Summary:

Lydia's playing a dangerous game, but Stiles is more than up to the challenge.

Notes:

My first Stydia fic and my first fic on here. Possible one-shot. Rated M for mature themes and possible future lemons. I might write more if demand is big enough. Who knows. I'm trash, so here you go! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Chapter One:

"She's driving me crazy, Scott," Stiles told his best friend.

It had been nearly a month and a half since they'd defeated the Dread Doctors, and everyone was still waiting for things to feel normal again. Sometimes he thought they never would.

In an attempt to dispel the recent memories and losses, Lydia had decided to throw a party. She'd invited practically everyone in Beacon Hills.

Scott and Stiles were still uncomfortable around each other since their fight, but Stiles was willing to put it all aside for the night because he needed advice.

"Who?"

He gave him a look that suggested he was stupid. Scott rolled his eyes after a moment, muttering, "Lydia... Of course it's about Lydia." More loudly, he asked, "Didn't you give up on that?"

Stiles didn't say anything, his fingers picking absently at the fraying strings of his jacket. He had had a ten-year plan. Ten years and finally he saw some glimmer of it coming to fruition. Of course, he hadn't given up; more like he'd been delayed.

"Scott," was all he said. A grin tugged at his best friend's mouth.

"Yeah, I know, I know. Ten-year plan."

Stiles just kept staring ahead, gaze caught on the strawberry blonde who'd been torturing him all night, since before they'd even arrived at this godforsaken party of hers.

There'd been a picture of said blonde, a mirror, and some not so innocent underwear. The image was burned into his retinas and all he'd been thinking of since was if she was wearing it underneath her very short, very tight dress.

Scott wrinkled his nose, very aware of his friend's mood and couldn't help but laugh. Stiles, in turn, offered him a glare. "You're not helping, Scotty."

"I'm not sure how I could, Stiles. I'm pretty sure the only one who could help you at this point is Lydia."

He sighed. Scott was right. Lydia had worked him up and he was positive she knew it. Every so often she'd turn her head his way, curls bouncing with the motion, her eyes taking in how fidgety and miserable he looked.

But what he didn't know was just how much he was working her up. All night long his eyes had been on her, memorizing every inch of her, so hot that she felt herself burning alive. It was driving her out of her skull. Why she had to have this goddamn party was beyond her now. She just wanted Stiles to herself and had wanted that for a while... Which, she supposed, was why she had sent him that picture.

Lydia just hadn't expected to feel like she drowning as a result. And damn him for doing this to her. This game was meant to be hers, and hers alone. But Stiles, it seemed, was just as good at playing.

It was a while later, a lot of the crowd had dispersed, the party was winding down though far from over, when he just inebriated enough to do something stupid. Stiles had lost track Lydia after some time, caught up in his own musings of that picture and her and what was underneath all of it.

Scott had disappeared as well, too annoyed with Stiles and missing Kira too much to really enjoy himself. He had mumbled something about sleep and lacrosse and his mom, but Stiles hadn't really been paying attention. He could read between the lines, though, and he knew Scott. There was a void in his life now and he wasn't sure how to fill it. No amount of parties or alcohol would help him.

Stiles would lie to himself about why he was still there, mindlessly staring off into a corner while seated between two strangers, but there wasn't a point. He had to know. Making a decision, he made his way through gyrating bodies and pulsing vibrations to find her. With no luck downstairs, he took to the stairs a step at a time toward her room, pulse racing in time with the music. Anxiety pooled in his gut, making his head dizzy. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

At her door, he raised a fist to knock, noticing how it shook.

Shit, not good. Not good. Get control of yourself.

At first, there wasn't a response, not even a shuffling of movement from inside. After little internal debate- because who was he kidding, he couldn't do this -he turned to leave, giving up a fruitless venture. His cheeks were flush and he tried to convince himself that was because of the buzz still ringing in his ears. He didn't make it far before the door was swinging open and Lydia filled his view.

And what a view. The dress was gone now. And in its place was the sheerest nightgown he had ever seen. It was baby blue, silky and hung about an inch above her knees. His eyes traced over every curve of her, his brain already imprinting the image forever. He was especially caught by the swell of her breasts, which were loosely cupped by the gown. This reminded him of the very first time he had visited her room.

Is she trying to kill me?

Lydia's face registered surprise for a moment before a smile started pulling at her lips, her green eyes shining with something Stiles couldn't place. But the look she was giving him made him practically swallow his tongue all the same. "L-Lydia, I was looking for you."

She leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms, which did wonders for her cleavage, and Stiles was on his way to becoming completely incoherent.

"Well, you found me."

"Um. Yeah. I did. I found you. In your room of all places. Wearing...that."

Sparing a glance, Lydia shrugged. "This is what I wear to bed."

"There are still people here, you know. Who could see you wearing that."

"So?"

"Sooooooo…." he scratched the back of his head, all out of words to say. Of course, he wanted to say that he didn't want anyone seeing her wearing that and he wanted to ask why the hell she had sent him that picture. But he couldn't seem to form anything remotely related to an actual sentence.

"Stiles," Lydia said, snapping him out of his thoughts. He realized he had just been staring at her. And Lydia looked far too amused at his expense. "Would you like to come in?"

His heart stopped. "Would I like to…." Hell, yes, I'd like to come in.

"Inside my room, yes," she replied, then turned and walked away, leaving the door open for him. Like an idiot, he just stood there, debating whether or not it was a good idea for him to actually go inside and face her head on like this.

Stiles still wasn't sure what her game was, but he suspected she had been planning this little move for a while. He used to be able to read her better, but things had changed junior year... But now was the time to decide. Did he dare take this chance?

His feet moved him forward, his heart pounding with each step. "Close the door, Stiles," she called, looking up at him from her place on the bed. She was flipping through a magazine, the picture of nonchalance. His eyes traced the length of hers legs. She gave him a gorgeous smile. Yep, I'm a goner.

The door closed with a click. Stiles tore his gaze away from her and looked anywhere else but at her. He focused on the vanity. It was different from the one he remembered, littered with what seemed like a thousand products, all meticulously placed. The mirror was mostly unobstructed but held a few candids of members of the Pack and Lydia. It was all smiles and bright eyes, and for a moment his heart hurt, especially when he noticed the toothy grins of Lydia and Allison in the only framed photo sitting to the one side of the mirror.

It was a painful reminder of everything that had happened since that night and brought him back to reality. It was as if a bucket of cold water had soaked him through; there was ice in his veins now.

She could feel his eyes on her like a caress, and it heated her skin. Lydia was trying to ignore the weightlessness in her stomach. Her heart beating fast, her shallow breath, and the slight fidgeting of her hands; it was because of neurons. Neurons! It's just a physiological reaction to his nearness. There's nothing to be freaking out about! Try as she might, she couldn't contain herself. All her planning and suddenly he was here. Stiles was here with her, and she was wearing practically nothing, and her heart was clamoring away inside her chest. There was a tightness there she hadn't expected, and the implications of it had her questioning her next move.

She paused in her facade of reading and glanced at Stiles. He was tense, she could tell from how he stood, and it wasn't because of the tension between them. He had a somewhat pained expression and suddenly she felt cold. Confusion filled her fast and she was on her feet before she could stop herself. He saw her coming but made no moves to stop her.

"What's going on?" Her voice chimed quietly. All her nervousness was gone; in its place, worry began to lay low in her belly. Brow furrowed, green eyes met his grave, brown ones. "Stiles," she said, placing a hand on his chest. "What is it?"

Her voice echoed through his mind, and he tried to make himself respond, but nothing would come out, so he just stared into her gaze, finding himself lost there. On a good day, her eyes reminded him of the forest, full of life, lush, and vibrant. On a bad day, they were a dark sea green that brought tsunamis and lightning. Now there were flecks of both the forest and the sea and all he could think was that it was Lydia. His Lydia...who could look at him with those eyes and swallow him whole, who could take away everything that threatened to drive him crazy and that he wasn't enough for her.

How could he put into words how much he loved her? How could he go through with whatever she had planned for them when he knew his love wouldn't fill her up as much as looking into her eyes filled him?

"I-I…" his voice faded as his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. "Lydia, I can't do this."

Her hand dropped and she stepped away from him. That gaze he loved so much scalded him in the next moment as a storm brew there. He knew he was treading lightly now.

"You…cannot do what, Stiles?" Her tone was sharp, pointed. Her walls were higher than ever. The distance grew between them once again.

He swallowed before replied, feeling like the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. "Whatever this is…"

"Get out."

"Lydia-"

"NO, STILES. Get. Out." She walked to her door, swung it open and waited for him.

He looked at her a moment longer. Lydia's faced burned. Her eyes stung. She refused to let him see any of what she felt, apart from anger. "Stiles," she said, voice utterly calm.

Without another word, he walked out, sparing a glance at her, his expression full of apology when she didn't want any of it. The moment he was out of the room, she slammed it shut, collapsing against it. The tears fell of their own volition. Outside, Stiles felt hollow, removed, and didn't move. Whatever happened now, he was sure of one thing.

There was no bigger loser than him.

Notes:

Okay, so this has been edited as of 11-21-16. It's way longer than it originally was, so I hope you guys enjoy this version! I will definitely post another chapter as soon as I am able. I don't know how long this will or won't be. Just stay tuned and hope for the best! Also, yay for season six! I am already dying. :D Also, reviews, kudos, comments, criticism, all is welcome! Just don't be mean. Okay! That's all for now, lovelies! Hope you enjoy episode two tomorrow! I know I will. 3