Stiles X Y/n - Blog Posts

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 1 — 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐞

| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |

You'd both sworn. You'd sworn that you wouldn't subject yourselves to sex in the Jeep ever again. Not after the last time ended with so many unnecessary injuries between the two of you. Following one rolled ankle, a noticeable egg on the back of your head, and a bruise to Stiles' elbow that had been so worryingly dark that the purple had been mottled with spots nearly black in color, it was decided that handjobs were fine, blowjobs were great, fingering was.. sufficient. But full-out sex — You had sworn, never again. And, yet..

You can't find it in yourself to care when the dizzying warmth of Stiles' breath falls against your spit slick, kiss swollen lips. Your mouths have separated only as a result of the way he's trying to maneuver you into a better position, a closer position, large hands encasing your waist as he drags you over to straddle his lap. The moment you've settled against his thighs, his hands are already pushing their way up underneath your skirt, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties as his mouth finds its way to your cheek, your jaw, your neck.

And fuck if your own hands aren't already scrambling to undo the button on his jeans, tearing them open and pushing up on your knees just enough that you two of you can work his pants and boxers down his thighs just a few inches.

His cock springs free, already almost fully hard with the anticipation of what's to come, and your mouth nearly waters at the sight. You will never tire of the sight of Stiles' cock, you're sure of it. When your hand wraps around him, your fingers don't meet, and when you give the fat length of him a gentle tug, he groans deliciously into the skin of your throat, hips jerking up as he chases the feeling.

“Hey, slow down, why don'tcha?” Stiles teases softly, “Why're you in such a hurry, huh? Got somewhere else to be or-” He cuts off with another quiet groan as you twist your wrist the way he likes, “Or something?”

“Shush, you.” You reply with a smacking kiss to his mouth.

His fingers are moving in a teasing touch beneath your skirt, skimming the sensitive skin of your belly before finding home on your thighs. He gives the softness a pinch just hard enough to have you gasping before he's slipping beneath the fabric to drag long fingers between your folds.

“Shit, babe,” Stiles groans, his lips finding your cheek again before he drops a light kiss to your chin, “You're this wet already?” He asks, as if you haven't been working each other up for the last twenty minutes with heated touches and even hotter kisses.

He punctuates his question by slipping two fingers inside you in a ridiculously easy glide, the stretch making your eyebrows pull together as your jaw falls slack. He's giving you shallow thrusts, trying to open you up a little and get you ready for what will come next, and your free hand falls to his arm, tethering yourself with fingers circling his wrist in a firm grip. The way the muscles in his arm work with each drag out and then back in has your fingernails digging little crescent moons beneath the dark hairs on his forearm.

Your head is thrown back in pleasure, and it feels like it might weigh a million pounds when you drag it forward again to drop your forehead to his, your hips rocking down onto his fingers and your hand still working him to full hardness, closing over the head of his cock and collecting his precome just to slip back down his length again and again.

It had been days of longing glances across crowded rooms, and lingering touches that were a little unnecessary but desperately craved, and pushing maybe a little too far into each other's space when one of you needed to grab something just to feel the sparks along your skin. Each tiny moment shared had built upon one another slowly, day after day, and now that you're together, skin on skin and teeth and tongues on lips — that fire between you finally burns bright again.

You're both panting a little breathlessly already, worked up beyond belief after not finding moment alone like this in what feels like ages. Hot breaths mingle between your parted lips, the sound of it broken up by the quiet little noises clawing their way up your throats.

You've missed him desperately amidst the chaos that the week has brought. You find yourself wanting him to wreck you beyond repair, to turn your brain inside out until he is all that remains — no stresses about infuriating assholes in the form of college professors, or pack disputes, or the supernatural threat of the week — and the way Stiles continues to work his fingers inside you, pushing in deep until he's caressing that spot that makes your vision white out a bit at the edges, you think he's well on his way toward that wreckage.

“Condom?” You question desperately, tugging at his wrist in signal for him to extract himself from you.

He's muttering to himself while he fumbles to get access to where his back pocket is scrunched up beneath his thighs and you push up onto your knees all the while, maneuvering your underwear down one leg and then the other until you're free of them. When he produces the little foil packet, you take it from him without prompt, tearing it open and rolling it down over him in a quick, practiced motion that has him biting his lips together to hold back a curse.

Stiles slides his hips down the seat a bit further and grips the backs of your thighs to support you as you guide his tip to your entrance. The moment you start to sink down, his fingers dig into the doughy flesh of your thighs, fingertips curling below the curve of your ass to help spread you wider as he fills you up nice and slow.

“You got it, baby,” Stiles praises quietly, lips catching against your cheekbone to leave a small peck to your flushed skin, “There y'go.”

You're shuddering through your breaths as you accommodate to the stretch, knowing that every inch just a precursor to where he's thickest at the base. It's slow going, painful and delicious all at once, but when your hips finally meet his, clit nestling right up against the thatch of hair that trails from his belly button down to where you're connected, you let out a breathy sigh of relief.

Now that you're seated, his hands leave your backside to skate higher, rough fingertips dragging up to the back of your skirt to massage at your spine. You feel him fiddle with the zip at the back, his eyes meeting yours in silent question before you're nodding and he's giving it a tug and freeing you from the thick fabric.

You can't help but look down, and that first glimpse of where you've sucked him in, where he's filling you to the brim, has you eagerly rocking your hips a little to test the stretch. There's still a bit of an ache, a sharp little sting where you're stretched the widest, but it's lessening already and you can feel that pleasurable fullness behind your navel settling in.

“Almost,” You update him quietly, combing your fingers through the strands of his hair and grinning softly when he cranes into your touch, “Jus' need another minute.”

“Take as much time as you need,” He returns earnestly, “You know I'm just enjoying gettin' you like this. Missed you. This week was the worst.”

And it truly has been. Nearly every minute of every day, start to finish, has been an onslaught of lectures and assignments due and pack bullshit that you're both inevitably dragged into every goddamn time — the presence of the token pack humans always necessary if only to give another perspective to a mundane issue that, really, probably could've been solved by your brother and his co-alpha alone. Scott and Derek really shouldn't need to drag the two of you into every little problem — which in turn would leave the two of you with ample time to sneak off somewhere to do this, perhaps in a bed, without the risk of bonked heads or twisted ankles or the bruises that came with ravishing each other in such close confines. And yet, and yet.

You nod in agreement, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape to give it a soft tug, “Been so busy with classes. N' there've been way, way too many pack meetings,” You complain in a quiet huff, “Not enough time for this..” He grumbles his own agreement as your thumb finds the large beauty mark beneath his ear, “I missed you too.” You return softly.

Stiles is patient as ever, his fingers taking the time to explore every bit of exposed skin on your body with a gentle touch. His arms circle your waist only to release you a second later to run his warm palms up your spine and give your shoulders a squeeze. His movements slow for a moment when he finds the band of your bra, pinching and unclasping it in a practiced motion, and then his big hands are making their way back to the front of your ribs, thumbs dragging against the soft underside of your breasts as he dips his head to press kisses to the newly exposed skin.

You lean back a bit to give him more space to work, savoring in the feeling of his mouth peppering soft kisses over your breasts as your own hands fall from his neck to rest on his pecs. Your fingers trail over dark freckles that dot his skin, nails scraping ever so gently into the patch of hair at the center of his chest.

Even with the windows cracked to let in a bit of the crisp autumnal air, the temperature in the Jeep creeps higher, the windows already fogged over with a thin sheen of condensation that smears lightly when you brace your right hand against the window. Five little streaks through the microscopic drops of water covering the cool glass, one to mark where each of your fingers scrape across the surface as you finally rise up onto your knees.

A pitiful little grunt falls from your lips as you drop back down, the sound pushed out with the sheer depth that his cock manages to reach in this position, so full that you can nearly taste him at the back of your throat.

You settle into a slow rhythm and Stiles grabs a hold of your hips as you do, but he's not guiding you, no. He's not aiming for control, not pushing you to go harder or faster, but rather simply holding on and following your movements, his thumbs tracing little concentric circles against the sides of you belly as you go at your own pace.

“Fuck,” You groan when your knees slip a little against the leather seat. It pushes him impossibly deeper than before, driving his tip against your cervix in a way that erupts goosebumps along your skin even in the warm car. “You’re so deep. 'S so big, baby. You're so big-”

You're not even sure what's coming out of your mouth, already a little drunk on the feeling of being filled so completely, on the slick drag every time you rise up and then the sharp jolt to every one of your nerve endings with each thrust back down. Despite the ramblings falling from your lips, or perhaps because of them, Stiles begins to make little noises of his own — guttural moans against the curve of your throat, quiet grunts each time he hits deep.

He tips his head back and the warm brown in his eyes is almost completely taken over by black with how his pupils have blown wide. You catch sight of a small bead of sweat as it works its way out of his hair and begins a slow trail down his temple but you're kissing it away before it can reach his cheekbone. The salt of it lingers on your lips when your tongue runs over them just a moment later.

Dark eyes watch you move with rapt attention, his lips parted to let out low groans of encouragement. It takes a few minutes for him to find his voice, but when he does, his words send heat flooding through you.

“So good,” He tells you, hand tucking a lock of sweat-dampened hair behind your ear before his wide palm settles against the side of your neck, his voice thick with arousal, “Always so good. You're- Shit, y're so tight. So warm. So perfect.”

The thumb resting at the bottom of your cheek creeps up higher, rubbing the plush of your bottom lip until your jaw falls slack in acceptance and then he's cupping your chin and pushing the pad of his finger down against the softness of your tongue. You bite down softly with a moan and your bottom teeth dig into the meat of his palm with just how deep he's got his thumb before you're pulling off just a little and closing your lips around it, sucking and swirling your tongue and reeling at the way his eyes flutter shut with a groan, like he can't quite handle the sight in combination with the way you're riding him slow and deep.

When he removes his thumb, you suck harder to combat the spit that threatens to cling to the digit, but it doesn't make much of a difference because he's already sliding his hand around the back of your neck and bringing your mouth down against his.

You brace one hand on his stomach to aid your moments as your tongues meet in a hungry kiss. A whimper finds its way up your throat when he rubs his free hand achingly slow up and down the front of your thigh, around to grope your ass and then back, smoothing and squeezing along your skin like he wants to be touching you more — Harder, tighter, everywhere all at once.

He's so, so deep like this and you can tell it's affecting him too. His kisses are hungry as he licks into your mouth, a little messy while his nose presses into your cheek and his fingers graze your waist on their journey toward your chest. He's thumbing over the peaks of your nipples, swallowing up your moans with his own, breathing a little like he's the one getting the air punched out of his lungs every time you seat yourself, burying him deep enough that the head of his cock is driving into that spot that makes you see stars.

Your brain goes a little hazy with your budding orgasm, tiny noises becoming more frequent, falling against his mouth a bit like a plea. You don't need to explain, Stiles is already dragging his hand up to push between your thighs, thumb circling your clit the way he knows you like. Your eyebrows furrow as you slip from the kiss, far too focussed on chasing your high now. You bounce a little faster, shallower, fingers scraping at the pale skin of his chest, eyes pinched shut as your thighs tremble with exertion and your knees ache.

Heat licks across your body, a bead of sweat trickling down your spine as your movements start to become a little more difficult. You're so close — so close-

“C'mon, you're doing so good, baby.” Stiles says with far too much tenderness, far too much amazement.

“Fuck,” You whimper, shaky breaths tearing from your chest as you teeter closer and closer, “Fuckfuckfuck-”

“You got it. You can do it. C'mon-”

His gentle praises send you careening over the edge and your whole body shakes as you try to work through it. You're struggling, but then Stiles' hands are under your ass again, guiding you this time, gripping the backs of your thighs tight as he supports some of your weight and helps you ride out your high. Every nudge of his cock against the deepest parts of you has you moaning louder, brain going a little fuzzy as your orgasm peaks but never quite dies off.

Your arms curl around his shoulders, digging your face into his neck as you gasp against his skin, thighs shaking as he keeps guiding you back and forth, not pulling out nearly as far now before he's dragging you against him and filling you back up. Your breasts are pushed tight against his chest. The smell of his aftershave is in your nose and your forehead is pressed into his sweat slicked neck. You're panting, nearly drooling on his shoulder as you try to lock your knees to hold yourself in place, thighs feeling exhausted and like jelly all at once.

“Sti. Fuck, baby, I can't-” A moan cuts you off as it rolls off your tongue, “My legs can't-”

“Aw, your legs too tired, baby girl?” He asks, and it comes out a little condescending. You can practically see the satisfied little smirk on his face, even from where your own is buried in his neck as you nod. He lifts you up a little higher, hands still grasping at the crease where your thighs meet your ass as he adjusts his hips beneath you, “Need me to do the work now?”

The teasing in his voice has your body going traitorously pliant, your voice weak when it finally comes, “Please.”

“I got you,” Stiles promises, taking a little pity. He drags one hand toward the center of your spine while the other falls to the outside of your knee to hold you steady, “I got you..”

The first thrust up into you has you crying out. Not hitting nearly as deep as before, but he's driving in so much harder, so much faster. It pulls whiny little gasps from your lips with each thrust and your jaw's gone slack where it's buried in his neck as his skin slaps against yours with every snap of his hips. The sound of it is loud, and the combination of noises both lewd and salacious only proves to turn you on that much more.

“Shit.” Stiles grunts, voice a little hoarse and yet somehow high as it catches in his throat, “You make the prettiest noises, baby. Fuck. Just listen t' you.”

You don't entirely mean for it, but your next moan is just a little louder in response, unabashed and desperate even as you attempt to muffle the sound of it in the curve of his shoulder. The pitch his voice has taken is one that you only get to hear when he's getting unbearably close to his own peak. The sound of it is so, so sweet to your ears, mingling with the obscenely wet glide of his cock sliding in and out of you.

“'M gonna come,” He warns, his hips jerking just a bit rougher, a bit less coordinated as he fucks up into you, “Shit. Shit, sweetheart, 'm.. gonna.. come-”

His arms curl and lock around your waist as he does, dragging you down against him and burying himself so deep that it has you crying out again, fingers digging into his shoulders where your arms have curled under his to hold tight. He comes with a moan and a grunt that both get muffled with the way his face is now hidden in your hair, his cock kicking up inside you as he releases into the condom.

The increased stimulation against your sensitive walls has you going a little teary in the best way, overwhelmed but loving every moment of it, and you roll your hips over him despite the soreness in your thighs just to hear the way he groans in response.

You pull back just enough to lock your fingers in the hair at his nape and tug him into a sweet kiss, it's warm and a little sweaty as your lips slide together but it's also so full of unspoken thanks and emotion and undeclared love.

When you lean back again to collectively catch your breath, his thumb finds your wet eyelashes and swipes at them gently.

“Oh- hey, you good?” He checks with concern, his free hand already at your waist and drawing soft patterns along your skin, “You okay?”

You turn your head into the hand on your cheek and press a kiss to the center of his palm, scraping at his scalp beneath sweat-dampened locks, “I'm good,” You promise, “Gonna be sore as fuck tomorrow though, God.”

A smirk finds its way onto his face, “Fucked you so good you're gonna have trouble walkin', huh?”

“Shut up,” You huff, a laugh slipping out in contradiction to your weak display of annoyance, “But with the way my thighs feel right now? Yeah.”

You wince as you push up onto your knees, both from the ache left behind as he slips out and from the soreness in your legs. When you rise up a little higher, your head hits the roof with a painful thump and you can't bite back a curse.

Stiles is quick to bring a hand up to the back of your head with a sympathetic wince, cradling the tender spot on your skull softly, “Oh, shit, y'alright?”

“Ow,” You respond with a pout, your own hand reaching back to cover his over your hair, “Stupid Jeep n' stupid metal roof..”

“Hey,” Stiles frowns, “Don't blame the Jeep, alright? It's not Roscoe's fault you bumped your head.”

“Is too.”

It comes out in a huff and Stiles chuckles in amusement at your disgruntled expression as he slips his hands under your thighs to help you dismount from his lap completely. You fall into the seat beside him and drop your calves over his knees, bumping your forehead against his shoulder in a silent gesture of gratitude.

After a few long minutes wrapped up in each other as you collect yourselves, you both gather your haphazardly discarded clothing and redress. Stiles digs out a new air freshener from the glove compartment and adds it to the hoard of them already hanging from the rearview mirror. Another little tree to the collection, this one a pretty shade of purple and smelling of berries, dropping to sit right atop number of similarly shaped scented hangers in a wide array of colors.

And later, when you're forced to part ways, you push up onto your toes as you lean back in through the driver's side window of the Jeep for one final kiss. The breeze is cool against your thighs as it catches beneath your skirt, goosebumps causing you to tighten your fingers around the window frame as you prepare to lean back. Stiles has a hand coming up to the back of your neck to hold you in place at the first sign that you're about to pull away, stretching the kiss out for as long as he can get away with. It's a sickly sweet press of lips. One that will hopefully be enough to hold you over until you get the chance to have him like this again.

A glance over your shoulder as you walk away has your gaze meeting Stiles one last time, elation and melancholy both pulling at the edges of your lips until you're left with a saccarine smile to pair with your tiny wave goodbye. Your fingers come up to brush your lips as you begin to turn away, and when you extend your hand in his direction Stiles nearly throws himself out the open window to catch the invisible kiss that you've sent his way. His unnecessary enthusiasm has you stifling a giggle as you finally turn your back to him and make your way down the street.

You're forced to jog around the block from where Stiles has dropped you a safe distance from your house, hopping into the shower the moment you get home to wash away any and all evidence of the afternoon from your skin.

It's with skin scrubbed clean and a heavy heart that you head to the washing machine and dump your clothes inside to extinguish the lingering smell of Stiles that you know clings to the fabric, of you and Stiles, together.

And when Scott pauses the load mid-wash with the intention of throwing a shirt in, your brother is sure to complain about the way you've pointedly used the scented detergent — the overpowering artificial smell of lavender much too strong an irritant to his overly-sensitive, supernatural, wolfy nose — But, you remind yourself, if you want to keep up this thing with Stiles, which you desperately do, then that's just how this has to go, because, well.

𝐒 𝐜 𝐨 𝐭 𝐭 𝐲 𝐃 𝐨 𝐞 𝐬 𝐧 ' 𝐭 𝐊 𝐧 𝐨 𝐰 .

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝!𝐌𝐜𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠!! 𝐢 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬. 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐦 — 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐬.

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

Bodies, Bites, and Bitches

Part 1 of ? of Poly Teen Wolf Rewrite Series

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader (platonic paring) Scott McCall x reader (platonic pairing)

Word Count: 8.7k

Summary: You and your best friends prepare for sophomore year only for corpses, animal bites, new abilities, and a chilling red head keep your gang from having a normal first day.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of a dead body, bi!stiles,

A/N: Stiles is the most bisexual character I’ve ever seen so he’s bi in this fic. Mhm. In regards to the pairings, at the moment they are all just friends. Tadaaaa. Here’s the ficcc. Also gif is actually mine 🤷. More notes at the end if you wanna read what I have to say. If not that’s chill.

The soft whirring of your washing machine rumbled through the basement, spilling into your room from the laundry room next door. You stretched your arms above your head, eyes tired. 

You took a glance at the bottom corner of your laptop: 2 AM and lowered your arms with a groan. Why did you always do this to yourself? Every year, without fail, you pushed all your summer assignments to the last day. You had months to do them! But no, you just couldn’t. You had to write a paper about these drinks or something. Some history thing. Taking AP World History was a fucking mistake. You liked history, sure, but not enough to write a paper in the summer. It made you want to bash your brains out. 

You just couldn’t make words come out of you. 

You blew a breath of air out of your mouth and rubbed your eyes. This was not going great. 

Your phone lit up, buzzing happily next to you, the sound resonating from your wooden desk. You snatched it up and couldn’t resist an eye roll upon seeing who was texting you.

------------------------

Mieczyslaw (2:02 AM): I WAS EAVESDROPPING AND SOME JOGGERS FOUND A BODY IN THE PRESERVE 

Mieczyslaw (2:02 AM): MEET ME AT SCOTTS 

Mieczyslaw (2:02 AM): WERE ALL GOING TO FIND IT 

------------------------

Leave it to Stiles to bother you and Scott at two in the morning to try to find a dead human body. You glanced at your pathetic excuse of a paper and sighed. 

------------------------

Y/N (2:03 AM): Be there in ten

------------------------

You hugged your brown hoodie to yourself as you trudged through the thick blanket of leaves surrounding Scott’s house. Cringing as they crunched loudly under you, you swore under your breath. You were going to kill Stiles. 

You glanced back at the street in front of Scott’s house and didn’t see his blue Jeep yet. Good, more time to scheme Stiles’ gruesome death. 

Maybe you could hit him with his car. Let his prized possession end him. You’re sure he would actually like that. Be rather touched by your consideration of his feelings. 

You snorted to yourself and watched in amusement as the blue Jeep itself swerved to park behind your car. Stiles clambered out of the driver’s seat in a hurry. He slammed the door rather loudly for two in the morning and you cringed and stole a glance up at the house. Hoping to God it didn’t wake up Ms. McCall. 

Stiles took a step towards you, but lurched backwards, his jacket pocket stuck in the door. You watched as he spun around to free himself, curses flying from him as he tugged on the handle. You raised an eyebrow and leaned back on the railing of Scott’s porch. 

Idiot. 

Why were you even friends with him? 

He bounded up to you with a grin. 

“Hi.” He breathed out, cheeks red from the cold and most likely his embarrassment. 

Oh right. He was endearing. Ever since you three were small you had a soft spot for Stiles. He was always so earnest. Brushing off embarrassment, always having something funny to say, being the smartest person in the room. He was great to be around. 

Except when he had stupid fucking ideas. 

Like this one. 

This was a stupid fucking idea. 

You narrowed your eyes at him and punched his arm before he could say anything else. 

“Ow!” He cried out, shying away from you as he gripped his bicep. 

“Shhh!” You hissed, waving your hands in the space between you. His offended expression turned sheepish as he looked up at Ms. McCall’s window. 

“Sorry.” Stiles said, laughing awkwardly. You rolled your eyes and moved to the beam on the right. Stiles’ eyes lit up as he rushed over. 

“We should go knock on Scott’s window.” You said with a grin. Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet and nodded. 

“Yes. Absolutely.” 

You looked up at the roof hanging over you and then at the railing. 

“Here, stand on the railing, climb up, and once you're up, lend me a hand.” You explained gesturing to the railing. Stiles nodded and did as you said. He was about to lean down to grab your hand when you both heard the door open. You looked at Stiles in fear, his expression mimicking that of a deer in headlights. 

“Hide!” You whispered at him and quickly hopped over the rail into the big bush. You dropped to the ground and stayed in a crouch, trying to keep hidden. 

You hoped to God it wasn’t Ms. McCall. You couldn’t stand the embarrassment. She already thought Scott had a crush on you, if she saw you outside her house at 2 AM, you’d never hear the end of it. 

You heard the deck creak and from your vantage point, you saw a red hoodie creep closer. Scott McCall. You breathed out slowly and moved to stand, but of course the third of your trio was an idiot and ruined the calm of the night by falling. 

Stiles fell from his spot on the roof, dangling upside down. His feet jammed under the trellis that Ms. McCall grew tomatoes on in the spring. You shrieked, jumping up, thinking he was about to fall on his face. Scott screamed, raising the bat, that he apparently had at the two of you. And lastly Stiles started yelling as the crooked jaw boy raised a baseball bat to his head. You three screamed for a couple seconds before realising there was no danger, and you were all being idiots. 

“Stiles! Y/N! What the hell are you doing?!” Scott cried, lowering his bat, and staring slack jawed at the upside-down boy and then looking down at you with disbelief. 

“You weren't answering your phone.” Stiles cried out gesturing to you like your presence there made him innocent. You stifled a smile and wiped at your forehead. These boys were going to age you.

“Why do you have a bat?” You asked, propping your elbow on the porch railing. You put your chin in your hand and batted your eyelashes up at Scott. 

He reddened and let his hand fall behind his back, as if he could hide the fact, he almost used Stiles as a piñata. 

“I thought you were a predator.” He mumbled to Stiles, spreading his arms wide. You grinned at his embarrassment. 

“A pre— I— wha—,” Stiles flailed. You were kind of amazed he was hanging so well. 

“Look. I know it's late, but you gotta hear this.” Stiles' arms stopped fighting gravity and hung straight down, nearly hitting you in the face. You glared up at him but decided to let him talk. You also wanted to know what the fuck was going on. 

“I saw my dad leave 20 minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even State Police.” He looked down at you and grinned manically. You raised your eyebrows. Shit. You didn’t know dead bodies got that much interest. 

They only would if the killer hadn’t been caught.

You froze and looked up at Stiles. He wasn’t expecting you three to waltz into the woods while a literal murderer was on the loose, was he?

You tried to stop your thoughts from racing. The body was probably old. Stiles had texted you that joggers had found it. No jogger would be out at two, it had to have been found earlier. It was probably fine. You chewed at your lip and looked back up at them. 

“For what?” Scott asked. 

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.” Stiles said, his breath visible in the late summer night. He used this dramatic ass reveal to finally get himself down. He unstuck his feet and fell into the bush beside you. 

“Hi.” He said grinning at you as he stuck the landing. You smiled. 

“Hi Stiles.”

“A dead body?” Scott cried looking down at the both of you. You snorted at this and rolled your eyes. Leave it to Scott to do a reality check. 

“No, a body of water.” Stiles deadpanned looking at you in exasperation. “Yes, dumbass, a dead body.” He hissed looking back up at Scott. He climbed over the railing and stood on the porch next to Scott. 

“Need help?” Stiles asked, looking at you. You shrugged and raised your hand. Scott grabbed your hand and hauled you up, probably eager to listen to the rest of the story. You picked some leaves off your shirt as you stood next to him. 

“Were they murdered?” You asked, trying to see if your killer theory held water. 

“Nobody knows yet.” Stiles said, putting his hands on his hips. “Just that it was a girl, probably in her 20s.”

“Hold on, if they found the body, then what are they looking for?” Scott asked annoyance on his face at how casually Stiles was speaking. You raised your eyebrows and looked at Stiles. That was a good fucking point you hadn’t thought about yet. 

Stiles couldn’t contain his grin. “That's the best part.” He paused for effect looking between you and Scott. “They only found half.” He sang grinning fully now.

You and Scott shared a look of disbelief. 

“We're going.” Stiles said with a smirk. You reached down and grabbed the bat in Scott’s arms. 

Scott nodded absently as you gripped it tighter, seeming to agree you should be the one to have it. 

“Well. Your car or mine?” You asked, twisting your grip on the bat. Stiles drummed on his thighs in excitement. 

“That’s the spirit! Obviously, mine.” He said and joyfully cantered to his Jeep. You fell in with Scott as you walked over. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” You whispered to him, trying to keep Stiles from overhearing. 

Scott shrugged. “Nope.”

You threw your head back in a laugh despite the slowly worsening atmosphere. This was almost positively a horrible idea. You felt like the kids from that movie, Stand by Me. You read The Body by Stephan King last summer, but you could only remember the actor’s names and not the characters. Maybe you could be River Phoenix. You had such a big crush on him when you were younger. You eyed Stiles as he happily opened his car, he was Corey Feldman for sure. 

Scott opened the back and got in before you even reached the car, knowing you got car sick and needed to have the passenger seat. You smiled to yourself as you slid in the familiar blue Jeep. 

As much of a pain these boys caused you, you really did love them. 

You sucked in a breath and turned to look at your friends. 

“Let’s go find a dead body.” 

---

Stiles pulled slowly up to the parking lot next to the Beacon Hills Preserve. The ominous ‘No Entry After Dark’ on the sign made you gulp. Might as well break that rule too. 

Before Stiles could turn off the car you unbuckled your seatbelt and jumped out, Scott’s baseball bat gripped tightly in your hand. You personally didn’t want to be in the car when Stiles would start either a rant or a speech about something or another. He talked when he was nervous. You toed at some rocks on the ground for a few moments before Scott stepped out of the car too. 

Stiles bounced over in a flash, standing with his back to the entrance and looking at both of you. 

“Shall we?” He hummed and walked backwards a few steps, looking at Scott, then at you with a smirk. You stuck your tongue out at him and gripped the bat even tighter. 

“Why don’t you lead the way?” You cooed making Stiles make a face at you. He spun around and started walking into the forest. 

“After you.” Scott mumbled quietly. You didn’t feel like teasing him and just nodded, following the familiar buzz cut deeper in the woods. 

---

“We're seriously doing this?” Scott asked as you three walked. You had been waking for maybe ten minutes. Stiles had pulled a flashlight from his pocket and wasn’t being subtle at shining it everywhere. 

“You two are always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town.” Stiles called from in front of you. You scoffed and looked around the creepy forest, knowing there was a dead woman lying somewhere. 

“Yeah well, I meant like a carnival or something.  Not a half dead girl in the preserve.” You muttered kicking a stick. 

“And I was trying to get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.” Scott said from somewhere behind you. You smiled as Stiles looked over his shoulder to give you a look. 

“Right, cause being a benchwarmer requires finesse.” You teased. 

“No, because I'm playing this year. In fact, I'm making first line.” You had to admit Scott’s determination and idiocy was rather charming. 

“Hey, I like how you think, Scotty.” You said making your voice sweet. “Gotta believe it to be true. That whole manifesting idea.” 

“Everyone should have a dream, even a pathetically unrealistic one.” Stiles added, giving you a sly smile over his shoulder.  

Scott laughed lightly at your teasing and you three walked for a few more moments. You twirled the bat lazily. 

“Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?” Scott said, breaking the silence. You blinked in surprise; you didn’t think to ask that. 

“Huh!” Stiles said, stopping in his tracks. You and Scott caught up to him and you two looked at him in disbelief. “I didn't even think about that.” He confessed sheepishly. 

“Yikes.” You said. Scott snorted and looked around the dark woods suspiciously. “And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?” 

Stiles nodded with an impressed look, “Also something I didn't think about.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You said with your eyes narrowed. 

“It's…comforting to know you've planned this out with your usual attention to detail.” Scott said with a shrug. You smiled at him and brushed some hair out of your face. 

“I know.” Stiles said with a triumphant smile. Stiles gestured with his head towards a small hill and started to walk up it. You gripped some roots as you trudged upwards. You heard the gasps of air behind you and felt a pang of worry at Scott. 

You slowed once you got to the top and watched as he fell into a sit against a tree, shaking his inhaler and taking a puff. 

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight, huh?” He gasped out to Stiles who was continuing onwards. 

You bit your lip but followed Stiles as he scrambled to lay on his stomach in the dry leaves. You hurried to lay next to him, and Scott fell in on your other side. 

You three stared at a line of men walking with their own flashlights and dogs. You grimaced and hastily shoved Stiles’ flashlight into the leaves. 

“Put that out! They’ll see it.” You hissed. He scrambled with it before clicking the off button. He hurried onto his feet and jogged away. 

“Wait, come on!” He called in a whisper yell as he ran. 

“Stiles!” Scott yelled, shaking his inhaler. You looked between them and moved to chase after Stiles. Scott had his inhaler; he could keep up. 

“Wait up!” Scott yelled at you. You slowed down but kept following Stiles in his frenzy to go…wherever it was that Stiles was going. 

“Stiles!” You yelled this time. You kept your eyes on the line of men moving your way. You rushed forward, following Stiles as he tried to find the end of their line and get to safety. You heard Scott trip behind you and him yell your name. 

“Y/N!” You almost rammed into Stiles as he stopped to look back for Scott. You did the same and took a couple steps towards where you heard his voice last. 

A dog barking, much louder this time, stopped you cold as you felt the warmth of a flashlight on you. Stiles fell to his back as the dog came closer and tried to attack him. You looked at the man holding him. 

“Stop!” You yelled trying to keep your friend safe. Stiles kept scrambling back. 

“Hold it right there! And you don’t move!” The cop yelled, keeping his flashlight on you and the dog on Stiles. You gulped and looked helplessly as the dog strained against the leash to try and get at Stiles. 

“Hang on, hang on.” Someone yelled. You turned and nearly started swearing once you saw who it was. 

Sheriff Stilinski. Stiles’ dad. 

“This little delinquent belongs to me.” He said looking down at Stiles with disappointment. He looked up at you and sighed. “I know that one too.” 

Stiles scrambled up and you gripped his sleeve. You gave him a once over to make sure he was alright, and you both turned to the Sherriff like you were children again and he caught you stealing cookies from Mrs. Stilinski’s cookie jar. 

“Dad, how are you doing?” Stiles asked, trying to appear casual. You let his sleeve go and shook your head at him. 

“So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?” Mr. Stilinski asked, lips tight in disappointment. Stiles flailed for an answer. 

“No, heh. Not the boring ones.” He confessed with a grimace. Mr. Stilinski nodded softly and looked at you. 

“I see you dragged Y/N down with you as usual.” He looked around at the trees then. “Where’s the third of your trio?”

You wanted to speak up, but decided this was between Stiles and his dad, talking would only make things worse. 

“Who, Scott?” Stiles exclaimed with a fake laugh. “Sc - Scott's home. He said he wanted to get a good night's sleep for the first day back at school tomorrow.” He sighed and looked at you quickly in apology. You knew what he was about to say, and you were glad the Sheriff wasn’t looking at you. Your disgusted face would give away the lie. 

“It's just us. In the woods. Alone. Romantic time?” Stiles said, making it sound completely unbelievable as his voice cracked on the last word. You pursed your lips as Mr. Stilinski looked at you and then raised his flashlight to look into the woods. 

“Scott, you out there? Scott?” He yelled scanning through the trees for any sign of him. He seemed to be satisfied and looked back at you and Stiles with a sigh.  

“Well, young man, I'm gonna walk you back to your car.” Mr. Stilinski stepped forward and grabbed Stiles by the back of the neck, hauling him forward. You followed, baseball bat dragging sadly in the mud. 

“And you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called invasion of privacy and how to treat someone on a date.” You covered your mouth with your hand to keep from laughing as you three walked back the way you had come. 

Stiles kept saying ‘ow’ every two seconds, probably hoping to annoy his dad into letting his neck go, but no dice. 

While Mr. Stilinski was distracted, you stole a lasting glance behind you, hoping Scott could see you. A skinny, asthmatic, sixteen-year-old, all alone in the woods with a plethora of police and half a dead body. What could go wrong? Would the police catch Scott? And if they didn't, how would he get home? 

Beacon Hills wasn’t the biggest town, and you weren’t very far into the ever-expanding preserve. But Scott might have to take a roundabout way through the woods to get to the road. Being seen by the police wouldn’t be a good thing. Especially if Mr. Stilinski wasn’t there. They might think he was a killer or something. 

That led you to another thought as you were walking back to Stiles’ car. Rain started to trickle down the canopy of leaves, leaving your hoodie damp and heavy. 

The cop seemed so ready to catch someone. Was so ready to let his dog attack Stiles. His face when the Sheriff had told him off was somehow disappointed. 

You crossed your arms and stepped into the parking lot next to Stiles’ Jeep. 

They haven't found whoever killed the woman. So the killer really was out there. Maybe even out here in the woods.

Mr. Stilinski let his hand drop and he gently shoved Stiles closer to his car. You stepped in next to him and faced the Sheriff together. 

He sighed and brought a hand to wipe some rain away from his eyes. 

“Stiles. I know you have an interest in these things, but there is a dead woman in the woods. Her family is in mourning, the entire department is on the lookout trying to give them some peace. This is real life, not an interesting movie or tv show.” Stiles ducked his head in embarrassment. You kicked some pebbles. 

“The woods at night is no place for teenagers. Especially when there is something dangerous going on. When I get calls about cases,” Mr. Stilinski made a pointed look at Stiles. “Do not follow me to them. For Pete's sake you could get hurt.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but you elbowed him as inconspicuously as you could. He shut up.

“And bringing Y/N here. I don’t believe you guys were on a date, but if you were, really?” It was his turn to give you a look. One that read disappointment. “Thought you had more sense than to go canoodling in the woods with Stiles.”

“Hey!” Stiles interjected as you grinned at the Sheriff. 

“Yes sir.” You said trying not to laugh at the offended expression Stiles was making at you two. The Sheriff smiled and gave Stiles a pat on the shoulder. 

“We’ll talk more in the morning. Now get Y/N home. You two have school tomorrow.” And with that he gave you two one last look and headed back into the preserve. 

“C’mon Mieczyslaw.” You said making Stiles groan as you got into his car. 

“I’m so lucky you’re here. He would’ve talked my ear off about safety and privacy and being a sixteen-year-old.” Stiles huffed, grimacing. He turned the key into the ignition and you two pulled away from the woods and whatever was laying in it. 

You leaned your head onto the window and closed your eyes. Stiles was silent for once as he started the drive to your house. 

Your car wouldn’t be in the driveway. But as long as you left for school before your parents woke up it would be fine. Could have Stiles pick you up and give them a lie about wanting to ask your teacher a question. 

You grimaced as you thought of it. Early on the first day of school? Your parents better not start having expectations from you. 

Stiles drummed a pattern on the steering wheel with his thumbs and it was a comforting sound. 

You couldn’t help but notice Mr. Stilinski avoided saying anything about what killed the woman. Just that the woods were dangerous. Maybe he meant that there was either an animal or a murderer on the loose. You didn’t know of any animal that could rip a person apart at the waist though. 

Probably a person. 

People were vicious. 

“You think it was an anim-” 

“No.” You said cutting Stiles off. He looked over at you and stuck his tongue out. At least you were in agreement it was a person not an animal attack. 

“Should’ve left you in the woods. Scott wouldn’t treat me this way.” He sniffed as he pulled into your driveway. You smirked and unbuckled your seatbelt. 

“Mhm. Pick me up at 6 so my parents don’t see my car is missing.” Stiles groaned and leaned his head down on the steering wheel. You laughed and ran a hand over his buzzed hair. He swatted at your hand as you laughed some more. You got out of his Jeep and glared at the sky as rain pummeled you. 

“Bye Stiles.” You called as you walked up to your door. You turned to see him mocking you by mouthing the words with a miserable expression. You smiled as he drove away. 

Scott was dead for sure.

You pursed your lips and nodded. 

Yep. 

Dead. 

You and Stiles were also the worst friends in the history of friends. 

You pushed open your front door and looked around suspiciously for your parents. Thankfully they were asleep, and you trudged downstairs to your room. 

You glanced at your open laptop and groaned; eyes squeezed shut in pain. 

The fuckin essay. 

---

You groaned and hit the off button on your alarm clock. 5:40 AM flashed at you in angry red lighting. 

Fuckin joy. 

You were going to kill Stiles again for this. 

Every plan he had; made you suffer. You smiled to yourself as you rolled out of bed. You could probably blame everything on Stiles if you thought hard enough. 

You stumbled into your bathroom. 

Your broken finger in 4th grade was from a volleyball being thrown at you and it bending the wrong way. Who was next to you and could probably have gotten the ball? Stiles. You brushed your teeth as you cussed out baby Stiles in your mind. 

You got caught cheating on your 8th grade science test. Who was the idiot who couldn’t move his paper a little closer to you, so it didn’t look suspicious? Stiles. 

You changed your clothes quickly and quietly made your way upstairs. 

Everything was obviously Stiles’ fault. You and Scott were just poor accomplices. 

You were suddenly filled with memories of when you and Scott had shoved Stiles onto the ice-skating rink one year which resulted in him breaking an arm. Guilt swarmed in your mind and you sighed it away.

You grabbed your backpack and shrugged. Obviously, Stiles’ fault for not knowing how to skate. 

You tumbled outside and were relieved to see the Jeep sitting in your driveway. You hated waiting in the cold. You shoved your backpack at your feet and climbed into the car. 

“Morning.” You said with a yawn. Stiles covered his mouth as he yawned in response. 

“I really hate you.” He said and pulled out to drive to the school. 

You nodded. 

That was fair. 

“You get Scott’s text last night?” Stiles asked, turning onto the main road. You straightened your shirt and shook your head, looking over at him. 

He was wearing a blue shirt with a target on it, a gray hoodie, and a blazer of all things on top of it. He looked kind of stupid, but somehow kind of cool? 

Maybe cool wasn’t the right word. It matched him. It was a thrown together outfit that somehow coordinated to match his personality. Random pieces that shouldn’t fit together but do. Like the things he said never seemed to correlate, but they still made you and Scott laugh because of how true they were. 

Stiles pulled into a parking spot towards the back of the school, as a sophomore, your class wasn’t prioritized for parking spots. He dug out his phone and handed it to you.

------------------------

Scott (3:43 AM): I just got bit by some animal or something. I’m at home by the way 

Stiles (3:43 AM): Shit how bad is it? You text Y/N?

Scott (3:43 AM): I texted, but she didn’t answer 

Stiles (3:44 AM): I’m sorry man. You should get some sleep and like patch it up or something

Scott (3:45 AM): I’m goin to bed but I got a huge gauze on the bite 😬 

------------------------

You turned to Stiles a little sheepishly. You had chucked your phone on your bed and cranked out your stupid essay until around 4 AM. 

You didn’t want any more texts from either of your idiot friends. In retrospect that was really stupid as Scott could’ve tried texting you for help or something. But you were glad he was okay and got home. 

You raised your eyebrow and handed him back his phone. 

“A bite, hm?”

“Yeah, I know.” He said, turning to grab his backpack from the back seat. You jerked out of the way when his lacrosse stick almost whacked you in the face.

“He could’ve gotten mauled or something. We’re grounded from hanging with Scott for at least a week.” You said making Stiles whip around and shove you lightly into your door. 

“We’re grounded?!” He exclaimed jaw dropping, but you noticed the corners of his mouth were tilting upwards in a smile. 

“Yeah, grounded!” You replied, laughing and threw your door open. He laughed and followed you outside. 

“What, did your parents implement this?” Stiles mused nudging you. You made a face as you both started walking towards the entrance. 

“It’s me. Don’t want Scott to get dragged into more danger for at least a week.” You said crossing your arms. Stiles groaned. 

“Then we can’t go to the stupid restaurant you love.” Stiles said, gesturing wildly. It was your turn for your jaw to drop and you spun around to walk backwards, wanting to face Stiles instead of glance at him sideways. 

“Okay first off, Kelly’s isn’t stupid. Not my fault you and Scott decided to order the spicy chili fries. It says ‘spicy’ on it. You two should’ve known it would kill your stomach and give you  diarrhe-” Stiles cut you off by rushing forward and covering your mouth with his palm. You glared at him and licked his hand making him jerk away in disgust. 

“Don’t need to be yelling that for the whole school to hear.” Stiles said with an awkward laugh, wiping his hand on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes but let him do it. 

“Oh, look there’s Scotty!” You yelled suddenly, spotting your friend by the plants in front of the entrance. You widened your eyes at Stiles playfully and ran over, leaving him to chase after you. 

“Alright let’s see the damage.” You said bounding over to Scott. He sighed and lifted his shirt without another word. 

“Ooh!” Stiles cringed out as he came to stand next to you, looking at the large white bandage on Scott’s otherwise golden skin. 

“Yeah.” Scott said flatly. 

Stiles and you made to touch it and Scott jerked back with a Whoa! 

“It was too dark to see much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf.” He said, narrowing his eyes at you two. 

“A wolf bit you?” Stiles asked, looking at you. You furrowed your eyebrows. At least he wasn’t knifed by whoever killed the woman. Animal attack wasn’t so bad, even if it could never be a wolf. 

“Uh huh.” Scott said. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and shared a look with Stiles. “No. Wasn’t a wolf” 

“I heard a wolf howling.” 

“No, you didn't.” Stiles said, crossing his arms. Scott floundered and looked at you in disbelief. 

“What do you mean, no, I didn't? How do you know what I heard?” Scott asked annoyance bleeding into his voice. 

“California doesn't have wolves. There was this whole eradication thing ages ago. Did you not listen in middle school history, you nerd?” You asked tilting your head to look at Scott. Stiles nodded in agreement. 

“Really?” Scott asked in disbelief. 

“Yes, really.” Stiles said with a small laugh. “There are no wolves in California.”

You leaned your head on Scott’s shoulder then. Your forehead pressing onto him. He absentmindedly patted your head. 

“All right, well, if you don't believe me about the wolf, then you're definitely not gonna believe me when I tell you I found the body.” Scott said triumphantly. You sighed and pushed off Scott as Stiles grabbed both of his shoulders, shaking him a little. 

“You— are you kidding me?”

“No, guys, I wish. I'm gonna have nightmares for a month.” Scott said with a shudder. You frowned and patted his arm sympathetically. 

“Oh, God, that is freakin' awesome. I mean, this is seriously gonna be the best thing that's happened to this town since,” Stiles looked around to think of something better than dead bodies and grinned, eyes catching something. “—Since the birth of Lydia Martin.”

The girl in question walked by, strawberry curls bouncing as she smiled with her friends. “Hey, Lydia— You look— Like you're gonna ignore me.” Stiles said with a grin fading. Scott snickered and you tried to hide your smile at Stiles making an ass out of himself. You grabbed your water from your backpack. 

“Stiles you get obsessed way too easily.” You said taking a sip of the water. He spun around, arms almost whacking into Scott as he looked at you. 

“I do not! It’s just Lydia Martin.” You gave him an unimpressed look and took another sip. 

“Remember Luke Freeman in fifth grade?” You said talking around your straw. Scott snorted into his hand at Stiles’ face. You started ticking names off your fingers. 

“Or Jake Amin? Or Olivia Diaz? Or-” 

Stiles cut you off by slapping your water bottle out of your hand. You watched it spill onto the ground, it lands on its side, water pooling from it. 

You looked up at Stiles with eyes narrowed, annoyed. Scott bent down with a wince and handed it back to you. 

“Okay! Let’s talk about something other than all the people I’ve had desperate crushes on. Don’t need to dwell on that right now.” Stiles exclaimed, putting a hand on your shoulder, and shoving you towards the school entrance. You made eye contact with Scott and cackled as you were shoved. 

“Scott, you're the cause of this, you know.” Stiles grumbled, hiking up his backpack. 

“Uh huh.”

“Draggin' me down to your nerd depths.” Stiles continued as you three stepped into the building. “Me and Y/N are nerds by association. We’ve been scarlet - nerded by you.”

You shook your head at Stiles with a smile on your face. 

“Oh hey, I’ll stay for your practice and maybe you drive me and Scott over to his house? I need my car.” You asked moving to walk towards your locker. Stiles nodded, eyes darting around the hallway. You and Scott exchanged unamused looks as Stiles’ eyes settled on Lydia Martin. 

He was a mess. 

“We’ll see you later Y/N.” Scott said, dragging Stiles towards their class. You smiled and turned the other direction to head towards your history class. It was always annoying when they had a class together and you didn’t. But you had two classes with Scott and two with Stiles, so it made up for it. One of the classes had them both in it. You were looking forward to that one: Chemistry. It was going to be a shit show for sure. 

You dropped your bag down next to a desk in the back and crossed your arms on the table and nestled into them. Maybe you could sleep through the misery and maybe your teacher would forget to ask for everyone to turn in their essays. 

“Alright class, put your summer essays into the basket over there.” Your older teacher said breezing into the room once the bell rang. 

Or not. 

You handed your paper to an acquaintance with a puppy dog look, and he rolled his eyes and walked over to the basket for you. 

“You’re pathetic Y/N.” Danny Mahealani said sitting back down in front of you. You stuck your tongue out at him and rested your head back into your arms. 

---

The bell rang and you sat up in a jolt. No one seemed to notice that you had fallen asleep, and you grabbed your bag and followed Danny out with a sheepish smile directed towards your teacher. 

“Pathetiiic.” Danny called as you headed to Scott’s locker. You flipped him off over your shoulder and smiled at Scott in greeting. You furrowed your eyebrows when you saw he was staring off across the hall. You turned to see what he was looking at. If he was going to stare so openly then you might as well.

A tall pretty girl with pale skin and a long blue scarf was talking to Lydia Martin. You blinked in surprise and turned to look back at Scott. 

Someone was smitten and it was only 9:00 in the morning. Stiles looked longingly at Lydia, and you rolled your eyes. 

Make that two people smitten. 

You clapped loudly and they both blinked in surprise to see you standing there. 

“Who’s she?” You asked, nodding behind you. 

Cierra, a girl you used to be partners with in science last year, pulled up next to Stiles. “She's in our English class. She’s new. Her name is Allison Argent.” 

You nodded at her, impressed. Stiles and Scott were idiots, they were too busy drooling to give you the juicy information. 

You settled in between Scott and Stiles and leaned against the lockers. 

“Can someone tell me how she’s here all of five minutes, and she's already hanging out with Lydia's clique?” Cierra asked, making you snort at Stiles' face. He looked both envious and way too knowledgeable on the workings of Lydia Martin. You crossed your arms, knowing he was about to say something either stupid or true. 

“Because she's hot. Beautiful people herd together.” 

You weren’t disappointed. Stupid, yet true. 

“Nuh uh there’s gotta be a reason.” Cierra said with furrowed brows. 

“Name one person in their group that isn’t hot. Just one. Name one.” Stiles said getting surprisingly worked up about this. You thought for a moment and snapped your fingers. 

“Danny isn’t the best looking.” You mainly said this because of him razzing you earlier. He was fine. Liking someone based on looks was stupid anyway. 

“That’s cause you aren’t a gay guy.” Stiles said, waving his hand at you in dismissal. You laughed and shifted to look at Scott. He was still staring at Allison and Lydia. You looked over. Also, Jackson Whittemore was there now. Yikes. 

You never understood what Lydia saw in him, but then again, she seemed rather shallow. 

But you didn’t really know either of them. Maybe Jackson was a nice guy? You couldn’t keep the smile off your face as you thought that. Yeah, no. He was a total dick. 

The warning bell rang, and you sighed. You grabbed Scott’s sleeve and tugged him away from his creepy staring. 

“C’mon we got chemistry.” You said and pulled Stiles along for good measure. Cierra gave you a look that said, ‘why do you talk to these idiots?’ And rushed away to her next class. 

“Yo! Lay off the merchandise.” Stiles huffed pulling away from you. You rolled your eyes and shoved him into the Chemistry classroom.

Why did you hang out with them? 

---

School passed quickly with every class containing talks about the syllabus and talk about the body. At lunch Scott announced their English teacher had said a person was in custody. You nearly threw your sandwich at Stiles when he didn’t know who it was. He was supposed to be good at keeping tabs on criminal activity in Beacon Hills. He was an honest disappointment. 

The last bell rang, and you stumbled out of your ceramics class that you had to share with Lydia and Allison.

You eyed them as you walked behind them to the lacrosse field. 

Where to begin with Lydia Martin.

Stiles had a crush on her since the third grade. Well, he had a crush on a lot of people since then, but she was always the constant one. She was very beautiful, in a sophisticated way. You didn’t know what the Martin’s did, but it had to be something with a lot of money. That, or Lydia was amazing at buying knock off designer brands. If that was the case, then she went up several rungs on her likability ladder. 

Other than her clear sense of high-end fashion, there wasn’t much you knew about her. She had a lot of friends and was dating Jackson Whittemore who was the captain of the lacrosse team. But that was it? As long as Stiles had been trailing after her you never really saw a glimpse into her personality. Sure, you could make deductions based on what you say; entitled, rude, cunning, but you didn’t actually know her. 

You thought her entitled and rude because of how dismissive she acted towards Stiles. Then again if you were a hot popular girl and a gangly nerdy boy wouldn’t stop hitting on you, then yeah you would be dismissive too. Hell, if anyone wouldn’t stop hitting on you for years you would be uncomfortable. 

You bit you lip and decided fuck it.

“Hey, you’re Allison, right? The new girl?” You asked, stepping in line with the two other girls. Lydia blinked in surprise at you so clearly disregarding her authority. Allison turned to smile at you. 

“Yeah I am.” She said warmly. 

You stuck out your hand as you three stepped outside to walk towards the lacrosse field. 

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You said and she shook your hand with a laugh. Lydia eyed you carefully but didn’t say anything. 

“Are you staying to watch the practice?” Allison asked, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. You nodded with a sort of grimace on your face. She laughed and exchanged a look with Lydia. 

“What’s that face for?” Allison exclaimed. 

“I left my car at my friend's house and after practice we’re going to go get it. I love my friends, but watching practice is so boring.” You rambled. Allison nodded and Lydia narrowed her eyes slightly. 

“You’re Stiles Stilinski’s girlfriend.” Lydia stated with a blank look. 

You tripped over your shoe and almost face planted if it weren’t for Allison grabbing you with fast reflexives. You blinked in shock and stared at Lydia. 

“You know his name?!” You sputtered before realizing what she just said and shaking your head quickly. “Never mind. No, we're not dating. Ew!” You exclaimed. You weren’t usually this caught off guard. Out of the three of you, you were always the levelheaded calm one. 

Lydia pursed her lips and looked ahead at the field. Allison looked between you both with furrowed eyebrows. 

You always had people thinking you were dating either Scott or Stiles. It was something you were accustomed to denying. But to hear it out of Lydia Martins mouth threw you through a loop. You spotted Scott and Stiles walking from the locker rooms. 

“I’m going to sit over here. Was nice talking to you Allison.” You said wanting to get the actual fuck away from Lydia. You didn’t think she knew anyone outside of her circle of popular hot people. Allison nodded with a smile and Lydia just crossed her arms, looking bored. 

She was a lot more perceptive than you gave her credit for. Not only did she know Stiles’ name, but she knew you were close friends. That was very interesting. 

You peeled away from the other girls and walked towards the right side of the bleachers. You dropped your bag onto the bottom row. It was placed directly behind the bench, and you usually spent practices talking with Stiles and Scott. It wasn’t often that you went to the lacrosse practices though. They were, like you said, boring and it just felt awkward. Like you were expected to be a cheerleader and not just throw pebbles and watch them tink off your boy’s safety pads. 

You sighed and settled onto the metal bench, waiting for your friends to catch up to you. You had a lot to say to Stiles. 

You heard the metal thunk of footsteps on the small bleachers behind you. No doubt Lydia and Allison moving to the top row. That’s where Lydia usually sat whenever you had the displeasure of sitting at practices. 

“-My whole life is sitting on the sidelines. This season, I make first line.” You heard the tail end of Scott and Stiles conversation, and Scott dropped his bag next to the bench. Stiles sat down on the bench with a huff. Scott didn’t sit down though. You looked up to see him staring at someone, almost frozen. 

You looked over your shoulder and nearly rolled your eyes. 

Of course. You forgot he was smitten with Allison. 

“McCall!” Coach Finstock yelled, breaking your friend's trance. Scott spun around to look at him. 

You leaned forward and rested your chin on Stiles’ shoulder. He glanced back at you and brought a hand up to ruffle your hair. 

You were about to bring up the fact that Stiles’ crush since childhood thought you and him were dating when a loud whistle blew across the field. You glanced up to see who Coach Finstock was whistling at and furrowed your eyebrows when you saw he was glaring at you. 

“Y/L/N! What have I told you about distracting my players? Move up the bleachers!” He yelled pointing to the top row. You jerked away from Stiles quickly. 

Way to embarrass you in front of the team like that Coach. You gave him a half ass wave and he turned back to yelling at Scott. Scott looked over and gave you a shrug. 

You sat awkwardly near Lydia and refused to look at her. You looked down at the field and raised your eyebrows when Coach lightly hit Scott in the face. 

Fuckin Coach. 

Coach Bobby Finstock was kind of a menace. But he also reminded you of Stiles. 

You shifted in your seat as Scott stood at goal. 

“Who is that?” Allison asked and you glanced over and followed her eyeline. She was looking at Scott. You tried not to snort as you rested your chin in your palm, elbow propped on your knee. This was new. Someone was trying to get with Scott. You casually leaned closer to the girls to hear their conversation better. 

“Him?” Lydia asked. “I'm not sure who he is. Why?”

Now that was even more interesting. She knew Stiles and you but didn’t know Scott. That or she was lying. Or even more fun she didn’t want her new best friend getting involved with a “lesser then” like Scott. Not that he was anything less than a babe, but he was no Jackson Whittemore. 

“He's in my English class.” Allison said with a shake of her head. 

A whistle blew signaling to the team to start making attempts at the goal. You looked down at the field and almost shot up in your seat. Scott was grabbing his head like he was in pain. You looked down at Stiles, but he wasn’t turned to you. Coach didn’t look concerned. You glanced around. No one did. 

It was times like this that your friends tested your coddling skills. You never said it out loud, but every time Scott played, whether it be in practice or at games, you were extremely worried for him. 

You had taken to bringing extra water whenever he was playing. Having water to drink made him breathe a little easier and you were worried for him. You knew he loved lacrosse, but if it were up to you, he wouldn’t be playing at all. You were as reckless as both he and Stiles, but you had no problems going all mother hen whenever they did something to endanger themselves. 

Someone in the line took this moment to launch a ball at Scott. He was still clutching his head in pain, and it hit him square in the face. His helmet kept his nose from being broken, but the force of the impact made him fall backwards in goal. 

The team along with Coach started laughing and you glared harshly down at them. 

You hated almost everyone on the lacrosse team. 

Scott got back up and you cocked your head to the side. He looked focused, calm, ready. 

Another player made an attempt at goal, but Scott caught it easily. You grinned and clapped a few times. You heard Stiles yelling encouragement. 

Another player threw their ball and Scott caught it with a slight shift in his stance. 

Goal after goal he caught them all. 

“He seems like he's pretty good.” You heard Allison say. You grinned over at her. You didn’t know how this was happening, but he was on fire. 

“Oh, very good.” Lydia mused and you didn’t like that tone at all. You glanced over at her. She better not get any ideas. 

On the field, Jackson Whittemore cut to the front of the line and in a series of runs and jumps, he made the most extra shot on goal. You raised your eyebrows and watched with increasing nerves as Scott braced to catch it. 

He lunged to the side and caught it easily. 

You whooped, getting to your feet and start clapping loudly. On the bench Stiles bursts up with a happy yell. Lydia Martin also gets to her feet while clapping. You didn’t know if you should bring that up to Scott and Stiles later. 

“That is my friend!” Stiles yells and you laugh along with his joy. 

You notice Lydia looking down at Jackson with a look that says, ‘display of power makes me go brrrr’. You were probably exaggerating, but still. Lydia wasn’t cheering for her boyfriend; she was cheering for his embarrassment. You shook off your thoughts of Lydia and her further confusing mannerisms and cheered for your friend. 

Scott threw the ball at the assistant coach, and you laugh happily. He was getting cocky. That was fun. 

The rest of practice was a blur as Coach yanked Scott out of goal and made him run drills against Jackson. Stiles even left the bench a few times to participate. Jackson and Scott succeeded every single time. Stiles, not so much. 

It was close to 5 PM when Coach called the practice to a close. 

You stood up, stretching the uncomfortable metal bleachers off your bones. You made eye contact with Scott as he jogged to the locker room, and you smiled at him coyly. He rolled his eyes at you with a smile. 

Lydia stood up along with Alison and you couldn’t help but notice both of them were also watching Scott make his exit. 

Part of you wanted to be annoyed. Not at Allison, but at Lydia and even Stiles. Lydia only cared about Scott once she saw his ‘worth’ as a player. You thought that you understood parts of her, but this behavior made her seem even more shallow. Then there is the matter of Stiles liking her for no reason other than her looks. He’s just as shallow. You couldn’t be upset at her and then turn around and be okay with him. 

Why the hell were you thinking so hard over Lydia Martin? You usually barely even considered her, and this is three times today when you dedicated time to try and understand her. 

You shook your head to try and force your brain to stop being weird and you trotted down the metal bleachers. Enjoying how fast you could go down them if you stepped on the seats instead of the stairs. 

“See you later!” Allison called as she followed Lydia to the parking lot. Lydia gave you a glance and nodded slightly. 

What the fuck is with today and Lydia?

You sunk down on the grass and waited for Scott and Stiles to appear from the locker room. 

You ripped up grass as you waited and soon enough a shadow was standing over you. You glanced up and Scott was standing there with the biggest grin on his face. 

“What the fuck McCall!?” You shouted, standing then jumping at him. He grinned sheepishly and caught you to both of your surprise. Stiles jogged up and wasted no time getting in on the celebration. 

Scott released you and you grabbed his shoulders to shake them.  

“My best friend is a fucking legend!” You yelled laughing. Stiles ruffled Scott’s hair and brought both of you into a group hug, whooping as he did so. 

The adrenaline of watching Scott came flooding back to you as you jumped around with your best friends in the whole world. This school year was your year. Your time. Finally, something was going right.

So I was watching the first episode of Teen Wolf and I thought you know what would be fun? A rewrite. I know I’m not the first person to do this, @bilesbilinskix and @24stiles920 are the two that I’ve seen on tumblr. I looked for other rewrites after I had the idea and it would feel weird to not acknowledge the years of work they’ve done for this. So if you’re interested in reading a completed/farther along version of a rewrite go check both of them out.

This rewrite is going to be Stiles Stilinski x reader. I’m toying with the idea of making it Stiles x reader x Derek, but I haven’t decided yet. So for now it’s a slow burn that ends with just Stiles.

This fic is going to be very long. This first chapter is 8.7k words which is astonishing because compared to other episodes nothing much happens this episode and its only half. I’d also like to preface that the reader is the main character. So there are going to be many, many scenes that aren’t included in the show. It’s a rewrite with a new main character so if you’re wondering why it matters about readers' history essay that’s why. They’re the main character.

Also this rewrite is going to be rated mature and might teeter towards explicit. The show is rated PG-13, but I’m going to say teenagers aren’t usually suitable for a 13 year old audience.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this series and come to love it as much as I do. This is going to have the worlds slowest updates so like if you wanna check back in a year that is honestly for the best. I wrote this two years ago and I'm tired of waiting I'm just going to post it. :)