I write and draw. I'm just a huge nerd tbh Minors beware, I've written smut before AO3: pandulce135 Instagram: pan.dulce135
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synopsis: you patch up stiles and a genuine compliment leads into some BS-induced kissing. as frustrating as his sarcasm can be, you liked it.
first time writing stiles EVER. hopefully i didn't mischaracterize him too severely. requests are open & im dying for them so please leave some!
stiles stilinski. mischief incarnate. sarcasm god.
stiles stilinski, bitching and moaning over a gash on his chest while he's sitting next to you on the edge of your bed.
his shirt was pulled up over his chest, his teeth holding it in place. which unintentionally served as a sort of gag for his incessant whining.
washing the cut with water? "fuck."
pressing a cloth on it? "shit!"
dabbing on antibiotic cream? "could you do this a little more painfully?"
ass-wipe.
you push the fabric of his shirt back into his mouth. "let me concentrate!"
he complies, but not without rolling his eyes.
after some trial and error, the wound was relatively patched up. albeit your craftsmanship left a lot to be desired, it got the job done. ms. mccall could fix it for him later.
stiles pulls his shirt back down.
"how'd you even get that stubborn thing? are you rolling around with bears?" you probe—this wasn't the first time stiles had climbed in through your window with an injury from an unknown source.
"yea. i kicked its ass though. y'know—left hook, right hook, uppercut."
"can't forget my finishing move either." he grins.
you roll your eyes, indulging regardless. "and that is..?"
"an exquisite drop-kick."
dork of the year.
"well, if your drop-kick is so exquisite, how'd you end up so battered?"
stiles could only make up so many excuses. he knew that, and he knew it well. but telling you about all of the freaky stuff going on in beacon hills? no way. he couldn't.
"i let him get a few punches in so his ego wouldn't be too bruised."
"are we still talking about the bear?" you tilt your head.
he pauses.
"yea."
there were so many opportunities, so many chances to come clean. he wanted to trust you. no—he knew he could trust you. but he couldn't allow himself. not with the life-threatening baggage that came attached to that truth.
"you're lucky you're cute when you're making excuses."
he blinks. cute? he was cute? to you? are you flirting with him? don't ask, stiles, don't ask…
"hold on. was that flirting? 'cause, hypothetically, if it was, i'd need like, thirty seconds to catch up."
fuck.
stiles knew he was blushing, he knew he was running his mouth too much, he knew, okay? so why was it that the hope you'd meant it genuinely—romantically—overpowering any embarrassment he felt?
he felt like an idiot.
before he could lose himself in his inner monologue fueled by unbridled anxiety, you spoke.
"…would it be okay if it was?"
he swallows.
"i mean… sure. most people can't help themselves when it comes to the stiles stilinski. gigolo, womanizer, you know…" he smirks, speaking with a sense of self deprecation only stiles stilinski could manage in a moment like this.
fuck.
he didn't mean any of that. he hoped you knew. knew that it would mean the world to him if your words came from a place of sincerity. from the heart.
"dickhead." you huff, rolling your eyes. when stiles was around, that was commonplace.
he cringes internally. seriously, why did he say that? why had he spoken at all? was he that desperate?
…crap.
"if it weren't for how red your ears are right now, i would've taken you seriously."
he blinks. his ears? red? his body had betrayed him—but stiles wasn't annoyed. he was…relieved? was that it? it was hard for him to describe the feeling without bruising his pride along the way.
but yes, he was relieved. relieved that he had a chance to redeem himself, to communicate clearly.
"i don't know what you're talking about."
fuck!
"sureee."
you ass. you were teasing him. stiles was wracking his brain over how to get his feelings across to you and you were…mocking him.
before stiles could retort, you spoke up.
"you're pretty terrible at playing it cool. i mean, gigolo? really?"
he opened his mouth with what was probably another deflection prepared, then stopped. not this time.
"…i know."
it was so uncharacteristically honest that you laughed.
"you've got no idea what to do, don't you."
that wasn't a question.
he avoids your gaze. "absolutely none."
his smile was small now—nervous, instead of cocky.
but by the time stiles managed to look back at you, your hands had traveled to his shoulders.
he was in trouble.
all he could do was look at you. life hadn't prepared him for this. he couldn't formulate any sort of reply. not even a joke. his brain had blue-screened.
but with how you were looking at him, he managed to throw one together.
"…hypothetically," he said, voice quieter now, "if i kissed you right now, would that be catastrophically lame or…?"
you rolled your eyes with a smile.
"sorry. too many words."
instead of an answer from you, the response stiles was met with was unexpected. you closed the remaining distance yourself.
a small gasp left his mouth. he was clumsy—awkward. eager. he'd forgotten to breathe through his nose.
stiles pulls away, but not without a sense of longing.
"sorry—i, i can't… breathe."
you laugh.
jerk.
"instead of rushing into it like it's your first day on earth, match my pace."
stiles nods slowly.
he leans back in, bridging the gap between your lips. this time, settling into a gentler, steadier pace. his hand was trembling as it drifted toward the back of your head, landing with hesitance so unlike him.
stiles found himself pushing back with a newfound confidence, his fingers carding through your hair as he haphazardly guided your body closer to his. it was such a relief to feel you against him, to feel you accepting him alongside all of his psuedo-crassness.
it was everything.
…
a quiet yelp escaped stiles.
…his wound had reopened.
way to go, stilinski.
stiles held his breath as you lingered close to him even after your bodies had separated. his lips were slightly swollen, pinker than usual. as pink as his ears. and his cheeks. even the back of his neck.
you can't stop the laugh that comes out as you take in his appearance.
he scoffs.
"i'm suffering over here and you're laughing? have you no humanity?"
looks like stiles was back.
"right. let's take you to an actual doctor, yeah?"
he huffs.
you stand first and help stiles onto his feet.
a thought crosses your mind.
"why didn't you go to ms. mccall instead of me?"
the expression on stiles' face could only be described as that of a criminal being caught mid-robbery.
"…wanted to see you."
it was quiet. understated. but despite the subtlety, you heard it.
it wasn't said with the intent to tease you or lighten the mood. he meant it.
Note: This is very much a work in progress! So much so that this is working title. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism, but please do so kindly.
This is a slow burn, enemies to lovers, Stiles Stilinski x Reader. Music plays a heavy role in this- all from 2012 or earlier primarily rock. If you don't like it, don't read it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to comment them!
I haven't written for fun in about two-ish years, so again, please be nice.
Word Count: 9.4k
Warnings: Underage drinking, isolation, not present parents
Song rec: Everyday Is A Winding Road- Cheryl Crow
Music blasts from your earbuds as you take a shot of whatever you could get your hands on from your mom’s liquor shelf. Your iPod nano that sits in your pocket is the key to your sanity as well as the barrier keeping you from being admitted to the Eichen House for nutcases. Your crutch.
In one quick motion, you threw back the shot of what you can only assume was tequila. You can’t stop your face from crumpling in disgust as it burns its way down your throat.
The voices would only remain quiet if you were subdued or if you drowned them out.
You put the bottle away after taking another shot and threw out your disposable shot glass before taking the music filled trip back up to your room.
Your dad wasn’t around and your mom was usually out of town on business. And given your “predicament” of the voices in your head, you tended to stay isolated. It wasn’t long before you were given the title “Beacon Hills’ loneliest kid.” At least you have the house to yourself most of the time.
A flash of lighting caught your attention as you moved to sit at your desk. You didn’t notice the storm taking place outside until now. It was coming down hard and there was a feeling in your gut beginning to form that you couldn’t quite shake. A feeling of anxiety and dread lingered like a heavy weight and you had to take an extra big inhale to keep your breath from catching on itself.
Finally, your gaze landed on the book on your desk. The worn leather felt familiar under your touch- because it was. You opened it to a random page in the book- a familiar page on werewolves.
And in that moment, the voices overpowered the music with a loud screech. You let out a gasp as your eyes take in the pages and the noise, and finally, the bright lightning that highlighted the shadows in your room. You pried the earbuds out of your ears and brought your hands up to cover them in an attempt to shut the voices up.
Your eyes shut and in the back of your eyelids you see a familiar boy with shaggy hair in a red hoodie. He seems to be out of breath, gasping and wheezing in breaths that don’t want to fill up his lungs.
The voices continue to scream, paired with the boy’s own voice.
In a quick moment, a black shape jumps at him. The rest goes by in flashes: a struggle followed by running until he’s in a road. A car swerves past him, barely missing him as the tires screech from the narrow miss.
The voices won’t relent. You feel your eyes water behind your lids.
Then you see a flash of what looks like a bite on the boy’s side.
“Stop! Shut up! Stop!” You cry out in hopes of getting the voices to quiet down. Much to your surprise, they do. They return to their normal whispers and you have to wipe away at the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. Your gaze bounces around your room and once you remember where you are, you feel your shoulders begin to loosen up.
You sigh and place the earbuds back into your ears to listen to the end of a song before it transitions to another one. Your eyes find their way back to the book and the open pages on werewolves, lingering on the image of a half transformed person.
A flash of realization hit that you will come face to face with one soon- the boy from the vision.
What a great way to end summer vacation.
—
You wake with a groan as sunlight pours in through the cracks of your curtains and resist the urge to hit snooze on your alarm again. A moment passes of you laying in your bed under the covers, your eyes peaking open to stare at the expanse of your room. The posters on the wall of musicians and bands stare down at you as you force yourself to sit up.
The voices seem to be sleeping in this morning. They’ll come out soon enough.
To put it simply: you were not excited for another lonely school year. Sure, you would go to the occasional party, but that’s just because people know you enjoy a good drink… or shot… or seven… But outside of that, you weren't anticipating that the social climate would be good.
It takes brushing your teeth and washing your face to remember the vision from last night. You watched a boy get bit by a wolf in your mind. You knew it was possible, but you never thought it would happen to you of all people, especially at a measly sixteen years old. The boy in the vision looked familiar, you could almost put a name to the face. But it somehow kept escaping you. You huffed in annoyance.
How do you know him?
You shrug on a simple outfit of jeans, a hoodie, and finally, your trusty converse. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you look presentable enough, just a few tweaks to your hair and some simple makeup and you were ready to go. You grab your already packed backpack, phone, and iPod before making your way downstairs to your kitchen.
Your mom was out on a work trip meaning you wouldn’t see her again until next week. Even then, it would only be for a few days before she’s out of town again.
You grab a Pop Tart and your keys and make your way to your car in the driveway. Sliding in with everything in your hands proves to be a struggle but you make it work, settling in with a sigh. As soon as you start the car, music blares from the stereo.
The last time you drove, the voices flared up, but not as bad as last night. You were able to stay focused by blasting music. Most of the time.
You turn down the music to a much more pleasing volume for 7:30am, put the Pop Tart in your mouth, and begin the drive to school.
It’s not a long drive, forcing you scarf down your breakfast with disgusting speed, finishing it up as you pull into the parking lot. You do a quick check in the visor mirror to make sure you still look, well, decent, before turning off your car, putting in your earbuds, and making your way through the parking lot with your backpack slung on one shoulder.
The voices in your head begin to wake up. You were jealous they could sleep in. But you quickly showed them how grateful you are to them by drowning them out with loud guitars and heavy drums.
From all sides, students were flooding from the parking lot into the school. You keep your gaze down at the pavement as you make your way across the lot, something you’ve always done. To say you liked to avoid people in your sober state would be an understatement. You would much rather not converse with anyone than slip up and have them think you’re weirder than most people already think you are.
You kept to yourself and it was simple. No drama, no worries.
But your gaze is quick to shoot up, prompted by the voices sounding over the music and guiding your sight. A little ways a head, you see two boys standing to the side of the walking path. The one with the buzzcut is looking down at the shaggy haired boy’s abdomen as he lifts up his shirt to expose a large bandage.
The voices simmer down as you stop yourself from walking forward any more. That was Scott McCall. Scott McCall got bit. In front of him stood his friend Stiles Stilinski. Both boys also had a… difficult… time fitting in with the rest of the Beacon Hills High School population, but you also all knew how to make due. Scott was the quieter of the pair while Stiles wore his usually sarcastic thoughts on his sleeve.
When they begin walking towards the building, you follow a short ways away. They seem to be having quite the conversation, so you allow yourself to move past them when they stop at a larger paved area. You take out an earbud as you walk past, looping it over the top of your ear to hide the fact that you are eavesdropping.
You noticed, within recent years, that when people had secrets to tell, and you were around with your earbuds in, they would continue talking. They were usually spreading rumors about things they heard or saw. Some even had the nerve to talk about you while you sat a table away from you in the library. You would always shoot them a sharp glare before leaving.
“’Cuz California doesn’t have wolves.” You hear Stiles say as you make your past the pair. “Not in like sixty years.”
Scott seems thrown off by this newfound knowledge. “Really?” He asks.
“Yes, really,” Stiles shoots back quickly. “There are no wolves in California,” he reiterates and there’s a small pause in the conversation as Scott thinks about what to say next.
But you don’t stick around for that and you make quick work getting to your locker to shove your unnecessary items away before making your way to class.
You pick a spot in the back corner by the window, a seat you had grown rather accustomed to during your first year in high school. You lean your head in your palm as you look out through the glass, waiting for your class to begin.
Your attention gets pulled to the person in front of you as he picks his seat. The buzzcut gives him away. Then your eyes glide easily over to Scott, who sits in the next row and one seat closer to the board.
It’s when the bell rings that you finally take out your earbuds, setting your iPod on the desk. You prepare a notebook and pencil in front of you, anticipating the beginning of notes, even if most teachers use the first day of classes as a syllabus and free period.
The teacher at the front of the room grabs your attention. His back is to the class as he writes on the chalkboard. “As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night,” he informs and you watch as Scott and Stiles share a look with each other and it clicks in your head.
Dumbasses. They decided to look for a dead body and then one of them got bit. You roll your eyes, an action that seems to have been noticed by Scott, who quickly turns forward again.
The rest of the class all seemed a little too preoccupied in their own thing. Some putting on makeup and others barely listening. If you didn’t have to sit through classes with them to actually learn, you’d find it quite amusing.
“And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you that the police has a suspect in custody.”
Again, Scott looks over at Stiles, both sharing a baffled expression of furrowed brows and lips quirked downwards.
“Which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining this semester.”
A few groans escape your peers as they all pull out their syllabus to read to themselves. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Scott flinch as he hears something that no one else can. He isn’t subtle about it either, as he looks around the classroom, trying to locate the source of whatever he was hearing before his eyes land on someone outside on a bench. You follow his gaze before rolling your eyes again.
What were you doing? You knew your paths would intersect eventually, but now was not the time to be micro analyzing every little thing Scott “Now a Werewolf” McCall was doing. So, you allow your gaze to fall to the syllabus, quickly flicking your eyes over the classroom expectations, grading scale, and much more information.
You didn’t realize how well Scott’s senses worked just yet. The door to the classroom was opened by the principal, with a new student following behind.
“Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent,” the vice principal announces to the class of students, who probably didn’t care all that much. “Please do your best to make her feel welcome.” The vice principal is quick to leave after his quick introduction and Allison beelines it to the empty seat behind Scott.
Both you and Stiles are looking over at Scott, not-so-subtly watching him watch Allison make her way to her new seat.
Stiles is a lot more obvious than you. Where you’re quick to lower your gaze when she gets closer, he opts to use his hand to partially cover his face and look like he totally wasn’t watching Scott stare.
You glance up again as Scott offers a pen to the new girl unprompted. That must have been part of what he was listening in on not five minutes ago.
It takes every bit of your will power to force and keep your gaze on your work throughout the class, trying to pretend to read it. You highly disliked how distracting these two were quickly becoming now that you knew such highly sensitive information on them.
The bell eventually rings signaling the end of the class and you follow the crowd of students out to the hallway. You make your way to your locker, which only seemed to be about half a hallway down from where Scott and Stiles were chatting.
The voices compelled you to look at them. Suggesting it, even, in their own magical way. Stiles was in conversation with one of your classmates. Scott seemed to be watching Allison talking with Lydia Martin, the popular girlfriend of Jackson Whittemore and always throws the best ragers, as well as said Jackson Whittemore who was a star lacrosse player and captain and also a pompous asshole.
You avoided the two like the plague, especially since you’ve always tried to keep a low profile. But somehow, you attended the same parties.
Much to your surprise, Scott’s attention is quickly pulled to you. Your eyes widen and you quickly slam your locker to turn heel, making your way literally anywhere else.
Although, you supposed, you did have a reason to keep an eye on him. While you weren’t the most powerful with your talents yet, if something were to happen, you’d be able to assist Scott. Especially as it was his first day as a werewolf.
So, you made a slow pace to the lacrosse field, where you knew they would be for their first day of practice for the school year. Your iPod was still playing music, now a bit calmer than earlier.
You arrive just in time to see everyone watching the practice cheering. You quirk a brow at Stiles shouting “That’s my friend!” with a point and turn to see Scott standing at the goal, having caught the ball.
The thought arises within you that Scott will quickly become in over his head with his powers. He’s working with no knowledge of how they work at a practice for a sport. You couldn’t be more disappointed.
Though, you realized quickly, he doesn’t know everything that comes with being a werewolf just yet.
Soon, he’ll get the hang of it. He just needed to be taught.
You chuckle.
While you weren’t the last person he should trust to explain his powers to him, you definitely weren’t the first person he should trust either.
Your face drops when you see him catching you looking at him again and you quickly turn around to begin walking back to your car. Your cheeks flush a subtle red, embarrassed to have been caught observing not once, but twice in such a short amount of time.
You grab the leather bound book from your passenger seat, and throw the rest of your school supplies in its place. Once settled, you begin walking a leisurely pace over to the forest next to the school.
Maybe this will be the push you need to really buckle down and learn some new spells.
You had successfully levitated a small log and pushed it around some… again. Your hand was held up, creating a direct path of magic from yourself to the log so you can guide it as you’d like. A sigh escapes your lips as you realize just how much you were struggling with learning any new spells. There was only so much you can do: levitating objects, create a small gust of wind, and creating a small flame the size of a lighter appear with your fingertips were a few.
With a groan, you cock your arm back before shooting it forward, the log following the movements and launching forward through the forest.
“What was that?” The familiar voice of Scott asks and you feel the urge to kick yourself. Why were they also out here?
“Sounded pretty heavy,” Stiles’ voice sounds from a short distance.
You slam your grimoire shut and cringe at the loud ‘thump’ that echoes around.
“Over here-” Scott cuts himself off as he appears from behind a tree. The moment he realizes it’s you, he speeds up.
“Scott, hey, wait, not everyone could be a werewolf, you know-” Stiles cuts himself off as soon as he sees you. “Oh no…” His face falls, processing just what he said and how loud he said it. “That was a joke! I was joking…”
“You-” Scott starts.
“Me?” You ask, trying your hardest to play innocent. You even raise a hand to point at your chest.
“You were watching me in the hall and at practice,” Scott accuses and you can’t even bring yourself to deny it.
“She what-?” Stiles tries but you cut him off.
“And class,” you confess with a sigh as the two stop in front of you. “I sit behind Stiles in English.” You gesture to the pale boy as you finish speaking before tucking the grimoire under your arm.
“Oh, you’re the quiet one who’s always listening to music,” Stiles quickly realizes aloud. “How much music do you have stored on that thing?” He asks, gesturing to the iPod in your pocket.
“I switch out music about twice a month,” you answer with a nod.
“Why are you here?” Scott asks, his voice friendly but pointed.
“Yeah, yeah. That,” Stiles agrees, shooting a halfhearted point at Scott.
You roll your eyes. “What? I can’t go for a walk?”
Stiles’ eyes narrow at you, an action you don’t miss. “In the forest where a dead body was found?”
Scott gets the conversation back on track. “Did you hear the loud thud?” He gestures loosely to where the log had landed, not too far from the three of you.
“I slammed my book shut,” you offer. Scott shakes his head.
“No. It was a thud.”
“Can’t say I did.”
Stiles scoffs at your reply. “Wow. Okay. You’re just going to stand there and lie?”
You scoff back, your eyebrows furrowing from the accusation. He was right, but it still hurt. “Who are you to tell me that I’m lying?”
Stiles opens his mouth to shoot a comment back but Scott beats him to it. “Okay, sure. But why were you watching me?”
“Why are you joking about being a werewolf? And talking about dead bodies?” You shoot back. This causes their eyes to widen.
“How did you-” Scott tries but you cut him off.
“You’re both loud,” you state firmly.
They both sigh and Scott’s gaze falls to the ground, then back to Stiles. “I could’ve sworn this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running.”
And now they’re going to ignore you?!
“That usually means a larger predator is out there. They were scared,” you chime, earning a glare from Stiles, who stands a few feet away with his hands on his hips. “M’kay…” You turn your gaze to the forest floor.
Scott crouches down. “I dropped my inhaler.”
“Maybe the killer moved the body.” Stiles tries to reason, gesturing loosely to the ground.
“Why are we on bodies? Why are you looking for dead bodies?” You try and ask, earning glances from the boys.
“We were bored,” Stiles answers with a shrug.
Scott nods. “Yeah, nothing ever happens in Beacon Hills.” He turns back to Stiles. “If he did, I hope he left my inhaler,” Scott says from his crouched spot, looking up at his friend. “Those things are like eighty bucks.” Stiles chuckles and you roll your eyes before turning around.
“That’s such a bad answer…” you grumble, shifting your weight slightly.
You and Stiles spot a figure at the same time not too far from where the three of you were. A gasp escapes you and you take a few steps back to be in line with them. Stiles hits Scott’s shoulder to grab his attention and he turns around and stands up quickly. The air turned tense quick with the looming presence of the broody man in front of you.
He quickly moves to close the gap and you take another instinctive step back.
“What are you doing here?” He questions. The three of you stay silent, Stiles looking away, Scott staring straight on, and you fidgeting with your book. “Huh? This is private property,” the broody man informs, his gaze on the three of you not relenting.
“Uh, sorry, man, we didn’t know,” Stiles tries, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands. He’s obviously nervous.
“Yeah, we were just looking for something, but…” Scott’s voice pauses for a moment, earning an eyebrow raise from the man. “Uh, forget it.”
With a quick motion, the man throws a small object to Scott before shoving his hand back into his pocket of his leather jacket. Scott catches it easily and you notice that it’s the inhaler he was talking about. You allow your gaze to travel back to the very intense man and furrow your brows.
It’s after a quick eye contact with you and your book that he begins to finally walk away.
“Intense,” you mumble to the boys, earning their gazes. There’s something that seemed to be lingering on Stiles’ mind.
“All right, come on, I gotta get to work,” Scott mutters and moves to begin walking back from where they came, but is stopped by Stiles.
“Dude, and…” Stiles takes a moment to look at you, his gaze holding what you an only perceive as distaste, “you.”
You frown.
“That was Derek Hale,” Stiles informs the both of you and suddenly the name clicks.
“Wait, like, house fire Hale?” You prod, earning a nod from the boy.
“Yeah. Scott, you remember, right? He’s only like a few years older than us.”
Scott continues to look confused. “Remember what? A fire?”
“His family?” Stiles shoots back.
“They all burned to death in a house fire,” you chime in, earning another distasteful glance from Stiles and you frown again.
“Yeah, like ten years ago,” he finishes it up.
Scott looks at the two of you. “I wonder what he’s doing back.”
Stiles scoffs before beginning to walk away. “Come on,” he says, mostly for Scott’s sake.
The latter takes a moment to look out to where Derek walked off before his gaze lands on you. His eyes are kind and warm compared to his friend’s and he gestures for you to walk with them out of the forest. You gratefully nod and follow them back to the parking lot.
At some point during the walk back, Stiles turns around to say something but his eyes land on you before he can. “What? We’re keeping her?” He asks, waving his hand in a loose gesture at you.
You furrow your brows, crossing your arms across your chest, your book nestled in between. “I’m not a dog.”
Scott shakes his head. “Dude, there was a dead body found last night, and a weird stranger hanging out right now. It’s better if we stay together.”
Stiles obviously cannot believe his ears, simply scoffing and turning back forward as you all approached the parking lot.
Scott begins to deviate from where you and Stiles were heading to walk to his bike. “I’ve gotta go.” Scott pauses and looks over to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
“Scott, really?” Stiles looks distressed, his gaze bouncing between you and Scott, clearly holding distrust towards you.
“Yeah.” Scott looks at you. “I have a feeling we’ll be depending on her.”
You smirk. “And I, you.” You look between them.
With that, Scott waves and walks away to go to work. Stiles still glares at you.
“What’s that book?” He asks out of nowhere.
“Why? Trying to do some research on lycanthropy? Werewolves?” Your gaze snaps to his, both of you sharing similar frowns in your expressions.
He shrugs. “What’s it to you?”
The voices sound in your head, what once was a lingering whisper turns into a shout. You wince slightly.
Stiles furrows his brows at you, having noticed your small movement. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” You shake your head. “If something does come out of Scott maybe becoming a werewolf, then, I’d like to help.”
“Yeah, because you obviously know something.” Stiles’ glare hardens but it’s hard to take him seriously with his buzzcut and round cheeks.
“Mm…yeah okay, babyface.” You take a scrap sheet of paper that was tucked into your journal out and look up at Stiles. “You got a pen?”
“Not on me.”
“You got your phone?”
“Yeah.”
You hold your hand out expectantly which Stiles stares at for a moment. After a moment of not doing anything, you make a small gesture for his phone.
“Oh!” He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out.
“Yeah.”
He places it on your hand and you make quick work adding your phone number to his contact list and shoot yourself a text. You feel your phone buzz in your back pocket and hand Stiles back his.
“I’ll text you what I know.”
He nods and shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Cool. Thanks.”
You nod, slipping your car keys out of your pocket.
“Alright, no seriously. What’s the book? It’s going to eat away at me if I don’t know.” Stiles tries again, his tone of voice a lot kinder than before. He looks defeated now, his posture more slumped and arms hanging loosely by his sides. He’s no longer glaring.
You lean your head from side to side as you contemplate telling him. “Ehh… You’ll find out soon enough. You can hardly handle ‘werewolf best friend.’ We don’t need you more stressed out than you already are.” With that, you begin to walk to your car a few spots over from Stiles’ signature blue Jeep.
He begins to protest but you cut him off. “See you tomorrow, Stiles.” You get into your car and press your fingers to your temples. All things considered, the voices were decently well behaved today.
Against your better judgement, you find yourself watching lacrosse practice again. This time, you sit in the stands with your eyes trained on Scott and Stiles. Eventually, you watch as Scott walks away from Stiles and onto the field. After a few seconds of standing around, Stiles follows.
You never liked the coach. He always rubbed you the wrong way with how he spoke to students. But, at least he wasn’t your coach.
Cheering is heard from the crowd of boys in their gear on the field. When they disperse and begin playing, you feel your phone buzz. You reach into your pocket and pull it out to see a message from Stiles. Your eyes widen as you read it.
Stiles: Overheard my dad on the phone that the fiber analysis from LA lab showed animal hair on the body in the woods.
You: Let me guess: wolf?
Stiles: Bingo.
You let out a sigh as your eyes remained glued to your screen, trying to formulate a response. Your fingers move faster than your brain does.
You: A wolf comes out of no where, kills someone, bites Scott. Do they know who the person was?
Stiles: No, and they’re still interviewing suspects.
You: Cool. Cool cool cool.
You: Not cool, actually.
Looking up, you notice Stiles staring at you from his spot on the bench. Your brows furrow. You were about to open a messy can of worms.
You were shocked when Stiles invites you over after practice. But when you really process it, you’re not really. Scott was pulling stunts that no one on the team has ever done before, at least, that you were aware of. You sit on his bed, copying notes from the grimoire into a spiral notebook for Stiles while he scrolls through his computer on his desk.
Every few minutes, the printer goes off and Stiles picks up a worn down book to continue searching for anything he felt he needed to know about werewolves.
You copy down everything on the page, including personal entries from one of the first owners of the book. They had trusted a werewolf once but was betrayed by them. The book was passed down to their next of kin. You made the decision to leave out a few details here and there as to not freak Stiles out too much.
When you finish writing everything down, you tear out the pages from the notebook and place them on the desk next to Stiles’ computer.
“What did you find?” You ask, leaning over to look at the computer screen.
“A lot…” he answers before his gaze slips to the pages you placed down. “Didn’t know you were an artist.” He gestures to the sketch of a werewolf in the center of the top page.
“I traced it.” You shrug.
Your attention is stolen from the page when a knock sounds on the door to his room. A flash of nervous fear strikes the two of you with the sound of knuckles against wood. You both look at each other before creeping over to it. Stiles slowly puts his hand on the knob, sharing a look with you. You nod and the door swings open.
On the other side of the doorway is Scott, who’s smile falls slightly at the sight of the two of you. You and Stiles, on the other hand, relax physically.
“Thought you didn’t like each other,” Scott jokes and Stiles pulls him inside of the room.
“Get in. You gotta see this, dude.” Stiles leads Scott into the room as you step back to give him the space to. “We’ve been up all night reading. Websites, books. All this information.”
“How much Adderall have you had today?” Scott asks, causing a pause in the conversation. His eyes were bouncing around the desk and the surrounding area to the various stacks of books and miscellaneous papers strewn about.
You can’t stop the burst of laughter that you accidentally let out before placing a hand over your mouth when they both look at you. “Sorry…” you mutter.
“Is this about the body? Did they find out who did it?” Scott asks and you shake your head.
“They haven’t. Not yet,” you say.
Stiles sits down in his chair while you and Scott take the bed.
“They’re still questioning people, even Derek Hale,” Stiles informs.
“Oh, the guy in the woods that we saw the other day,” Scott says with a level of calm that does not match Stiles’ frantic explanations.
“Yeah! Yes. But that’s not it, okay?” Stiles says and the air in the room turns more serious.
“What then?”
“Remember the joke from the other day? Not a joke anymore,” Stiles tells Scott, earning a furrowed brow from the latter. “The wolf. The bite in the woods.”
At Scott’s silence, Stiles starts up again. “Y/N and I started doing all this reading-”
“I thought you didn’t trust her.”
“I know more than you think,” you chime in.
“Do you even know why a wolf howls?” Stiles gets the conversation back on track, aiming his question at Scott. He stands from his chair as he speaks, looking down at you and Scott.
“Should I?” Scott asks, obviously not as bothered by this conversation as his friend.
“It’s a signal, okay? When a wolf’s alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby. I mean, maybe even a whole pack of them.” Stiles finishes, glancing over at you. You nod.
“A whole pack of wolves?” Scott’s voice comes out small.
“No. Werewolves.” Stiles says firmly.
The room goes silent for a moment before Scott stands up. “Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I’m picking up Allison in an hour,” Scott’s tone, while still warm, holds disappointment aimed at his friend. Then he turns to you. “You’re just going to go along with it?”
Stiles looks at you and you stand up. “I was at your practice today and what you did on the field would be impossible for anyone else to do,” you pause as you think of your next sentence. “It’s not just a hunch, Scott. I watched you get bit. I had a vision,” you confess, earning wide eyed stares from both of the boys.
“Vision? Like-” Stiles starts up but you cut him off.
“Like, magical type vision.” You nod.
“Yeah, right,” Scott scoffs, turning to leave.
“You almost got hit by a car, right?” You ask, causing him to whip his head back around to look at you. Stiles looks stunned.
“How did you-”
“I saw it happen, almost like I was there,” you say again. They both continue to stare at you.
Stiles speaks up first. “What are you some… some kind of witch?” He asks, a small tremor in his voice from his nerves.
“Close guess, but no. I’m a sorceress.” You pause and do an awkward shrug. “Well, a sorceress in training. Learning.”
Scott shakes his head, trying to rationalize it before shaking his head. “Funny joke, guys. So I made a good shot.” He moves to leave again but is stopped by Stiles, who takes his bag and throws it on the bed. Your brows furrow.
“No, you made an incredible shot. I mean, the way you moved, your speed, your reflexes.” Stiles moves to stand in front of Scott once more. “People can’t just suddenly do that overnight. And then there’s the vision and the senses- Don’t even think I don’t notice you don’t need your inhaler anymore-” Stiles gets cut off by Scott, who snaps.
“Okay! Dude, I can’t think about this now. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Scott says decisively, earning panicked moves from you and Stiles.
“Tomorrow?” Stiles shouts. “The full moon is tonight! Don’t you get it?”
“It’s not going to be safe out there. For you or anyone you’re with,” you try, but it seems to be in vain.
“What are you both trying to do?” Scott asks, anger and confusion making its way out. Stiles moves to sit at his desk while Scott follows. You move to sit on the bed with your grimoire. “I just made first line. I got a date with a girl who I can’t believe wants to go out with me. Everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?” Scott asks, accusation threading through his words. You frown.
“I’m trying to help,” Stiles corrects, his big eyes looking up at his friend with concern. “You’re cursed, Scott. You know, and it’s not just that the moon will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak.” He leans back in his chair, his brows furrowed to a point where creases appear on his forehead.
“Bloodlust,” Scott repeats, almost in disbelief.
“Yeah, your urge to kill,” Stiles explains.
“It’s when you’ll be at your most violent. You won’t have control over what you’re doing- at least, not yet. You need to learn how to control your powers, Scott,” you inform, your eyes scanning through the passages in the grimoire about transformation stories.
“I’m already starting to feel an urge to kill.”
You can practically feel the fury radiating off of Scott as he says that.
“You gotta hear this. ‘The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse,’” Stiles reads from a book on his desk. “Alright? I haven’t seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does-”
Oh god, it clicks. Super late, but it clicks. “Stiles,” you call as he stands up.
“You gotta cancel cancel this date.” He moves to the bed as you call out to him again.
“Stiles.” Your eyes remain glued to the back of Scott’s head as he watches Stiles move.
“I’m gonna call her right now.” Stiles pulls out the phone from Scott’s bag and crosses over to his dresser.
Scott rolls his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m canceling the date,” Stiles says matter-of-factly.
The tone of the room shifts as quickly as Scott can grab Stiles.
“No, give it to me!” Scott shouts and shoves Stiles into the wall. He raises his fist to punch him in a quick motion but stops when he feels a tugging sensation, keeping his arm held back.
The two look at you, your arm raised, holding Scott back from hitting his best friend with nothing but your mind and the magic that lives in it. Scott tries to tug his arm away from the sensation.
“What are you doing?” He shouts at you. You simply shake your head with wide eyes. When he looks calm enough, you let go just to watch him punch Stiles’ chair so hard that it falls over.
A silence fills the room with the exception of Scott’s panting as he begins to calm down. You share a look with Stiles, concern filling your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Scott finally says softly, his eyes wandering to look at the state of the room before finally backing away from Stiles. “I gotta go get ready for that party,” he stammers out. As he moves to grab his backpack from the bed, his eyes land on you.
You can’t stop yourself from gulping. Neither you nor Stiles move.
When Scott reaches the door, he looks back at the two of you. “I’m sorry.”
It’s when the door closes behind him that either of you feel like you can move again.
“Are you okay?” You ask quietly. Stiles doesn’t say anything, simply throwing his head back into the wall. You frown at the action. “Stiles…”
“You knew it was going to happen,” he accuses, looking at you. “That he was going to shove me against the wall-”
“It only clicked when you started talking about his pulse rising.”
“You have these powers but let him shove me against the wall!”
“It was more reactive than proactive. Sure,” you shoot back, your voice just as firm as his. You let out a sigh. “You made a good effort. The rest of it is on him,” you say softly.
Stiles steps forward, frustration evident with every step. “I want to hear everything.” He points at you before turning to pick up his chair. When he does, he falters and you step forward.
On the back of the leather chair is a giant claw scratch. You and Stiles share a look, eyebrows raised in horror. You needed to avoid anything like this happening again tonight.
About an hour passes and you’re sitting in front of Stiles with newly ordered pizza sitting in between you. Your grimoire is next to you on the table. You had taken the trip over to your place in an attempt to calm you both down. To your surprise, it sort of worked.
Stiles sat across from you, tense, as you grabbed a slice. He follows your motions after you.
“So…” Stiles tries awkwardly.
“My whole… thing, yeah?” You ask, just as awkwardly. Stiles nods.
“Okay… well… it started when we were in the fourth grade. That’s when the voices first started-” You get cut off by Stiles’ shocked voice.
“Voices? You never said anything about voices.”
“Would you like to hear about the voices?” You ask, calmly.
“Well, yeah, I mean, if it helps explain your whole deal-”
“Then let me speak.” You frown at him and he nods. “The voices started in fourth grade. There was this kid that I hated for, really, no reason, but I couldn’t not hate him. There was something about him. When I told my parents about the voices, I think it ruined… everything. That was when I was like, nine? Then the boy left Beacon Hills and the voices went away.
“At ten, my dad left. No goodbye, just left. And my mom has been distant ever since, cagey.” You let out a shaky breath, not willing to look at Stiles. “At twelve, things began to change. The voices were back, the same whispers that they were the first time. But they didn’t go away. Nothing really sparked them, not like the first time.
“Around that time, I was going through the attic and found a bin of my dad’s old books and CD’s which I claimed- really out of spite. It was in the bin that I found this.” You move your hand to rest on the grimoire. You don’t slide it to Stiles. You just keep your hand on it. “It’s a grimoire. It’s like a spell book and it also doubled as a journal for some of my ancestors.”
“Ancestors?” Stiles asks, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought as you nod.
“It got passed down through generations. It dates back to the late 1600’s- and don’t even get me started on how this book is still a book. I think it has some type of protection charm to keep it from decomposing or getting destroyed.”
Stiles nods as if that was going to be another question.
“I was skeptical at first, but then I also realized that it could be the reason I have the voices in my head? I don’t know, I was really trying to rationalize it all. Still am. Eventually, I accidentally levitated something in front of my mom and she looked at me like I was a monster. She’s been going on month long business trips since I was fourteen.”
You finally look up at Stiles, who’s listening intently. “I’m sure you noticed how I’m always wearing earbuds.”
“Yeah, thought you just hated people,” he says with a nod.
“I mean, yeah, but it was also to drown out the voices. That’s also why I go to parties from time to time- the booze helps keep them silent.” You take another shaky breath as you really realize that you have never told this story to anyone before. “In the three years leading to now, I learned a handful of easy spells including,” you raise your hand and snap. You keep your pointer and thumb together as a small flame appears. Stiles gasps in awe.
“Then, the night before the first day of school happened. The voices flared up in a way they never have before and I saw Scott running from the wolf, getting bit, and almost getting hit by the car, all from my room. I looked down to see I opened to the page on werewolves in the grimoire.”
“And that’s why you were watching us,” Stiles deduces and you nod.
“So, long story short: I’m pretty sure I inherited my powers from my dad, who decided to pick up milk from the store and never come back,” you pause as Stiles lets out a soft chuckle, “and I have voices in my head that lead to visions and powers that I can’t control yet. I’m still learning. But I can do a few things.” You pause before you remember the forest, right before meeting Derek. “And that time in the woods before we met Derek? That loud thud? That was me…”
Stiles shrugs, not surprised. “I mean, yeah. What did you do?” He leans in closer against the table.
“I launched a log with my powers.” You smile sheepishly at him and he leans back in his chair.
“Cool, so, you’re kind of like a Jedi…” He says and you respond by bobbing your head side to side with a soft grimace. Stiles takes a second to think. “Why’d you stay isolated during all that time?” He asks, his voice soft.
You shrug. “Figured it would be easier given the whole predicament. But you guys are different. You guys are already seeing this other world first hand.”
“Yeah, and it sucks. I’m trying to help Scott but he’s not listening.” Stiles runs a hand along his buzzcut head then down over his face.
“It’s probably also the effect of the full moon, Stiles. He’ll realize what he’s done. He’ll make it up to you.” A wide grin takes over your lips. “So, what’s this about a party?”
You and Stiles arrive at Lydia’s place and you immediately head towards the table of red solo cups and various bottles of soda, juice, and alcohol. Stiles trails behind you.
“Shot?” You shout over your shoulder to him in an attempt to be heard over the voices and music. He responds with a no and practically gawks at you while you down one, two, three shots before pouring a mixed drink out for yourself. Your body moves on its own as you mix tequila with some sprite.
“Y/N! We needed to stay, like, conscious because of Scott-”
“Mmm… we’ll be fine,” you hum out. Stiles rolls his eyes and guides you inside. “I’ll be fine, Stiles.” You smile, following him until eventually you’re both stopped by a crowd of students chatting when they call him over.
The group of students look you up and down, eyeing you like you just said something offensive. You gulp.
“You guys know Y/N, right?” Stiles introduces and you hesitantly smile and raise your cup an inch in greeting. They offer kind but awkward smiles.
Should’ve taken more shots…
You let Stiles take over the conversation with your peers, chiming in whenever you had a funny quip to add to the conversation and when they laugh, you smile.
“This isn’t so bad, right?” Stiles lightly elbows your side and you roll your eyes.
“It’s the three shots I had, dude,” you shoot back with a grin. He smiles back.
But both of your smiles drop when you watch Scott stumble by. You look to each other, then to Scott, Stiles calling out to make sure he’s alright. He ignores you. He looks like he’s going to be sick.
You know it’s because of the full moon.
You move to follow him with quick feet, shoving through the crowd. Stumbling outside, you noticed you lost Stiles somewhere in between locations and managed to get to the patio just in time to see Scott driving away. You pull out your phone and call Stiles. He picks up on the first ring.
“I’m already heading outside. Meet me at the Jeep,” he shouts into the phone over the party and abruptly hangs up.
You sigh wistfully at the red solo cup in your hand. “We’ll meet again,” you mutter as you chug what you can before tossing it to the side.
You make quick work of getting to the Jeep, only waiting for a few moments before Stiles arrives. You both clamber in and Stiles begins the drive.
“Oh, three shots and a mixed drink before a drive was not the wisest idea,” you mumble with closed eyes, leaning your head back as Stiles did his best to keep the drive smooth for you.
“I told you we had to-”
“Yeah, yeah. Save the lecture.”
You successfully make it to Scott’s house without throwing up and make a dash to the front door with, you on Stiles’ tail. He opens the front door and bolts in and up the stairs. You eye the door and the fact that it was unlocked before your attention is pulled away to the banging on a door at the top of the stairs. You run up to meet Stiles just as he manages to crack the door open. Scott seems to be on the other side keeping it from opening the whole way.
“Let us in, Scott. We can help,” Stiles calls, trying to push open the door.
“No!” Scott calls, his voice sounds obstructed and it takes you a moment to realize that he now has fangs. “Listen, you gotta find Allison.”
“She’s fine, all right? I saw her get a ride from the party. She’s totally fine, alright?” Stiles tries to calm him down only to get cut off.
“I think I know who it is,” Scott shouts from behind the door.
“Scott, you have to trust us. You have to let us in,” you call from your place behind Stiles.
“Just let us in. We can try-” Stiles is cut off by a name falling from Scott’s speech.
“It’s Derek. Derek Hale is the werewolf. He’s the one that bit me. He’s the one that killed the girl in the woods,” Scott rambles out quickly, his panting heard loudly from the crack of the door.
“Scott,” Stiles starts carefully, “Dereks’ the one who drove Allison from the party.”
There’s a pause where nothing happens for a moment before the door slams shut. Stiles does his best to try and open it.
He bangs on the door. “Scott!”
“Dammit,” you sigh out, running a hand through your hair. “We have to check on Allison and then we have to find Scott.”
Stiles nods at your plan. “Get to the Jeep. We gotta go.” You both turn on your heels and make your way back out of Scott’s house and into the Jeep.
It’s a silent but tense drive to Allison’s house, the two of you already fearing the worse. You both remain tense as he pulls into the driveway.
“Stay here,” he instructs and you do as you’re told, watching as he climbs out of the Jeep and books it up the walkway to the door to the Argent’s house.
He makes quick work of knocking on the door before it opens to a middle-aged woman with ginger hair. That has to be Allison’s mom.
When you see him stammering, you make your way out of the Jeep and run up the stairs to join him at the door.
Stiles’ eyes widen at your sudden arrival “I thought I told you to-”
“Allison, it’s for you,” Mrs. Argent calls, her voice shakes you up a bit, if you had to be honest. Your gaze rises to Allison who arrives on the landing.
Stiles seems to be at a loss for words.
“Oh! Good!” You speak up, a tight smile on your face. “We just wanted to make sure you got home safe. We kind of saw what happened. Trust me when I say Scott’s gonna get an earful about this. Are you okay?” You speak quickly, your eyes never leaving the girl.
“Peachy,” Allison answers with a dejected tone. You can’t say you blame her. You all watch as she goes back into her room.
“Sorry about her-”
“No we’re sorry, we should’ve been keeping a better eye on our friend. We’re glad she got home safe. If you’ll excuse us, we have a lot to talk about with Scott,” you finish with a stern tone that amuses Mrs. Argent. “Have a great night!”
You’re quick to tug Stiles back to the Jeep before you climb in again.
“Quick thinking,” he compliments as he starts up the Jeep and begins to drive around again, this time, looking for Scott.
“Thanks, you kind of froze up,” you state your observation, earning a glare from the boy.
You drove around all night trying to find Scott. When the sun was beginning to rise is when you finally found him, walking along the road deep into the forest.
Stiles pulls up next to him and you climb your way into the back, allowing Scott to sit in the front with his friend.
It’s a quiet drive at first until Scott speaks up. “You know what actually worries me the most?” He asks, his gaze staying forward as he leans against the passenger side door. He’s exhausted.
“If you say Allison, I’m going to punch you in the head,” Stiles states firmly, sparing a glance over at him.
You didn’t feel like you had any right to say anything during this moment. You instead leaned back and just listened.
“She probably hates me now.”
You have to hold back a laugh and Stiles groans.
“I doubt that,” Stiles affirms, much to your surprise.
Then you find yourself leaning forward. “Hey, just explain that you weren’t feeling well and it came over you all at once. Apologize and ask to try again.”
Scott turns to look at you. “You think that’ll work?”
“It’ll have to be a pretty amazing apology,” Stiles speaks up again. “Or, you know, you could just tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you’re a freaking werewolf.”
There’s a pause as Scott stares at Stiles, causing him to think about what he just said.
“Yeah, bad idea,” Stiles agrees.
“It’ll work out, Scott.” You attempt to comfort him by reaching forward and putting a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Yeah, we’ll get through this.” Stiles spares Scott a glance. “Come on, if I have to, I’ll chain you up myself on full moon nights and feed you live mice.”
Both you and Scott stare at Stiles in disbelief of his words.
“I had a boa once, I could do it.”
It takes a moment to break the tension with breathy chuckles, the rest of the drive falling into a comforting silence.
It’s when Stiles is pulling up into your driveway that Scott speaks up again, turning in his seat to look at you. “Thanks for sticking around throughout all that, Y/N,” he says with a grateful smile.
You nod with a smile of your own. “Thanks for trusting me enough to keep me around, both of you,” you tell them both before finally climbing out of the Jeep. “Get home safe,” you call with a wave before making your way into the house and finally letting the exhaustion of the night take you once you’re in your bed.
And you don’t realize it, but the voices in your head have been quiet throughout the whole ordeal, allowing your sleep to come without fuss.
Falling for each other in secret had been the easy part. Learning to let the whole world watch is where the real story behins.
Suddenly everyone in Beacon Hills has an opinion about your relationship. Stiles accidentally becomes one of the most recognisable boys in school, your popularity takes an unexpected nosedive, and neither of you can seem to keep your hands off each other long enough to stop giving the entire student body something new to gossip about.
An: I was so surprised by all the love on ‘Dirty Little Secret’ and had to give ya’ll who asked for it a part 2. I hope it did the first part justice!
———————————————————————
Life had changed as soon as you and Stiles Stilinski decided to stop keeping your relationship a secret. At first, the whispers had been deafening, spreading through the school corridors faster than wildfire through dry brush.
“Did you hear?”
“She’s dating Stiles Stilinski.”
“Seriously?”
“No way.”
“I thought it was a joke.”
“We all did, but apparently not.”
For nearly two weeks, the relationship had been treated like some elaborate social experiment. People had stared. People had speculated. People had waited for the punchline that never came because there wasn’t one. Eventually, the novelty faded…but the fascination with the oddity that was the two of you together never did.
Your popularity had slipped noticeably. Invitations to certain parties stopped arriving. A few people who had once orbited around you like devoted satellites quietly drifted toward shinier constellations. You found, surprisingly, that you didn’t miss them.
Meanwhile, Stiles had become something of a celebrity. He was someone younger classmen high-fived in the halls or nodded to with respect. Students who’d never spoken to him suddenly knew his name and said hello in the hallways. Even members of the lacrosse team had started treating him like he belonged instead of like comic relief.
But his popularity hadn’t exploded because he’d suddenly become cool. It had exploded because everyone wanted to understand how he’d managed to capture the attention of the girl half the school had once considered untouchable.
Neither of you really fit where you used to anymore. You weren’t part of the popular crowd. He wasn’t entirely part of the outcasts. You’d somehow landed together in the strange, comfortable middle ground between worlds.
You loved it. Between stolen kisses, milkshakes and burgers after school, and conversations that lasted until two in the morning, you had both stopped caring what everyone else thought.
There was, however, one thing that absolutely had not changed. Neither of you could keep your hands off each other.
Certainly not where you currently were, in the powder-blue Jeep currently parked in the far corner of Beacon Hills High’s student lot, its windows already beginning to fog in the crisp autumn air. Morning sunlight filtered through the windshield in pale ribbons, catching dust motes that floated lazily through the cabin like tiny golden galaxies.
Stiles sat in the driver’s seat, one hand absentmindedly resting on your waist, the other still loosely wrapped around the paper coffee cup he’d abandoned several minutes ago. It had long since gone cold.
You were turned sideways in your seat, one knee tucked beneath you, your fingers tangled comfortably in the front of his flannel. His hair was still damp from his shower. He’d clearly made an effort this morning.
His buzzed hair had been coaxed under an old baseball cap turned backwards, and it was exactly that which had led you to jump him as soon as the car shifted gears into park.
“Sorry,” he murmured, smiling that crooked, shy smile that still made your stomach perform acrobatics. “Coffee breath.”
“I don’t care.” You hummed into his lips.
“You look…” He blinked slowly, a dazed look coming over his face as he admired you between kisses. “…really pretty.”
You laughed. “That’s all you’ve got?”
“I had more,” he admitted sheepishly.
“What happened to it?”
“You looked at me.” His ears were already turning pink. “I forgot the rest. I always forget things when you look at me.”
God. He’d been your boyfriend for nearly three months, and he still managed to say things that completely unraveled you.
You reached over and straightened the collar of his flannel. “You know,” you said softly, “you’re getting better.”
His eyebrows lifted in questioning.
“At flirting,” you clarified.
“I am?”
“Mhm.” You planted yet another languid kiss on his lips.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“I noticed.”
His grin widened. “You’ve been noticing me a lot lately.”
“I’ve always noticed you.” The words slipped out effortlessly, no attempt to stop them as you once would have.
Stiles’ expression softened. There it was again. That look that made it feel as though the rest of the world disappeared whenever he looked at you. Like somehow you were still impossible. “…Yeah?” he asked quietly.
You smiled instead of answering. Then you leaned forward and kissed him again. He melted immediately. It was almost unfair how easily he gave in. One second he was talking, the next he was smiling into the kiss, one hand instinctively finding your waist while yours slid into the hair at the back of his neck.
He made that tiny, contented hum you adored, a sound so unconscious he probably didn’t even realise he did it. You smiled against his lips.
“What?” he mumbled.
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re cute, and you make me happy.”
“I was trying to be suave and debonair.”
You laughed, brushing your thumb over his cheek before kissing him again. “You failed.”
“Oh.”
“You ended up adorable.”
“I’ll…take adorable.”
Your lips met his for longer this time, stealing minutes away without either of you noticing. By the time you finally leaned back, both of you were smiling. Stiles looked wonderfully dazed. You, however, took one look at him and burst into laughter.
He frowned. “…What?”
You tried to answer. You genuinely did. Instead, another fit of laughter escaped.
“What?” He repeated, more forcefully this time.
“Oh…” You laughed harder, pressing a hand over your mouth. “Stiles…”
“What?”
“You…” you pointed at his face.
He instinctively wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “There?”
You shook your head. “No.”
He rubbed harder. “…Now?”
“No.”
His confusion deepened. “What is it?”
“You’ve…” You dissolved into laughter again. “You’ve got lipstick.”
“Oh.” He wiped once more.
“Got it?”
You were about to shake your head once more, until a devious thought crossed your mind. Instead, your teeth played with your lower lip and you nodded. “Mhmm.”
The trusting expression on his face only made your stomach flutter in response and you couldn’t deny yourself more. Flinging your arms around his neck, you clambered right onto his lap, pushing him back in the driver’s seat and devouring him with your lips.
By the time you were done with him, your deep red lipstick was over almost every visible inch of his skin. It was pressed into his lips, lingered over his jaw, smudged over his cheeks, plastered to both sides of his neck, and even a little right on the tip of his nose from right before you pulled away.
“Someone’s enthusiastic.” He settled back in the car seat, flushed and breathless.
You laughed and reached over, long nails brushing your thumb lightly along his jaw. “Keep the hat on after school and you might get more than a few kisses.”
A dumbfounded expression came over Stiles’s face at the notion and before he could recover, the warning bell rang shrilly. Both of you jumped.
“Oh no,” Stiles breathed. “We’re late. How are we late? We got here like an hour early!” He scrambled to grab his backpack from the back seat.
You slipped off his lap and shrugged, wiping the red lipstick that had strayed out of your lip line and fixing your makeup in the visor mirror. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
———————————————————————
He made it through homeroom completely oblivious. Not because nobody stared. Quite the opposite was true. Heads turned the moment he walked through the classroom door and whispers followed him down every aisle. Stiles noticed none of it. His brain was far too occupied replaying the morning. The way you’d smiled. The way you’d called him adorable. Every few minutes, another hopeless grin spread across his face.
Mrs. Finch called on him twice before he realised she’d asked a question.
When the bell finally rang, he wandered into first-period Chemistry still wearing the exact same goofy expression.
Scott looked up from his notebook to say good morning when he froze at the sight of his best friend. “Dude…”
Stiles slid into the seat beside him. “What?”
Scott stared. “Dude!”
“What?”
“You…” Scott gestured vaguely toward his own face. “…look like you got attacked by a tube of lipstick.”
Stiles blinked. “…Huh?”
Scott blinked back. “I’m serious. Go look.”
Stiles instinctively touched his mouth and his fingertips came away bright red. He stiffened at the sight. “…Oh no.”
Scott nodded sympathetically. “Yeah.”
“Shit!”
Thirty seconds later he was sprinting toward the nearest boys’ bathroom. He skidded to a stop in front of the mirror to see…
“…Oh my God.”
His reflection looked ridiculous. Your lipstick wasn’t just on his lips. It decorated his jaw in the unmistakable shapes of your lips. There was another smudge stretched across his cheek, a streak along the side of his neck, even the corner of one ear somehow bore a crimson print. “…How did she even…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He turned on the faucet, grabbed a handful of paper towels, and scrubbed frantically. Nothing budged. He scrubbed harder. The towels came back bloody but the lipstick had stained his skin a stubborn rosy pink.
“Oh, this is bad.” He splashed water again. “…This is so bad.”
Five minutes later he emerged looking only marginally less incriminating. The lipstick was gone, but the evidence remained. His jaw looked permanently flushed and his neck was still faintly pink. He spent the entirety of Chemistry sitting with one hand awkwardly covering the side of his face whenever anyone looked his way.
Scott, to his credit, didn’t laugh. Much.
The moment the bell rang, Stiles practically bolted into the hallway. He spotted you almost instantly. You were standing by your next class, laughing with your best friend, Lydia. The two of you had made up after your brief row a few months ago.
Stiles’s expression shifted into relief at the sight of you. “There you are.”
You turned. The second you saw him you started laughing again uncontrollably. It doubled you over until you had to grab the wall for balance. “I am so sorry,” you wheezed. “I really am.”
“No, you’re not.” He huffed indignantly, looking around self-consciously at the hoard of students that had slowed down in the hallway to gawk at him and point and whisper.
“I’m trying to be.” You promised.
“You absolutely are not.”
You looked up, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard. His face was still decently pink despite all his scrubbing. “Oh my God,” you gasped between laughs. “Did you seriously walk around like that all morning?”
“…Yes. Now I’ll you please help me get this off?”
“Oh, Stiles.” You laughed so hard you had to lean against him.
He sighed dramatically. “I have never been so publicly humiliated.”
“I don’t know…” you teased once you caught your breath. “I think it’s kind of cute.”
He looked at you with exaggerated betrayal.“Cute?”
“Mhm.”
“I looked like a crime scene.”
“You looked like my crime scene.”
“Ugh, I’m gonna barf,” Lydia rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but even she was smirking in amusement.
He groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Babe, please.”
“Oh, okay, okay. But only because I love it when you beg,” you sighed, giving in.
Your comment made him go scarlet once more. You gently took his wrists, lowering his hands before pressing one quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
You slipped your fingers through his. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I have makeup-removing wipes in my locker.” You explained.
His shoulders sagged in visible relief. “You are literally my favorite person.”
You squeezed his hand. “I know.”
Then, still laughing together, you tugged him down the hallway toward your locker, while half the student body watched the most talked-about couple at Beacon Hills High disappear around the corner, completely wrapped up in each other and blissfully unconcerned with anyone else.
———————————————————————
There were certain things that Sheriff Stilinski expected from his son. He expected his shoes abandoned in the middle of the hallway. He expected at least three half-empty glasses of water to accumulate on Stiles’ bedside table. He expected the Jeep to be perpetually coated in a fine layer of dust, fast-food wrappers multiplying inside it with the efficiency of rabbits. He expected his son to wake up exactly twelve minutes before school, throw on the first clean-ish shirt he could find, drag a hand vaguely through his hair once, and sprint out the door with a piece of toast hanging from his mouth.
That was Stiles. Or at least, it had been. But lately his son had become very suspicious. The first thing Noah noticed was the singing. It started one Tuesday morning. He was halfway through making coffee when he heard muffled music drifting down the hallway. His son was singing, quite badly. Terribly, actually. But he sounded unmistakably happy.
“Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn't you love to love her?”
Noah slowly lowered his coffee mug. “…Is that Fleetwood Mac?”
“Takes to the sky like a bird in flight and who will be her lover? All your life you've never seen a woman taken by the wind…”
He stood in the kitchen doorway, staring down the hall as though expecting to discover an imposter wearing his son’s face. Stiles never sang before school. Before school, Stiles usually resembled a sleep-deprived raccoon stumbling through an existential crisis. This was new.
Then came the showers. Not singular, but plural. One in the morning, and one after school. Followed by a brand new, fancy-smelling aftershave and cologne.
The clothes came next. One Saturday morning Noah nearly dropped his newspaper when Stiles walked downstairs wearing jeans that had no holes. His flannel actually matched, and his sneakers were clean.
Stiles caught him staring. “What?”
“…You look…” Noah searched for the right word. “…Presentable.”
Stiles mumbled something about fashion being subjective before disappearing out the front door. Noah watched him leave.
Then there was the Jeep. That was what finally convinced him. Because his son was washing it. Even better, he was using soap, and a sponge. Noah stood on the porch with his coffee, watching Stiles carefully scrub the hood in slow circles. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t complaining. He was actually whistling joyfully.
He wandered down the driveway. Stiles was bent over polishing one of the headlights with an old microfiber cloth, humming under his breath.
Noah leaned casually against the mailbox. “Morning.”
Stiles looked up with a grin so bright it practically reflected off the freshly cleaned windshield. “Morning Pops!”
“…You’re washing the Jeep.”
“Yep.”
“The same Jeep that looked like it had been through a years’ worth of dust storms?” Noah squinted quizzically.
“Oh come on, Dad. It wasn’t that bad.” Stiles huffed, rolling his eyes.
“There was an entire taco under the passenger seat.” Noah raised an eyebrow and peered through the window to see inside the cabin was also immaculate.
“No there wasn’t.” Stiles forced a scoff that told his father he was certainly lying.
Noah folded his arms. “So.”
“So?”
“You’ve been showering twice a day.”
“…Have I?” Stiles frowned, confused as to where this conversation was headed.
“You’re wearing cologne.”
Stiles was starting to get defensive now, tossing his arms up, cloth flying in the air. “So I like smelling nice.”
“You’ve done your laundry without me asking.”
“…And?”
“You’ve deep cleaned your room.” Noah kept piling on oddities as reasons for his concern.
“It was spring cleaning. Everybody’s got to do it once a year.”
“It’s autumn. And you ironed your shirt before school yesterday morning.”
Stiles stopped polishing. “…You noticed that?”
“I noticed because I had to check whether I’d accidentally walked into the wrong house.”
Stiles laughed nervously while Noah waited for an answer or explanation. Instead, his son resumed polishing the mirror with intense concentration, trying to escape the conversation.
“So…” Noah said lightly, prompting him.
“Mhm?” Stiles hummed as he dropped the rag and dipped into the bucket to retrieve the sponge, starting to wash down the wheels and rims.
“…Who’s the girl?”
The sponge slipped from Stiles’ hand. It landed in the driveway with a wet splat. “…What girl?” He choked.
Noah grinned. “The one you’re dating.”
“…Dating? Me?” Stiles pointed at himself using two soapy fingers with an open-mouthed gawk.
“No, the neighbor’s Labrador.” Noah drawled sarcastically.
Stiles made a strangled noise. “I’m not…I mean, I could be, but—”
“Please, Stiles, I’m not an idiot. You’ve been smiling at your phone. You’ve started using conditioner.”
“…Conditioner is good for your hair.”
“You’ve been humming Fleetwood Mac for two weeks.”
“I like Fleetwood Mac.”
“You haven’t voluntarily cleaned your car in two years.”
“Which is precisely why it needed it.”
“It needed it eighteen months ago.”
Stiles’s mouth opened once more but no words came out as he grappled for a reasonable answer.
Noah couldn’t help smiling. “I know that face. So, who is she?”
Stiles groaned loudly, dropping his forehead against the Jeep’s roof. “Oh my God.”
“So?”
Stiles stayed hidden behind the Jeep for another few seconds before finally peeking over the roof, cheeks already bright red. “You might freak out.”
“Why would I freak out?” Noah asked.
“You definitely might. Everyone else seems to when they find out.” Stiles shook his head, defeated.
Noah laughed. “Son.”
Stiles sighed so deeply it sounded like every ounce of oxygen left his body. “…It’s Y/N. You know, Lydia’s friend.”
Noah’s eyebrows shot nearly to his hairline. “Oh?…Huh.”
That wasn’t the reaction Stiles had expected. “…That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know.”
Noah chuckled. “I don’t care who you’re dating. I care how she treats you.” His voice softened. He nodded toward the grin Stiles was unsuccessfully trying to suppress. “…Does she make you this happy all the time?”
Stiles looked down at the sponge on the ground. “Yeah. Really happy.” A stupid smirk came over his face as he remembered exactly how he’d felt with her draped over his lap in the school parking lot. “It’s good. We’re good. Like, really, good.”
“Okay, now that’s too much information,” Noah grimaced, but he reached over and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m happy for you, kid. You should tell her to come over for dinner one night. I’d like to meet her.”
Stiles’ eyes widened. “…Really?”
“Yeah,” Then Noah added with perfect seriousness. “And maybe warn her about the taco under the passenger seat.”
Stiles groaned. “Dad.”
“What?”
“I threw the taco away.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Dad!”
Noah laughed all the way back toward the house while Stiles stood beside the sparkling Jeep, smiling to himself.
———————————————————————
The first time you ever felt nervous around Stiles Stilinski was the day you were supposed to meet his dad. It was objectively ridiculous. You had spoken in front of hundreds of people without your voice wavering. You’d chaired student council meetings, you’d hosted elaborate parties where half of Beacon Hills High had shown up, you’d performed at school events and assemblies. You’d walked confidently into rooms full of strangers your entire life.
Yet sitting in Stiles’ powder-blue Jeep in your parents’ driveway, your palms were damp. You checked your reflection in the passenger window for what had to be the sixth time.“You’ve looked at yourself three times in the last minute.” He said.
You sighed. “I know.”
“You look beautiful.”
“I know.” You smiled slightly.
He frowned. “…Then what’s wrong?”
You were quiet for a moment, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from your sweater. You’d deliberately dressed differently tonight. Your usual tiny skirt and designer heels were absent, swapped out for your favorite jeans, white sneakers, and one of Stiles’ flannels over a fitted top. “I don’t think your dad is going to like me.” You eventually said in a quiet voice.
Stiles actually laughed. “What?”
“I’m serious.” Your face flushed in embarrassment. You weren’t used to feeling like this.
“So am I.” Stiles insisted.
“No, babe.” You folded your arms, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m not exactly…Sheriff’s Department Approved.”
His smile faded as he realised you genuinely meant it. “Hey.” He leaned closer. “What are you talking about? You’re amazing.”
You looked away. “There were a few parties. Several parties, if we’re being honest.”
He grinned. “I remember. They were the onot parties I ever got invited to.”
“Well, your dad and his department kind of broke a lot of them up. There was underage drinking. There was that one time Jackson and Danny set off fireworks.”
“I remember that one.” Stiles snickered.
You groaned. “I had a reputation. I wasn’t exactly…” You made air quotes. “…one of Beacon Hills’ model citizens.”
Stiles tilted his head. “So that’s what this is.”
You shrugged. “He knows me as one of the popular mean kids.”
“You weren’t mean.”
“I wasn’t always nice.”
He couldn’t argue with that. You’d admitted as much yourself. You’d been caught up in popularity and appearances. In all the invisible rules that governed high school. You’d never been cruel for sport…but there had definitely been moments you wished you could take back.
“What if he thinks I’m bad for you?”
Stiles’ expression softened immediately and he reached for your hands. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you nervous.”
You laughed weakly. “I hate it.”
Instead, he gently squeezed your hands. “I’ve never seen you worried about what anyone thought before. Why now?”
Your eyes met his and you sighed dramatically. “Because…I really want him to like me.”
A warmth settled inside Stiles’ chest. He realised that this wasn’t just about impressing his dad, but about becoming part of his life. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “My dad’s going to love you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“Since when are you the confident one?”
He grinned. “I’ve been hanging around you. You’re bound to rub off on my some point. Metaphorically, not literally.”
“No, we passed that bridge a lot time ago,” you smirked and he snorted.
———————————————————————
Sheriff Stilinski opened the front door before either of you had a chance to knock. “Hey, kid.”
“Hi, Dad.”
Then Noah looked at you. For one tiny second you braced yourself for recognition, or rejection. For scrutiny to enter his gaze. But you found none of it.
“You must be Y/N.” His smile was warm and natural, not forced at all.
The knot in your stomach loosened ever so slightly. “It’s really nice to finally meet you, Sheriff Stilinski.” You beamed and held out your hand to shake his firmly. Your father had always said it was a good show of a character, a firm and confident handshake.
He stepped aside and gestured for you to enter the house and the smell of simmering pasta sauce awaited you inside. Seeing the Sheriff had cooked dinner surprised you. Stiles was always telling you about how they lived on takeout. The effort that had gone into a home-cooked meal was enough to warm your heart on its own.
After he led them through to the dining table, Noah went to grab the plates. Before Stiles even moved to help, so did you.
“I’ve got the cutlery,” you said naturally.
“You don’t have to,” Stiles began to protest but you followed him and his father anyway.
“I know.” You smiled and shrugged, opening the cutlery drawer you’d guessed correctly on the first try and began setting the table beside him.
The two of you moved around each other with an ease that made it obvious how naturally you worked together as a team. Stiles placed the glasses on the table and as soon as they were set down you were already filling them. He grabbed napkins, and you slid the plates into place. Across the kitchen, Noah watched silently with a small smile growing broader across his face.
Stiles was right about his dad’s cooking. The pasta was slightly overcooked, the garlic bread was a little burnt around the edges, and the sauce tasted store bought. But dinner itself was full of laughter. Mostly because Stiles couldn’t help himself from goofing off. Every punchline made you laugh.
Your head tipped back, eyes crinkling as mirth sprang forth from your lips, your shoulders shaking. Stiles secretly lived for that beautiful laugh. Everytime he saw it, he spurted another joke, sending you further into hysterics.
The conversation with Noah flowed as well. He asked you about school and your family and interests. You asked him about his job and begged for childhood anecdotes about Stiles that left your boyfriend blushing and pushing pasta around his plate sheepishly.
Later, while Stiles carried dishes into the kitchen, Noah found you rinsing plates. “You don’t have to help.” He tried to coax you away from the sink and sponge.
But I want to.” You smiled. “After all, you went through all the effort of cooking dinner for us. The least we can do is help out with the cleaning.”
After a quiet moment, he spoke. “You know, I haven’t seen Stiles this happy…” His voice caught for the briefest second. “…In a very long time. He laughs more now.”
You smiled softly, your chest warming. “He makes me laugh too.”
“I can see that.” Noah leaned lightly against the counter. “I’ll be honest.”
You winced internally. Here it comes, you thought.
“I made assumptions. I was worried for him. It may not seem like it but Stiles has a big heart, and when he lets someone in he has a tendency to go too deep too fast. I thought…”He smiled apologetically. “Maybe it’d scare you off. But, I was wrong. You two are well suited for each other. I can tell.”
He glanced toward the dining room where Stiles was humming while stacking bowls.
“How?” You wondered aloud, curious.
“You laugh at his terrible jokes. You help him without being asked. You work together without needing words to communicate. And you’re nervous.” He smiled knowingly.
You flushed in equal parts embarrassment and surprise. “…Was it that obvious?”
“Very.” He chuckled. “But that’s a good thing.”
“It is?” You frowned.
“It means making a good impression mattered to you.” He looked toward his son again. “And that tells me everything I need to know.”
Noah reached over and squeezed your shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For what?” You asked, light confusion blanketing over your smile.
“For making my son smile like that.”
You looked toward the kitchen. Stiles was completely oblivious to the conversation taking place, instead preoccupied with trying to balance too many bowls at once. One slid and he caught it against his hip with an undignified yelp.
You laughed through suspiciously watery eyes, suddenly feeling emotional. “He’s pretty wonderful.”
“He is.” Noah smiled.
When the dining table had been cleared and the dishes were cleaned and stacked on the drying rack, Stiles wandered back in. “So…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Wanna watch a movie?”
You looked up immediately. “I’d love to.”
His grin returned in full force. An hour later, you were well into the The Empire Strikes Back lit up across the television in Stiles’ bedroom.
The lights were low and the two of you sat cross-legged on the end of his bed, sharing popcorn.
You pointed at the screen. “Han.” You answered his question as to who was a better character.
Stiles looked horrified. “Luke.”
“Han.” You doubled down. “He has unmatched charisma.”
“Luke has better character growth.” Stiles countered.
“Han has Harrison Ford.” You giggled teasingly.
“Luke has a lightsaber.”
“Han has the millennium falcon.”
“Luke blows up the Death Star.” Stiles pointed out his higher significance to the movies. “Han spends like a whole movie frozen.”
“But when he gets unfrozen, it’s one of the most referenced scenes in cinema history!” You argued. “The whole ‘I love you’ ‘I know’ scene is one of the most iconic quotes of the franchise.”
“But Luke gets the ‘I am your father’ scene and that’s even more iconic.”
“Luke kisses his sister!” You exclaimed, putting what you believed was the last nail in the coffin.
“That’s a low blow. He didn’t know Leia was his sister.”
You grinned triumphantly. “It’s still gross. I win.”
“You absolutely do not.”
A light knock sounded at the door but neither of you heard it. The debate had escalated into whether Leia saying part of her always knew Luke was her brother meant that Luke should also have had the same feeling, by way of the force.
The door creaked open and Noah peeked inside. He’d expected to find something very different going on inside, given...well, they were two teenagers in a closed room. Instead he found you and Stiles leaning over the popcorn bowl, passionately arguing about movie schematics.
“Regardless of the incest, you cannot tell me,” Stiles was saying, “that Luke’s character isn’t objectively more compelling.”
You pointed accusingly. “Han’s character stole the show! So much so that they made an entire prequel movie about him.“
“‘Solo’ was easily one of the worst projects in the cinematic universe.” Stiles scoffed.
Neither of you had even noticed Noah. He smiled to himself at the sight of two teenagers sitting three feet apart completely absorbed in a science-fiction movie series that was almost double their age. Noah quietly closed the door again.
———————————————————————
Stiles had a newfound confidence. It grew like dawn creeping over the horizon, painting the world in gold so gradually but so starkly that it was impossible not to notice the difference.
It started with his posture. Stiles had spent most of his life folded into himself, shoulders rounded as though trying to make his five-foot-ten frame occupy less space. He used to apologise for existing with his body language long before he ever apologised with words.
Now he stood differently. He looked far more comfortable in his body, with a relaxed posture and loose shoulders pulled back. His head stayed up and he met people’s eyes instead of staring at the floor. He no longer looked like he expected someone to laugh the second he walked into a room.
Since becoming your boyfriend and watching you choose him every single day afterwards, he had stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Not long after came the teasing. At first it had been hesitant, only testing the waters. One sarcastic comment here, one playful grin there, until eventually he started beating you to the snarky comment altogether.
“You stole my favourite shirt.”
You looked up from your locker with a picture of innocence so practiced it deserved an award.“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Stiles leaned casually against the locker beside yours, arms folded. The confidence in the movement made your stomach flutter. “Oh? So the shirt you’re currently wearing…” He reached out, pinching the fabric of the graphic Tee that you had styled with a short jean skirt between two fingers. “…Isn’t mine?”
You looked down with feigned and over exaggerated confuddlement, even though your stomach came alive with the beat of a thousand butterfly wings. “Huh. It must have wandered into my wardrobe.”
“It wandered? By itself?” He met your gaze with a challenging stare and the intensity of his amber eyes made your heart lurch.
“Maybe it got lonely.”
Stiles nodded thoughtfully. “I see. And what if I want it back?”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“My shirt.” He pointed at it. “I might just have to take it back off of you.”
You stared at him. He was flirting, and he’d made the first move.
You recovered quickly, stepping closer until only a few inches separated you. “Oh?” you murmured. “You think you’re funny now, big guy?”
His smile became just a little smug. “I’ve always been funny, and I’ve always been big.” He winked.
God. The confidence looked unfairly good on him.
It wasn’t that he’d changed entirely. He still talked with his hands, still rambled whenever he got excited, and still tripped over far more often than anyone should. He still lost his train of thought halfway through sentences because his brain insisted on taking six scenic routes before arriving at its destination. He was still entirely, wonderfully, Stiles.
The difference was now he believed you when you laughed. He knew you meant it when you complimented him. He was aware of how badly you wanted to pull him into an unoccupied room at any given time. He no longer cared what anyone else thought because why should that matter when he had you?
———————————————————————
“Your boyfriend’s getting cocky.” Lydia leaned against the wall beside you as you watched Stiles and Scott cross the courtyard.
You smiled without realising it. “I know.”
“You seem pleased.” Lydia hummed in amusement.
“I am.”
You fondly thought back to the boy who couldn’t hold eye contact for more than three seconds. The one who’d looked genuinely shocked every time you kissed him. You had adored that. Seeing the effect you had on him. But this new, self-assured version of him was enticing in a whole different way.
He spotted you watching him and instead of immediately looking away he grinned and winked. Your brain briefly stopped functioning.
Lydia studied your expression intently. “And there it is.”
“What?” You questioned absent mindedly as you looked your boyfriend up and down from afar, admiring how he was starting to fill out his hoodie.
“That face.”
He really had grown into himself in more ways than one. “What face?”
“The one that says you’re about to ditch me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You muttered as you were already walking away.
Stiles met you halfway across the courtyard.“Hey.”
“Hey.” You beamed.
He looked down at you with a crooked smile. Even that had somehow become just a little more self-assured over the past few weeks.“You’ve been staring.”
“So have you.”
“Right.” A grin spread across his face. His cheeks pinkened, but instead of retreating he leaned in just enough that only you could hear him. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
Your heart threatened mutiny. There was something intoxicating about this version of him.
You reached up and straightened the collar of his flannel, your fingertips lingering for just a second. “You know, confidence looks good on you.”
His smile softened immediately. “You think so?”
“I know so.” You nodded. He looked at you with that same tender fondness that always made the rest of the world blur around the edges. “That’s exactly why I’m going to meet you under the bleachers in ten minutes. Don’t get caught.”
You stood up on the tips of your toes to plant a lingering kiss on his lips.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He murmured against your cherry lipgloss.
———————————————————————
The new girl arrived on Monday. She was pretty, and effortlessly so, with long blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes. Her being pretty was of no consequence to you though. Not until she made it so.
By lunch, half the school knew her name, and by Biology in the afternoon she had discovered Stiles Stilinski. Mrs Finch paired everyone up for a practical, and somehow she ended up beside him. You watched from the table across the room as she laughed at something Stiles said.
He laughed too and then launched into one of his animated explanations, hands moving so quickly he nearly knocked over a beaker. The new girl laughed harder. Your jaw tightened, teeth grinding at the sight.
You told yourself it was nothing. People laughed at Stiles’s jokes now. That wasn’t unusual anymore. He was funny, of course she’s be laughing. It didn’t have to mean anything else. People finally were seeing what you’d always seen in him.
You should have been happy. But when you watched her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lean a little closer, your fist clench harder around your pen.
“Oh.” Lydia’s voice drifted beside you. “Youch.”
You looked over to find she was watching you.“What?” You huffed irritatedly.
She smiled knowingly. “You’re so jealous.”
You scoffed. “I’m not jealous. What do I have to be jealous about?” You fluffed your hair.
Lydia simply raised one eyebrow. “You’ve been glaring at that girl for four minutes.”
“I have not.” You pouted.
“Mhm.” Lydia hummed, clearly not believing a word that was coming out of your mouth.
You let out a long sigh, your eyes flickering once again to where the new girl was batting her eyelashes at an oblivious Stiles. The moment the blonde reached out and gently slapped his bicep as she giggled, you slammed your pen down onto the table. “What on earth is she playing at, anyway? And she shouldn’t smile so wide, her teeth are as crooked as the Tower of Pisa.”
Lydia’s smile widened. “And you say you aren’t jealous.”
“I’m only a little jealous.” You downplayed it.
“Sure.” The redhead said sarcastically.
“It’s a perfectly reasonable amount, given the fact she’s all but about to fall off her stool with how far she’s leaning in.”
“If by reasonable, you mean you’re currently trying to set her on fire with your eyes…”
You groaned, dropping your forehead onto your hand. “I hate this.”
Lydia laughed. “As much as this amuses me, you really don’t have anything to worry about. Stiles is crazy about you.”
“I know that,” you retorted sharply and tossed your hair over your shoulder, casting one last foul look back at the blonde before you focused on your work.
———————————————————————
When the final bell rang the students of Beacon Hills High poured out into the parking lot in noisy waves. You spotted Stiles almost immediately, standing beside his Jeep talking to Scott. The tension from earlier in the day melted away when you saw him waiting to give you a ride home.
That was, until the new girl walked past and smiled brightly at him. “See you tomorrow, Stiles.”
He smiled back. “Yeah! See you tomorrow.”
She waved before disappearing across the parking lot. You folded your arms, the dark cloud once again coming over your eyes. Your feet landed heavier against the asphalt as you stomped over to your boyfriend.
When Stiles noticed you his entire face lit up.“Hey, baby!”
As you approached he noticed your body language was off. Scott seemed to pick up on it too because he quickly waved goodbye to you both and headed in the direction of his bike.
“Why are your arms crossed?” Stiles asked.
“They’re comfortable that way.” You prickled.
“You never find that comfortable. Not when you’re standing up.” He countered.
“Well I do today.” You retorted sharply and opened the passenger door of the Jeep without another word and climbed inside.
“…Okay.” Stiles climbed into the driver’s seat.
You looked determinedly out the window, sitting in complete silence.
“Okay, what’s up? You’ve got your angry eyebrows on.” Stiles turned his posture towards you, keys dangling from his hand over the steering wheel.
“I don’t have angry eyebrows.” You scoffed. “They’re just eyebrows.”
“You definitely have angry eyebrows. They’re communicating to me telepathically,” Stiles wiggled his fingers. “They’re saying ‘I’m pissed off and Stiles is in trouble.’”
“They’re not.” The corner of your mouth twitched.
He noticed immediately. “Aha! I’m totally right, and you’re totally mad about something, and I’m not gonna start this car until you tell me what it is.”
You rolled your eyes so enthusiastically that you noticed a stain on the ceiling of the Jeep. “What’s her name?”
“Huh?” Stiles frowned.
“What’s her name?” You turned to look at him.“The girl from Bio.” His expression remained completely blank. “The new girl? The one who practically fell off her stool to get closer to you and left a trail of drool behind her.”
Realisation slowly dawned across his face. “You mean Emily?”
“Oh, so you know her name.” You bristled instantly.
“Yeah, because she told me it when Miss Finch made us lab partners this afternoon.” He looked genuinely confused. “You…”
You searched his face. “You seriously didn’t notice?”
“Notice what?”
“That she was flirting with you!” You exclaimed frustratedly.
Stiles’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Wait. You were jealous?”
Your cheeks heated and you looked away. “Please, me? Jealous of what, her…her overplucked eyebrows and bleached split ends? I don’t think so.”
He reached across the center console, gently taking your hand. “Oh my God, you were totally jealous.”
You finally snapped, your anger boiling over the edge. “So what if I was! You’re my man, not hers. Who gives her the right to look at you like that, and laugh at your jokes, and…and…well whatever!”
He was still smiling. “I think that’s adorable.”
You looked back at him in disbelief. “Adorable?”
“Mhm. You know I never imagined I’d live long enough to see the day the prettiest girl in school got jealous over me.” He hummed fondly.
You snorted. “Well, get used to it. I’m not going to have some trollop swooning over the guy I love right in front of me, that’s just disrespectful.”
You hardly realised what had come out of your mouth until you saw his face go slack. For a moment you worried it was too much, too soon. But then he lifted your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Well the girl I love has no reason to worry.”
Your heart swelled so suddenly it was almost painful. The words settled between you with surprising ease. The biggest smile you’d ever seen crossed Stiles’s face.
“I love you,” he whispered again, as though now that he’d said it, he couldn’t stop.
You kissed him slowly, fingers gently tugging at his jaw, feeling his stubble scratch lightly against your fingertips. When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together.
“You know,” you murmured, “we’re pretty good at this.”
“At kissing?” He smirked with a dazed expression.
You laughed. “No. At us. Being together. It’s just, easy.”
His smile softened tenderly. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
Because the truth was almost disappointingly simple. There was no grand secret for how to make it work. There was no impossible obstacle. No reason you could not be. Beneath the labels of popular girl, nerd, outsider, social butterfly, you were simply two people who genuinely liked each other. Nothing else mattered.
“Next time I see Emily, I’m going to rip her a new one.” You grumbled, though the tension in your face was gone, replaced by a giddy smile.
“Just kiss me like that again and she’ll know I have eyes for no one and nothing else. There’s no one else on the planet that could ever compare to you,” he promised.
Should I start posting my not beta read, nor really proofread, 10k words per chapter, episodic Teen Wolf slow burn- lowkey enemies to lovers Stiles x Sorceress! Reader fanfic?
Each chapter averages 9.5k words guys. I'm starting chapter 4.
I just wrote an 8.9k word chapter 1 for a teen wolf fic are you FUCKING KIDDING ME. (it goes with episode one and reader had to explain her backstory to Stiles lol)
THE FIRST PART IS JUST READER KINDA STALKING THEM BEING LIKE 'Hmmm?????? weird??????' lololol
I was like "hmm, this is taking a really long time to write." dawg you are writing chapters nearly triple in length of average nonfiction book chapters, and attempting to go along with the show while adding things for your fucking MC i-
I just wrote an 8.9k word chapter 1 for a teen wolf fic are you FUCKING KIDDING ME. (it goes with episode one and reader had to explain her backstory to Stiles lol)
THE FIRST PART IS JUST READER KINDA STALKING THEM BEING LIKE 'Hmmm?????? weird??????' lololol
