prompt: Could I have a stydia fic where stiles is a secret agent and Lydia is a criminal and they fall in love? I know it sounds weird but still... You can do ANYTHING you want with it BTW (fluff, angst, ext.)
I don't know much about secret agents? I tried, though it's more like undercover cop Stiles kind of?
"Again Martin?"
Stiles looked around his apartment, eyeing everything. Nothing looked out of place but that didn't mean anything. When Lydia Martin took something he rarely knew what it was until he got it in the mail the next day.
The only sign that she had been there at all was the red ribbon tied around his doorknob, her signature. Once he'd asked around, tried to see if there were any robberies or other crimes where there had been a ribbon left behind, but he'd come up dry. As far as he knew, Lydia's ribbons were only for him.
He sighed, shrugging off his jacket and slipping out of his shoes, leaving them in the living room before heading for the fridge. To say it had been a long day was an understatement. They'd finally caught the woman who'd been stealing paintings from the local museums but they hadn't been able to keep her in a cell. Stiles had left to do some paperwork, meet up with his boss, and by the time he'd gotten back she was gone.
And now Lydia had been in his apartment, going through his things, probably watching his Netflix (once the only sign of her break in had been Grease on his recently watched list, and yeah, okay, Stiles liked Grease too, but it had been awhile since his last viewing) and most likely eating his food. A drink was in order.
He should have been annoyed by her antics, and maybe sometimes he was, but he had to applaud her nerve. He knew there was a reason he'd had a crush on her all through high school. Besides the fact that she was nothing short of a stunning, fiery goddess in miniskirts and heels.
And the fact that she was probably involved in more than pretty break ins at the homes of high school peers seemed to have no effect on how much he wanted her.
He flipped the kitchen light on and it took his eyes a second to adjust but when they did he found none other than the criminal in question lounging on his counter, a carton of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other.
"Fucking hell Lydia!" he cried and he did not jump a foot in the air thank you very much.
She gave him a wolfish grin. "Hey Stilinski. You're out of ice cream." She offered him a now empty carton and tossed the spoon into the sink.
He snatched it from her hand and peered inside with a frown. He'd wanted that ice cream -it was cookie dough.
"So was this your robbery for the day? Robbing an overworked agent of his well-deserved sugary goodness? Or are you going to take my wallet too?"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Don't be so melodramatic. I've never taken your wallet."
"Then how do I know today's not the day?"
"Because stealing a wallet is boring and predictable."
"So you know from experience?" he asked, tossing the carton into the trash.
Lydia hopped off the counter to stand in front of him, the boots she was wearing almost putting her at eye-level with. "Nice try Stilinski."
He shrugged and stepped away, nervous about the effect their proximity was having on his dick. Shirts that low cut should be illegal, at least when worn by Lydia Martin while she was standing in his kitchen.
"Always worth a shot," he said, retreating back towards the living room. She followed him, of course, but he tried to to feign indifference to her presence. In truth he was dying to know why she was here, why she had waited for him to get home. Because Lydia Martin was only ever caught somewhere if she wanted to be. There was no doubt in his mind that she kept track of his schedule. She knew when he'd be home and she'd sat down and waited.
He flipped on the TV and let the news play in the background while he hung up his coat and went to the bedroom to change out of his slacks and dress shirt. The clothes were the worst part of his job. He preferred jeans and a plaid button up any day.
Lydia didn't follow him to the bedroom, which half of him was grateful for. The other half of him was eternally sixteen and wanted nothing more than to have a pretty girl in his bedroom.
When he came back out she was standing by his bookcase, fingers trailing over the framed pictures he had there. Most of them were of his parents, one of him and Scott at their high school graduation, and a group photo from his dad's retirement party. Lydia was in that one -the Martin family had a lot of pull in Beacon Hills and were invited to just about everything.
"Don't you want to know why I'm here?" she asked, turning to face him as he dropped onto the couch.
"You mean you're not here for the pleasure of my company?" he asked, mock offended.
She arched a brow at him and damn if that was sexy and adorable all at once.
"Blake got away from you," she said after a moment.
Stiles sat forward on the couch, eyes narrowed. "And how exactly do you know that?"
Lydia gave a one-shoulder shrug, turning back to run her fingers over the bookcase again. "Word gets around."
"That case is sealed tight. Word doesn't get around."
"Maybe not in your circles."
"And it does in yours?"
She flashed a smile at him, all teeth and bright red lipstick, but didn't say anything. He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
"Seriously Lyds is there a point to this?"
There was a moment where she didn't say anything and Stiles thought she wasn't going to talk anymore, but then she came to sit on the coffee table in front of him. The looks she was giving him was intense and he fought the urge to fidget. He liked having her close but it made him nervous. He had hoped he'd grow out of the nervousness he alway felt around her once he left high school but it had never really abated.
"I can help you find her."
Stiles felt his jaw drop as he gaped at her. "You… what?"
His surprise seemed to amuse her. "Don't worry, I'm not in league with her or anything so don't go jumping into a conspiracy theory or something else equally stupid. I just know her."
"You know her?" He didn't know why this surprised him so much. Lydia got up to god knows what when she wasn't messing with his stuff -it was perfectly reasonable to assume she was friends with other criminals.
But whatever she did never seemed to come close to a case Stiles was working on and he had hoped she never would.
"We've met before," Lydia said and he was glad she kept the answer vague. He didn't actually want to know.
"And you know where she is?"
"I have a good idea of where she might have gone."
"And you want to help us catch her?" This was the part he couldn't quite wrap his head around. Helpful was not a term he would apply to Lydia Martin in relation to himself.
"She got in my way." He took that to mean yes and tried not think about what plans Jennifer Blake had gotten in the way of. He was uncomfortable with the idea of Lydia being acquainted with a known art thief and con artist; it brought her too close to the possibility of Stiles having to arrest her one day.
"Well do you want to know where she is or not?" she asked after a moment of neither saying anything
"Of course I do. You're actually going to make a statement?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to tell you where to find her and you're going to tell your superiors that you got an anonymous tip."
"Oh I am?" Anonymous tips were usually called into the police station, not to unlisted special agents.
She leaned forward so that their faces were only about a foot apart, bracing herself by gripping his legs. He felt the touch like an electric shock through his body and he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her.
But Lydia Martin wasn't the kind of woman you stole a kiss from, she stole them from you, along with your keys and your watch.
"Let's not pretend you're going to turn away my information just because I'm not going to play by the rules. Nothing about us is by the rules."
Her voice was low and the word "us" made something in his chest flip. They didn't ever talk about whatever was between them, never used the word "us."
"Alright Martin, you win, tell me what you've got."
"Keep two guards on her at all times. And for the love of god don't fall for any stupid tricks. You were trained better than that "
Stiles gave the two deputies in his office a hard look (something he'd picked up from his father) before dismissing them. He had a mountain of paperwork to do but it was waiting until to tomorrow. Blake had put up a surprisingly good fight and now his head hurt, a dull throbbing emanating from the back of his skull where she'd nailed him with a book.
He was startled to find Lydia lounging on his couch when he got home. She was watching a documentary on serial killers, some long-haired artist talking about why he was so fascinated by Charles Manson. Not exactly the kind of morbid musings he wanted to come home to.
Although the sight of Lydia in one of her clingy dresses sprawled out on his couch, her boots lined up by the door with his own shoes, was definitely something he could get used to.
"Don't you have a Netflix account of your own you could use?" he asked, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the hideous armchair he and Scott had found on the side of the road a few years back. Most of his apartment was furnished with various cast off and thrift store finds.
She glanced over at him him, big brown eyes looking up through long, perfectly curled lashes. "So did you catch her?"
He kicked his shoes off and went into the kitchen for some water. "What, you mean you don't already know?" he asked, calling over his shoulder.
"Of course I know," she said, and damn if she didn't move quietly. She was leaning in the doorway, barefoot and gorgeous. "I was just making conversation."
He set his water down, eyes trained on her. "So is there a reason you're here now? Do you have more criminal masterminds to turn in?"
She shrugged. "What, I can't just want the pleasure of your company?"
He bit his lip as his brain struggled to make sense of what was happening because he was pretty sure Lydia Martin was flirting with him. And yeah, they'd kind of danced around each other before, but neither of them had ever been so obvious about it.
"The pleasure of my company eh?" he said, trying not to let his nervousness leak into his voice. If she was flirting with him he did not want to fuck this up.
Lydia grinned and her steps towards him were nothing short of predatory. She had him caged against the counter with her arms in seconds and despite her small frame he felt thoroughly trapped, heart beating a million miles a minute.
Was this happening? Was he dreaming? This was a lot like quite a few dreams he'd had, maybe he should pinch himself-
Lydia's lips were warm against his, an insistent press as she reached up on her tiptoes to get a better angle. He groaned before wrapping her up in his arms and hoisting her against him, opening his mouth to her.
Lydia was in control of the kiss, there was doubt about that. Her tongue came out to dart across the seam of his lips before delving inside and he felt like his entire body was on fire.
They just kissed for a minute or so and Stiles could feel his lower anatomy waking up. Lydia made an impatient noise and gripped his hands, sliding them down from her waist and to her ass. He grabbed hold and lifted her onto the counter, pressing another hungry kiss to her lips before moving down her neck, trailing his tongue over her pulse.
"Stilinski I swear to god if you don't get me out of this dress right now," she panted, clinging to him.
"What?" he asked, kissing along her jaw before nipping lightly at her bottom lip. "What are you going to do?"
She wrested her hand free from where it had become trapped between them and snaked it down to palm at his rock hard erection. He sucked in a breath and tightened his grip on her thighs.
"Bedroom," she said, "now."
Waking up alone was disappointing but not unexpected. Lydia came and went as she pleased, and considering the mind-blowing orgasms from the night before, Stiles was content to let her do so. At least for now.
Because there was no way he was letting her slip away from him. Not after that. Not after she'd dug her claws into his back, sucked his soul out through his dick, and murmured praise and pleas into his ear.
He stretched, his body still sleep-heavy as he climbed out of bed, forgoing boxers as he moved across his apartment. If his neighbours saw him walking around stark naked, well, he'd recently been told the view was good.
He started the coffee and then shuffled through his morning routine, mind spinning with the events of the night before. He wanted to remember every single second of it.
It wasn't until he returned for the coffee, slightly more awake and in his sweatpants (it was cold okay) that he noticed the red ribbon tied around the freezer handle. He put down his mug and stared at it for a minute before pulling the door open, almost sure of what he'd fine.
He was right.
Sitting in the middle of the of the freezer was a carton of cookie dough ice cream, a big red bow perched on top.
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