I don’t know what college!stydia entails
Like, dorm parties? shared room? I must be the only person on earth who doesn’t know this because like ten of you have requested it but I just don’t know ajklshh!
Indeed. I am wrapped in the works of a fanfiction at this very moment, in fact. Would I possibly be able to interest you in the tale of a suicidal teenage boy whose dying wish is that the girl of his dreams knows just how incompletely she had torn his life? I wish not to divulge the entire plot to you just yet, but I can speak at least of the characters, whom are Lydia and Stiles. Winkey-smiley-face
Caroline shot up in bed, throwing her legs over the edge of the mattress. But at the last second, she stopped. If she stood up, she would vomit, but maybe if she just sat still the nausea would calm down… She closed her eyes tightly and held her breath, frowning against the pain in her stomach.
The bed shifted behind her before she felt a warm hand touch her shoulder. “Love?” His voice was alert, with no sign of tiredness at all. “What is it?”
She shook her head, feeling her tangled curls rub around on her neck. “I think I’m sick.”
Klaus leaned closer. She’d claimed to be ill and possibly contagious and he only pressed his chest to her back, running his hands along her back. One hand even slid around her to press against her stomach, relieving a bit of the sick feeling. Caroline exhaled slowly, calming herself by force.
"What can I do?" he whispered.
Another shake of her head followed in response. She didn’t need anything. All she wanted was to make sure she had an easy escape route to the bathroom - which she did. Now she could only pant through the pain until it demands to be dealt with.
Caroline exhaled once again, but released her strength with the air. She slumped in on herself and fell backwards, landing in Klaus’s lap, which was still under the covers. “This is the worst feeling in the world,” she heaved out.
He ran a hand across her forehead, which was damp with sweat. “Watching it is worse.”
She snorted. “I bet to differ.”
"Save your breath," he quieted her. "You’d never win the argument, anyway." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. His necklaces clanked together next to her ear, and she found the familiar sound soothing.
Klaus pulled himself out from under her tenderly, then hopped off the bed. “Hold on.” Caroline frowned and turned her head to look at him. She saw nothing, however, because her entire body was lurched forward when he suddenly pushed the bed. “What are you doing?”
The bed stopped, and Caroline opened her eyes, which apparently she’d slammed shut against the movements. Klaus was at her side once more. He pulled her against him as he sat up against the headboard. “There. Now the bathroom is a mere five feet away.”
"Excuse me, sir. You can’t be back here. This is a private set."
Dylan turned around to look at the suited woman barking at him. “I’m here to see Holland Roden? I’m her boyfriend, actually, and I’m picking her up for a date, so-“
The woman’s eyebrow rose. “You’re her boyfriend?”
"Nice try, hot shot." She grabbed his elbow and started pulling him towards the door.
Dylan frowned, trying to resist gently so she wouldn’t freak out too badly. “No, seriously, she’s waiting for me.”
"You think you’re the first kid that’s tried that? You could have at least done your homework." She laughed humorlessly and started leading him again. "But leave it to the idiots to show up when her real boyfriend is still on set."
Dylan dug his heels down into the ground, snapping out of her grasp. “Whoa! She doesn’t have a ‘real’ boyfriend. I’m her real boyfriend!”
The woman crossed her arms stubbornly. “Then explain that.” She pointed to something on the other side of the room, and when Dylan spun around to look, he filled with rage. Holland and her coworker, standing by the snack table, with his hand resting on the surface as it inched closer and closer to her.
Shutting out the woman’s voice completely, Dylan bolted across the busy set, dodging everyone that shouted at him. Holland and tall-dark-and-handsome turned to look at the commotion. “Dylan?” she got out just as he rounded on her and came to a halt.
He put his arm around her shoulders triumphantly.
"What are you doing?" Holland demanded.
Dylan’s eyes were glued to the mysterious costar in front of them. “Hey honey. I decided to meet you inside.” He squeezed her shoulders with a cheesy crinkle of his nose. “I just missed you so much.”
Holland took a moment to visibly collect her thoughts. “Jensen, this is Dylan, my Teen Wolf costar-“
"And boyfriend!" Dylan corrected. "Three months now. Still happy as a clam."
Jensen nodded, acting impressed. “Well, congratulations, I suppose. I’ll see you around Holland,” he smiled. Then, as he began to walk away, he clapped Dylan on the shoulder. “Hope to see you around.”
Dylan chuckled under his breath. “You wish…”
Holland finally pulled out of his embrace and frowned at him. “What was that all about?”
"Nothing. What? Don’t know what you’re talking about. So, pizza?"
Ohh thank you Anon! I’ve just been running around with my “job” plus Thankgiving and family birthdays and end-of-semester tests and ugh.
But I think I’m back now. Or, at least more…back. ?
Family dinners. -Thanksgiving dinner, to be exact. Oh, what great times.
Stiles pounded his heel into the ground over and over, a hundred beats per minute. No one heard it, though, they were all too busy arguing.
Mr. and Mrs. Martin were arguing about the meal - and who the cook really was. Stiles’s father tried to laugh and say it was no big deal. Which only earned the response from his dear old sister about getting into people’s business.
Lydia sat beside him, watching as more and more family members jumped in. Her cousin. Stiles’s uncle. Lydia’s parents again. Then Stiles’s grandmother stepped in with scolding words for all of them.
Stiles breathed deeply, hearing the words already begin to drown out. His eyes watered, and his mouth went dry. That happened a lot, lately. Anxiety just took over at the times he needed his coolness the most. Just another side affect of dying.
But one of the miraculous things that came out of his death and resurrection was Lydia, who had decided she didn’t want him slipping from her fingers again. And she’d taken that quite literally. Even now, months later, when things were as calm as they’d been for quite some time, she reached under the table and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
Stiles blinked and looked up at her, feeling his eyes begin to dry. She smiled softly at him, then leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. She was just as frazzled as he was, he realized. When she’s there to carry him across the river, she kisses his forehead. When she’s there to stop him from going towards the river at all, she kisses his lips. But when she knows he needs to get across, and she needs to be carried across as well, she kisses his cheek.
Sound flooded back into his ears when she pulled away, and he stood up. “Okay, people!” He clapped his hands together, then managed to force a fake grin. “This is Thanksgiving. We’re trying to be thankful. In fact, this entire dinner is based around Lydia and my’s relationship, so let’s stop making this about you judgmental folks, and get the attention back to us, shall we?”
Finally, everyone was speechless. Stiles nodded his approval and sat back down. “Now, someone pass me the mashed potatoes.”
Go hard or go home ;)