takes place very early on in season 3a. its basically missing moments and different drinks (read on Ao3)
Lavender Tea
She finds dead bodies. That’s her new hobby, Lydia Martin: genius, queen bee of BHHS, and supernatural magnet for dead bodies. She finds herself losing sleep and feels that there’s not enough concealer in the world to cover the dark circles that she finds in the morning. Tonight’s no different. Her mom’s not home and the dark seems different ever since sophomore year. She remembers reading about how lavender tea can make someone drowsy and vaguely recalls seeing a box of it in her cupboards somewhere. Her search of the cupboards leaves her empty handed but she has a test tomorrow morning on the Heart Of Darkness and Ms Blake’s tests actually make her think a little. So she needs sleep.
Plus the circles under her eyes are almost as dark as Peter Hale’s soul at this point.
She grabs her coat, purse and keys, not bothering to change her clothes. A tank and tights wouldn’t be the worst thing to be seen in, considering her list of bad outfits included a hospital gown and her birthday suit. Anyways, she thinks, it's 4 in the morning. No one’s awake anymore.
She pulls up to the supermarket and walks briskly, pulling her coat tight across her chest, the cold sending a shiver down her back. She grabs a basket at the front, deciding to grab a few more things besides the tea. Lydia mentally runs over the things absent from her fridge. She grabs some salad supplies and some strawberry yogurt, ignoring her mom’s allergy. Besides everyone who knew Natalie Martin knew that her favorite flavor of anything was red wine. She runs her eyes over the shelves, looking for something she could be forgetting, turning the corner absently. She finds herself turning straight into someone’s chest, the force and shock sending her back.
“What the he- Lydia?” she looks up to see Stiles, headphones dangling around his neck, music forgotten as he stares at her like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Stiles, why exactly are you trying to run me over? She rubs her forehead, vowing that if he leaves a mark, she will end him. When the hell did his chest get so hard anyways? Her pajamas flash in her mind and suddenly her tank top and tights seem trivial and dear god how come the one time she leaves the house without makeup is the day she runs into Stiles. She roams her eyes down his body, her gaze lingering on his arms, the ghosts of muscles hidden under his t shirt. His hair looks pretty good for 4 am and god help her even the plaid bottoms he has on look nice on him. She brings her eyes up to find him doing the same thing she had just been.
He catches her gaze and blushes, acting as if he hadn’t just been checking her out, which was funny cause he’s been checking her out since junior high. He suddenly seems very interested in the Fiber One box on his left.
“So… uh what are you doing here?”
She raises an incredulous eyebrow in response.
“What do you think I’m doing here Stiles?”
“Right, I mean like what are you doing awake at 4 in the morning?” The answer to his question seems a little hard to get out so she counters with her own question.
“What are you doing awake at 4 in the morning?” It’s a childish response but she’s tired and wants to sleep and now she’s irritated because there’s no way she’s gonna get any sleep now that she knows what Stiles Stilinski’s bed head looks like. (It looks really good but Lydia is not going to think about that cause this is Stiles, for the love of god.)
(She’s gonna be thinking about this for days to come)
He shrugs in response. “My dad’s working late and I can’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” The words leave her mouth before she can think about it. Stiles frowns, his eyebrows doing that crease they do when he’s worried.
“Why? Are you sick?”
“No, I just can’t sleep that well now days.”
He nods in understanding. “Nightmares?”
“Something like that.”
She’s not about to tell him that her dreams are haunted by Peter Hale and his hand wrapped around her throat because then he’ll tell Scott and he’ll be worried enough to tell Allison, who’d then worry about her and try to talk to her. And Allison has better things to worry about. She looks at Stiles who’s dark circles are even worse than hers. And the sight of them compels her to say it, “You know, if you can’t sleep, lavender tea has a relaxing and sedative property that helps. I find that it really works.” she offers.
He smiles at her, not his spastic “there’s a body in the woods” kind of smile. The kind of smile makes her chest feel tight and her pulse race. This smile is all warmth and kindness and admiration and she realizes that she hasn’t seen him smile like that in a while. Which may be a good thing cause that smile makes her feel irrational. Like when he smiles at her in a grocery store at 4 in the morning and she hears herself ask him if he wants to go home with her and prepare for the english test while drinking lavender tea.
He stares at her, not answering and panic rises in her chest.
“You don’t have to. I just thought that well, I peer reviewed you paper the other day on symbolism and you could use my help.” She snipes. His answer is in his smile, his eyes lighting up. He grabs her basket emptying the contents into his own.
“Come on. If we’re doing this, I’m gonna need potato chips.” He turns to go down the aisle to grab his oil and fat infested snack and he misses her smile behind him.
They end up at her kitchen table, books open and highlighters in their hands, potato chips by his side. She’s put her hair up in a bun and ran up to put on some lip gloss while he prepared their tea. He makes snide comments about the characters and she blames her laughter on the late time.
“So the Congo river is also a symbol. It symbolizes movement towards a common goal and that's what the- Stiles are you even writing any of this down?”
“I can’t focus on English Lydia.” He stretches his neck back and gives her a delicious view of his throat and her mouth goes dry. He rotates his neck, moaning a little at sore muscles and she gets up to get a drink of water before she does something stupid. (like jump Stiles Stilinski in the middle of her kitchen which is ridiculous cause this is Stiles Stilinski.) When she turns back he has his book closed and his head on the table.
“ I can’t study anymore. I’m too sleepy.”
“That's because lavender’s an aphrodisiac. It decreases your heart rate and blood pressure helping you relax.”
He lifts his head up and quirks his eyebrows at her. “What? No scientific name to go along with that explanation?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Lavandula angustifolia.”
She crosses her arms across her chest and smirks. She raises her eyebrow in a silent challenge, wondering if he’ll take it. He sits up straighter and raises his chin and squints his eyes. “Rosemary.”
She scoffs. “Rosmarinus officinalis.”
He gets up out of his chair. “Peppermint”
“Mentha × piperita”
He steps closer to her. “Bay Laurel”
“Laurus nobilis”
He takes another step closer, his long legs carrying him closer to her, closing the distance between them. He’s close enough for her to reach out and touch his face if she wanted to.He looks down at her, a smirk on his face. She looks up at him and oh. She loses her breath. His eyes are tired but alive, the light above her making it look like sparks exploding in them. His unbelievably long eyelashes create a light shadow across his cheekbones and her hand itches to reach out and touch them. She wants to be close enough to count every eyelash. She wants to kiss every mole on his face. She wants to trace the shape of his lips with her own. She wants… she wants.
The air around them grows heavy and Lydia feels her breaths getting heavier. His eyes are hooded and he doesn’t seem to notice that how close he is or how his proximity is affecting her. She bits her lip, eyes not leaving his face, the situation seeming strangely erotic. He licks his lips as he opens his mouth to speak and she feels a tug in her stomach at the sight of his wet lips.
“Oregano” The word knocks her back to reality and away from daydreams She shakes her head and raises her eyebrow at his question.
“Origanum vulgare” He stares at her and she mentally wills him to look away because if he keeps looking at her like that she gonna do something that is gonna be really hard to explain to Allison. The spell is broken though when he laughs, stepping back a few paces to look at her.
“God, is there anything you don’t know?” He smiles and looks at her with wonder that makes her heart skip beats.
She smiles in return. “Probably not.” (I don't know why I want to kiss you so bad)
He looks down at his feet and raises his eyes at her, making her chest tighten. His voice is raspy when he answers. “ Yeah probably not. You know… you’re really smart. Like scary smart.” This time its her who steps forward.
“You think I’m scary?” her voice is teasing but a part of her genuinely wants to know. Her uncanny ability to find dead people is probably not a good thing. It's like he reads her mind.
“Not like supernatural scary. But you’re scary in other ways… when you want to be.” he adds as an afterthought, his eyes on his feet again. She takes another step forward, feet moving without permission.
“Do I scare you?” the words come out as a whisper. His head snaps back up, his cheeks filled with color.
“No.” His words are strong, filled with an emotion she doesn’t wanna face.
Her shoulders drop in relief. “Good.” She gives him a soft smile and their eyes meet. The upcoming dawn seems quiet, the world dead as they stand on the precipice of something immense in the middle of her kitchen. She could jump, all it would take is a few steps and she could grab his face and satisfy her curiosity once and for all. She could get him out of her system, wipe it clean and go back to life like normal. Just another boy, just another face. But it's not that easy. She can’t do anything because this is Stiles. This is Scott’s best friend and she knows the disappointed look he would give her if she just used and discarded his best friend like she had countless boys before him. Not when she knows how he feels. Its obvious and months ago his feelings wouldn’t have mattered. No one's would’ve. But now… Allison would be disappointed and she would let down Scott and Stiles would be… She isn’t sure when she let all these people in but now they all have a piece of her and she can’t risk it. And she’s not so sure that she could put him aside. He’s under her skin and she knows that she’ll be an addict after one taste.
So she doesn’t kiss him. Instead she cleans their cups as he watches. And she doesn’t kiss him as he leaves. Instead she sits at her table and tries to figure out when Stiles Stilinski became this important to her. And she doesn’t kiss him when he shows her his grade a few days later, a bright red A in the corner of his paper. She doesn’t kiss him when he sits down next to her at the library and passes her his math homework, asking her to check his work. She doesn’t kiss him (but God, she really wants to.)
“St– Stil–”
One of his hands struggles to stretch over the ground, towards her. His lips form her name without actually pronouncing it. Or maybe she’s just not able to hear it anymore.
Then gold turns into rust. Emerald becomes glass.
And if someone would’ve ever asked, Lydia never thought this would be the way they shared their last breath.
angst; romance; smut - 6.3k w. - Mature
Read on AO3
A/N: POVs will be alternated! I'll try my best to write both Stiles and Lydia as accurate as possible, you guys will be the ones to judge me on that; first chapter starts with our redhead bae.
HUGE THANKS to these amazing writers and lovely girls @youaretoosmart, @stilesprefers-screamers & @wellsjahasghost for beta-ing the story and making me laugh with their comments.
Summary: Lydia is in a relationship with Jackson and best friends with the pack, and it’s not long before she realizes she loves Stiles
@castielsdwinchester my valentine’s day gift for you!! I enjoyed writing this as your stydia secret valentine, I hope you enjoy!!!!
Lydia stands at her locker, Allison and Scott on either side of her. Straight ahead is Stiles, his deep brown eyes flitting back and forth between them as he gestures wildly. She looks into them as he rambles, tuning out the words he’s saying, focuses solely on his irises, the way they lighten as he speaks about the supernatural wonders of Beacon Hills.
“But the oni can’t do anything if-” and Stiles is cut off abruptly by Jackson, Lydia’s boyfriend, pushing Stiles to the side lightly and reaching his hand over Lydia’s head, practically trapping her between him and the locker. She smiles at him half-heartedly, hearing Stiles let out a frustrated grunt. It wasn’t news the pack didn’t approve of her relationship with Jackson, Stiles especially. “Good morning, Jackson,” Stiles says in his sarcastic manner. Jackson ignores him and keeps his attention on Lydia. “Do you want to walk with me?” he suggests, though it sounds more like an order. Lydia looks at each of her three friends in turn, all of their heads pointed to the floor. She opens her mouth and hesitates for a moment. Jackson raises his eyebrows at her expectantly. She shifts her weight so she’s standing slightly further away from him. “I’m kind of in the middle of talking, it’s important,” she tells him, an apologetic look on her face. Jackson rolls his eyes at her and Lydia bites her lip shamefully. “What could be that important? Come on, let’s go,” he says and grabs her hand, pulling her away from the group. Lydia turns her head and mouths a quick “sorry”, but not before seeing the red shade of Stiles’ face.
They stop at Jackson’s locker, and he back her up against the surface, his warm hands finding their way to her hips. “Sorry to pull you away from that,” he says, his breath tickling her face lightly. She smiles up at him and lets out a small chuckle. “It’s okay, baby,” she says, her voice as soft silk. He smirks, leaning down and touching his lips to her, working them over hers slowly. She pulls away, theirs noses touching as the warning bell to first period rings. He pushes off her and wipes the smudged lipstick under her lip with his thumb. “Love you,” he says as he walks towards his class, not leaving her a chance to answer. She sighs, pulling herself upwards. Her gaze moves to a spot across the hallway, to where Stiles stands, staring at the spot where she was just kissing Jackson. He looks at her then, holding her stare for a moment before looking away quickly, his face becoming hot. Lydia slowly makes her way over to him. She stands in front of him for a minute, neither of them bothering to say anything. Taking a deep breath in, she tries to apologize. “Stiles-” but he interrupts her, speaking softly. “It’s okay. I understand you have other stuff going on, that’s fine. But Jackson? Lydia, you’re better than that, we’ve been over this.” Lydia tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips. “I don’t like that guy. I don’t like him,” Stiles continues, and Lydia’s head whips up to meet his eyes again. “Look,” she says to him, “I know you guys all have problems with Jackson and I, you’ve made that clear. But I don’t see why you hate him the most. For what reason, Stiles?” she demands. He squints his eyes at her, a rush of air leaving his lungs in frustration. “Because I’ve seen the way he treats you. And I don’t like it,” he spits, hanging his head down and rubbing the back of his neck with his head. “See you second period,” he rushes before running in the opposite direction. Lydia shakes her head at his figure running down the hallway, then pivots and heads to her own class.
It’s second period, and Lydia walks into the doorway of her class, her eyes scanning for Stiles. Once she finds him, she wanders over there. She hovers at the table for a moment with no acknowledgement from Stiles before she sits down with a huff. She can feel the tension between them as if it were a living thing. She steals a glance over at him, his posture tight and his jaw clenched, rolling in circles. He sees her looking at him and she looks awkwardly at the wall, feigning innocence. “We’re studying at my house tonight. Me, you, Scott, Allison,” he informs her coldly. “Okay,” she breathes, nodding exaggeratedly. She fiddles with her pencil for a few seconds, her breaths shallow. Time passes as they listen to the lesson, neither of them daring to look at the other. “Stiles,” she blurts finally. She curses herself silently before continuing. “I’m sorry, about me being with someone you guys don’t like. But I love him- and I know you don’t like hearing that but-”
“Lydia, let’s just forget about it-”
“I get the feeling your disapproval is about more than not liking him.”
Stiles looks at her wide-eyed, his mouth dropped open slightly. He licks his lips nervously, keeping eye contact with her. She feels her hands shaking a little, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “Stiles,” she gasps. “I shouldn’t have said that-not now.” But Stiles just shakes his head and waves his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he answers, louder to be heard over the lunch bell. “I guess I’ll see you at my place tonight?” he asks, and she nods her response. She watches as he walks away again, then places her head against the table, thinking about Stiles’ past feelings for her. What was she thinking, bringing them into this? She lifts her head up finally, and braces herself for the rest of the day, thinking about anything than that night. Jackson meets her outside the door, planting a quick kiss on her lips before launching into a speech about lacrosse. She quickly blocks him out, nodding occasionally. Her minds drifts to images of that dark-haired, brown-eyed boy with the golden smile, and how hr may have been right after all.
Lydia turns into the driveway in front of Stiles’ house. She parks her car, then removes her key from the ignition, holding the bundle tightly in her hand. She squeezes them as hard as she can, then yelps in pain. She looks and can see the light on in the window of Stiles’ bedroom, feels the blood running down her hand from where her keys cut her. She quickly opens her door and gets out. Once she reaches the front door, she lets herself in; it’s unlocked. She makes her way to Stiles’ room, applying pressure to her hand to stop the blood from dropping to the floor. Once she walks into the doorway, she sees Scott, Allison on the bed and Stiles sprawled at his desk, all of them books scattered all over. She makes a noise and immediately all their heads look in her direction, at the red liquid coating her hand. Stiles stands up suddenly, running to her and grabbing her hand gently. “What happened?” he asks softly. “I cut myself, with my keys,” she explains. Stiles pulls a random shirt out of his drawer and wraps it around her hand with care. “Let’s go to the bathroom and get this fixed up,” he tells her, looking deeply into her eyes. “Okay,” she answers, nodding ever so slowly. They head out the door, and Scott and Allison exchange a knowing look at what they just witnessed.
Stiles leads Lydia to the washroom and closes the door behind them. Neither of them speak as he rifles through drawers to find the first aid kit. Lydia stares at him as he moves around in his typical frantic way, a small smile on her face despite the ache in her hand. She spots a few droplets of blood on the floor below her, beside her feet. “I’m messing up your floor,” she says jokingly. Stiles glances at the blood for a second before looking away again. “I don’t care about the floor,” he practically snaps, and she flinches, too small for him to see. He opens the first aid kit from the cabinet and she watches as his hands fumble to find the right things. She finds herself caught in his long eyelashes, the way the light seems to reflect off of them. Finally he turns to her and grabs her hand again, unwrapping the shirt. Carefully, he rubs some alcohol on her cut and she breathes in painfully. At this, he looks at her once more and smiles amusedly, and she smiles back. She can feel his small breaths on her nose, his face dangerously close to hers. “Stiles…” she trails, and his face stays the same, unmoving except for his eyes traveling along her face at an agonizingly slow pace. “Mhm,” he mumbles, sending another wave of air to her face and sending a tiny shiver down her back. She feels warmth where their hands touch, and never wants to let go. She stares intently into his brown eyes. “I was thinking about what happened earlier, and what I said,” she starts. This time, Stiles doesn’t tense at her words, but simply keeps working on her wound. “And I think you might be right,” she continues, and Stiles’ eyebrows raise in surprise. “I started really paying attention when I’m with Jackson, and I realized…maybe I could find someone who treats me better. Maybe even, that I don’t have to find someone, because maybe I’ve already found someone,’ she finishes. Stiles takes a sharp bout of breath and she notices their faces have moved even closer, now merely an inch apart. “Who have you found?” he asks hopefully. She looks downward and says quietly, “You. I think I love you.” Stiles is about to answer when the door to the washroom bursts open and Scott walks in. “Sorry, bro,” he says, “I really have to pee,” Lydia and Stiles both laugh awkwardly as Stiles seals the bandaid onto Lydia’s palm. They share a look as they leave, a look that speaks more words than they know how to say.
The next morning, Lydia meets Jackson at her locker and he gives her an arrogant smile. “Morning,” he says to her. “Hey,” she responds, giving him the cold shoulder. She opens her locker and starts organizing her books. She sees Jackson turn towards her and lean in close expectantly. She breathes in and prepares herself for what she has to do. She turns to him and smiles disappointedly. “Jackson, we need to break up,” she says matter-of-factly. His jaw drops open, and he looks at her, confused. “What?” he says angrily, his posture suddenly tighter as he raises his head to set his head above hers. She looks at him and holds herself straight confidently. “I deserve to be treated better than how you treat me,” she tells him. “I should be able to talk to my friends without you ruining it. I should be able to talk about things that I like, not just listen to you talk about lacrosse,” she spits at him. Jackson’s body begins to shake as he laughs maliciously. He slams her fist down hard on the locker beside her head, but she doesn’t flinch or bow down. She reaches behind her and closes her locker. “We’re over, Jackson,” she says. Before she can see his reaction, she turns and walks proudly in the other direction, a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders. She’s crossed half the length of the hallway before she is snatched to the side by a hand. She yelps softly and tries to shake off whoever it is before realizing it’s just Stiles. He lets go of her hand quickly and says, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” She smiles widely at him, a fluttery feeling building inside her. “I just broke up with Jackson,” she says, her words coming out in a sigh of content. Stiles’ eyes light up, and he raises his right and in the air. She slaps it, and they both smiles at each other admiringly. Lydia is about to say something when Stiles is slammed loudly against the locker, his body suspended in the air. “Jackson!’ Lydia screams. “Put him down,” she orders. “It was you,” Jackson seethes, Stiles cringing in pain. “It’s about him, isn’t it?” directed at Lydia this time. “ISN’T IT?” he yells, his face red as he lifts Stiles slightly off the locker only to slam him back down again. “This has nothing to do with him,” Lydia responds. “It has to do with you, and you only. So put him down and leave,” she says slowly, deliberately. “I love him, no you, so back off.” Jackson shakes his head and lets go of Stiles abruptly, and Stiles stumbles to the ground, catching his breath and staring at Jackson wide-eyed. Jackson stomps off and mutters “whatever” under his breath, kicking a locker on his way. Stiles looks at Lydia, his eyebrows raised. He walks closer to her. “I hate that guy,” he says, breathless. “How’d you deal with that?” he laughs. Lydia chuckles, lacing his fingers in her own. “I don’t know,” she answers, focusing only on his eyes staring lovingly into her own.
Later that day, Lydia is laying on Stiles’ bed, caught in her own thoughts. Stiles is sitting at his desk, flicking his pencil back and forth between his fingers. She giggles soundlessly at him and sits up. Stiles looks up at her when she moves and gives her a small smile. She smiles back, taking in the sight of him. He lifts his arm up to scratch his head lightly, lifting up his shirt to expose a sliver of stomach. Lydia moves off the bed with care, and stands over him. He’s holding the eraser of his pencil, nibbling on it. He moves his gaze to her in curiosity. Lydia leans down and presses a feather of a kiss on his lips. Stiles puts his books on his desk, clearing his lap as an invitation. She lowers herself down and straddles him, bringing her hands around his face to cradle his soft cheeks. “Today was a crazy day,” he says, stating the obvious. She touches her forehead to his and nods against it. “I’m glad it happened though, glad I found you,” she tells him. “Trust me,” he says, “everything changed when I found you.” She smiles brightly, her heart jumping with happiness. His lips come to meet hers, and she kisses him back with passion. Their lips work over each other heatedly, and she runs her hands through his hair. Stiles slowly works his tongue into her mouth, and she struggles to take in air, captured in his kiss. He stands up, his hands gripping her thighs as she wraps her legs around his waist. He carries her to the wall, her back pressed up against it as he kisses her more, working his way down her jawline in a sloppy line of kisses. He comes back to her mouth and kisses her again, long and hard. His lips pull from hers as she lowers her feet onto the ground. She holds his hand and leads him to the bed. They lie down beside each other and she rests her head on his chest. “I love you,” he says, running his fingers through her hair. She sighs happily and closes her eyes. “I love you, too.”
So I made a frustrating chapter 3 of this mess because after the trailer these two took over my life again. Basically missing stydia moments matched with different drinks (read on ao3)
Hot Chocolate
Hot Chocolate
“Can I refill that for you darling?”
“Yes please.” Lydia stretches her neck a little to read the name tag on the waitress’ uniform.
“Thank you Renee.” The waitress smiles at her, patting her on the shoulder before she turns to go.
Lydia leans further into the worn scarlet leather of her booth, shoulders dropping after what seems like forever to her sore muscles. It had been a long day, the voices being insistent, so she drove until she found her car parked in the lot in front of a shabby little diner by the edge of Beacon Hills, that sophomore Lydia wouldn’t have been caught dead in, with a flickering neon sign that said “Open 24 hours.’’She’d sit at the bar but when she’d stood there to order her tea, the trucker with the growing bald spot had stared at her for too long to be okay and she really didn't want to deal with that today.
Because today was a day where she was at a rundown diner at 10:37 at night, drinking tea by herself and trying not to think about how her friends had died and come back and how they now saw dead relatives and couldn’t read. Or about how she now hears voices and knows when people are about to die. And Erica and Boyd are already dead and so are a bunch of other people and so is Allison’s mom and -
She’s thinking about all of this when the bell by the door rings and she hears an all too familiar voice order a hot chocolate, tiredly asking for extra whip cream. She gets up in disbelief and turns to see to a recognizable wrinkled shirt and distractingly messy hair.
“Stiles?”
He startles at the sound of her voice, expecting to run into her as much as she was expecting to run into him. He runs a sporadic hand through his already messy hair, making it stick up in ways that make her hands shake with need.
“Lydia… what are you doing here?”
She pushes a stubborn curl behind her head, “Here, as in this diner or here as in on Earth?”
He cocks his head. “You know what I mean. What are you doing in a diner at almost,” he looks at his phone, “ What are you doing here at almost 11 at night? With all the weird shit that happens around here, most people don’t leave their houses after dark.”
Lydia raises an eyebrow, “Well I for one, am a big fan of weird shit. Don’t give me that normal shit. The weird shit is where it's at.”
She doesn’t know why she says this until Stiles looks at her and gives her this smile that makes her heart leave its cavity and find a permanent spot on her sleeve and she thinks “Oh. That's why.”
He turns to face her, an elbow being blindly placed on the bar counter, nearly knocking over a napkin dispenser. He reaches out to catch it just in time, long arms leaning over the counter causing his shirt to ride up, flashing her with skin. She freezes and stares even after he’s fixed his shirt and is apologizing to the waitress. Her chest feels tight and her cheeks feel hot which is ridiculous because Lydia has seen plenty of boys’ torsos and much, much more. But she’s struck by the want that hits her at the sight of his skin.
“What are you doing here?” her voice sounds almost accusatory and the way his body freezes tells her he picked up on it too.
“Am I not supposed to be here?” he asks questionably. He looks almost guilty, like he’s going to apologize even though it's a public diner.
“I mean, it's 11 o’clock at night. What are you doing here?”
“I’m meeting my dad here for a late dinner. What are you doing here?”
The conversation seems familiar and reminds her of them standing in the middle of a grocery store at 4 in the morning, talking about lavender. It was just a few months ago but feels like forever.
She flips her braid to the other side of her face, “I’m eating obviously.”
He stretches his neck to look into her booth and makes a face. “Lydia, drinking gross tea does not count as eating.”
She narrows her eyes at his dig. “Well hot chocolate doesn’t count as nutrition.”
He crosses his arms, “Sure it does. It’s made of milk.” he says.
Lydia scoffs. “That doesn’t count. The sugar cancels it out.”
“Renee, tell her hot chocolate has nutritional value.” he turns to the waitress from before for defense.
She looks at him with kind eyes and love that only comes from watching someone grow up. “Sorry Stiles baby. Girl’s right. It doesn’t count. Not the way I make it.”
Stiles pretends to be hurt, hand covering his chest. “Et tu Renee? Et tu?” She laughs and pats his cheek, leaving when another customer waves her over. Lydia watches the whole exchange with humor, gratitude at the waitress for taking her side.
“See? I was right.” she smiles in a way she hasn’t for a while, without sadness and spite.
He shakes his head, laughing, “Yeah, well what else is new?”
Silence falls upon them and she finds herself admiring the way he looks. His lean body and long, long fingers that haunt her dreams. The ones that have her dragging Aiden into a janitor’s closet so that she can forget.
She came here to be alone but now that he’s here, she finds that she doesn’t want that anymore. She wants to sit with him and talk, and argue about how plaid should no way be a staple of anyone’s closet.
“When’s your dad getting here?”
He looks down at his phone, “Probably not for another hour and a half. I like to get here before he does so that I can pig out and then lecture him about his cholesterol without feeling guilty.” She nods, and then makes a decision. She turns back around and sits at her booth, legs tucked in at her side. To her delight he takes her silent invitation and sits down next to her, his long legs stretched out.
Renee walks over, a menu in her hand, and puts it down in front of Stiles.
“I didn’t ask for a menu Renee.”
She looks down at him, eyebrows raised in incredulity. “Really? You been coming here since you were, like what, in diapers, and you think that I don’t know by now that you will never walk through those doors and not order something?” Her tone is sarcastic but her warm brown eyes sparkle with humor and love.
He smiles up at her like the little shit he is and it’s laced with familiarity, like he’s done this little bit with her before. Lydia sends a prayer to a god she doesn’t believe for the woman who's dealt with Stiles for this long.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and some onion rings and a plate of fries and a hot chocolate for Lydia.”
Renee nods and walks away, throwing a “I thought so” over her shoulder.
Lydia looks at Stiles and raises her eyebrows, “Stiles. If I wanted something, I would have asked for it myself.” She lets her queen bee fake sugar seep into her voice, pursing her lips.
He laughs at her, “Oh I know. I just said that they were for you so that Renee wouldn’t lecture me about killing my heart so early in my life.”
Lydia tilts her head. “Well… she’s right you know.”
Stiles shakes his head, his hair distracting her for a second. “Nope, nope, nope. Not you too. I am a growing boy. I will eat what I want to eat.”. He plants his fist down on the table like a gavel.
“Well that’s highly hypocritical of you. You don’t let your dad eat that stuff.”
He shrugs, which with his lean body already slouched, looks comical. “Yeah, well.. He’s my dad. There’s a difference.”
She raises her eyebrow, “Oh? How so?”
The question is light hearted but his response is anything but. He looks at her in the eyes, lips pursed, and his voice quiet. “I don’t know? He’s my dad.” There’s a sort of quiet, barely there pain that laces his words, the kind of pain that only comes from a loss of a parent. She hears it in Allison’s whispers late at night.
She hold his gaze for a few seconds then looks away, eyes fully scanning the diner for the first time since she got there. The white and black checkered floor and the leather seats give her a very strong vibe of Grease. In an isolated corner laid an old fashioned jukebox, a sign reading “Out of Order” hanging from it. He’s looking away too, his eyes looking out the window and into the parking lot. The flickering streetlight illuminates the woods across from the parking lot.
Her crush on him has gotten a little out of hand but she has it under control, despite what Allison’s smirk says. She flashes back to a night a few weeks ago.
She and Allison laid in bed, sleep escaping the both of them. The night brought them both their own monsters.
“Lydia?”
“Hhm?”
“Do you think I’ll ever love someone again?”
The question takes her by surprise and she turns to face Allison, shifting her head on the pillow. The moonlight twinkling in through the window behind her creates an eerie spotlight on her best friend’s face, highlighting her elegant cheekbones. Allison’s not looking at her, eyes downcast.
“Allison, you’re gorgeous. Trust me, you’ll fall in love again.”
Allison looks up at her, and Lydia’s surprised to see tears. “But what if- what if I never love someone like I loved Scott?” The words leave her lips in a whisper, teenage insecurities lacing her words. She’s reminded of how young they are, sixteen but so many ghosts between them.
She lays a hand of Allison’s cheek, feeling the tears. “Allison. Listen to me. You will be fine. Scott was your first love. Its hurts but I promise you’ll get over it. And you’ll meet someone new and feel what you did with Scott, or maybe something more. Everyone has heartbreak Allison but you’ll fall in love again. You’ll move on.”
Brown doe eyes blink at her in the darkness, tears reflecting the moonlight. “Will you ever love someone else like you loved Jackson?”
The question catches her off guard. Her wound with Jackson healed without her noticing. There’s no pain just some shame. Though the emotional scars he left haunt her some nights.
“No I won’t. I’ll love someone better.”
Because she’s Lydia Martin and she deserves the best. Allison smiles, her dimples faint on her cheeks. Her voice is teasing when she asks, “Lydia? Do you have your eye on someone besides Aiden?” Her eyes squint in mischief.
She’s about to say no when an image of Stiles flashes through her mind and she stops cold. She hasn’t told Allison about her maybe feelings for Stiles yet mainly because she isn’t sure what those feelings are and she’s determined to ignore them. Her hesitation must speak volumes though as Allison chuckles.
“Don’t worry. He still likes you.” she says rolling onto her back. Lydia scoffs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Allison laughs with her eyes closed and Lydia’s struck for a second by her eternal beauty.
“Sure you don’t Lyds.”
He stares at the woods as she stares at him, marveling at his beauty. Her eyes roamed hungrily over his hair to his eyelashes that create flickering shadows over his cheekbones, cheekbones that lead to beautiful lips, lips that she remembers all too clearly kissing. The memory of how they felt haunts her on sleepless nights. She remembers how soft they were, how eternal it felt to hold his face under her hand, her thumb caressing his cheeks. She remembers how the dirty locker room floor felt under her knees, his ragged breathing echoing in her ears. Suddenly she’s all too aware of the fact that she kissed Stiles Stilinski and that they never talked about it.
She’s boggling over this absurd fact when Stiles suddenly turns towards her, mischief in his eyes.
“Hey you wanna see something that’ll change your life?’’ his eyes are alight with laughter. Lydia remains wary though, having been burned by this before.
“Stiles I swear if this is another video of a cat dancing to Uptown Funk, I will-”
“First off, the fact that you perceive that as an annoyance instead of the most wonderful thing in the world is beyond me but I promise this isn’t that.” He pulls out his phone and hastily scrolls through his pictures. He thrusts the phone towards her, revealing a picture of what seems to be Scott when he was, if Lydia had to guess, maybe nine. It's a cute picture but nothing remarkable and she fails to see the point.
“Remind me again, why am I looking at this?’’
Stiles grins like the devil and shoves the phone closer to her. “Look at his feet.” She drops her gaze and audibly lets out a gasp of horror, snatching the phone out of Stiles’ hand to look at the monstrosity closer.
She looks at Stiles and then back at the picture, eyes wide with disbelief. In the picture stood a grinning Scott McCall, posing against a wall, in all his 90’s glory, his feet laden with what could be qualified as the world’s worst pair of Crocs ever. She stares at them, her disapproval for his life choices rising every second, while Stiles cackles with glee. Lydia shakes her head one last time and gives Stiles back his phone. He gleefully pockets it, shaking his head.
“I know how you feel. I found that picture last year when I was helping Melissa clean out her attic. Scott would kill me if he found out I showed this to you.”
She shakes her head with disbelief once again, feeling a stray curl fall out of her braid once again. “You think a true alpha would make better fashion choices.”
“I know, right? What a fraud.”
They’re still laughing about it when Renee shows up with their food, pointedly placing the fries in front of Lydia before giving Stiles his burger and onion rings. They pause to thank her and she gives Stiles a pointed look, subtly nodding her head towards Lydia before walking away.
“What’s that about?’’ Lydia says, pushing the basket of fries towards Stiles.
“Nothing, really. It's just that when I was a kid, I would confide in her a lot. Something that I’m completely regretting now!” He raises his voice near the end so that Renee can hear it. Her laugh twinkles as she blows him a kiss from behind the counter.
She pulls up the sleeve of her sweater, it's loose fit making the wide collar slip over her shoulder and expose her skin. She knows his eyes follow the movement and she feels a sense of gratification. Everything with him has changed, but at least this remains the same. He awkwardly clears his throat and looks up at the hanging lights above them.
“So um you never answered my question. What are you doing here?” He cocks his head at hers and reminds her so painfully of Prada that it requires physical strength for her not to smile.
She cocks her head back and pouts her lips in the condescending way she would have a year ago.
“I did answer your question, just not to your preference.’’ She raises her chin at him, her queen bee smile icing her lips.
He tilts his head as if to say, “Really?”. A year ago he wouldn’t have questioned her past this. (But a year ago they hadn’t kissed.)
“Come on Lydia. Why are you here?” His tone is inquiring but it’s the kind of curiosity that mixes with caring and worry. She hears it in Scott’s “Are you okay” and in Allison’s, “You look tired Lyds.” on the nights she sleeps at her house, face makeup free, head spinning with Peter Hale’s voice. She’s seen the look on their faces, she knows it all too well after her naked adventures in the woods last year. But she’s tired of it. She doesn’t want it anymore.
“I am here because I need food and drink to survive, or did you miss that lesson in health class?” Her voice is sugar sweet but her tone is clear, please don’t pry. It looks like it pains him to keep quiet. He stares at her and then squints his eyes in quiet determination, opening his mouth to say something. But she beats him to the punch.
“What was Coach yelling at Greenberg for during lunch?”
The change of subject isn’t subtle but neither is the determined set of her jaw, conveying a silent message: Let it go, for tonight, please.
He listens to it and understands, giving up for the time being.He launches into the story, eventually losing himself in it, laughing while describing the various self esteem destroying insults Coach threw at Greenberg, insults only someone with Stiles’ wit would be able to appreciate. His hands flail as he talks, creating shadows on the table. He licks his lips before starting another story about something that happened to Scott in Econ and she comments something half mindedly and then he’s throwing his head back laughing, shoulders shaking, and the whole world slows down. This warm, golden feeling grows in her chest as she watches him and her beautiful brain short circuits. Her chest feels tight and her vision narrows down to nothing but him. Him in all his plaid shirt, messy haired glory. A hum starts in her head, his movements creating an orchestra in her mind. All her logic and warnings are gone.All that's left is one word.
Stiles.
She loves him.
Loves him in a way that she’d seen as a child, dismissed as a teenager and found again in a run down diner under a dim lamp. She loves him. And if this is what love feels like maybe she now finally understands why Scott McCall is willing to fight so hard for it.
She loves Stiles. She loves his hair and his hands and even though they disgust her, she loves his endless plaid shirts. She loves that he can never sit still, his hands are always moving, fingers tapping, tapping always on the edge of her subconscious, always there nowadays, always there for her, always present. She loves his lips,the way they look when he licks them, the way they looked when she kissed him, they looked soft, soft, he’s always soft with her, hands gentle and light, holding her to see if she was okay, concern etched onto his face, concern, he worries about her and she worries about him, anguish gripping her chest to see him grab that flare, the flare, the red light illuminating his and Scott’s face. Scott. The war that they’re fighting, the world vs them. People die in wars. Erica. Boyd. Dead. Innocents. Dead. Stiles. Dead. The thought of it makes her chest burn as if her insides have turned to acid. Stiles dead. Her loving someone who leaves her, again. She can’t. It's too hard.
It’ll have to wait. It’ll just have to. She can’t do it yet. Not yet.
But soon.
The hurricane inside her mind continues and he goes on oblivious. She chimes in every now and then, making smart anecdotes to his stories. Eventually the conversation somehow turns to movies and she joins in full heartedly, defending her choice of The Notebook and scoffing when he says Star Wars. She watches him come alive during their debate.
“Ohh Pu-lease Lydia. Han and Leia are a love story for the books, okay. They are i c o n i c. And let’s be honest here, you probably liked Luke and Leia together when you were a small, naive child. Come on. Admit it. We’ve all been there.”
She shakes her head in disgust. “As if. I knew they were siblings by the end of Empire. It was obvious. I’m surprised no one saw that coming. Well, that and the whole Darth Vader being Luke’s dad. Like come on. Who didn’t see that from a mile away.” She steals one of his fries as she says this, him not protesting on account of his jaw being on the floor.
“No.” he shakes his head in disbelief. “No. Come on. I know you’re like freaky smart but there's no way even you saw the best plot twist in cinematic history coming. Nuh uh.” he squints his eyes in doubt.
She stares at him and shrugs. “Vater means “father’’ in German. I made the connection.”
He stares at her bug eyed, and she swears, underneath all the disbelief, she sees something that looks like admiration in his eyes. She wonders if this is just another thing he added to his list.
Reasons to like Lydia Martin: Cinematic Psychic.
They talk more about movies, discussing whether Casablanca or Star Wars have have had more of an influence on Hollywood. Lydia is in the middle of a very heated monologue about why the end of Casablanca is timeless and immensely influential to cinema when his dad walks up to the table, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he sees her.
“Hello Lydia?”
“Uh hi Sheriff.’’ She smiles at him and he smiles back despite his obvious fatigue. He turns towards his son. “Stiles. I didn’t know we were having dinner for three.’’ There’s no malice in his voice, yet despite the humor Lydia feels like an intruder.
She grabs her purse, pulling the strap onto her shoulder. “I should go, let you guys catch up. Nice to see you Sheriff.” She’s about to get up when he shakes his head. “Oh no no no. Don’t leave on my account. Please Lydia. More the merrier.” he slides in next to Stiles and motions for her to sit down. Her gaze slides over to Stiles, looking to see if he feels the same way as his dad. He nods at her, in his gaze a tiny plea: Stay.
She sits back down and clears her throat. The sheriff looks at the two of them, a sparkle in his eyes. “Was I interrupting something?’’ His tone is teasing but he gives a pointed look to Stiles that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Identical blushes grow on their faces.
Stiles speaks up first. ‘’No. Nope. Nothing to interrupt here. Just two friends hanging out. Not even on purpose. You know, we didn’t make, like, plans to hang out. We both just happened to be at the same diner and you know. We ran into each other which is to be expected since we go to the same school. And we know each other. We’re acquaintances.Acquaintances hanging out. That’s all.” His voice gets smaller as he goes on, his incapability to stop talking amusing both his dad and Lydia. He scrunches up his face in embarrassment and she smiles, turning towards the Sheriff.
“I came for some tea and Stiles came for some food. Chance encounter.” the Sheriff nods in understanding.
“Have you been here before, Lydia?”
She shakes her head, “No I can’t say that I have. I understand why you would like it though. Its...nice.”
The sheriff laughs. “It’s a bit rundown but it holds some memories. Me and Stiles used to come here with Claudia, his mom all the time.” The new information is surprising and Lydia looks towards Stiles for confirmation.
He nods, looking out the window.
“Yeah uh we came here a lot before Mom got sick.”
A heavy silence follows, broken by the Sheriff asking if Lydia had tried the pie here yet.
‘‘No, I’m not really a pie person.”
It doesn’t matter though as he’s already motioning towards Renee, whose grin widens when she spots the Sheriff. Her footsteps click on the floor as she walks over, smiling at Sheirff.
“Well if it isn’t our unsung hero, Our sworn protector.” she laughs.
“Our batman in blue.” pipes up Stiles.
“My uniform is brown Stiles.” The Sheriff snorts.
“Beacon Hills’ best and brightest.” adds Lydia. The Sheriff just laughs, shaking his head.
“Renee can we get three pieces of your wonderful apple pie?”
“John for you I would make it fresh.’’ Renee winks as she walks over to the counter to grab some from the tray.
She places three beautiful pieces of pie down, shaking her head when the Sheriff reaches for his wallet.
“Oh no no, you don’t pay here.”
Stiles perks up. “Oh nice!”
She looks over at him, raising her eyebrows. “Uh not you.”
Stiles looks like he just saw a puppy with three legs. “But-”
Renee tilts her head. “Uh solve some murders like your father here and I’ll give you free food too.”
“Renee! This-- this is agism in reverse.”
Renee shrugs. “Call it what you want, but pay up. Teach you the value of money.”
Stiles grumbles as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.
Lydia laughs, reaching into her own bag to get her credit card
. “Oh sweetie, that’s okay. It was just a cup of tea. I can’t charge you for a cup of hot water.”Renee says.
Lydia smiles at her while Stiles gapes. “Renee!”
“Get a smile as pretty as hers and maybe I’ll give you free food too.”
Stiles shakes his head and looks at Lydia, eyes connecting with hers.“Then I’m doomed to paying for my food forever.”
Lydia feels a blush start to grow on her cheeks, her lips pursing to repress the smile that threatens to conquer her face. Renee leaves them to enjoy their pies, her shoes clacking on the black and white tiles.
“So Lydia, as you were speaking of the best and brightest, as Stiles tells me, that title belongs to you in school.”
Lydia smiles at that. “Really. Stiles said that?” She turns to look at him but he had just taken a big bite of his slice and is attempting to speak volumes of “Ugh Dad” just by glaring at his father.
“Well, um you know, Stiles isn’t so bad in school either.” Lydia states, making Stiles’ eyebrows shoot towards the sky.
The Sheriff’s eyebrows do the same. “Really?” he asks, turning towards his son.
Lydia shrugs, “Well he has his moments.” (Stiles, you’re the one who always figures it out.)
The Sheriff's laugh is interrupted by a yawn, reminding Lydia of how late it must have gotten.
“I should get going. Its getting late.”
The Sheriff gets up, stretching his sore back. “Do you need a ride home Lydia?”
She smiles at the offer but refuses. “No thank you. My car’s in the lot.”
The sheriff nods, then nods to her plate. “You didn’t finish your pie.”
Lydia shrugs, “Well I’ll just get it to go.”
The Sheriff nods, another yawn wracking his body. “Well it was a pleasure to see you again Lydia.”
“You too Sheriff.” He smiles and turns to leave. Lydia gets up at that moment, arching her back, stretching her sore muscles. She can feel Stiles stare and she lets out a tired moan, just for her amusement.
“Stiles you coming?” the Sheriff calls, heading out the door.
Lydia looks at up Stiles, and he looks at her and she loses her breath. He looks destroyed, eyes swarming with a multitude of emotions, the strongest being the one four lettered emotion she can’t face on a long night at 12 o clock in a run down diner, with him standing a table’s length away from her. They hold each other’s eyes for a few more seconds, the potential of something great echoing throughout their gaze. An impossible question seems to lace his face and Lydia knows that they could start something wonderfully exquisite that night, if she lets them, because he’s always gonna leave the ball in her court, because he knows. He knows her.
But she can’t. Not just yet. So she gives him a small smile and says, “ Good night Stiles.”
He’s still looking at her when he says, “ Good night Lydia.” He holds her gaze for a few more seconds and looks out the window, his father’s cruiser waiting in the parking lot. He slides out the booth, and strides out the door as she stays put, her legs forgetting how to move. She watches him head into his Jeep, watch him struggle with the ignition and then follow his father out of the lot. She heads out, a moments later, and goes to her quiet house, her mother whispering good night to her as she attempts to sneak past her bedroom door. She takes of the remnants of her make, does her nightly routine and crawls into bed, her mind swimming with the image of how he looked at her in the booth and just three words.
I love him.
She’ll have to deal with this. Have long talks with Allison about it. But not tonight.
She has time.
But she doesn’t.
The next day William Barrow kidnaps Kira, then Stiles is gone and she can’t find him and Allison, her Allison dies saving Lydia. Grief overtakes her life and she spends the entirety of Allison’s funeral holding Scott’s hand and avoiding Stiles’ desperate gaze.She finds herself wishing that she had not wasted time, that she had told Stiles that she loved him because now he’s dating Malia and she doesn’t have anyone to talk to because she thought she had so much time left to talk to Allison.
Summary: When Stiles is put in the hospital, Lydia realizes how much she needs him
@edelwoodsouls I loved writing this for you for valentine’s day!! I tried to incorporate a soulmate aspect for you, I hope you like this!!
The high pitched scream of the alarm wakes Lydia up with a jolt. She opens her eyes with a groan and reaches her arm stiffly to the side, slapping it quiet. She rolls over and comes face to face with Stiles. Now, a smile brighter than the sun spreads across her face as they look into each other’s eyes. “I don’t want to get up,” she whispers to him. He laughs, no more than a rush of air. His arm pops out of the blanket and wraps itself around her cheek “Neither do I,” he sighs. Lydia moves her face forward an inch or two until their noses are touching. She presses her lips to his gently, grasping his lips with her own for a moment. She pulls away, their lips reluctantly leaving each other. She quickly whips the blanket off with a giggle, hearing a playful grunt from Stiles as he buries his face into his pillow. He shuts his his eyes tightly then reopens them, lifting his head back up to stare at the master piece that is now walking around the room. His gaze lingers on the skin of her thighs, the large t-shirt she wears just only reaching mid-thigh. A slight smile reaches his face as he gets out of bed, and together they get ready for work.
Lydia spins in her desk, finding solace in the light squeaking sound that comes out with each turn. She taps her pen impatiently on her paper, desperately trying to decipher the numbers in front of her, staring them down intently. Suddenly, her phone rings from inside her purse. She jumps, startled, before pushing herself out of her chair to pick it up. By the third ring, she answers. “Hello?” she says. She hears silence for a moment too long and moves to hang up, before a silky voice speaks through the phone. “Hi, sorry. Ms. Martin?” the lady asks, her voice like honey. “Yes, that’s me,” Lydia tells her, curious. “My name is Mrs. Lorindale. We have you listed here as Mr. Stilinski’s emergency contact, is that correct?” Lydia’s eyebrows come together in concern, his image coming into her mind, his smile filling her thoughts. “Yes,” she says again, “Is something wrong?” she asks, panic beginning to form in her stomach. “We aren’t completely sure at this point, but he was injured severely at work. They rushed him into surgery immediately upon arriving at the hospital,” the lady explains softly, empathy radiating through her voice. Lydia’s hands begin to tremble as the panic rises up into her throat, worry lodging itself. She processes Mrs. Lorindale’s words slowly, and squeezes her eyes closed as hard as she can, willing it to go away, willing it not to be real. “Ms. Martin?” She snaps her eyes open and gathers her purse in her free arm. “Yes!” she stutters, “Yes. Yes, yes. I’ll be right there,” she tells Mrs. Lorindale and hangs up the phone before hearing her answer. She runs out of her work without telling anyone where she’s going, ignoring the stares of her coworkers as she sprints by their desks. The only thing she can think about is Stiles. Her Stiles, hurt. She presses the down button on the elevator frantically, surely bruising her finger. She shifts back and forth on her feet as she waits for the elevator to descend, breathing heavily. When the doors open, she bursts out and rushes to her car, screeching out of the parking lot.
When Lydia arrives at the hospital, she rushes immediately to the desk, breathing hard. She gives the lady sitting there a smile as she collects her thoughts. “Hi,” she says to the lady, “Could I have an update on Mieczyslaw Stilinski? I’m his girlfriend,” she explains. The lady nods before pulling out the book and flipping through a few pages. “He had a gunshot to his middle. Hit his stomach, but he got here quickly, so they should have him out of surgery in about an hour, then you can see him. He’s expected to survive, so you can take that breath you’ve been holding in, the lady smiles slyly. The air rushes out of Lydia’s lungs in a huff of relief. “Thank you so much,” she says to the lady, shooting her a grateful smile before making her way over to the waiting area, plopping herself down in a chair. She has at least an hour to kill, so she pulls her book out of her purse to read.
About an hour later, Lydia sees movement above her in the corner of her eye. She finishes her sentence before sliding her bookmark onto the page and closing her book. She looks up to see who is standing in front of her and sees the lady from the desk. “Mieczyslaw’s surgery is finished. You can go see him now,” the lady tells her. Lydia’s heart jumps with joy, a huge smile spreading across her face. She pushes herself up from her chair and gathers her things, her arms overflowing with items. She follows the lady as she is lead down many hallways, until finally they stop in front of a door with a small, rectangular window in the upper right corner. The lady opens the door for her and Lydia takes small steps into the doorway until she is fully in the room. She registers the sound of the door clicking closed lightly behind her, but her mind focuses only on the man in the bed in front of her. From where she stands, she can see the slight rise and fall of his chest, her the small bit of air that leaves his nostrils with each exhale. She takes a few steps closer and catches the IV attached to his arm, the soft beep of the monitor with each beat of his heart preventing silence in the room. She gently and quietly pulls the chair from behind her, settling in it directly beside Stiles, so close that her stomach makes contact with the edge of the bed. She sets her jacket on the floor by her feet, careful to not make a sound with each movement, each inhalation. With her hands now both free, she reaches up over the bed and grabs the pale hand that rests at the side of Stile’s body. She examines his faintly freckled face, the brown specks more pronounced, the usual red colour in his face faded to a white. She lifts his cool, skinny hand to her face and presses a light kiss to the backside, then sets it back down. She sits, staring at his face for a few minutes, her eyes traveling the length of his cheeks and forehead a thousand times over. She wills him to wake up, craves the sound of his voice, the feel of his eyes on hers. She takes a sharp bout of breath as his eyes flutter open little by little. His breathing becomes stronger quickly, and his eyes take in the room widely, confusion masking his features. His shoulders tense as he tries to remember where he is, what. Lydia touches his hand with her fingers to draw his attention over to her. His head whips in her direction and his posture relaxes when his eyes catch hers. His groggy stare rests on her own as she smiles modestly at him, wrapping her hand in his once again. She gives his hand a light squeeze as he calms down. “I got shot,” he says, a small laugh escaping his throat. She giggles at that. “You sure did,” she answers. They sit in silence for a few moments, the only sound the steady beep coming from the monitor above them. “I’m so glad I didn’t lose you,” she tells him, a trace of tears in her eyes. He meets her eyes again and nods. “I wouldn’t go dying on you,” he tells her. “At least not this easily,” he jokes. “I can’t lose you,” he says, seriously now. She nods back at him, standing up out of her chair carefully. She climbs in next to him, making sure not to hit or move him. They both sigh contently as she lies down beside him, much like they were that very morning. She curls her body in towards his and hugs his arm with both of her own. She closes her eyes blissfully, and soon he follows suit. He feels the warmth of her body against her own, and together they sleep.
MY GIFT for my amazing #stydiapositivitypartner, HILLARI @forevermieczyslaw
summary: Everyone is trying to stop Stiles from breaking his heart, but they don’t realise that Lydia’s is the one that’s breaking.
a lil’ note for my partner: Hi, sunshine! I’m Edie, if you didn’t already know. Thank you so much for giving me a second chance. I’m glad you liked the original one I sent you! This has the same idea and summary as the last one, but it’s written a lot better this time (the beginning didn’t change much, but the middle/end did). Hope you still like it!
“Stiles, come on. We need to go,” the mole-faced boy heard his friend say faintly next to him; but he didn’t listen. Instead, he was focused on the strawberry blonde wonder in front of him.
There she was, the Lydia Martin, on the floor of the sheriff’s office, blood pouring out of her and onto the floor.
And he was just standing there, watching the emerald-eyed girl in pain. And all he could think was; she’s going to die. But he refused to believe it. She couldn’t die. She was Lydia Martin. She was going to win a Field’s Medal.
“Stiles, come on. Malia might be hurt,” the tan boy stressed. But the whiskey-eyed boy continued to ignore him. He knew he should be thinking about Malia, his girlfriend; but not now. Not when Lydia was on the ground trying her hardest to breathe.
Stiles wanted to move. He wanted to go to the basement and see if Malia was okay. To see if his actual girlfriend was okay. But he couldn’t. He was stuck there by fear. Paralysed by the thought of Lydia dying on the floor of the Sheriff’s office.
He noticed everyone calling for his attention; Scott, Deaton, even his own father; but he could only hear the heavy breaths from the pale girl in front of him.
It wasn’t until a strained voice spoke that he snapped out of his delusional state.
“Stiles,” the weak strawberry blonde spoke out.
“I’m fine. Go. Go find Tracey.” Stiles still didn’t move. She wasn’t fine. She was everything but fine.
“Stiles. Go!” She softly yelled, putting on a pained smiled that didn’t reach her eyes.
That’s when Sties got into full gear. He quickly left with the others, the injured girl still on his mind.
They were all at the hospital; the whole pack, hoping that their friend would be okay. Because let’s admit it, they wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for the intelligent strawberry blonde.
But Stiles was going out of his freaking mind. He wasn’t hoping, he was praying. Begging someone, anyone to make sure the little 5’3’’ girl was okay and safe again.
Melissa McCall walked out, a small smile of relief plastered on her face. “She’s going to be alright. She needs to stay in the hospital a little longer, but she’s going to make it. Only family can visit.” Everyone let out the breath they were holding.
“But, she specifically requested that Stiles see her. Only family can see her, but I’m allowing it for one minute.” All eyes were on the flannel-wearing boy. He looked over at Malia, who gave him a slight nod, and followed the nurse into the dingy hospital room.
And there she was. Lydia Martin. Still beautiful, even if she was attacked only a few hours earlier.
“Stiles?” She called out in the room as the door opened with a squeak. The boy was by her side instantly, placing her small hand into his large ones.
“Lydia, thank god you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you died. Please don’t ever scare me like that agin. I can’t loose you; you know that,” he blurted out, whiskey eyes burning into emerald ones.
“I’ll try,” she managed to get out, trying to get rid of the fireworks from her stomach as her best friend was holding her cold hand into his warm ones.
And it was silent, but neither of them minded. The disheveled-haired boy admiring the strawberry blonde’s sparkling emerald eyes and her soft porcelain skin. The hospitalised girl memorised the number of moles that were scattered across the boy’s face, connecting the space between them.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Stiles needs to leave now. I’m going to give you a little something to help you go to sleep; alright, Lydia?” The girl nodded in response.
Right when the boy was about to leave, the girl blurted out, “Stiles, you have to see me when I’m allowed visitors. Please, Stiles. Promise me. Please.”Her voice rushed and breathless. She had a look of pure desperation and hopelessness of her face, that he just couldn’t reject. He agreed; and with a slight smile on her face, she was put to slowly put to sleep.
“She’s allowed visitors on Monday at 17:00,” the nurse told him, leaving to take care of her other patients.
The mole-faced boy made a mental note. Monday. 17:00. 71 hours and 4,260 minutes until he could see the prodigy once again.
It was Monday; 16:31. Twenty-nine minutes until Stiles could see the familiar strawberry-scented air once agin.
He grabbed his red hoodie that was atop his navy blue sheets when a familiar blonde blocked the doorway.
“Malia. I need to-“ She cut him off. Walking into the room, closing the door behind her.
“I need to talk to you now,” she said harshly. Stiles looked at the clock; 16:43; seventeen minutes. With a rough sigh, he placed his jacket on top of the wooden desk sitting in the corner of his room.
“What is it? I have places to be.” He was agitated. He needed to see Lydia. He craved to see her sparkling eyes, her porcelain skin, her beautiful smile that made him return one every time.
“Look, I know that you like, Lydia,” she bluntly said. Stiles took a deep breath of nervousness, already knowing where the conversation was heading.
“Malia,” he tried to reason with the werecoyote but was cut off again.
“Stiles. Shut up. Do you like me or Lydia?” Her eyes burning into his own as she took a seat of the edge of his bed.
The boy’s eyes went wide with surprise. He couldn’t deal with this now. He had to go see Lydia. He promised her.
“Malia, what do you mean?” He asked her, staring at the digital clock in the corner of the room; 16:52, eight minutes.
“You heard me. Do you want me or do you want Lydia. You have to choose right now, because I’m not going to be lead on like every other high school girl.” Malia’s eyes were starting to gloss over. For the first time ever, she looked small; weak, causing the boy’s own vision to blur as well.
He quickly wiped the non-existent tears from his eyes and with a hint of annoyance in his voice, he said, “I don’t have time for this. I need to visit, Lydia. Can we just please do this after I see her.”
Stiles grabbed his hoodie and was about to turn the door handle when he heard, “You walk out that door and we’re through.”
Stiles was about to stay. He really was. He was about to run into his girlfriend’s arms and apologise a million times over. But he didn’t. Instead, he ran out his bedroom door. Because it wasn’t any girl and Malia. It was Lydia Martin and Malia.
As he ran down the dark hallway, slipping a few times during the way, he finally realised that he loved the emerald-eyed genius. Stiles Stilinski loved Lydia Martin.
When he reached the bottom of his wooden stairs, he saw his father look at him, disappointment in his eyes.
The Sheriff rubbed the back of his neck and said, “I heard your guys’ conversation. Stiles, I know that you love, Lydia. Everyone does. But please just go back to Malia; she’s good for you. She’s not Lydia, but at least she’s someone who won’t break your heart.” Stiles was out before the Sheriff could finish his sentence.
As the whiskey-eyed boy cursed at every red light or slow car in his path, there was a strawberry blonde girl sitting in a hospital bed, arms folded around her knees and her back leaning against the wall.
“He didn’t come back,” the teenage prodigy whispered, refusing to let out the tears forming at the bottom of her eyes. She looked out the window, a blue Jeep nowhere in sight.
She had lost all hope of her knight in shining amour returning. The forest-green-eyed girl looked down at her feet. She normally wouldn’t let anyone make her cry, make her feel weak. But she allowed for a single tear fall down her porcelain cheek. Because it was Stiles Stilinski. He was more than just a high school boy. He was her best friend. He was her family. He was her everything. Her was her first love.
The mother looked at her daughter in worry, having never seen her daughter in such a state was the one she was in. The strawberry blonde mother couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the girl, looking back on her own experiences of heart break.
“I know, sweetie. I know. I know how much you loved him,” her mother, Natalie whispered back, rubbing her daughter’s arm in comfort. She did. The heartbreaker, Lydia Martin love the dork, Stiles Stilinski.
The strawberry blonde teenager couldn’t help but smile back at a memory as she saw a blue blanket draped across a chair in the corner of the room. They were in their junior year looking for William Barrow. The pair were in the boy’s room looking at any clues that would lead to them finding the mental man.
She noticed different colour strings in neat rolls on the edge of his bed. She asked him what all the colours meant. Green was solved, yellow was to be determined, and red was unsolved. But blue? Blue was just pretty.
Ever since that day, the green eyed teenager tried to incorporate blue into all of her outfits, hoping that somehow the mole-faced boy would think of her as “pretty”.
Her mother left after a while, wanting to giver her daughter a little space. Lydia then starting planning on what she was going to say to the sarcastic boy when he came; if he came that is. The whole reason why she wanted to see Stiles first was because she had planned to tell him about her ongoing feelings. But there was only one problem.
Malia Hale. There was nothing wrong with the girl expect that she had Stiles; she took him from Lydia. When the strawberry blonde found out about the new relationship, she cried for hours on end, curled up her queen sized bed.
It hurt that he was with someone else, because it chose someone else that wasn’t her. But the thing that hurt like absolute hell was that he was happy. Lydia had only caused him pain and tears; something the boy didn’t deserve at all. But Malia didn’t do that. Malia didn’t hurt him; she treated him right; like he deserved.
It was 17:26. Stiles was twenty-six minutes late. He ran through the elevator doors to see the werecoyote sitting next to the puppy-faced alpha. How could she have possibly gotten there earlier than him? He pushed it aside and headed towards the Martin girl’s room.
Before he could reach the front desk, he was stopped by his best friend. The anxiety-ridden boy rolled his eyes, predicting the conversation he was about to have his lifelong friend.
“Stiles, Malia told me what happened,” the tan boy trailed off, referring to the dirty blonde sitting in one of the waiting room chairs.
“I know what you’re going to say, Scotty. But, can we please talk about this later. I’m already twenty-six minutes late and I promised Lydia I would see her at 17:00,” the flannel-wearing boy pressed, tapping his foot in anxiousness.
“Look, I just hope you know what you’re doing, because I don’t want to see you hurt again.” Stiles rolled his eyes in response.
“I know what I’m doing. I’m going to see Lydia and hope to God she forgives me for breaking the one promise I made to her.”
“I just want to know why you let Malia go. She was good to you. Why did you do that? Just because Lydia gives the slightest hint that she likes you back, you’re just going to throw away everything you have! You’re such an idiot sometimes. Just please don’t let your heart break this time.” The alpha gave his fellow pack member a sympathetic smile and joined Malia in the dating area.
Trying to ignore his friend’s words, Stiles ran to the reception desk, spotting the familiar wavy hair of Melissa McCall. It was 17:30, now he was thirty minutes late; great.
“Where’s she? Where’s, Lydia?” The boy asked as he approached the nurse.
The McCall mother let out a heavy sigh and said, “Scott told me what happened between you and Malia.” Not this again.
“I know Scott was a little harsh with his words, but he just wants to protect you from getting your heart broken again by the same girl. Let me ask you something; is she worth it? If she’s not then just go back to the waiting room with the others and leave this all alone. If she is, however, then go; get your ass into that hospital room and tell her how you feel.”
Her motherly advice made Stiles think. Was she worth it? Was Lydia really worth all the pain and suffering he went through? Would he really go through all that pain again for her?
“Yes; she’s worth it. She is everything to me. And I wouldn’t forgive myself if I just let her go. I love her so much, Melissa. I love her so much is hurts. So, please don’t try to stop me because I will find a way to get to her. Just tell me where she is.” Melissa grinned as she heard the boy’s confident words.
“Right this way, Mr. Stilinski. Go get your girl.”
The hospital room door burst open, showing the whiskey-eyed boy that Lydia missed so dearly.
“Stiles,” she breathed out in complete and utter joy, still not believing he was standing right there in front of her. He kept his promise.
Before another word could leave her full, pink lips, the boy rushed out, “Lydia, I’m so sorry I’m late, but I need to tell you something. You’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it. I even broke up with Malia to prove it.”
The girl’s face instantly lit up at his words, but then realised something. “You threw away your happiness for me.”
“What do you mean, Lydia?” He asked, starting to get nervous by her words. He lost everything for her. She couldn’t reject him. She just couldn’t.
“You’re so stupid, Stilinski. You were happy and you just threw it all away like it was nothing. And what for? For me? Because I don’t want it. I’m not worth it.” Lydia hated the words coming out of her mouth, her heart starting to crack when she saw the boy’s lost expression.
“What are you talking about? Why aren’t you worth it?” He grabbed the girl’s cold hand, his eyes staring into her own.
“Because I don’t love you, Stiles! You need to stop hurting yourself for me, because I don’t want you. I’m letting you go.” The strawberry blonde was on the verge of tears as she yelled the lies to the boy she loved. She couldn’t let him sacrifice everything for her. It was too much. She really wasn’t worth it.
Stiles scoffed in response. “You know what, Lydia? All day people have been warning me to watch out for my heart, afraid that you’ll break it. And every time they told me, I thought; Lydia loves me. She wouldn’t be leading me on. She wasn’t cold enough to do that. But guess what? You are! You are cold and heartless and push someone out right when they start to care about you. You’re right. You’re not worth it.”
Right when the door shut close, Lydia cried. She cried more than when Jackson called her “ugly” and a “slut”. She cried more than when Aiden passed away by an Oni sword. She couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t want to stop crying, because she deserved it. She deserved to feel the same pain Stiles felt.
The whole pack noticed the caramel-eyed boy’s pain and immediately buried him with comedies and ice cream that night.
But they what they didn’t notice that not only one heart broke that night, but two.
an extra lil’ note: Hi, peaches! Hope you enjoyed this! If you like my writing, I do write stydia one-shots and headcanons on Wattpad [sorry it’s not on AO3 or anything]. My username is: @photoshopflowercrown and the book should be called nostalgia. You totally don’t have to do that, but if you wanna that’s there.
summary: “Just as she thinks she’s done for, just as she thinks she can’t fight anymore, breathe anymore, she hears someone walking toward her. She pulls her eyes open, with monumental effort, but she can’t tell if this is her savior or the man who wanted her dead.
'Don’t give up, come on,’ she hears a man whisper. The voice is younger than before, but she can’t trust her instincts anymore.
'Wha -' she starts.
'Don’t try to talk,' the voice says. He’s not trying to stop the bleeding, he’s just looking at her. Maybe it is the man from before. She finds herself trusting him, not wanting to go against his wishes. There’s silence, not even the sound of leaves crunching, and she tries to figure out if that means he’s gone, or she’s dying. Maybe both."
for: my stydia positivity partner, @rappsberetta!! you definitely inspired me to look at this au version of stydia, so I hope you enjoy this!!
ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12179589
“Well aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
The words keep echoing in her mind, and her hands still shake from the contact with his skin. She’s running full-stop now, shoes long abandoned, not even feeling the bite of the chill in the air. Her breath spreads out in front of her, a white mist contrasting the dark forest.
The sound of a wolf howling startles her, and she stops, leaves spraying up under her feet as they scramble for purchase on the dewy ground. There are no wolves in California, she thinks. She’s looking around, hair a tangle, yet still elegant in the moonlight. She squints, trying to discern anything in the distance, but she comes up blank. Just as she thinks she can calm down, she hears footsteps, but before she can even think to run, she’s on the ground.
“Found you, quite tricky aren’t ya?” The man is holding her down, hands on her wrists, and she can smell the alcohol from the ground. She refuses to give him the sense of control, let him think she’s given up, so she stays silent.
“You were much chattier in the gas station, little lady, what happened?” It doesn't seem to phase him that she ran from him. That should have been a clear indication that she was not okay with the situation. He doesn't even realize that she’d punched him to get his hands off of her before.
He leans down and releases one of her hands so that he can brush her hair off her face. Just as his lips begin to touch her cheek, she turns away, and he pulls out a knife.
“Now, don’t go being like that again, little missy,” the man says. His voice has gone deeper, more dangerous, and Lydia feels a tear stream out of her eye, slowly making its way down her cheek until reaching the ground beside her face.
The knife is cold, despite having been secured in his pocket, and he gently slides the blade along her cheek. She feels it bite in ever so slightly, and she can’t help but wince, hissing in a breath.
“So she’s not mute,” the man chuckles. He continues running the blade down to her neck, and the pain becomes warm, the blood blossoming out in an almost comforting manner. She’s not sure how deep it is, but she’s starting to lose consciousness. It could be attributed to the fear, a self-preservation instinct, but she can feel the stickiness of the blood that indicates otherwise.
All of a sudden, the pressure of the man on top of her is gone. She lays frozen for a moment, unsure of what’s happening, or what to do, until she hears the sound of rustling leaves to her right. She turns over, too exhausted and scared to do much else, and gasps at the sight.
The man who attacked her is being attacked by someone - or something? It’s too dark for her to make out any details, but she’s almost sure that it’s another man fighting with him. Almost . She hears screams of pain, but she can’t tell which party they’re from. The moon is retreating behind the clouds, closing out her only source of light, cloaking the scene in front of her so that she can’t discern anything.
Or maybe it’s the sensation of losing consciousness, vision clouding as her systems try to save her, shutting down non essential physical functions.
Just as she thinks she’s done for, just as she thinks she can’t fight anymore, breathe anymore, she hears someone walking toward her. She pulls her eyes open, with monumental effort, but she can’t tell if this is her savior or the man who wanted her dead.
“Don’t give up, come on,” she hears a man whisper as he crouches next to her. The voice is younger than before, but she can’t trust her instincts anymore.
“Wha -” she starts.
“Don’t try to talk,” the voice says. He’s not trying to stop the bleeding, he’s just looking at her. Maybe it is the man from before. She finds herself trusting him, not wanting to go against his wishes. There’s silence, not even the sound of leaves crunching, and she tries to figure out if that means he’s gone, or if she’s dying. Maybe both.
“Lydia, did you not hear your alarm?” Her mom is standing in the doorway, and Lydia is laying in her bed. Without thinking, she suddenly brings her hands up, feeling her neck and face, but there’s no sign of the previous night’s events.
“I guess not,” she answers, not wanting to worry her mother. She gives her a smile, and sighs in relief when she leaves, closing the door behind her.
Lydia waits for a few minutes before getting up, rushing over to her mirror. She’s wearing the bralette and panties from the night before, but her dress is nowhere to be found. No blood or leaves remain in her hair, but she sees a bite on her side, just above her right hip. Her fingers lightly dance over the wound in confusion, and she winces when she feels pain. There’s no blood, and she can feel it healing already. For a second, her eyes glimmer a golden yellow, but she blinks and shakes her head, and when she opens her eyes they’re back to normal.
She allows herself a few more moments to wonder about the wound before stripping off the rest of her clothes and showering, getting ready for the day. Maybe last night was just a dream, she thinks. Unlikely, but she doesn’t have any other explanations. As she washes off her body, taking extra care with the bite, she vaguely remembers the feeling of cool water on her body last night, a washcloth gently running over the cuts on her. But she can’t be sure, considering there’s no way to find out.
After cleaning off her body and savoring the warmth of the steam, she gets dressed, pulling on her favorite skirt and blouse combination. She pulls on her green coat, braids her hair, slips into a pair of maroon Mary Jane shoes, and picks up a blue purse in lieu of a backpack. Taking one more glance in the mirror, Lydia smiles at herself, reassuring herself that no matter what happened, she’s safe now.
Jackson is already waiting out front, his car still running, and he doesn’t even get out of the car to help her when he sees her. She opens the door and sits, pulling the seatbelt over her body.
“Where the hell were you last night?” Jackson asks, not bothering to look over at his girlfriend. He pulls out of the driveway, speeding down the street to get to school on time.
“What do you mean?” Lydia asks, her voice quiet.
“You never met up with me at the diner, remember? I called and you didn’t pick up, so I was left looking like an idiot eating alone. It’s not like sending a text would’ve been that hard.”
“I got sidetracked,” Lydia says, considering her words. “Actually, no, I was attacked. Jackson, some guy attacked me last night.”
He finally glances over at her, but much to her dismay, he scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, right. You’re just in one of your moods, trying to get attention,” he says, turning his focus back to the road in front of him.
She doesn’t feel like justifying his words with a response, so she stays silent, staring out the window instead. As the trees zip by, Lydia thinks back to the night before. The last thing she remembers is being told to not speak. The mystery guy was showing more compassion to a girl he had just saved than Jackson ever had.
As Lydia continues her thought process, they finally arrive at the school. Jackson opens Lydia’s door for her, but soon leaves her standing alone when he makes up the excuse of needing to get to lacrosse practice. She slowly walks toward the school, taking in the feel of winter around her, and makes her way to the field. It became habit for her to watch Jackson and his teammates play before school, always his cheerleader. But as she reached the benches, she stopped and turned toward the field.
There were only a handful of boys here today, as most of the team didn’t put in the effort of trying out for first line. There was Jackson, who was the team captain, and about six other guys. Two of them looked extremely out of place, obviously not the athletic type, but she couldn’t critique them for trying.
One had longer, curly hair that framed his awkwardly asymmetrical jawline. The other was different in every way except height. He was skinnier, and his mole-dotted face was blushed in the cold of the morning. His hair was buzzed short, and he had a dorky smile on his face. These must be the two that Jackson was always ragging on.
Lydia also caught sight of Danny, the team’s long-term goalie and most friendly player. He was kinder than most of the student body, and smart as well. If he wasn’t gay, Lydia would’ve chosen him to be her power boyfriend.
Jackson catches sight of Lydia standing there and shakes his head at her before looking away. She isn’t sure what exactly he means, but she finds herself suddenly disgusted with the thought of cheering him on. If he couldn’t be supportive when she claimed she was attacked, there’s no way she should be expected to support him in his high school sport, so she turns tail and walks into the building.
The library is thankfully empty at this time, and Lydia places her bag on a table before falling into a chair. She still feels the exhaustion of the night before, and isn’t quite sure what to do with herself. There really isn’t any way to prove that she was attacked, and she knows from experience that almost any man will disregard the word of a woman if there isn’t hard evidence supporting her claim.
With a sudden realization, Lydia thinks that she never saw the man who attacked her get back up. After the other came to her aid, she didn’t see any other movement. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, especially considering how much her eyesight was failing her at the end.
The feeling of adrenaline suddenly floods her system, jolting her to focus. There’s nothing that would prompt her to feel enraged or anything urgent to pull her away from her thought process, but regardless, she feels like she’s needed somewhere else. Following the sensation, she gets up, trying to listen for anything going on.
As she nears the locker room, she can hear shouting and the clanging of the lockers. A few of the players run out as she approaches, likely more due to not wanting to be disciplined than actual fear. Lydia takes in the scene, and she can’t help but stare for a moment. The scrawny buzz-cut dork from the team is the one fighting her boyfriend.
“So you think you can get a chance with her, is that what it is?” Jackson yells before tackling the boy, slamming him into a bench.
“Screw you, Whittemore,” he boy grits out. Lydia starts to say something before she sees him hook his legs around Jackson’s torso and push Jackson, using the momentum to come out on top. He starts punching Jackson, blocking any of the boy’s hits up at him, and Lydia is impressed with his quiet strength.
“Hey, hey, hey! Knock it off, losers!” The coach storms into the room, blowing his whistle, and pries them apart. Danny is standing behind him, his arms crossed in disdain. “Detention for both of you. Now go get cleaned up,” the coach says, giving the buzz cut boy an additional shove.
“Great boyfriend you got there,” the kid whispers, still on the other side of the room. Her eyes dart up to meet his, and he smirks when her eyes widen at the fact that she heard him from that far away. She also swears that the voice is familiar, but she’s not sure where she would’ve heard it before. Not wanting to deal with this, she backs away, heading to her locker to try and distract herself.
The rest of the day goes fairly normal, and Lydia doesn’t see the boy for the rest of it. She thinks he’s usually in some of her classes, but she doesn’t dwell on the thought. She finds herself doodling in the margins of her notes as the teachers drone on, her mind not able to focus on the words floating around her. Finally, the bell rings to signal the end of the day, and she checks her phone to see that Jackson has already RSVP’d Lydia to be with him at the lacrosse dinner tonight. She rolls her eyes before meeting back up with Jackson, and they sit in stony silence on the drive back to her place.
“I can pick you up around 6:00,” Jackson says, still not looking at her. He’s got the beginnings of a black eye and a busted lip.
“I’ll drive myself, actually,” she says, getting out of the car, and marches off before he can respond. She hears the sound of the engine revving before he races off. She considers not attending the dinner, but knows that it would hurt her reputation as much as Jackson’s.
As the night stretches on, Lydia finally gets around to dressing for the night, but when she goes to pull on her dress, she realizes that the bite from the morning is gone . No scar, not even the whisper of a trace it was even there. She shakes her head, not sure what it means, and proceeds to apply her makeup. She even goes so far as to curl her hair before smoothing on her favorite lipstick.
All throughout dinner, Lydia swears she can hear the sound of rhythmic tapping, but she can’t find where it would be coming from. She dares to ask Danny if he hears it as well, but he shakes his head, and she decides to forget it.
“C’mon, Jackson, why don’t you give a toast to us, your esteemed followers?” The scrawny boy seems to be wanting to start trouble again, and Lydia can’t help but wonder why. He’s never cared before, always been on the sidelines, until now.
“Jesus, Stiles, didn’t get enough earlier?” Jackson asks, laughing. He’s putting on a show, Lydia can tell. She’s seen enough of his false moods to recognize one.
“I’m pretty sure we can all see that you’re the one with the black eye, not me,” the boy says, trying not to laugh. He takes his eyes away from Jackson and goes to take a drink, jumping up when it’s tipped forward, spilling the water all over him. “What the hell, dude?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me, egghead? Did Daddy the Cop finally get fired? Is that why you’ve been acting like a little shit today?” Jackson stands as well, facing Stiles.
“Oh, nevermind me, we all know I’m a little messed up. But let’s talk about you, Mister Whittemore. Orphaned because nobody loves you, not even your precious girlfriend. Who, by the way, deserves so much better than you.”
“What would you know about her? You’re too awkward to talk to your boyfriend Scott, much less a girl like Lydia. You’re not even worth the time of day,” Jackson says, and he pushes Stiles back. “Now why don’t you just skidaddle? It’s not like you’re an important part of the team or anything.” He gives Stiles a final smirk before sitting back down.
“Wow, okay, fine. You know, maybe you do deserve each other,” Stiles says, looking at Lydia. He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before storming out, throwing his napkin at Jackson’s face.
Lydia hesitates before getting up, grabbing her purse in the process. When she gets outside, she sees Stiles sitting on the curb in front of his jeep.
“Hey,” she says quietly. She bends down to sit with him, and he looks at her like she’s crazy. “What?”
“I would never have figured Lydia Martin to be one to sit on the curb.”
“Well, after last night you’d be surprised,” she says offhandedly.
“I don’t think there’s much else you could do to surprise me,” Stiles says. It takes Lydia a moment to realize he doesn’t ask what she meant.
“Can I ask you something? Either I’ll be right or you’ll think I’m crazy, but it’s not like I have much else to lose,” she says. She looks into Stiles’ eyes and holds the contact. His hand reaches over to hers, and she intertwines their fingers together.
“It was me,” Stiles says quietly. "Last night." When he looks up, his eyes are scarlet red, and Lydia gasps.
“But... how? What -”
“We’re werewolves,” Stiles says simply. “I’m an alpha, but I don’t really have a pack yet besides Scott. And no, he’s not my boyfriend, your douche of one just likes to mock us for our bond.”
“What do you mean we ?” Lydia asks, already knowing the answer.
“I had to, it was the only way to save you,” Stiles says, and his gaze drops. “I’ve tried to be peaceful, and I don’t just go around turning people. But I heard the sound of you running, the rapidness of your breath, and I knew something was wrong. When I smelled blood, I couldn’t stop myself. You would’ve bled out, alone, if I hadn’t bit you.”
“Is he dead?” Lydia whispers.
“Would you really want him to be alive?”
“It would’ve been nice to be able to hurt him myself, the way he hurt me.”
“You might think that, but you’d be surprised what killing someone does to you.”
“How many have you killed? You know what, I don’t need to know. You saved me, and that’s all that matters,” Lydia says. She brings her free hand to his cheek and leans over to press a kiss to his lips, soft and chaste, before pulling back again. “Besides, you stood up to Jackson, and nobody has done that before.”
“Why are you with him?” Lydia is surprised that he doesn’t touch on the fact that she just kissed him, but she decides to overlook it and answer honestly, something she wouldn’t have usually done.
“Power move,” she says, and she chuckles at the look on Stiles’ face. “I’ve never truly liked him, if I’m being honest. But he was the top of the social food chain, and if I wanted to come out on top as well, he was the one to go with.”
“That’s cold,” Stiles says. “You know, wolves are at the top too. Apex predators and all.” He gives her a smile, baring his fangs for show, and she returns it, running her tongue along the elongated teeth.
“Does this mean we’re bonded or something?”
“Only if you want,” Stiles says. He’s never changed anyone before, as he and Scott had the same alpha before they fought the man and Stiles killed him. He’s not sure how to deal with this part of the process.
“Trust me, I want.” Lydia smiles at him again before standing, pulling him up with her, hands still together. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to have a word with my soon-to-be ex. I could use the moral support.” She gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze and smiles at him again, flashing her wolf eyes at him.
