Teen Wolf Preferences and Imagines

DreamWalker -- Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Warnings: mentions of death and violence

Author’s Note: I pulled this from my Tumblr because I like this a lot more than I thought I would. Hopefully you enjoy it as much too :)

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It’s only 8 o'clock, but you already know that you won’t be getting any sleep tonight. As you lie in your bed and disconnect your mind from your body, your dream figure wanders through the subconscious of the people around you.

The first dream you visit is your neighbor’s. You always visit her dreams, to her knowledge. The two of you have even made a bit of a game of it, going on grand adventures before you visit others. Going from dream to dream is like going from one room to another - something so normal to you that you’ve never really thought twice.

One little girl is having a nightmare about a killer doll from inside her toy chest. You silently curse her parents for their family movie choices as you help her fight the iconic red-haired toy, but other than that, the dreams are all quite happy and enjoyable.

At least, they are until you walk through to a new room. As soon as the door slams closed behind you, you get a sinking feeling in your stomach. It’s pitch black, except for the distant glow of the aura of the dreamer. At first, you’re just walking towards him, bare feet making a light slapping noise on the cold stone ground, but then the screaming starts, making you run.

The boy is around seventeen with teary brown eyes, wild brown hair, and beauty marks littering his exposed skin. He goes to school with you, you realize upon quick inspection. You don’t know him, but you’ve seen him around with his friends.

“Hey! Hey!” You yell out as you pick up your speed, hoping to help him with whatever his subconscious is battling, but just before you can reach out and touch him, you’re thrown back, your body slamming to the floor so hard, that you’re almost knocked back into your body. The action scares you, in all of your years as a dreamwalker, never have you been denied access to the dreamer, which means this has to be all him.

Figuring it’ll be best to take a different approach, you stand slowly and get as close to him as you can and watch what he’s watching. It’s him.

He’s standing above a girl with wavy brown hair - correction, a dead girl with wavy brown hair. “You did this.” He says to him. The dreamer, the boy beside you shakes his head softly, “No, no, the Oni. I didn’t do it.” The other him sneers, laughing humorlessly, “WHAT COULD YOU DO TO SAVE HER!?” The person on the ground changes to a boy, another dead person, and the sneering version creeps closer, his figure twitching and vibrating.

“No, no, no. Move! MOVE!” You pound on the barrier in between the two of you, but he can’t seem to see or hear you. His eyes are flicking from himself to the body on the ground. “I didn’t kill any of them. This isn’t true.” His eyes are betraying his words though, as they leak steadily. “You didn’t kill them? Doing nothing is just as bad as killing them. What are you gonna do when it’s Scott, or Lydia? What about your dad, Stiles?” Continuously, you pound and scream, but you're blocked out, so you do the only thing you can think of.

You summon your body to your dreamer’s place of residence.

Your body rises sleepily, eyes glazed over and head rolling, but legs moving as quickly as they can.

“WAKE UP! STILES, WAKE UP!” You yell the name you’re assuming is his as your body gets closer to it’s destination. Waking a dreamer can be dangerous during a nightmare, but now he’s beating himself up, watching as his cruel subconscious figure kills his friends without being able to do anything but cry and deny.

You’re about to wail yourself, but you feel your body in the house and retreat into it, never stopping as your legs push you up the stairs. You don’t know how you know which room he is, but you find it on the first try and slow your pace. Moving to his squirming body in his bed, you place your hands gently on his face, “Stiles. Stiles, I’m gonna need you to wake up.” He doesn’t wake, so with one hand still cradling his cheek, you place the other in his hand as you press your forehead to his. The process of combining your conscious forms only requires a close proximity to ones head, but you can’t help but make as much contact as possible.

The butterflies in your belly start fluttering like crazy, but you ignore it. This is not the time to develop a crush. So, taking a deep breath, you push yourself back into his dream, but this time, your hand is still in his. “Who are you? What are -” Shaking your head, you stand in front of him, blocking his view, “No one, but Stiles, I need you to wake up. Please. This is hurting you. Just, try hard, open your eyes. Please.”

It takes about ten seconds, and you’re almost worried that he won’t be able to do it, that he’ll be stuck, but he wakes, pulling you out of the dream with him. As you’re leaning up from Stiles’s face, you notice Sheriff Stilinski - who must be his father - standing beside the bed. “Friend of yours, son?”

Realizing the predicament you’re in, you release Stiles, jumping up from his bed, “Sorry. I just - he didn’t know - we aren’t - He was having a nightmare.” You struggle to find a sane way to express to his father - the sheriff, with a gun - why you busted into his home and he found you in his son’s bed, touching him as if you’re old friends… More than friends.

Much to your surprise, the sheriff nods, “I feel like this is some kind of supernatural stuff I don’t understand, but thank you.” With his father gone, Stiles goes to speak, but you shush him, “Don’t. You need mental rest. Drink some water, maybe call one of your friends. I’ll um, I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” You go to leave, but Stiles grabs your wrist, “At least tell me your name. Just your name.” You smile lightly, spent from the abnormal amount of rush and worry, “Y/N.”