Stiles Stilinski Imagines {ON HOLD}

You, Me And Roscoe

Fighting the supernatural was awesome; it was something out of a movie, something that gave Stiles such an adrenaline rush, he sometimes thought he was going to explode. On the other hand, it was terrifying; the constant fear of dying, of watching one of his friends die, of watching you die.

But, at the moment, as the phone rang, Scott alerting him of another supernatural mystery, it was purely annoying.

"Okay dude, we'll be there soon. Okay, bye. Bye."

Stiles hung up, turning to face you. You were lying on his bed, snuggled up in his lacrosse hoodie. He always loved seeing you in it, loving the fact that you wore it simply because it smelled like him. It suited you better than it did him, anyway, causing cuddles and hugs to be all the more cozy; nights to be more comfortable when you snuggled into him as you slept. Your thumb hovered over the play button on the remote, Han Solo's face frozen on the screen.

"Everything okay?", your eyes searched his, worried as you saw the pure exasperation in his face.

"Scott needs us."

"Of course he does."

You swung your legs round, climbing off the bed and standing up to face Stiles.

"I guess Mr Solo here will have to wait. Stiles, you coming?"

"Yeah," the excitement that you often heard in his voice had disappeared; he sounded almost bored, disappointed even.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

"I guess, it's just, um," Stiles wiped his hand over his face, a clear sign that something was upsetting him. You grabbed his hand then, your fingers intertwining with his, his lips curving up into a halfhearted smile.

"We never seem to get any alone time anymore. It's like, we go to do something, and then we're needed somewhere else. It's like we can't even be a couple anymore, which sucks because all I really want to do is spend time with you and take you out to nice places and just be your boyfriend."

You kissed him then, your lips lingering on his own as he placed his hands on the small of your back.

"What was that for?"

"You are my boyfriend, Stiles Stilinski, and I love you for it. I love that you rush to help your friends, to help other people. I love that you want to spend time with me and want to take me out to nice places and all that. And, I know. I know we don't get enough alone time anymore, but the only way that would matter to me is if it mattered to you. Because, as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't matter where we are or who we're with as long as I get to be with you."

What Stiles didn't know was that there was already a plan forming in your head.

Some hours later, after the latest supernatural mystery had been solved, you found yourself back at Stiles' house. You'd had to drive, the jeep needing a good repair job. Stiles hadn't found the time to do so, much to his disgust. That car was practically his baby; sometimes, you thought he loved it more than you.

To be honest, you loved it too.

It was why there was a bunch of car parts in your boot, tools at the ready. Stiles wanted alone time with you, and he was going to get it. Fixing the jeep would be therapy for both of you, a time to laugh with each other, to love each other and forget about the rest of the world, about all the problems that were dawning on the community of Beacon Hills.

"What's this?", Stiles looked confused as you showed him the contents of the trunk, a look that earned a smile from you.

"We're having some alone time. Just you, me and Roscoe."

Stiles turned to look at you, a beaming smile that reached his eyes appearing on his face. Gone was the despair from earlier, nothing but love and happiness inhabiting his heart. It was times like these that he was reminded of one of the many reasons why he loved you like he did, of how he never wanted to lose you, of how he couldn't picture his life without you in it.

"Y/N, have I ever told you how much I love you?"

"Only every day," he kissed you then, before jumping on top of the open bonnet, a spanner in his hand. You stood next to him, duct tape in hand. Just in case.

You watched as Stiles fiddled with the jeep, listening in as he explained what he was doing, reveling in the smile that never left his face. Sometimes you loved him so much, it was hard to believe he was even real. He was so quirky, so cute, so loving.

He was yours.