I May Or May Not Be Your Biggest Fan - Blog Posts

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.