Ten Minutes

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

Stiles: You can do it Scott!

Stiles: But if you can't, at least your death will be quick, painless, and really cool to watch.

Thank you so much! I'm so glad that my writing has this effect, and that feeling of being seen was my goal! So many people are unaware of how much harder simple tasks can be when suffering from a chronic illness; it breaks my heart. Thank you again for this! My day is made! 💜

Rules on request??

Can you do one where Stiles finds out his girlfriend has a chronic illness like lupus or something and he adjust his life to be there every step for her. Even the time in the hospital he stays and sleeps in the bed with her holding her. He always seemed like he would be the golden retriever type 🩷 and she doesn’t or does know about the pack you choose

This is literally the sweetest request ever and so on brand for him! I decided to "give" her something else because I don't know anything about lupus. I am definitely not a medical expert of any kind and I do not claim to be, but I have a couple family members who have the chronic illness I chose, so I am slightly familiar with it. Everyone should always do their own research though! What I wrote mostly focuses on the events before finding out, but I can continue this and go into more detail on what happens afterwards if people would like me to. Also, I apologize, but the last third, give or take is kind of rushed. I hope you like it though! Thank you for the request!

Also, I will take any request with a grain of salt and tweak things if I need or want to. But I'm open to anything!

Battle Together

Word count: 1,658

His heart was racing and falling at the same time. There was no way this was actually happening, right? Not to her.  

His hands shook as he gripped his phone to his ear. Focusing on Scott’s voice was getting increasingly more difficult as he tried not to spiral. Why didn’t her dad tell him? Why wasn’t he with her right then, holding her hand and sweeping away her worries. Shit, he was so worried, and Scott clearly didn’t know all of what was actually going on.  

“Scott, wait, what are you saying?”  

“She’s here. In the hospital. All my mom told me was that she passed out and now they’re doing brain scans.” His friend was plainly shaken up too. 

Brain scans? Stiles felt sick. Everything he witnessed his mother go through when he was a little boy crashed into him all over again. What if this was the same thing? What if she had what his mom had? What if- 

“I’m on my way.” 

Stiles broke nearly every traffic law in existence as he raced to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, to his beloved girlfriend. He needed to get there as fast as possible; he needed to know what was going on. He absolutely despised being out of the loop. 

Frantically sprinting into the building and nearly running into not one, but two nurses who were going home for the night, he arrived at the front desk. But where the hell was Melissa? 

His feet almost left the floor when the sweet voice broke through his rapid breathing, saying, “Oh good, you’re here. Come with me.” 

Stiles turned to look at the curly-haired, soft-eyed woman. He couldn’t help that his voice trembled as soon as he opened his mouth. “What’s going on? Is she ok? Did something happen to her? Have they found anything yet? Why did-” 

“Stiles.” Melissa placed her aged hands on his shoulders in an attempt to ground him. “Breathe. Everything’s going to be fine. She’s going to be fine.” 

“Do you really know that...?” he asked hesitantly. 

She paused for a moment, understandably. There was no way to know anything for sure. Not yet, at least. 

“Let’s just go see her for now, ok?” 

He nodded and let her guide him to his girlfriend’s room. As they walked, Ms. McCall told him everything she knew. She explained that the poor girl had passed out in the kitchen while helping her dad prepare dinner, banging her head on the corner of the granite countertop and burning her forearm with spilled gravy in the process. Her father practically carried her to the car as soon as she hazily woke up and brought her in to the hospital. Her second-degree burn was cleaned and treated before the doctor decided to check for a concussion. Hearing the true explanation for the CT scan relatively eased Stiles’ nerves, but there was still so much to decipher. He needed to see her, preferably immediately. 

They reached the door of the room she was checked into when they moved her from the ER. However, Melissa did not reach for the handle, causing Stiles to give her a look of curiosity. 

“Stiles,” she started, exhaling a deep breath, “I want you to be prepared for whatever this is.” 

His curiosity deepened and twisted as the spires of concern within him sharpened and stood taller. “Wha- what does that mean?” 

“It means that, sometimes, something as small as passing out isn’t always as small as it seems...”  

The woman’s eyes were filled with a specific type of pain, one that Stiles was familiar with, but hadn’t seen in her for years. Since he was so young when his mother was sick, he never truly realized how much agony Melissa experienced as she watched a dear friend (and that friend’s family) of hers suffer. It brought her a horrible aching sensation to see the damage a singular disease could inflict on three good, genuine people, and not be able to do something significant to help. That was her job – to help. But there was really nothing she or anyone was capable of to improve the situation.  

Stiles swallowed in a faulty attempt to soothe his suddenly dry throat. He simply nodded, and in return, the sweet nurse gave him an empathetic smile. Of course, she didn’t want to scare him with what she said, but she had given bad news too many times that week. 

“Are you ready?” 

He sighed, trying to take her advice and finding it incredibly arduous. “Yeah, I think so.” 

As they quietly entered, Stiles’ eyes softened upon seeing the girl who stole his heart sitting up on the hospital bed. She looked incredibly tired, but watching her mouth curve upwards when her gaze met his made him feel like the luckiest man alive. Not because of the situation, obviously, but because that cute little smile was for him.  

“Hey, stranger.” Her raspy voice was surprisingly gleeful, all things considered. Perhaps Stiles just had that effect on her. 

“Hey,” he chuckled. “You feeling ok?” 

She simply shrugged and glanced at her father who was standing next to the bed.  

Begrudgingly, the man cleared his throat and excused himself from the room.  He supposed that giving the lovebirds no more than a couple minutes wouldn’t result in an utter catastrophe, even when Stiles is one of the pair in question, who hastily sat down on the edge of the bed as soon as the door clicked closed.  

“Are you sure you’re ok? Do you need me to get you anything? What can I do?” He took her hands into his. 

Her smile grew as she saw the love and devotion he had for her, not to mention the worry. She didn’t want him to stress himself out, but she had to admit that those wide eyes were adorable.  

“I’m fine, I swear. Just... stay with me for a while?” she said, her voice turning bashful. 

“Absolutely. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Got that?” His hands squeezed hers as he leaned forward. 

“Yeah,” she nodded, her face approaching his, “I got that.” 

As if he had a sixth sense for his daughter’s desires, the man swiftly entered the room again, causing both of the teens’ head to lurch backwards. Stiles tried to be sly as he slowly and awkwardly pulled his hands away and stood from the bed, backing away cautiously. A doctor stood in the doorway, along with Melissa. 

“Dr. Vandenberg wants to run a few more tests while we wait for the CT scan results, just in case it’s not a concussion.” Her father began pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I have some things I need to do for work, but I’ll be back in the morning, alright? Is that ok with you?’  

The information that was sprung on her felt like a spear piercing her spine and sending a poison of anxiety rushing through her bloodstream. All she could do was nod. There was no other option, anyway.  

He nodded back at her before his eyes locked onto Stiles. “You’re staying with her.” 

It was more of a command than anything, but the boy would never object to that regardless of whose mouth those words left.  

“Yes, sir.”  

Stiles was by her side for as many tests as he was permitted. He could tell that this was more frightening for her than she was divulging; it was harrowing. Therefore, he desperately desired to bring her some semblance of comfort. And he succeeded, to a degree. 

Afterwards, their time together was briefly ceased while he picked up the closest thing to a couple of “real” burgers Beacon Hills could provide. They contentedly ate their late dinner together, squished against one another once she made room for him next to her. He kissed away the condiment that was smeared on the corner of her mouth, making her giggle.  

Additionally, he held her close and kept his eyes glued to her form, making sure she was snuggly falling asleep without interruption. Without realizing it, he, too, was swept away into a slumber. Their trepidations momentarily fizzled and were replaced by fantasy-filled dreams, and morning rolled in fast. 

When her father returned, the doctor explained the various test results they received. Stiles’ girlfriend was officially diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), a chronic illness which frequently inflicts dizziness and fainting due to a lower blood volume returning to the heart. It can be managed with an increased intake of salt and water, but will be part of her for the rest of her life.  

Stiles felt a surge of anger at the news – there was nothing he could do to make this nuisance of a disease go away and his girlfriend did nothing to deserve it. However, he swore to himself that he would stay by her side, hold her hand, and keep her safe whenever her body got the best of her.  

He kept his promise throughout the rest of school, their engagement after he proposed, and their marriage. He did whatever he could to help, whether necessary or not. He always went the extra mile for her, even though it wasn’t an illness that would debilitate her from living her life. However, it was definitely inconvenient and dangerous at times. 

There was an instance in which she passed out while driving on the freeway, leaving her car to drift into the guard rails. Thankfully, there was very little traffic, so no one else got hurt. However, she was back in the hospital with a few minor injuries and her husband (for every minute of the stay).  

This battle was never fought alone, and Stiles had a unique talent for making her feel cared for without any semblance of being coddled. He knew how admirably strong she was and exactly when she needed him to step in and hold her. POTS would not break her, nor their bond.  

This is literally my life right now, oh my gosh. I've never seen anything so relatable

hee hee hee my hottie

making stiles and stuart be twins and share a girlfriend is kinda weird and kinky don't ya think?? like they wouldn't do that irl

Well, it's a good thing that we both have freewill, right? I get to write whatever I want and you get to read whatever you want 💜

A little blurb about the Stiles and Stuart twins trope because I can't stop thinking about their girlfriend studying with them...

Study Buddies

Word count: 660

She was perched between them on the couch with a textbook and notebook in her lap, and a pencil being anxiously twirled by her fingers in her hand. When she asked the t wo most intelligent people she knew to help her with her homework, this was not what she was expecting to happen. However, 'asked' is an understatement - she basically had to beg. Their drifting gazes and hungry eyes were clear evidence of how few of her words were actually being registered. Though, eventually, they snapped out of it and agreed to help her, only after she promised to let them have their fun once they finished.

So, there they were, Stiles, Stuart, and their girlfriend, as the boys', um, agitation grew. They were horny high schoolers, what did she expect? Well, focus, for one. And maybe just a little bit of tranquility.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stuart started.

"What do you mean?" Stiles said, looking up from their girlfriend's paper.

"I mean what the hell are you doing? That's wrong." Stuart pointed at the problem in her notebook that his twin was solving.

"What? No, it's not."

"Yes, it is, Stiles. Are you blind?"

"Nope. You're the one with glasses. Remember, dumbass?"

"I'm not the dumbass here since you're doing this wrong, dumbass."

The poor girl sighed and closed her eyes. Unfortunately, this wasn't an unusual occurrence, but that didn't make it any more pleasant to endure.

"Oh my god, Stuart, you're such a know-it-all. Well, guess what, ass wipe? You don't know it all."

"And you do?" Stuart retorted mockingly.

"More than you, at least."

"Then why are you doing this wrong?"

Stiles voice jumped in volume, "I'm not fucking doing it wrong! Holy shit!"

And Stuart's did the same in return. "Fine! Don't get all pissy at me when she fails her test next week then!"

Hearing Stuart depart from his usual low pitch was a little startling for the girl right next to him. She couldn't take it anymore. "Oh my gosh, will you guys stop?" she exclaimed, looking between the two of them with incredulity.

Their eyes flicked to hers, then returned to each other's for more glaring.

"I asked you guys for help, not a catfight," she continued.

The twins could see the frustration and stress on her face as she looked down at the stupid textbook in defeat, making their hearts quickly melt and guilt rise in their stomachs.

As if it was twin telepathy, they both reached their hand out and placed them on top of her thighs, one for each of them. Touch was one of the boys' favorite and most effective ways to console their girl - it was her weakness.

"Hey. I'm sorry," Stiles spoke softly.

"Yeah. I'm sorry too,"added Stuart.

She looked at both of them again, and seeing the sincerity in their maple eyes, she sighed and relaxed her shoulders. "It's fine... I'm just stressed out about this stupid assignment because I know that all of this will be on the test, and I have no idea what I'm doing, and you two are only making everything even more-"

"Ok, ok, it's ok," Stiles said, interrupting her anxious rambling.

"We're gonna help you now. Like, seriously. Don't worry." Stuart accepted the agreeing nod Stiles gave him.

She smiled and gave each of them a loving kiss, which they gladly returned. Damn, were they whipped.

By the end of the night, the twins' girlfriend felt more comfortable with the heavy load of information, and Stiles and Stuart got to release their loads, as she promised. Everyone was finally peaceful.

On the way back from the bathroom after cleaning up, Stiles glanced at the notebook one more time. He suddenly exclaimed, "Oh my god, I was wrong!"

"I told you." Stuart smirked, holding the tired girl close to him.

"Will you shut up-"

She dropped her head to Stuart's shoulder, groaning, "Guys. For fuck's sake, stop."

The other day, my sister made fun of me for liking Tootsie rolls. This is how we found out that all of the guys I've liked are easily comparable to them. Tootsie rolls are my type. How do I go on from this epiphany, I-

Pen

Word count: 632

(This is definitely based on Jess and Lane in class from Gilmore Girls, but not exactly the same. Season 2, episode 19 for anyone who's wondering :))

Stiles, late as always, comes stumbling into his first period classroom, practically falling into his seat, which is conveniently right behind his girlfriend's. He looks around at the students next to him in confusion, not having a clue what they are working on until the teacher not-so-kindly slams the test on his desk. His eyes widen as he flips through the many pages and scans the countless questions. He sighs and reaches into his backpack, loudly rummaging around before freezing. He removes his hand and taps on his girlfriend's shoulder. Stiles' girlfriend, trying her best to focus on the test she surprisingly tried to study for the night before, ignores the obnoxious tapping and furrows her brows.

With a huff of frustration, Stiles whispers her name, and when he gets no response, he whispers it more harshly.

Clearly bugged, she whispers back, "What?"

Stiles leans over his desk, hoping that she won't keep ignoring the urgency in his voice if he's closer to her ear. "Give me a pencil."

"I don't have another one," she mutters.

His eyes narrow at the back of her head, "Then give me a pen."

"We only have like twenty minutes left."

He enunciates excessively due to his irritation, "Then give me the answers."

She sighs and shakes her head before responding quietly, "There's a pen in my bag."

Stiles glances at her backpack on the floor. "I can't go through your bag"

"Yes, you can"

He speaks frankly, his hushed tone slipping away from him, "My mother would crawl out of her grave and barbarically kill me if she knew I did something so immorally against her teachings." Receiving an aggressive shush from the teacher, he ducks his head down.

She rolls her eyes and successfully maintains her whisper, "You've done far worse and survived this long." Begrudgingly, she fishes out a pen from her bag and reaches behind her to hand it to him. "Just take it and shut up."

Smiling victoriously, "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Stiles' eyes linger on the back of her head before looking down at the test and sighing. He races through it, barely reading any of the words printed on the pages. By some miracle, he finishes in time despite guessing on pretty much all of it.

As the couple walk down the hallway after class, Stiles' girlfriend gives him an impressed look while speaking teasingly, "You really finished the whole thing in less than twenty minutes?"

Stiles shrugs and uses a cocky tone, "Oh, yeah. Anyone with at least two brain cells could. I guess your singular brain cell is just inferior to my three."

She laughs lightly, nudging him with his elbow. "Makes perfect sense. So, wait, why were you so late?"

He sighs as he answers, "There may have been a minor issue with a certain vehicle..."

"I feel like this Jeep is doing you more harm than good-"

He quickly interrupts her, knowing what she's insinuating and speaking firmly, "Absolutely not. No. Never."

She looks at him with a hint of sympathy, "I'm not telling you to do anything, I'm just making an observation."

Stiles stops in front of his locker and faces her. "The only thing you get to observe is me fucking your brains out in my beautiful Jeep after school," he pauses, realizing what words just came out of his mouth. His face turns slightly red but he decides to take a leap of faith and roll with it, his voice turning softer and more sincere, "Please?"

His girlfriend smiles and looks around to make sure no one heard his blunt words. "Return my pen to me after the last period and you have a deal."

Stiles' face lights up and he makes a firm fist, elated by his success.

Ok so when you said that you were throwing a brick, I didn't realize it was at my fucking heart! What the hell was that? Why must you always make me so emotional 😔

TRUTHS || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Stiles in the golden retriever, the guy who's always there for you, the one who'd do anything and everything for you. But no one's perfect, and you don't expect him to be, it just takes you some time to see Stiles' truth.

Memo— Sorry not sorry that I'm throwing this brick at you

Word Count — 967

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures

You always thought Stiles was the good one. Not in the perfect way, not in the "straight-A student, never-does-anything-wrong" way, but in the genuine, loyal, heart-of-gold way. The guy who’d trip over himself to help a stranger, who’d give you the last piece of pizza without a second thought, who’d stay up all night researching monsters so no one else had to. And for a long time, you saw him like that—this jittery, awkward, deeply lovable hurricane of a person, always doing, always caring, always there.

And he is all that. With you? He’s golden. With Scott? He’s fiercely, stubbornly, stupidly devoted. With his dad? He’s still that kid trying to hold the world together with duct tape and caffeine so it doesn’t crush the only parent he has left.

He remembers things about you—tiny things you didn’t even think you remembered telling him. You’ll mention you had a rough day once, and three weeks later he’s showing up with your favourite snack and a dumb movie queued up because “I figured the vibes were off, and I hate when the vibes are off.” He’ll drive to your house just to sit in silence when you don’t feel like talking. He buys your favourite pens when you lose them, makes playlists for your moods, sets reminders to check in on things that matter to you. It’s not just that he’s nice—it’s that he’s invested.

With Scott, it’s a kind of brotherhood that’s almost religious. He’ll talk shit, yeah, but the second anyone else does? He’s up. Instantly. Doesn’t matter if it’s someone stronger, bigger, more dangerous—Stiles has already calculated the fallout and decided it’s worth it. He’ll complain the whole time, but he’ll never back down if Scott needs him. Even when Scott doesn’t say it out loud. Especially then.

With his dad, it’s this complicated mix of reverence and protectiveness. He pushes boundaries, sure, but there’s always a line he won’t cross. He teases and rolls his eyes, but you’ve seen the way he watches the sheriff’s face when he walks into a room, always scanning for stress, exhaustion, signs of something off. He cooks dinner when his dad works late. He cleans the house on autopilot without being asked. He never says it, but he carries that family like it’s his personal mission to keep it afloat.

But the thing is… once you’re close enough to really know him—past the surface, past the quick wit and loyalty—you start to see the edges. The parts no one really talks about.

Stiles is not actually nice. Not to most people. He’s polite when he needs to be, friendly when it serves a purpose, but if you’re not in his circle? If you’re not one of his people? He doesn't care. At all.

He doesn’t make small talk. He doesn’t go out of his way to help unless someone he loves is involved. You’ve seen him ignore people mid-sentence because they were boring him. He gets impatient fast, and once he decides someone’s not worth his energy, he doesn’t even try to hide it.

He’s not mean in the obvious, stereotypical way. It’s subtle. Calculated. He knows how to cut people down without raising his voice. He uses sarcasm like a scalpel, and if someone’s unlucky enough to get on his bad side, he doesn’t yell—he eviscerates.

One time, a classmate made a shitty comment about Scott’s mom. Stiles didn’t lash out. Didn’t even react at first. Just filed it away. And two days later, he dropped a series of comments in a group setting so casually devastating that the kid left school early and didn’t show up the next day. Stiles didn’t even blink. “Shouldn’t talk shit if you’re made of glass,” he muttered, like it was nothing.

And when people call him out? He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t apologize. Just shrugs and moves on. It’s like he doesn’t feel the need to justify being cold to people who aren’t inside his carefully constructed world.

And maybe you should care about that. Maybe you should find it concerning. But you don’t.

Because you’ve never been on the receiving end of it. Never once.

When you’re sad, he’s gentle. When you’re angry, he lets you rage. When you’re happy, he celebrates you, like your joy is a personal victory. He touches you in these thoughtless, casual ways that are so full of care—fingers brushing yours when he passes you something, knees bumping under the table, an arm slung lazily across your shoulders like he’s grounding himself by just being near you.

You’ve seen him lose sleep over you being sick. Seen him unravel when you cried. Seen him light up when you walked into a room like the world had just snapped back into colour.

He tells you things he doesn’t tell anyone else. Fears. Regrets. Doubts. There’s a soft version of Stiles that lives only in your presence, one who trusts you enough to be quiet, who lets himself need.

And you think—that’s the real difference. Stiles doesn’t trust easy. He’s not generous with his softness. The world has taken too much from him too many times, and now? He doesn’t give pieces of himself to people who won’t hold them carefully.

But for the ones he loves—for you, for Scott, for his dad—he gives everything.

So yeah. He’s kind of a mean guy. Kind of petty. Sharp-tongued. Impatient. Defensive.

But he’s also the guy who would crawl through hell if it meant dragging you out of it. Who shows up even when he’s exhausted. Who notices everything, remembers everything, loves with the kind of intensity that’s messy and complicated and real.

He’s not perfect. Not even close.

But you never needed perfect.

You just needed him.