a/n: for stydia secret santa on tumblr -
to: sass-and-caffeine || from: bansheemrtin
Stiles Stilinski has had a crush on Lydia Martin since the third grade and he has always known that to him she is perfection, wrapped up in one pale skinned, green eyed, strawberry blonde, 5'3 banshee.
He has not always known where she stands in regards to him. And he wants to.
He wants to know if she thinks about him too, if every now and then he invades her dreams the way she does with his. Wants to know, simply, if she cares about him in the same way.
But as life went along, it became more and more likely that the connection Stiles wanted there to be, simply wasn't. She fell in and out of love with an abundance of boys, ranging from the blonde haired brute that was Jackson Whittemore to the boy who was a little too bad for her that went by the name of Aiden. And yet, none of these boys were Stiles.
And then one day, everything changed.
And she kissed him.
And he no longer was convinced that her love for him was a distant dream.
But then life happened, and people died and he gave her the space that he thought she needed. Didn't invade her and didn't smother her in fear that she might push him away, because, in reality, that was the last thing he wanted.
But he did that himself when he began to date a certain Malia Tate.
Pushed her right into the arms of Jordan Parrish as he pushed Malia away because he knew that it was always going to be Lydia.
How, now, he found her in front of him, in tears, was another story, one that he wasn't sure how to tell. Wasn't sure how to explain that Lydia had once again given her heart away to the wrong guy and had it broken and shattered in the same places it had splintered before.
After Sheriff Stilinski had found out about the relationship between the banshee and the hellhound, he didn't think it was the most appropriate. How would the town react to the Deputy dating the Sheriff's son's best friend? And so he shut it down.
(Without Stiles' interference or influence, may he add.)
Parrish had told Lydia that it was between her and his job, and if he wanted to stay apart of the force, that he couldn't be with her anymore.
Stiles wanted to clock him in the head for making such a boneheaded decision. Who, in their right mind, would break Lydia Martin's heart?
Apparently the list was growing.
She had gone to Parrish in hopes that maybe she'd be protected with him around. That what had happened to her in that asylum wouldn't happen again if she had someone strong and willing to help her defend herself.
Instead, he threw her back into that pit of destruction without a single thing to defend herself with, and without someone to help her pull herself out.
Stiles had decided that was where he came in. To help her realize that she didn't need him. She was perfectly capable of defending herself, and her own heart.
"Lydia Martin, you need to hear me out," he said, placing his hand on her arm in a comforting manner. "You are the most brave, smart, intelligent and stunning girl I have ever met in my entire life. And anyone in their right mind would realize how lucky they would be to have you. And if Parrish can't see that, then he's blind," Stiles insisted.
He swore he saw a smile flicker through her tear streaked face, but it disappeared as soon as it had arrived.
"Stiles I-" she stuttered, choking up a little as her voice cracked with the aching of her heart. "I'm not here for that. I'm not here for a speech about how you think he doesn't deserve me… I- I'm here because…"
"Because why?" he questioned, cocking his head, not quite understanding where she was going with this.
"Because I finally understand."
"Lydia, you're going to have to give me a little more than that, you kno-"
She interrupted his speech with a kiss, letting her lips interlock with his for the second time in their lifespans, his eyes went wide before he let himself immerse himself in the moment, and then he pulled away, gently, just as shocked as he was the first time.
"What was that for?" he asked.
"Because it's you, Stiles. It's been you for who knows how long, but then you started dating Malia and I thought you had moved on right when I was about to tell you that I felt the same way. And so I went to Parrish, hoping I could move on, too. But now you two aren't together anymore and neither are we and I can't. I can't lose you to someone else, Stiles."
He didn't let her say another word, interrupting her this time with a kiss, the first one that he had the pleasure of initiating.
"Lydia," he whispered, forehead pressed up against hers, "I have loved you since the third freaking grade. It's always been you. I just never thought this could end up being an us."
"Do… do you think we could make it an us?" she asked, cautiously, a few tears running down her cheek. Stiles idly brushed them away, a gentle finger on her cheek.
"Yeah, I think we could give it a shot."
She stays at his house for the first time that night. They share the pleasure of initiating the simple human contact that seems too natural for a pair of people who have just decided to become a couple. A kiss on the cheek, a small hug here and there, a chaste (or not-so-chaste) kiss on the lips. They whisper sweet nothings in each other's ears as the night goes on, never missing a chance to do something that will either get the other a smack on the shoulder or a kiss. They fall asleep facing each other with their fingers entwined, buried under the covers, Stiles adorned in just his pyjama pants and Lydia in one of his oversized shirts that hangs a little bit too loose on her petite frame. They cannot seem to take their eyes off of one another, and her eyelids shut only when she finds she cannot keep them open any longer. She learns that night that he is the little spoon and she finds that oddly calming when she wakes up and her arm is wrapped around him, his back pressed to her chest and their fingers entwined in front of Stiles' sleeping body. She kisses his shoulder and he stirs, waking up slowly as he turns to face her and lets their lips interlock once more, knowing that this time definitely will not be the last.