"Lyds, two years ago, you woulda been Poison Ivy. Now, you're Batgirl. Barbara Gordon. She's got your hair. She's also intuitive, and hot, and a badass genius. She suits you pretty well."
Lydia Martin never takes her eyes off of Stiles Stilinski's mouth. She tried. Honestly, she tried so damn hard. But what else can you do when you've got this boy, with moles everywhere and really nice hands, lying with you on your bed, rambling about, well you.
You stare at his mouth. That's what you do.
"Kira would be Katana. Scotty would be Nightwing. I would be Tim Drake, the third Robin, by the way. Derek would be Batman, all grumpy and fuckin' party-pooper-ish. Lydia, are you mad at me? Lyds? Oh god, I swear, Poison Ivy isn't that bad, she's just kinda mean, but so are all the villains. Wait, wait, fuck, you're not a villain or anything. Were. Fuck. Lyds, do me a favor. Glue my mouth shit. Get crazy glue, get some motherfucking strong ass glue, and glue my mouth shut. You're one of my best friends, Lydia. Please. Glue my mouth shut."
Where does Stiles Stilinski find the time to breathe?
But her mouth shifts into a smile anyways. Mainly 'cause she'll never get enough of him, never get enough of this sunshine when the sun has already set. "Stiles," Lydia says sweetly, "your rambling is adorable."
His jaw hangs comically from his head, eyes shining with surprise and confusion. Bluntness was usually the banshee's specialty, but not like this. Not with him, like this.
And it makes sparks curl inside his stomach, it makes stars constellate all over his skin.
"You're welcome," she smiles, genuinely. Lydia Martin tattoos Stiles Stilinski's face inside her brain. And then she giggles and hides her face in her pillows, to which a grins a little too widely and a little too cutely.
He lifts her strawberry blonde curtain, the one that Barbara Gordon would never live up to, and shrinks his grin into a shy smile. Her happiness has reached her eyes. Like that time he landed those two goals at the lacrosse game and she was sincere and happy and pretty and adorable and his heart is melting now like it did then.
He tucks the thick waves behind her ear and he can almost see a fresh blush tint her fair cheeks. Stiles adjusts quickly to the breathtaking sight, confidence suddenly oozing through all of his cracks. He boldly brushes his long fingers along the side of her face, and then he remembers how in love he is with the fact that they have grown so comfortable and accustomed with each other, and he also memorizes how she relaxes under his touch and the way her gaze softens when she's got her full attention on him makes his gut do weird butterfly things and his brain goes stupid, 'cause, like, damn, what the fuck? She's got some banshee spell or some shit.
He's never felt this way 'bout anyone.
His honey hues lock onto her forest ones.
Fuck words. This is all they need.
Nah, he should say it.
Fuckity fuck fuck shit.
"You really think I'm adorable?" the boy asks huskily, his tone low and rumbling. And man, did he fucking nail it. Her pupils dilate and her mouth forms a small "o." She searches for his hand without breaking eye contact, which wasn't much trouble because it was resting right next to her. She strings their digits together and moves from her belly to her right side, elbow supporting her.
Jesus werewolf Christ and whatever other supernatural shit there is, his whiskey-colored gaze could light up cities and stitch broken galaxies back together.
The moon and the sun could collide at this very moment and she probably wouldn't notice because, hot damn, Stiles Stilinski was downright sexy.
Who knew that Lydia Martin would ever think so?
Her lips press against the back of his hand and she hears his sharp intake of air.
"Because you are," she begins, mockingly and cautiously, a slight smirk playing on her lips. "Why else would I say so? You think I'm lying, Stilinski?" she finished animatedly, mouth agape, complete with an overdramatic gasp. He chuckled and all the while planted a kiss upon her knuckles. "It wouldn't get past me, anyways. I always figure it out, right, Lyds?" he responded haughtily, one eyebrow raised (to the best of his ability.)
And she snorts.
Stiles Stilinski has made Lydia Martin snort.
She slaps a hand onto her face, but, oh no, she is not getting away with this. Definitely not.
Stiles laughs hard while Lydia smacks his shoulder, her own giggles hidden under the thunder of his.
"I made Lydia Martin snort!" he chanted, leaning into her face and pecking her nose. "I, Stiles Stilinski, have won Beacon Hi-"
Stiles was cut off by dainty fingers jabbing his stomach, causing him to burst out into tiny shrieks. "Oh my fucking god. The enemy has found my weakness," he managed before another attack was launched. He giggles - giggles - non-stop for nearly a full minute before he gives in.
"My queen, my beautiful, brilliant queen," he kisses the palm of her hand, "I surrender."
"That's what I thought," she smirked evilly. And, surprise surprise, he loves it.
Then he realizes the disconnection at his fingertips. And then he's missing how it felt like colors he hasn't seen before. He interlaces their digits once again, sits up, and pulls her with him. "Wanna go somewhere?" he inquires casually, like it wasn't actually a question. She nods anyways, thankful for the summertime and her mother being away on a business trip, which means "I love you but I need a break and I'm going to some foreign country to attempt to ease my mind from all this craziness." Not like she blamed her. If it weren't for that, Stiles wouldn't be here in the first place.
She realizes that she isn't the leader and sticks her chin up before finding her proper place in front of him. "We're walking," she states without looking back. He hooks his pinky around hers and lays an adoring smooch upon her right temple, loud and wet and obnoxious. "Whatever you want." Lydia smiles proudly.
And then they're out in the open, the humidity relaxing them and the moonlight highlighting their forms. Lydia soaks in the scenery, finding peace with the boy that stood by her side when her world was falling apart. The boy who was - is - the best friend anyone could ever have. Other than the girl, no, the woman, the beautiful, strong woman with the bow and arrow.
Lydia slips her petite hand into Stiles' large one. He squeezed reassuringly before dipping his head to rest it on top of hers.
"I'm never gonna get over how gorgeous you are, or how goddamn smart you are. This is cheesy as fuck but you're great. I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now. And all the roads we have to walk are winding. And the lights that lead us there are blinding, something something, may-BAY, you're gonna be the one that saves MAY, and after ALL, you're my wonderwAAALLLLL," Stiles fucking sang horribly to her, fully intending to be that asshole that sings "Wonderwall" and thinks its cool.
"Stiles, Jesus fucking Christ, why? Why must you be that asshole? Why?" Lydia complained. "It is," Lydia checked her phone, "12:04 a.m. You are going to murder people in their sleep because of your voice. They will be blind in the ears because of you."
"Oh my god, Lydia, I'm just trying to tell you that you're my wall of wonder."
"Yes, I understand, thank you."
"You know what? You are very welcome. And thank you for allowing me to live out my three-year-old fantasy with you."
"14-year-old Stiles Stilinski? Glad I ignored him."
Stiles rolled his eyes and his whole body, basically. "Rude. You are very rude, young lady. I am extremely disappointed."
"Where is this even going?"
"Well, you know, I would say 'here' and kiss you but you've had enough of me tonight."
Lydia pursed her lips.
"We're too comfortable around each other. Stiles, get you, your corniness, and hand gestures at least three feet away from me."
"Ugh, Lydia, bite me."
"If you insist, sweetheart."
And with that, Lydia strutted closer to Stiles, (because she definitely needed space after that little episode) tiptoed as high as she could, (because she was still way shorted than him in these damn heels) and took his full, pink bottom lip between her teeth. She sucked lazily before gently grabbing his wrists to steady herself. She looked up at him, as submissive as possible, 'cause that how you drive guys absolutely insane and he just looked full-on horny. His irises were darker and she doesn't think she has been this turned on in her life.
Stiles Stilinski is a fucking babe.
And then he bites his lip.
Except it wasn't cool. No, not at fucking all. What makes him think he can have this much power over her? Oh lord, she can feel Niagra Falls pouring out of her. You can take teenage boys out in the middle of the night, right? Nobody gives a shit anymore, do they? Fuck. Screw boys.
She swears that his pupils are taking over the warm brown that could make her do anything he wanted her to.
"Lydia, can I kiss you?" he asks scratchily, and damn, it sounds hot.
Her mouth attacks his as an answer. Its nothing like before, like the panic attack, all chaste and with good intentions. No, not at all, because they're looking to kill each other. They're lip-locked and their hips begin to collide as his top lip slips in between hers. She sucks lightly, teasingly, and he groans. The vibration makes her roll her eyes to the back of her head.
He decides its his turn to take the lead, the little piece of shit, and deepens the kiss, switching their roles. In protest, she grabs his torso for stability and grinds her groin onto his, causing him to emit probably the sweetest moan ever made in the whole universe. "Lydia," he growls, his breath heated and sending chills all over her body, "fuck." They can both feel it, the fire spreading all over their bodies, tingling everywhere and singing every inch of their flesh. God, its fucking amazing.
His kiss trails down to her throat, hitting every one of her weak spots, which is technically every spot when it comes to him to be honest, and she pants almost pathetically but why should she care? Wait, oh shit.
"Stiles," she sighs, his mouth way too talented for a such an awkward boy, "we need a room."
"I don't fucking care," he snarled, his teeth sinking lightly over her jaw. "Let them hear."
It took every ounce of her strength and will to push him away.
"First of all, Stilinski, no male is allowed to dominate me," Lydia scolded. "Second, as much as I love this little situation, we are not doing it in the middle of the street. We are to go back to my house. And we are going to go where we want to go."
He kisses her. He kisses her hard, her face in his hands.
"Anything you say, Lyds," he smiles, sugary sweet, when he breaks the contact and laces their fingers together.
This night won't be long enough.