A Date Before Midnight 🎉

Thank you for including me, gorgeous! Of course, I had to add another dob character 🤭

Tags: @inlovewithdob @navybrat817 @julianasversee @c19ulo44 💜

; 𝘁𝗮𝗴 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲 .ᐟ

It's time for another tag game everybody! This one's because I missed valentines day... So here ya' go! Sweet treat from Joy 🤍

; pick a fictional character, a small gift and a sweet treat. Your date is perfect now!

npt: @pizzaapeteer @moonpascal @foodiegoogie @notyaslol @lov3notts + anybody who'd love to join!

Have fun, hun 🤍

Update: I got a little bit done! Not as much as I wanted to and not for the project I probably should have been working on, but oh well. Progress is progress.

I thought I was going to write today, but then I passed out, landed on my nightstand, and injured my back, so... I don't think that's happening anymore.

To His Left

It was Dylan's first day at his new school, the one he was transferring to in the middle of October during junior year. It wasn't very convenient timing, but his old school was a headache and a half. He was hopeful for his future in the new environment, regardless of the shy feelings creeping up on him.

He took a deep breath as he walked into his new English classroom a few minutes early, not wanting dozens of eyes on him in an instant. He immediately saw the bright smile of Mrs. Nixon, a young (mid-twenties), short, brunette, and cheerful woman who would be teaching him from now on. Her expression seemed to quickly ease his nerves, and he smiled back at her as he began to walk up to her desk.

He barely took his first couple steps before Mrs. Nixon spoke exuberantly, "Hi! Are you my new student? Dylan, right?"

He held onto the straps of his backpack tightly as it rested on his shoulders and nodded, his words falling out of his mouth, "Uh, yeah. Yeah, that's me."

"Perfect! I'm Mrs. Nixon, and oh my god. Sorry, I'm just so excited. This is a good class to join, as far as my junior classes go, I'm glad you were put in this period," she spoke rapidly, her ecstasy evident.

Dylan couldn't help but smile at her, appreciating her happiness just because of his presence. It felt good, so he tried to keep the conversation going, "Oh yeah? Do you teach another class?"

She sighed, then rolled her eyes as she spoke, "Yes, unfortunately. Half of my periods are full of freshmen."

Their comfortable chatter continued, and neither of them noticed that the bell had rang until his soon-to-be peers started flowing in. He looked around, realizing that he had no idea where he was supposed to go. Mrs. Nixon noticed his confusion and pointed to an empty desk, "Oh, Dylan, you can sit right over there, desk twelve."

He nodded as he walked over, trying not to let his face heat up when he heard Mrs. Nixon inform the class of his new presence and saw the eyes of everyone on him. He forced a polite smile and nodded as he sat down, and seconds after, his attention was grabbed by the gorgeous girl sitting to his left. His eyes widened a little and he hoped she didn't notice while she introduced herself with the most flattering smile he'd ever seen.

His words left him before he knew he was even speaking. "Nice to meet you, I'm Dylan," he said, feeling his hands get clammy.

"So I've heard," she spoke casually, making him chuckle nervously when he realized that Mrs. Nixon literally just told the entire class his name. "And it's nice to meet you too. If you have any questions about what we're learning about or the school, let me know."

He couldn't stop himself from smiling. She seemed so nice and laid back, as if talking to him was the easiest thing in the world, whereas he was struggling to contain all of his various emotions. She was either really good at this, or really good at pretending to be good at this. Either way, he enjoyed every second of their conversation.

"Sweet, thanks. I'll make sure to do that," he was a little disappointed when his attention was diverted to the lesson, right after he spoke.

As soon as the lesson was finally over, his gaze turned toward the girl to his left again. He really just wanted to talk to her again, the only problem was that he had nothing to say. He searched his scattered brain until she finally spoke and snapped him out of his staring, "You good?"

Dylan's eyebrows raised when he realized how weird he might have seemed, just looking at her without a word. He quickly tried to defend himself with a clearly forced tone of nonchalant, "What? Oh. Yeah, yeah, I'm all good. Just got distracted. But technically, it wasn't my fault."

She gave him a look of suspicion and tested his ability to keep his cool, "Oh really? So it's someone's fault that you got distracted?"

He smirked, hoping with his entire soul that he wouldn't mess this up, "Exactly. See? You're getting it."

Her eyebrows furrowed but she couldn't hide her small smile, "Getting what? What the hell are you talking about?"

He hesitated for a second, looking away. Screw it, he thought, and he shrugged his shoulders as he looked right at her again, "You're distracting me. I mean, come on. How am I supposed to not look at you?"

A bit of blush crept onto her cheeks and her smile unintentionally grew. She paused for a second, letting his words sink in and trying to think of how she could possibly respond to something so bold from someone she just met that day. She collected her wits and responded as confidently as she could make herself seem, "That's interesting, coming from someone who doesn't even know me. Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, but have you considered the possibility that you just suck at focusing on anything other than girls?"

He suddenly felt his own face heating up, not having expected such a sassy accusation. He chuckled, mostly nervously, "I plead the fifth."

She simply rolled her eyes with a smirk as Dylan kept smiling like a dork. They knew that this seating arrangement was going to be entertaining for both of them, and Dylan was excited to have a pretty girl to look at during English, directly to his left.

Note: I have no idea if this is good or not, but if it somehow is and someone wants me to keep this storyline going, then I happily will. Just let me know :)

Such a silly individual...

Hii! How's dairy queen Stiles doing!?

Hi! He's good, but he's anxiously waiting to see a certain someone again...

A little drabble based on the Dairy Queen!Stiles AU.

Word count: 291

Stiles never thought he'd be excited to go work at a fast-food restaurant, but his entire world was flipped last week when he met an angel.

He wakes up before his alarm, something he's never experienced before, but he's not upset about it because he can use this time to search every corner of the internet for the mystery girl. There's only so many people living in Beacon Hills; he's bound to find her eventually.

Yes, he knows she has a boyfriend - Victor, or whatever, but after watching them interact, he doesn't imagine they'll last very long. He hopes not, at least.

The minutes seem to pass like hours at work. He spends his downtime conspicuously gazing out of the windows, hoping he'll catch a glimpse of her hair or something, anything. His head whips over to the door every time the bell rings, signaling a customer's arrival. Just those seconds of distraction are enough for disaster to strike - just what he needs, more messes. He remakes drinks, refills cartons of fries, and mops up puddles of ice cream even more often than usual.

The whole process is frustrating, but he's getting increasingly slick to avoid more angry rants from the manager. His acting skills have improved greatly, though he's sure his smile is looking faker as the days go on.

When he finally goes home and collapses in his bed for the night, his dreams are filled with fantasies of beating the shit out of that douchbag boyfriend and spending peaceful, romantic moments with the angel he can't wait to see again (mostly the latter). He knows it's possible that he never will, but he also knows that if he does, it'll be absolutely magical, just like the first time.

AAAHH

Ok but look at his neck. LOOK AT HIS NECK!

STILES STILINSKI Teen Wolf | 4.05, I.E.D.

◇◈◆ Dylan O'Brien Masterlist ◆◈◇

My writing is strictly inspired by the actor's presentation of himself online.

◆ General:

◇ Slow Morning 

◇ Ten Minutes 

◆ High Schooler!Dylan x Reader AU:

◇ To His Left 

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.

That bicep though...