next to him on scott's couch while the others were still in the kitchen. not crowding, not even on the same sofa cushion. there was an entire body space between you, but still it felt charged with unspoken words.

you knew he felt it, your eyes on him, your need to talk.

there were no butterflies, no exciting nerves. only a deep fear of being rejected of friendship by your supposed best friend.

he glanced up to you—quick, too quick—and stood and left. you watched his frame leave the room, leaving his food and his drink on the table, the smell of his cologne still lingering in his absence. the cologne you bought him for his birthday.

silence. your brain was completely empty.

the bathroom door clicked closed, a sign that the moment was already over before it even began.

you hadn't even realized that you were crying. it wasn't loud, it wasn't supposed to be seen. the cold winter air bit at your face, sharp against your nose and ears, but you barely even felt it.

the warmth of your tears on your cheeks didn't register, and the lack of oxygen in your body wasn't enough to snap you back into it. there was a sinking, empty feeling in your gut, and you felt nothing else.

your breaths were shaky, uneven and short. your sobs racked through your trembling body—the cold only worsening the shaking.

when stiles emerged from the bathroom, he expected to see you either still sitting there or back to talking with lydia. when neither were there, he questioned it.

he knew it was wrong of him to avoid you, but every time he looked at you, all he saw was the pain in your eyes when he hurt you. he couldn't do that again. so he ran.

through the window, he could see you standing on the porch, crying. instinctively, he rushed out to comfort you, to hold you like he normally would. he regretted it the moment he saw your face.

your usually warm eyes, full of love and life, looked exactly as they did when the nogitsune hurt you. exactly what he'd been too scared to face.

and it was completely his fault this time. nobody controlled him but himself, and he made you look like that.

you turned around, expecting lydia or even scott. not stiles.

the scoff escaped your throat before you could stop it. "go away, stiles." you hiccuped, "please."

he watched you try to wipe your tears away, only for them to be replaced in an instant. your body language screamed that you were scared—of him, he guessed.

"are you—"

"stop." the finality in your voice caught him off guard, but he still didn't step back into the house. "i don't want to be around you right now. please, for the love of god, go inside, stiles."

your smile was a weak attempt at pretending you were fine.

stiles was always known to be stubborn, but for some reason you thought he might listen. you were wrong. "no, i'm not leaving you out here when you're crying."

"i want you to leave me alone."

"i'm not going to."

"fine. tell everyone i was sick or something, i'm leaving." you said firmly, ready to walk away. you were surprised by how well you held yourself strong against him, that you didn't cave, that your voice only barely cracked.

"no, you stop. what's going on with you?" he asked, his voice gentle along with his barely-there brush against your arm. your body turned to face him against yourself. "talk to me."

any crack in your walls was gone at that. he unknowingly ruined his chances of getting you to open up. you pulled your arm away, away from his touch that you so badly wanted to lean into. "fuck you."

"huh—what?"

"fuck you." you cried, another sob racking through you. his hands rested at your shoulders and you couldn't help but let him. your hands raised to his chest, stabilizing yourself.

"i have waited weeks for you to talk to me, about literally anything. and the one time, i just want to be left alone, you have to come and demand i talk. i don't want to talk, stiles!"

your voice is cracking—the sound of poorly repressed tears evident in your words—and you're hitting his chest. you feel like you're being mean but you can't find it in you to care. you want to hurt him like he's hurting you, even if it's impossible.

stiles was speechless. standing there, raking his fingers through his hair and debating what to do next.

"i'm sorry."

"i hate you."

"no, you don't."

"i wish i never met you."

you know you don't mean it. he knows you don't mean it. but it still lands exactly where you wanted it to.

you didn't know why you said it, honestly. maybe to get him to really leave you alone, maybe because your feelings were bottled up for too long, but you wished you could take it back.

he didn't say more. he just nodded, turned around, and went back in the house. his eyes were brimming with tears that he wiped away, and when everyone asked where you were, he did what you said to and told them you felt sick and went home.

nobody questioned it, but everybody knew it wasn't the truth.

when you got home that evening, you wasted no time in going to your bed to sulk. your body was exhausted from the sobbing and the fighting earlier, but yet your tear ducts weren't done.

and when you were halfway to sleep, the tears finally over and crusted on your cheeks, the framed photo of you and stiles on your nightstand flipped over because you couldn't stand to look at it anymore, your phone lit up with another ding.

9:02 pm

mischief: did you get home safe?

9:05 pm

mischief: look i know you don't want to hear from me, but if you don't answer i will come check for myself

12:16 am

new! mischief: we need to talk

new! mischief: please

new! mischief: i can't lose you

your plan to continue ignoring his messages was interrupted by a very quiet knock on your window. sliding it open, you held your ground and kept him out. "what are you doing here?"

masterlist

part two

[thatonedudeinthecorner]

Happy pride month to these two idk if they’re into each other but I know they’re both gay

[blairenqs]

୨୧ DON’T EVER BECOME A STRANGER ✧ STILES STILINSKI

───── IN WHICH 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 !

𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝓍 𝒻! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝟣.𝟨𝗄 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ♡ ⎯⎯ 𝖠𝖱𝖢𝖧𝒾𝖵𝖤

THE QUIET HURTS. the quiet that came after laughter, the kind of quiet that used to fill every corner of your life. the kind that used to sound like him.

you used to talk to stiles stilinski about everything. every stupid thing in your life. the good days, the bad ones, the ‘whatever’ nights where you would be sitting in his jeep, music playing softly from the radio, and the air between you warm and fuzzy with something you had been too embarrassed to name.

but lately, you stopped.

you don’t stiles text back right away, you find excuses to not hang out with him, you immediately hide when he walks into a room. it’s not because you necessarily want to— it’s because you have to. because you love him, and you can’t stand how much it hurts anymore.

the issue started out insignificant. you told yourself it was a silly crush, that it would fade, like all the other boys you liked in your life.

but it didn’t quite go the way you wanted it to. it grew. it dug its claws in deep. it made a home in your heart, where it’s resided for a while now. —READ MORE!

and every time he looks at lydia— that soft, star struck gaze of affection that says she’s it, you feel something break deep within you.

you used to think you were strong enough to just be his best friend, but it’s like walking on nails now.

every laugh you share together, every secret whispered, and every time his body touches yours, it’s excruciatingly painful.

which brings you to your current predicament— you pull away. you convince yourself it’s better this way, he’ll be fine. he has scott, lydia, and the rest of your friends. he doesn’t need you, he’ll be perfectly fine without you!

you on the other hand, need space. space to get yourself to stop loving him.

except space doesn’t help like you thought it would. it only makes it worse.

now, because you don’t see him every day, you begin to miss him so much it physically aches in your chest.

you lie awake at night staring at the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling, trying not to think about the way he used to make you laugh until you were rasping for air, or how he would always find an excuse to drive you home, or how his voice used to sound when he said your name, softer and gentler than it had any right to be said.

it’s been weeks since you two have spoken. long enough that even scott has stopped asking if you’re doing okay.

you’re half asleep, thoughts finally drifting away when something clacks against your window.

you open your eyes immediately— freezing in fear, it’s way past midnight.

after a minute of silence, you think the lack of sleep has you hearing things, so you lay your head back onto your cushiony pillow until another loud clack hits the glass.

you push off your blanket and slowly walk towards your window, your body heavy with confusion and half asleep state that makes everything feel like your dreaming. when you pull your curtaina open, you see him.

stiles.

standing in the dark, glowing in the moonshine in his favourite hoodie and pajama pants, with a handful of pebbles in his right hand and a saddened expression painted on his face that makes your chest tighten.

he looks like maybe he hasn’t been sleeping well either.

you unlock your window, pushing it open, the chilly midnight air hitting your face. “stiles, what the hell are you doing?” you whisper, your voice raspy from the half slumber.

he grins a little, but it doesn’t look real. “hey.”

“‘hey?’ are you serious? it’s almost one in the morning!” you whisper shout.

“i know,” he replies. “i missed you.”

you blink, because you weren’t prepared for that. anything but that. “you… what?”

“i missed you.” he repeats, as if it were common sense, like it’s a thought that’s been weighing on his heart for far too long. “you’ve just been gone. and i don’t know what i did to make you so angry with me, but i hate it. i hate not being able to talk to you.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. you should tell him to go back home. you should lock the window and crawl back into your bed and pretend none of this happened, but the sound of his familiar voice breaks something in you.

you sigh in defeat. “come up before someone sees you.”

he grins, excited but timid, and within seconds he’s climbing up the side of your house, the familiar dance he’s perfected over the years with being your best friend.

he stumbles through the window, breathless, his hair a mess, sticking up in different directions and suddenly he’s standing there in front of you, in your room, in your space, and it feels like everything you’ve been attempting to hold back is right there with him.

“hi,” he whispers, finally catching his breath.

“hi,” your fingers twitch beside you.

he looks around, at your desk cluttered with books, the picture frame of you and your friends, the one with him.

his eyes finally meet yours. “this feels weird,” he breaks. “not talking to you. you’re my best friend, and i don’t like it.” you cross your arms with the same ache you’ve been pushing away. “maybe that’s kind of the point, stiles.”

his brow furrows in confusion. “the point?”

you let out a small laugh in disbelief at how clueless he is. “god, you can’t be this dense.”

he blinks, growing more confused by the second. “what?”

“you don’t get it, do you?” your voice breaks a little, the exhaustion and heartbreak clawing at your chest. “i can’t be near you, stiles. i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay watching you fall in love with someone else.”

his jaw slacks open, but no words comes out.

you keep going because if you stop now, you’ll never get the truth out. “every time you talk about lydia, it’s like someone’s stomping on my heart repeatedly. i really tried to ignore it, i tried to just… be your best friend like you wanted— but i can’t. because i love you, okay? i love you, and it hurts too much to be with you.”

the silence after feels like hours as he stands there.

stiles just stares at you. there’s glimpses of shock, disbelief, and something you don’t know, and for a second, you think you’ve ruined everything you two have built over the years.

then he steps closer.

you freeze when his hand comes up to your face, gently cradling your cheek. “then you should know,” he says softly, voice whispering, “that i love you too.”

the world stops. “you… what?”

he gives a small laugh in disbelief. “i thought you knew. i thought it was so obvious— god, i’m such an idiot.”

you shake your head, the tears you’ve been holding back finally releasing. “you loved lydia.”

“i did,” he says. “or at least i thought i did. but it wasn’t like you and me. it wasn’t this—” he gestures between your bodies. “this thing you and me have that has been here for as long as i’ve known you.”

he steps closer until you can feel the warmth of his body radiating off him. “i missed you so much it made drove me crazy. i couldn’t sleep. i couldn’t—” his voice falters. “you’re not just my best friend. you’re everything to me.”

something in you breaks, all that distance, all that pretending, it disappears under the weight of his words.

he leans in, slow enough for you to stop him, but you don’t. you simply cannot, when he kisses you, it’s soft, slow, unrushed.

it’s not desperate and hungry, it’s simply just real. his lips are warm against yours, trembling nervously, and it feels like coming home after years of being away.

when he finally pulls away, his forehead resting against yours. his breath ghosts over your lips.

“you really didn’t know?” he whispers, his voice dripping with disbelief as he laughs.

you shake your head, still shocked by the sudden revelation “no. i thought you’d never feel the same way.”

his thumb wipes at the remnants of your tears away. “guess we were both idiots.”

you giggle softly in reply. “i guess so.”

he takes your hand, fingers intertwining with yours like they were always meant to. “don’t ever do that again,” he says quietly. “don’t disappear. don’t become a stranger.”

you meet his gaze, those eyes that have always been honest, carrying his emotions out in the open, and you nod. “i won’t.”

he smiles, that soft, adorable smile that makes your heart ache. “good.”

then he kisses you again, deeper this time around, his hand cradling the back of your neck, his other still holding yours. the night is silent. it’s yours.

when you finally pull back, you don’t need to say anything. you just rest your head against his chest, breathing him in, the scent of his hoodie, the faint smell of midnight rain in his hair.

for the first time in weeks, you finally feel calm. you feel at peace. you feel whole.

because stiles here.

because you aren’t best friends anymore.

because love doesn’t have to be grand, loud or perfect.

sometimes it’s just this unexpected feeling that sneaks up on you and changes the whole direction of life.

stiles presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “i don’t care what happens,” he whispers. “i’m not letting you fade away from me again.”

you close your eyes, smiling against his chest. “i promise i won’t.”

you stay wrapped in each other for the remainder of the night, things may be messy, you two may be too sleep deprived to actually process what’s going on, but it’s still perfect.

𝖱𝖤𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖦𝖲 𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖱𝖤𝖢𝖨𝖠𝖳𝖤𝖣 ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

© blairenqs 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

✧ 𝑓. fun fact stiles was one of my first real celebrity crushes 😜 also i’ve recently reread the bridgerton books and now i’m in such a good olden times romance book mood but i legit don’t know what to read if u have any recs plz help a girl out ! 🥲 also this was inspired by new years day by ts if u didn’t notice 🥸

𓂃ㅤ 𝓉𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ୨୧ @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @lcvealwayss @viennasolace ♡ thank you so much for joining !

[mysticallystilinski]

“I STILL SAY GOODNIGHT” part two

based off the song by tate mcrae

a stiles stilinski x fem!reader fic

— ౨ৎ masterlist + part one ✮⋆˙. content warnings: bullying?? ꩜ baddie reader ꩜ again!! toxic stiles ꩜ hints of void peaking through ꩜ stiles never changes sadly lav speaks… DON’T KILL ME THIS IS SO SHORT! but the song honestly repeated the same chorus from part 1 and i couldn’t think of a better way to end it than a cliffhanger + leaving the rest to your imagination! (unless part 3?.. maybe not a continuation with the song but a series) luv u guys <3

i always tried to impress you. got so dressed up and no you never seemed to care

the room was a mix of smoke, and sticky liquor lining the floor. you had walked into one of beacon hills many parties wearing a skin tight dress, and heals that could make you touch the ceiling.

stiles was across the room. he was going to notice you, right? i mean — you were wearing his favorite dress, a dark purple with a v-neck that showed off much cleavage.

lydia saw you start to walk in stiles direction before she suddenly stood in front of you. “nuh-uh, babe what do you think you’re doing” she was blunt and knew the situation that was about to take place if you had talked to stiles.

“i’m just grabbing a drink”

your teeth practically hurt from the lie you seethed through them. “i see that look, you’re about to talk to stiles and that is not happening tonight”

yeah right, like she could stop you from talking to stiles. her small figure pushed you back a little until you bumped into the liquor table. “now you see, this is what we’re focused on tonight. getting as fucked up as possible”

you knew she had a point, it was a good idea to take the focus off of stiles and put it onto some other random guy. specifically one that was tall, had brown messy hair, and was the most sarcastic person you’ve ever met.

stop describing stiles. lord why can’t i forget this man.

-

shots had been poured, seltzers taken from the fridge had been downed, and a water bottle filled with malibu was currently in your hand when you two locked eyes.

he looked back to the girl as if he had never noticed you. her eyes fluttered as you could see stiles hand wrap around her waist. it wasn’t malia, it just seemed to be another girl from a different school.

your eyes couldn’t pull away from stiles, it was almost as if he was the most beautiful sight in the world.

does he think this way about me still?

with your eyes starting to water, you walked through the crowds of people and up the stairs directly to the first open door. shutting and locking it, your slid your back onto the door, and dropped to the floor.

what the fuck

with your phone in your hand, you quickly called scott “how the fuck didn’t he notice me? i mean, i think he did — i swear he laid eyes on me.” your voice was distraught and slurring in a drunk manner. you wouldn’t remember anything in the morning, that was for sure.

the line went silent

you could almost make out laughing in the background, you swear you heard it.

“check your contact, it’s not scott”

the voice was too familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint the exact person. you pulled the phone away from your ear, eyes blurry from the tears welt in your eyes. pushing away the mascara, your vision cleared up.

baby? oh my god, it’s stiles.

your ridiculous expectations, lack of validations

the phone went silent, you couldn’t tell if he knew that you knew it was him, or if the call had disconnected.

“hello?” some snickers came from the other line. without thinking, you hung up. you pushed yourself up from off the ground. clearly still piss-drunk, you unlocked the door and made your way downstairs to find stiles.

surpisingly, you decently made your way down the stairs until the last step, slightly slipping you gripped onto the banister then made your way to find stiles.

he was right there, in the corner with the same girl and a few of his other dick friends from a different school. his eyes were black, almost demonic but slightly lowered.

you were there when he was possessed by the nogitsune, but there was no way it was back again.

you didn’t think with your head and the alcohol was confusing your brain. a few strides later and stiles was 2 feet away, his eyes still lingering on his phone with an almost empty gaze.

“sti..” the girl had slightly nudged him to look up at you. his eyes met yours and you could already tell this wasn’t the stiles you knew.

but all you were focused on was the nickname she gave him, and how it was what you called him — what you only called him and no one else did.

“oh, so now you’re calling him sti. get a grip he doesn’t like you, just another one of his whores,” oops, that slipped out.

you definitely did not mean to say that, but it was too late and his arm unwrapped from her body.

“i don’t know why you’re so obsessed with what i’m constantly doing, just get a life it’s pathetic”

ouch — that one definitely hurt. but you were better than this, stronger than this. he couldn’t hurt you.

“thanks stiles, that’s all the validation i needed”

that’s it, that’s all you’re gonna say? come on — think of something better.

“you know what, on second thought..”

it just slipped, you couldn’t control it. one second your drink was in your hand, the next it was spilled all over the crotch area of his pants. gasps came from amongst the crowd, and his friends eyes pierced onto you.

he grabbed your wrist and that’s when you knew it. the cold touch and the tight grip were enough the give it away. this wasn’t stiles, how didn’t you notice quicker?

yes — he was hanging out with different people, acting distant with the pack, etc.. scott couldn’t get ahold of him, he ghosted lydia, and derek was shunned.

but to have void inside his body once again was a fear you hadn’t quite dealt with.

[icecoldvenipuncture]

For as long as you’ve known Stiles, sleep has always brought a minefield of challenges for him. Before you lived with him, he would sleep over at your apartment often and go through recurring bouts of insomnia that would last for days, sometimes weeks. You can still remember the look he had on his face when you’d wake up for work and find that sleep had evaded him for yet another night.

He would be sat up against the headboard of your bed, more closely resembling a posed corpse than a living man. His eyes were glassy and blank, transfixed on a spot far ahead of him despite being lolled out of focus. The skin underneath his eyes was purple and sunken in and the whites of them were streaked with red marks, making them thoroughly bloodshot. His jaw was clenched and his breathing was slow, the rise and fall of his chest being the only movement rustling his otherwise still frame.

In these periods of sleep-deprived madness, Stiles would try almost anything to get some relief. Melatonin gummies, vigorous exercise, copious amounts of alcohol, various meditation programs, every form of weed he could get his hands on, white noise, overdoses of Nyquil; the list goes on. You remember that time in your life with Stiles as being quietly terrifying, as you watched your boyfriend stumble through his days with the affect of a zombie, downing any sedative he could reach for without incurring felony drug possession charges or a premature death.

And when rest finally came, it would leave Stiles out of commission for a whole day at least. On several occasions you had to contact his boss on his behalf to call him out of work after trying unsuccessfully to wake him from his twelfth consecutive hour of unconsciousness. You never understood the phrase “dead asleep” until you witnessed these prolonged bouts of stupor. You used to sit next to him, your eyes transfixed on the repetitive movement of his lungs inflating and deflating beneath his rib cage, scared that if you looked away for even one moment his breathing might slow to a halt.

This ordeal was made even worse by the fact that Stiles barely remembers those days, leaving you to be the sole witness to his insomniatic descent into lunacy.

But the sleep deprivation doesn’t hold a candle to the damage the night terrors have done. You’ve never heard anybody scream the way Stiles does when he has one. His voice contorts to an impossibly high pitch as his throat wears itself ragged from its efforts. It crushes you everytime you hear that familiar pitch pierce through the silence of night, as you’ve heartbreakingly become accustomed to the sounds of your lover in agony.

He’s had night terrors that have caused him to shove you clean off the bed with his frantic writhing. He’s also had ones that have caused him to sob uncontrollably for what felt like hours, where you just held his shaking body and couldn’t help but break down with him.

They’re not just bad dreams, they’re hellscapes, made up of past traumas that are very real and situations that are entirely imagined, leaving Stiles reeling in the inbetween of wake and sleep. In those moments, neither the world ending nor hell opening up and swallowing him whole would be enough to wake him, as he slips deeper and deeper into the torment created by his own mind.

Tonight, the sound of rustling sheets and barely audible whimpers rouse you from your REM cycle gradually, like the subtle rocking of a ship. You blink your groggy eyes slowly and try to find the source of the noise through the heavy grip of fatigue you try valiantly to shake yourself from.

Stiles is laying flat on his back, deep within a restless sleep he can’t seem to awaken from. His hair is flattened and sticking to his pale face that gleams with sweat, illuminated only by your phone on the nightstand that you hastily click on to check the time; 02:37AM. His shaking hands are gripping the bed sheets so hard that his knuckles would appear white if enough light was on for you to see them. Every muscle in his body is tense as taut wire and spasming periodically in short, rigid bursts. He seems entirely unaware of your presence, muttering under his breath in a voice fraught with panic that’s pleading for his life to some unseen force. Your breath hitches as the familiar ache rumbles deep within your chest once you make the realization.

He’s having a night terror.

You sit up with a start and lean over to pull the cord on your bedside lamp, immediately bathing the room in clear, yellow-tinted light. Stiles’s skin is sallow and moist with sweat, and every inch of his body is trembling uncontrollably. You seat yourself at the head of the bed with your knees bowing out leaving a large space between your legs. With a significant amount of exerted effort needed to overpower his tremors and rigor mortis-like rigidity, you manage to position Stiles’ head on your stomach and frame his torso with both of your legs, keeping him locked in place for the time being.

For the next half hour, you do the only things you know how to do in these situations. You place your hands on either side of his face and draw small circles with your thumbs on his cheeks, run your shaking fingers through his hair, grab one of his hands and bring it to your mouth, peppering it with gentle kisses, wipe the tears from his tightly-closed eyes, and squeeze your legs together around him, all in an effort to get him to feel that you’re there.

You speak to him in a quivering whisper, letting abstract affirmations fall from your lips in the most soothing tone you can muster through your own building anxiety.

“I love you…I’m here for you…They can’t hurt you…I’m right here…You’re so strong…I’m not going anywhere…You’re alright, I promise…I love you, Mieczysław…”

When the dark clouds over Stiles’ mind clears to make way for the light in the room and the warmth of your presence, he breathes a shaky sigh of relief, beyond grateful to be firmly planted in his blissful reality once more. He opens his eyes with a flutter and stares up at you with a fondness so all-encompassing it threatens to shatter him from its sheer intensity.

You curl the name he once thought was too complicated to ever be pronounced correctly, let alone willingly used over his much less intricate nickname, around assurance after assurance, your voice forming its multiple syllables as easily as you form your next breath.

“Mieczysław, I’m here…I’m not going anywhere, Mieczysław, I promise…I love you, Mieczysław,”

repost from my old blog strawberryglock. originally posted feb '25

[gaymerjekyll]

Autistic Character Month: Day 14 - The Thing About Mashed Potatoes

@autistic-character-month prompt: Food

“Who doesn’t like mashed potatoes?” she asks more to the table than Stiles. “He’s just a picky eater,” is Jackson’s innocent reply. Only it doesn’t feel innocent. And Stiles is done with it. "Okay." He sets his fork down. He's been here before. He knows how this goes. "Here's the thing about mashed potatoes, specifically, as a category that is distinct from being picky about them, which I am not."

He remembers the first Thanksgiving at his babica's after his mom died. He's twelve, and someone passes the bowl. He shakes his head and passes it on again.

Unprompted, he tells the table, because he knows the question is coming, "I don't like how they taste."

He's not sure that's true, but it's the shape of the sentence other people use. It's the explanation that makes sense in other people's mouths, so he tries it on. Flavor is a real reason. Flavor is a reason people understand.

Only it seems mashed potatoes are universally loved. So no one understands why he doesn’t like the flavor.

And no, Stiles knows it’s not exactly right but it's close enough to get the bowl to keep moving, so he uses it for years.

He doesn’t really care when he’s labeled a picky eater. At first.

Read on AO3

[operating in AuDHD burnout. If you enjoyed this, you may leave an offering]

[scribeoffate]

hi, do you think you could list the names of the Scott x Void!Stiles fics you rec'd pls?? when i copy the links into my browser they won't come up for some reason :p

Hopefully I have enough time!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Self Rec

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[semicolonsspace]

Losing someone

I may have forgotten to post this...for like a month...

Y/n learns that her father died and Stiles comforts her in the hall.

Y/n stares at her phone in class, tears beginning to stream down her face. She had just gotten the worst news she could possibly get in Coach's class. A text from Melissa saying that her father didn't make it. He had been struggling with cancer for 9 months and had finally left the place you call Earth.

"Y/n, are you okay? Do you need a minute?" Coach asks. He knew from previous conversations what was wrong with her. Her being one of her favorite students and she was upset he dismissed her. She attempts to say thank you, but being choked up in her tears she runs out of class. She collapses onto the floor, caressing herself to soothe her.

The quiet ambiance of the hallway caused her to cry harder, her arms holding her knees even tighter. Someone rubs her back, choking on her tears in fear. "C'mere, honey," the voice said. The soft voice belonged to Stiles, the person whom she needed the most at the moment. He calmed her, rubbing senseless circles into the heart of her back. "He's gone, Sti. I don't have anyone," Y/n sobs. Stikes declines her statement. "You have me... You have Scott, You have all of us."

That was true. She did have them. No matter what had happened they were always there. She tripped, Stiles was there, she needed to get picked up Stiles was there, and if it wasn't Stiles it was someone else in the pack. Mostly Stiles, she noticed it, the reason why she could be so vulnerable with him, she felt drawn to him. When in distress and in joy.

Y/n nods into his chest, taking him in. His smell was of his cologne and a little of sweat from the heat of the school. She didn't mind it, finding his scent rather comforting.

His soft warm hand pets her hair, something that she loves when he does so. She leans into his hands, his chest rumbling with a deep humorous chuckle. "When we get let out, the pack and I are all going to hang out- We're going to have fun and let loose, just for you." She didn't want to be at school and she certainly didn't want to be with the group. Not that she hated them, she didn't feel like she was ready to be vulnerable with more than one in a setting.

Y/n hums, tears slowing as his warmth consumes her with comfort. "I just want you," Y/n admits.

"Okay- Then it will just be us, and we can watch some Star Wars or some stupid comedy show, or we could talk about worthless stuff, or just cuddle," Stiles suggests, stopping his rambles short. She looks up at him, her eyes red with tears. "Could we cuddle and watch Star Wars?"

"Trust me if we watch anything, cuddling will be happening, doll," Stiles whispers softly. A small smile was on his face, making her forget about what happened suddenly to her. "Good."