So a Stydia one-shot wasn't enough for me, I needed some slow burn in my life. Hellooo multichapter!
This story takes place in the future, but the events of season 6 didn't happen. Stiles and Lydia never got together, and continue to be clueless puppies.
Please review, as I don't have a beta for Teen Wolf fics so really have no idea if this is even any good :)
Rated M from the outset, so be warned.
Chapter One
They're at a party.
She knows it's a party because she can feel the bass under her skin, vibrating, but she isn't aware of much else. There's a red plastic cup in her hand, and its empty. She doesn't feel drunk though.
"Hey."
She turns to the sound of his voice, smiling. "Hey, Stiles."
He looks nice, like he dressed up for the occasion. Navy blue button down and dark jeans. "Where have you been?"
She doesn't really know where she's been before this moment, so she shrugs. "Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"I…" She frowns. "I don't know." She looks around, takes in her surroundings. They're upstairs in the hallway. There are a few people milling around, looking for a bathroom or bedroom, but other than that they're alone. She recognizes the house, but she can't place it.
Then suddenly, she realizes.
She's dreaming.
"Have you been waiting for me?" Stiles asks, his eyes wide. She looks up at him, considers him for a long time, because yes she has been waiting for him, and now she knows what she's supposed to be dreaming about.
"Yes," she says, clearly this time, jutting her chin out. Stiles reaches out and takes it between his thumb and forefinger, grinning like an idiot.
He dips his head down to hers, invading her space. "Lydia, are you sure you want this?" He's whispering, his breath tickling her face. She shudders, steadying herself with one hand on his chest. "We can just go downstairs and dance."
"No," she whispers back, adamant. "Take me somewhere."
That's how they end up in the study, Lydia perched on the end of the desk, Stiles between her legs as she fists her hands in his hair, moaning incredibly loudly because it's not like the rules of physics really apply here and she's definitely not going to alert anyone.
He's got one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, hand splayed over the small of her back as he pushes her against his mouth, tonguing her roughly, ignoring her cries. He pulls away to watch her as she whimpers, catching her eye as his fingers continue to pump in and out, the rhythm driving her insane.
"Holy shit," she pants as he smirks and resumes what he was doing, his tongue flicking deliciously against all the right places. He's groaning with pleasure at the sounds she's making, fingers digging into the skin of her back. Lydia's hips buck involuntarily. "I can't believe we're doing this, Stiles."
He rests his head against her thigh, kissing the sensitive skin there as he gazes up at her, eyes misty with lust. "I love the way you say my name," he sighs as she squirms and impatiently surges forward, riding his fingers. He licks his wet lips, eyes roaming over her face. "I want to know what you sound like when you come."
She clenches around his fingers involuntarily, because God, he was so sexy and how wasn't she aware of this before? "Come for me, Lydia," he groans, dipping back down and taking her clit between his teeth, sucking gently on it as he curls his fingers inside her. She loses it, gasping and gripping his hair. "Come on, Lydia. I want you to come all over my fingers."
She yanks him up to her by the hair, fire in her eyes. She's going to come, and it's going to be fucking incredible.
He's palming her clit as he fingers her, and she's fucking his hand with rhythm now, her hips moving with pace. "Oh...God," she gasps brokenly, her teeth against his shoulder. She's so close, she can feel it. "Stiles, I'm going to-"
"Lydia!"
She jerked awake, reality hitting her like a train.
Stiles was hovering over her, waving his hand in her face in his usual spastic manner, but she couldn't hear a damn thing he was saying because the blood was rushing in her ears and she'd been seconds away from the best orgasm she'd ever had in her life.
Granted, she'd been dreaming, but it still counted.
She blinked a couple of times, and then glared at him. "Stiles!" she hissed, furious and mortified. She sat up, pulling the sheets up to her neck. "I was asleep!"
He shot her a duh look. "I'm aware of that." He turned and headed for her door. "It's nearly ten thirty." He paused in her doorway, staring at her. "You can sleep when you're dead."
She opened and closed her mouth, determined to fire something defensive back. She had never hated anyone in that moment as much as she hated her roommate, for interrupting her sex dream about him.
"It's called a lie-in Stilinski. Heard of it?"
"No, actually." He was resting on the doorframe, his signature shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. "I was up at seven talking to Parrish. They've found something in the woods again."
Lydia groaned, sliding further under her covers. "You spoken to your dad?"
Stiles nodded, his fingers tap tapping against the wood. He literally never stopped moving. "He says we should definitely go down to the station. He thinks it's worth you having a look too."
She sighed dramatically, throwing her covers back and getting to her feet. "I'll get dressed. And Stiles?"
He had been halfway down the hallway, but she heard him shuffle back to her room. He stuck his head in, grinning, brown eyes bright with expectation. "Yeah?"
"Next time, can you fucking knock?"
"I did!" He fired back, exasperated. "You were completely out!" He shook his head, retreating towards the kitchen again. She heard his voice bounce off the walls as he walked away. "Must have been dreaming about something good!"
Lydia hugged herself tightly, squeezing her eyes shut in absolute embarrassment.
They were the only ones left in Beacon Hills – permanently anyway. Scott and Malia lived out of town, just far enough away that they could stay out of the stuff they didn't need to be involved in. Stiles had occasionally had to call his best friend and ask for his help, when he and Lydia had run into serious trouble, and Scott had been there as fast as Malia could erratically drive them over.
Before college Lydia had wanted so much for herself – she was going to move away to the city, live in a gorgeous apartment overlooking the skyline and write books about math and physics. She would work the occasional weekend teaching bright young minds, and expand on her theories for the Riemann Hypothesis.
Life didn't work out that way. After MIT she had gone home for the summer and everything had changed. Scott was with Malia, and for once they both seemed genuinely happy. When Scott had slipped an arm around Malia's waist, Lydia's gaze had turned to Stiles, who was on the couch behind them. He smiled up at her, mouth full of Doritos. "Yeah, I knew."
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't...mind?" Because this was Stiles' best friend and ex-girlfriend who had their hands on each other.
"We asked," Scott interrupted hastily. Malia shrugged. Lydia knew the girl had been visibly upset when she and Stiles had broken up, but that was nearly four years ago. Things changed.
She looked at Stiles, who was chewing loudly and licking his fingers. And some things didn't change.
"Yeah, we asked him if it was okay," Malia piped up, her hand on Scott's shoulder. "I don't know as much as you guys about how to deal with-" she gestured to herself, and then Scott and Stiles, "-these kinds of things." She bit her lip nervously. "But me and Scott, it just happened." She smiled openly at him, squeezing his shoulder, and Lydia bit her tongue before she could correct Malia on her grammar because actually, the two of them looked perfectly happy. "We work together. We're a team."
"Like you and Stiles." Scott added, nodding.
Lydia's ears were hot all of a sudden, and she felt stupid. Scott hadn't meant anything by it, only that she and Stiles were good at figuring things out. But still. Stiles was grinning at her, his hat perched backwards on his head to cover the hair he clearly couldn't be bothered to cut. He didn't look like the Stiles she said a teary goodbye to when they were eighteen.
After that, everything had happened pretty fast. Scott had moved to a place outside of Beacon Hills, and Malia eventually moved in with him. It wasn't that they wanted to leave the pack. It was that they wanted to at least try and pretend that they weren't going to have to take care of Beacon Hills forever. Lydia understood the feeling.
Stiles and Lydia had spent most of the summer in his room, sprawled over his bed. Stiles had taken a job with his dad at the station, temporarily he said, while he looked for his own place. He spent all of his time with Parrish, hunting supernaturals. Lydia had been looking for a job of her own, but couldn't settle on anything. Something was pulling at the back of her mind, and she couldn't shake it.
"I don't know what it is, Stiles," she mumbled one night as they ate pizza in his room, Lydia offering him a fresh pair of eyes on his case. "I wanted all these things before, and now I don't."
"Are you sure it isn't just post-college depression or something?" He asked, looking up from the crime scene photos in his hands. "Maybe you feel stuck because you feel at home here."
Lydia cocked her head to the side, staring at him. "Why are you back here anyway? I thought you would have had a job in the FBI by now."
Stiles shrugged. "I don't really feel like I'll ever leave Beacon Hills."
"Scott and Malia managed it."
"Lydia, they only live two hours away. We see them all the time." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was starting to flop into his eyes a bit, and Lydia remembered the buzzcut he used to sport when he was fifteen. Man, he had grown up. They all had. "Someone has to stay and take care of everyone. I feel...responsible. So does Scott, that's why he won't move any further."
Lydia chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe I do too."
She watched him examine the photos in front of him, cross-checking them with the medical information in the file open by his knee. He was biting his fingernails, deep in thought.
"Stiles."
"Mmm."
"What if I stayed?"
He dragged his eyes from the papers in front of him up to her face. He looked confused. "Why would you do that?"
She shrugged, sitting up straighter on his bed. "Because you need someone else. Someone with abilities, someone who can help if things get bad."
"I have Parrish. He's a hellhound."
"He can't do what I can do."
"Lydia-" Stiles sounded strained, exasperated. He closed the file in front of him. "Lydia, you can't stay here, you're better than Beacon Hills. You should be doing something incredible, far away from here. I've always done this, stayed up all night figuring stuff out, keeping an eye on the supernatural. I've done it since I was sixteen."
She reached out and covered his hand with her own, silencing him. "I want to, Stiles. I don't want to be anywhere else, I know that now. I want to help you." She didn't want to be on the other side of the country, solving math problems. She wanted to keep the people of Beacon Hills safe for as long as she was needed. Liam was a capable werewolf, everyone knew that, but his pack was weak and small. They weren't ready to take over this town.
Until that time came, Lydia knew she would stay with Stiles, and do what they'd always done - figured things out.
"Maybe I could work with you, as a consultant," she said, the cogs turning in her head. "The three of us would make a good team." An idea struck her then. "Hey. We could move in together."
There was silence as Stiles stared at her, gaping like a fish. "What?" he sputtered, sounding like he was going to laugh.
She rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand. "Me and you. We can get a place and solve crimes together, chase away the supernatural threats. We can keep Beacon Hills safe from evil alphas and werejaguars and whatever the hell else comes our way. If we need Scott, we'll call him."
The disbelief was all over his face. "Living together."
"What's wrong with that?" Lydia asked, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at his tone. "I'd say we practically already live in this room. The amount of times you've let me fall asleep in your bed and taken the couch is admirable, Stilinski."
He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the bed sheets, deep in thought. She knew exactly why he was apprehensive – it wouldn't be like living with Scott. There was an attraction there, and they were both fully aware of it. Lydia had known it for a while, since she was seventeen, but so many things had happened back then to prevent them from discussing whatever it was.
Malia had come along and stolen Stiles' heart for a brief time, and it hadn't really been the same since then. Lydia knew he used to adore her, worship the ground she walked on, before she even knew his name. But as they'd grown older she'd seen him change, seen him mature with Malia and develop an understanding of what it was like to be loved by someone, to have a relationship that wasn't completely one-sided. Lydia had never been that, she'd been an infatuation, an idea he'd clung to because she was pretty and popular and not interested.
She and Stiles were closer than ever now, best friends even, but she knew he didn't feel the way he used to feel about her. It had all been terrible timing – she'd gone off to MIT and continued her life, forgetting about her growing feelings for Stiles Stilinski, and when she'd returned it was like he'd convinced himself that they were better off as friends. They'd stayed that way ever since.
Now, as they sat knee to knee on his bed, she knew they had an understanding. Friendship first. Absolutely nothing was worth jeopardizing that, especially when the safety of their town was constantly at stake.
"Okay," he finally said, and Lydia shot to her feet, eyes wide and bright with excitement.
"Really?"
He laughed, shrugging. "Why not? Rent will be cheaper."
A year later and here she was, staring into her wardrobe and pretending she was searching for an outfit when all she could think about was how filthy her dreams about Stiles seemed to be getting. It was becoming a slight problem, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it because moving in together was her idea in the first place.
In her defense, they did work well together as roommates. They were considerate and clean, and never seemed to disagree on anything major. There was that one time when Stiles had nearly had a breakdown because the amount of hair in the shower drain was getting to an alarming level, and he absolutely refused to touch it. Lydia had been pretty apologetic about that, and made him lunch for the rest of the week.
Overall, they were pretty good. Now, if Lydia could just stop dreaming about having sex with him, that would be great.
Stiles was making eggs when she finally entered the kitchen, and he threw a piece of lukewarm toast at her as she took a seat at the breakfast bar. She caught it at her chest, frowning, reaching for the butter.
"So you're not going to like what they found in the woods," Stiles started as he turned to face her, leaning against the counter. He was grimacing.
Lydia's shoulders slumped, and she rested her head on one hand. "What is it?" She felt like she'd only just recovered from the murderous pack of werewolves they'd chased out of town a month ago.
"A severed head."
Lydia stopped chewing. "Seriously?"
Stiles nodded, pursing his lips. "The wound is smooth, like someone cut his head off with a sword or machete."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "So it could be non-supernatural."
Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It could be, but he's also missing his eyes. Dad says since this is Beacon Hills we're more likely to have some kind of mythical creature on our hands than a plain old serial killer."
Lydia nodded, drumming her fingers on the side of her plate. "A kitsune maybe?" She was thinking of Kira's sword, and the fire she'd personally seen in the fox's eyes. "Or a hunter. Gerard used to chop people in half."
Stiles nodded. "That's what I was thinking." He took the pan off the hob, emptying scrambled eggs on to two plates and reaching for salt and pepper. He added salt and ketchup to his eggs, and raw spinach and hot sauce to Lydia's. "My dad honestly has no idea. That's why he's asking for us, he wants Parrish and I to take the case off his hands. With Deaton out of town I think we're going to have to put our heads together and do some serious research."
Lydia gratefully accepted the plate from him, dropping her half-eaten toast on to it and wiping her fingers. "We could ask Scott and Malia if they have any ideas."
He winced, twirling his fork between his fingers. "I'd rather not bother them if we don't need to. Let's see what we find first. If we're still stuck tomorrow, we call them."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Lydia engrossed in the newspaper and Stiles furiously texting, his forkful of food never quite making it to his mouth. "Oh shit," he choked suddenly, eggs falling with a splat onto his plate. Lydia looked up, alarmed.
"What?"
"They're doing the autopsy on the head now. Finish up Martin, we gotta move."
