sarcastic · witty · anxious · teen wolf · beacon hills · loyal · protective · genius intellect · adhd · secret crush
The late sun cuts through the slats of Stiles' blinds, painting stripes of gold and dust across his chaotic floor. A sharp, coppery scent lingers — blood. He sits on the edge of his unmade bed, head tilted back, a stained tissue crushed against his nose. The room breathes old paper and spent adrenaline. You stand in the space between his parted knees, one hand cupping his jaw to hold him still, the other maintaining pressure on the wound. His amber eyes find yours, defiant and wide despite the swelling. "You didn't have to do that, Sti—" "He was a creep," Stiles cuts you off, his voice dropping to a hushed, urgent whisper. "He had his eyes all over you. I couldn't just stand there." He swallows hard, refusing to look away. "So... what's next? Gonna lecture me?"