#mccall pack

Give me unhinged Stiles. All human, full confidence, protective as fuck Stiles.

I want Stiles' name to be broadcasted on Nemeton weekly as the pack guardian. Not Emissary, not Protector Druid, just full, no holds barred— willing to die, happy to kill, will gut you like a fish if you touch my beta's and or alphas—Stiles.

Isaac and Stiles are bullshitting one day when Isaac says his "I spent my childhood locked in a freezer. How would I know how to be helpful?" And Stiles rolls his eyes.

"You can't use that every time Isaac." It's unfortunate that Aiden is walking passed them at that moment and he glares at the beta.

"It's where you belonged mutt." The twin hisses and Stiles is out of his seat so fast Scott doesn't have time to grab him. Cause sure, Stiles can't beat up Aiden but the werewolf can't heal his vision back if he's missing a goddamn eyeball. And it takes both Scott and Boyd to pull Stiles away before he stabs him in the face with a newly fashioned, mountain ash pencil.

Some new supernatural cat girl has been stalking Allison for weeks. Stiles at first tries to reason with her, tells her she's under Alpha McCalls protection and though she's a hunter Allison will leave her alone as long as she behaves. But Cat Girl won't have any of it and when she threatens to scalp Allison's 'pretty little head' Stiles runs her over with the jeep.

A werewolf with knowledge of the Hale pack comes back to town one day and is relentlessly harassing Derek. He blames him for the fire and Stiles happens to be out at the preserve when he hears the asshole talking about Kate. "Admit it Hale, you're glad they died! Selling your family out for one hard rut. Or did she make you the bitch?"

Neither notice Stiles and his metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and dipped in wolfsbane until he's on the guy. Derek watches in awestruck horror as Stiles beats the crap out of him. Human Stiles covered in blood and panting as he stands over the unconscious omega. He spits on the guy before turning to Derek and the alpha is both utterly terrified and completely turned on when narrowed and angry eyes look to him with concern and gentleness.

"Please don't listen to him Der. None of it was your fault."

I want this white man in my guts, but I can't have that so instead we get this. Enjoy :)

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

You two are horny, almost all the time. Stiles, who played with himself twice a day before you got together and who damn near couldn't keep his hand out of his pants at any given moment

I feel like being in the pack with Stiles would be so stressful but make the sex so worth it

Like, it would be really, really frustrating to have no one listens to him. And when Stiles get stressed, he tends to lash out physically. Even if it's just about something like where they should all get lunch that evening.

So, you always benefit

Like when no one wanted to listen to Stiles about something being wrong with Lydia's front tire, and then the car broke down on the highway, then he had to change the tire with Scott in 97 degrees under the California sun

That night, he came home and had one of your legs over his shoulder while he whispered degrading words in your ear that had to shaking responding to ever nasty thing he said with an affirmative

Noah always knew Stiles was a bit more...excited than some teenagers. The last time he borrowed Stile's laptop, he almost had to bleach his eyes. He just didn't need to know about his son's preferences and now he just knows way too much. And since then, he hasn't been able to look at Stiles the same.

He always hoped that Stiles's delusions about sex wouldn't hinder him in a real relationship, but the noise canceling headphones he had to buy said otherwise.

You just looked so nice! When you came in for the first time, charming and sweet, he was sure that Stiles would have to try being normal for a bit. Then he came home one night and heard a moan that had him scared he'd be a grandfather soon.

No one expects you two to be the way you are. Except for Scott, he's been subjected to hearing Stiles's insane thoughts about you for the past two years since you transferred in the school. Like that time, they ran into you at the mall when you had on biker shorts and the minute you turned to walk off Stiles went from sweet, cute Stiles, to scaring the crap out of Scott with how badly he was describing his need for you.

And you were no better. Your friends were damn near victims. Hearing about how hard you fucked yourself while thinking about Stiles, seeing you turn into an entirely different person whenever he was close by. Why you wanted this guy to throw you around like a rag doll was a mystery to your friends. I mean, sure they knew he was handsome. You just had thoughts about Stiles that would kill a nun.

Honest to God, I don't know which one of you is worse. It's probably Stiles to be honest, you do egg him on though.

You don't care where you are, you want him real bad sometimes. Even if that's in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night (y'all are dying first in a slasher movie for sure) and you two are supposed to be investigating something. You'll push him against a tree, before you're making out and unbuckling his belt. He can't exactly argue when the feeling of you giving him a handjob through his boxers is making his head spin and his tip leak. Somehow you try end up dry humping (BRING BACK DRY HUMPING) before your entire body is shuddering, and Stiles is gripping your hips with his eyes shut while he stains a pair of his boxers.

Your werewolf friends have had the misfortune of hearing you two. No one, and I mean not one of them, needed to know that you like being choked. Or that Stiles liked being bitten. You two don't do stuff in front of people, because that just gives creep so that's not the move but it's not your fault half of the town has supernatural hearing. Honestly at a certain point they should just stop coming over at night.

There are times when you two are apart and can't go at it for a while. Stiles will beat his dick raw; the man is addicted to you. He's obsessed. He's pathetically rewatching videos of you two. You deepthroating him until your eyes are red and teary. You bouncing on his cock while scratching down his abs. Him eating you out while you urge him on with moans of his name. Oh, and the videos of him hitting it from the back with a hand tangled in your braids while you squeal moans of approval. It doesn't help that you both have a really high sex drive so he's basically getting laid every day then has to go to getting absolutely nothing for probably months. It's also worse because he's madly in love with you and sex helps him feel so close to you.

If you're smart forget about it. Stiles is smart but he can't focus at all. You help him by studying with him, and Stiles could listen to you talk literally all day. Then about three hours in he's focusing on your lips and the way they pucker just a bit when you bite the inside of your cheeks to focus. Somehow, he ends up slowly kissing you until you're laying down. Then oops! He's eating you out while you expertly deep throat him with your hips wiggling from the stimulation.

Eveyone else: Naaah

Character: *is evil*

Everyone else:

Summary: With everything going on recently, you had done your best to keep it together. But fighting the supernatural and dealing with a biology exam was never a good mix.

Warnings: Possible language, reader is autistic, protective!Scott, protective!Stiles.

A/N: I understand that everyone with autism behaves and acts in different ways, so please don't tell me that this isn't how someone with autism acts.

You kept telling yourself you weren’t going to break.

Not today. Not after everything that had happened.

You’d fought a creature you didn’t even have a name for, sprinted across half the preserve, and then sat through a full day of school pretending you weren’t exhausted, overstimulated, and one wrong nudge away from falling apart.

And now you were standing in the middle of Scott's living room, backpack half-unzipped, books spilling out, hands shaking just enough for Scott to notice.

He approached quietly.

“You’re really overwhelmed,” he said, not asking - just knowing.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, even though the words tasted like a lie. “I have to study. My biology exam is tomorrow and-”

Stiles stepped into your line of sight, eyebrows drawn tight with worry. “Hey, hey- slow down. You’re talking too fast.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, louder this time, like volume could turn panic into truth.

But then Lydia closed the front door a little too firmly, and the sound cracked through the room like lightning. Liam cursed. Malia rummaged through the fridge. Someone’s phone buzzed. The lights hummed overhead.

And suddenly everything was wrong - too loud, too bright, too close.

Your breath stuttered. Your hands flew to your ears. The room tilted.

Scott was there instantly, voice soft but firm - alpha calm.

“Everyone. Quiet.”

The effect was immediate; the whole pack froze, their attention snapping to you with concern.

Stiles stepped closer, palms open. “You’re overloaded, aren’t you?”

You tried to answer but couldn’t get words past the tightness in your throat. You hated this. Hated feeling like you were falling apart in front of everyone.

Scott guided you to sit on the couch, movements slow and careful.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “You don’t have to hold it together.”

Derek, leaning against the wall, pushed off and crossed the room silently. He turned off the overhead lights and turned on a warm, dim lamp instead. Lydia pulled Liam and Kira toward the hallway with gentle gestures. Malia closed the fridge softly, looking oddly protective.

Stiles crouched in front of you. “Hey. Look at me for a sec?”

Your eyes lifted, watery and overwhelmed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “Your brain’s just tired. It happens.”

Scott nodded, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. You can breathe now.”

The pressure in your chest loosened, just enough for a shaky exhale.

Stiles reached into his bag and pulled out noise-cancelling headphones - your favourite pair he kept “just in case.”

“Can I?” he asked.

You nodded.

The moment the headphones settled over your ears, the world softened. The noise dulled. Your thoughts stopped spiraling.

Scott wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you gently into his side. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “You’re allowed to need help.”

Your lip trembled. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

Stiles scoffed softly. “You? Bothering us? Impossible.”

He tapped your knee lightly. “You’re pack. We look out for each other. And if biology is trying to murder you on top of everything else, then we’ll punch biology in the face.”

You let out a tiny, broken laugh.

The room stayed dim, quiet, and soft around you. Derek kept watch from the corner - silent reassurance. Lydia brought a blanket. Kira handed you a warm cup of tea without speaking. Liam sat on the floor nearby, keeping his movements slow and gentle.

You finally let your head rest on Scott’s shoulder, breaths evening out.

For the first time all day, you didn’t feel like you were one second away from shattering.

You were held. You were safe.

Tags:

@mandmilovehim @mingis-queen97 @lgbtq-girl @christopherbangsnudes @christopherbangsnudes @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @riowritesitall @lateej

Stiles: Hey, we need you to come bail us out of jail.

Derek: We? How many of you are in jail?

Stiles: Well, Allison, Erica and I are here for trying to burn down an Applebee’s. Lydia and Scott are here because they tried to break us out of jail. Jackson got arrested for picking a fight with the cops. And I don’t know why Peter’s here.

Peter: Tax evasion.

Derek: Please tell me Boyd isn’t in there too?

Stiles: No.

Derek: Thank god. At least ONE of you has some sense.

Stiles: But there is a warrant out for his arrest.

Derek: WHAT?!

Stiles: So, can you come bail us out?

Derek: I will bail you out if you all swear you will never do this again.

Stiles: …

Derek: Stiles…

Stiles: …

Derek: Enjoy jail

Stiles: Wait-

pairing: stiles stilinski x fem!reader.

summary: when stiles finally asks you to be his girlfriend and you say yes, he can’t believe it —and he’s not the only one. you two come in very different fonts. but, you’re so quick to prove him and his self-deprecation that you like him, fully and shamelessly.

warnings: used of y/n… im sorry. a little fluff? reader being a menace and the end of stiles life (in a good way).

a/n: i tried my best to be funny and make it a little longer. a mother needs to feed her kids. based on this req <3

stiles stilinski had spent a solid seven-teen years being a complete and utter dork. a nerd. a disaster in human form. the kind of guy who could tell you, unprompted, that the fear of long words is called hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia but somehow still couldn’t spell “necessary” on the first try.

he was the guy who tripped over air, made obscure pop culture references no one asked for, and had a deeply unhealthy relationship with sarcasm.

so, naturally, when you—actual goddess, the prettiest face in beacon hills, social butterfly extraordinaire—agreed to date him, stiles was convinced he was being pranked.

“she said yes,” he had told scott the night it happened, voice shaking, hands gripping his best friend’s shoulders like he was trying to transfer the shock through sheer physical contact. “she said yes. to me. like, willingly. no coercion. no hostage situation. just… yes.”

scott, ever the supportive best friend, blinked at him. “huh.”

“what do you mean huh?”

“I just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking way too amused. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but… dude, that’s y/n.”

exactly.

you weren’t just popular. you are the cool kind of popular. the kind that made people want to be around you instead of just tolerating your presence because of high school hierarchy rules.

you had this effortless confidence, this ability to make everyone feel like they belonged—even stiles, who had spent most of his life on the outskirts of social normalcy.

you are the type of person who could go from hanging out with the lacrosse team and his girlfriends to sitting with the theater kids in the same day, and everyone would be happy to have you there. people gravitated towards you.

meanwhile, stiles had spent most of freshman year trying to convince people that his name was, in fact, not short for “stilton” like the cheese.

It didn’t make sense. and yet, somehow, here they were.

dating you was like winning the lottery, except instead of money, stiles got the incomprehensible love and affection of a literal angel.

which was great.

except for the fact that he had no idea how to be cool enough to keep up with you.

“you’re overthinking it,” you told him one day as you sat in your car, legs propped up on the dashboard.

“I always overthink it,” stiles replied. “It’s literally my defining trait.”

you laughed, and god, that laugh. It was the kind of sound that made people pause, made them turn their heads just to see what could possibly be so funny.

“okay, fine,” you said. “then tell me. what’s running through that giant brain of yours right now?”

stiles exhaled dramatically. “alright, let’s start with the obvious. I am a disaster. you are not a disaster. explain.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

“see what?”

you smirked, leaning in a little closer. “you’re kind of amazing, stiles.”

he blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“you make me laugh,” you continued, like you hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his entire worldview. “like, really laugh. you make things interesting. and you care so much about the people around you. I like that.”

stiles stared at you, brain officially malfunctioning. “uh. are you… are you sure you’re not under some kind of supernatural influence?”

you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. “just shut up?”

and just like that, he realized something insane. you actually liked him.

not just in a “haha, he’s fun to have around” way. not in a “pity date” way. not even in a “this is a temporary thing before I move on to someone more worthy” way.

you liked him. dorkiness, sarcasm, ADHD-riddled brain and all.

maybe he wasn’t as out of your league as he thought.

still, he spent the next few weeks in a state of perpetual disbelief.

he kept waiting for the moment where you would realize you had made a grave mistake and move on to someone who, well… had the ability to walk in a straight line without tripping over absolutely nothing.

but you didn’t.

In fact, you made it very clear that you were, for some ungodly reason, into him.

like, full-on, public displays of affection into him.

which was insane.

because now, not only did stiles have to deal with his own confusion, but also the confusion of literally everyone else at beacon hills high.

It started with a completely normal lunch. stiles, scott, lydia, and you were all sitting together, as usual, while he rattled off some extremely important information about why the original ‘star wars’ trilogy was superior to the prequels.

“you just have to accept that Jar Jar Binks was a crime against cinema,” stiles was saying, mid-rant, when he felt a hand casually slip into his.

he froze.

the table went silent.

you, completely unbothered, just kept eating your fries, fingers lazily intertwined with his.

scott immediately stopped chewing. lydia raised an eyebrow. somewhere behind them, he was pretty sure he heard jackson choke on his drink.

stiles, being the mature and composed individual that he was, blurted out, “are you—did you—was that on purpose?”

you gave him a deadpan look. “no, stiles, my hand just accidentally fell into yours.”

scott made a choked sound that was very unhelpful.

“I just—” stiles floundered. “you’re—you want to hold my hand? In front of people?”

you smirked. “what, do you want me to sign a permission slip first?”

lydia rolled her eyes. “stiles, stop acting like you just won the lottery.”

“but I did,” he said, eyes still wide. “this is like if someone found bigfoot, but instead of running away, bigfoot started dating them.”

you snorted and leaned closer, whispering, “you’re an idiot.”

and then—just to completely obliterate stiles’s ability to function—you kissed his cheek.

the cafeteria erupted.

all right, maybe “erupted” was an exaggeration. but scott definitely lost all ability to contain himself, because he burst into uncontrollable laughter, clapping stiles on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted into his lunch tray.

jackson muttered something about how the world was officially broken.

and lydia? lydia just sipped her drink and said, “honestly, this might be the funniest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

stiles, meanwhile, was still sitting there, trying to process the fact that you had just kissed him in front of the entire student body.

“okay,” he breathed. “alright. cool. totally fine.”

you squeezed his hand. “you’re so lucky I can keep up with you.”

“I strongly agree.”

scott shook his head, grinning. “dude. just take the win.”

yeah.

maybe he should.

────୨ৎ────

now stiles had zero business being on the lacrosse team. he was only there because coach finstock occasionally needed a warm body to throw onto the field, and also because scott insisted that he “needed to be included in the team dynamic.”

that was stupid, because stiles was about as useful on the field as a drunk giraffe.

still, here he was, suited up, trying his best to not die.

you were sitting in the stands, chatting with some of the other girls on the cheer squad, but every so often, he caught you watching him.

why on earth would you be looking at him when there were actual athletes running around?

at some point, coach finstock (in a moment of pure insanity) decided to sub stiles in.

naturally, it went horribly.

he got knocked over in under a minute.

hard.

like, wind knocked out of him, stars in his vision hard.

by the time he sat up, still gasping for breath, he vaguely registered that someone was calling his name.

then, suddenly, you were there, pushing past some of the other students on the sidelines, crouching next to him.

“oh my god, are you okay?” you asked, eyes scanning him for any visible injuries.

“you,” stiles wheezed. “just—taking a quick—dirt nap.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “you really shouldn’t be allowed to play this sport.”

“tell that to coach crazy over there,” he muttered.

you rolled your eyes, then—without warning—cupped his face and kissed him.

right there.

on the field.

In front of everyone.

stiles was pretty sure his soul left his body.

by the time you pulled away, he was definitely malfunctioning.

“god,” he managed.

you smirked, brushing some dirt off his jersey. “maybe if I keep doing that, you’ll actually start scoring points.”

scott, who had jogged over at some point, burst out laughing, —again.

“please don’t encourage him,” he told you.

you just shrugged, standing up. “what can I say? I like an underdog.”

stiles, still staring into the middle distance, finally processed what had just happened.

then, very calmly, he said:

“I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m definitely not complaining.”

────୨ৎ────

stiles finally gets it. he gets you. 

It took three months of dating before stiles finally stopped expecting you to give up on him.

because the truth was, you could.

but for some ridiculous, unexplainable reason—

you didn’t want to.

and maybe, just maybe, that was the best part of all.

stiles stilinski had exactly one defense mechanism when faced with overwhelming emotional stimuli:

panic.

pure, unfiltered, high-octane panic.

and you?

you loved it.

you lived for it.

In fact, stiles was about 80% sure that her actual favorite hobby—above reading, music, and being generally awesome—was finding new and creative ways to make him short-circuit.

your weapon of choice?

kissing him.

at random.

without warning.

In the most inconvenient and socially inappropriate moments possible.

────୨ৎ────

stiles was already having a rough day.

coach had made him run extra laps for “being a distraction” (which was not fair, because technically speaking, it was danny who had laughed first).

so there he was, post-practice, dripping in sweat, hair a mess, brain still recovering from almost getting hit in the face with a lacrosse ball, when you materialized out of nowhere.

“hey, loser,” you greeted, leaning against the locker next to his.

stiles jumped about a foot in the air. “jesus—you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that!”

you, completely ignoring him, hummed thoughtfully. “you look cute when you’re sweaty.”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—what—who?”

and before his brain could fully reboot, you leaned in and kissed him.

right there.

In the locker room.

With scott and half the team still standing right there.

stiles froze.

his brain immediately short-circuited.

somewhere in the background, he could hear the distinct sounds of his teammates reacting.

jackson made a disgusted noise.

“seriously? right here?”

danny, ever the neutral observer, just snorted. “I mean, props to her, I do love watching stilinski suffer.”

scott, instead of helping, just shook his head fondly. “dude. just accept it.”

you, for your part, just smirked against stiles’s lips, completely unbothered, and pulled away with a satisfied little hum.

stiles, meanwhile, was still frozen in place.

mouth slightly open.

face burning red.

brain? completely fried.

“did I break you?” you teased, poking his cheek.

stiles let out a strangled sound.

jackson groaned. “oh god, get a room.”

you turned to him, smirking. “jealous?”

jackson scoffed. “not even remotely.”

you shrugged, looping your arm through stiles’s. “good. because I’m not sharing.”

and then you walked off, dragging stiles with you—leaving the entire locker room howling in laughter.

────୨ৎ────

stiles had one sacred rule in life:

the library is a safe space.

the library was for quiet and learning and pretending to do your homework while actually texting scott about supernatural nonsense.

the library was not for being publicly humiliated by your ridiculously hot girlfriend.

unfortunately, you did not respect the sanctity of anything.

stiles was sitting at his usual spot—textbook open, pen in hand, pretending to study—when you slid into the chair next to him.

“hey,” you greeted, voice suspiciously sweet.

stiles narrowed his eyes. “you’re up to something.”

you smiled, all innocent. “me? never.”

he squinted harder. “what do you want?”

you tilted your head. “can’t I just want to spend time with my adorable boyfriend?”

stiles immediately turned red. “I—you—stop that.”

“stop what?”

“being cute,” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

you grinned. “make me.”

before stiles could formulate a response, you very casually leaned forward and kissed him.

and not just a quick kiss.

oh, no.

this was a calculated attack.

a slow, lingering kiss, tongue and all—just long enough to completely fry his brain, but not long enough for him to actually do anything about it.

by the time you pulled away, stiles was bright red, gripping the edge of the table like his life depended on it.

“why?” he gasped out.

you shrugged. “felt like it.”

stiles gaped. “we are in library.”

you smiled sweetly. “uh-huh.”

“In a library.”

“yup.”

“where people can see us.”

she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “I know.”

stiles let out an undignified squeak.

and that was the exact moment lydia martin—who had apparently been sitting three tables away—very loudly shut her book and said, “I’m going home. this is disgusting.”

you just laughed.

stiles, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

────୨ৎ────

now, there were rules when it came to dating in front of parents.

rule #1: no PDA.

rule #2: seriously, no PDA.

rule #3: do not test sheriff stilinski’s patience.

you had no regard for any of these rules.

stiles had just walked you to the door, ready to say a very normal, appropriate, and respectful goodbye, when you suddenly grabbed his hoodie, pulled him way too close, and kissed him stupid.

right there.

In his driveway.

where his father could definitely see.

and as if that wasn’t bad enough—

the front door creaked open.

sheriff stilinski cleared his throat.

you pulled away completely unbothered, turned to the sheriff, and grinned.

“good afternoon, mr. stilinski.”

stiles, meanwhile, had stopped breathing.

the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “you trying to kill my son?”

you smirked. “not today.”

and then you smiled—like a menace—patted stiles on the chest, and walked off, leaving him to deal with the aftermath.

the sheriff stared at him.

stiles stared back.

after a long, painful silence, his dad just shook his head and muttered, “unbelievable.”

then, he walked inside—chuckling to himself.

stiles, still standing frozen on the porch, groaned.

you were going to be the death of him.

and, honestly?