notes: "lydia and nogitsune stiles kiss," as prompted by thehumanandthebanshee on tumblr. i have no idea how your prompt turned into this but here you go. have at it.

disclaimer: own nothing.

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all that's left is the proof that love's not only blind but deaf

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"Little banshee," he says, when he sees her. He's not smiling, not quite, but his lips twist into something sharp and feral—raw and animal and twelve different kinds of wrong. "What brings you here?"

It's certainly not his eyes, the way they glint the same way a knife just might; the tilt of his head far more unnerving than she would have thought possible. She thinks she might run, but Lydia steps forward; places her sharply-manicured nails on her hip. Her nails dig into the folds of her dress, hard enough to tear into the place where it meets her skin. "I've come," she says and there is the clack of heels; a lengthy pause, "to talk".

"But is that," not!Stiles says, the quirk of his lips stretching just a bit wider, "going to actually involve talking?"

And then he's crowding her up the wall, thighs brushing roughly against hers, fingers splayed evenly on her throat. Their height difference never mattered much before, but now Stiles towers over her, eyes glinting dangerously as he presses close, much too close.

"Talking wasn't exactly what you had in mind, did you?" He breathes into her ear, lips burning across her skin. "Dear, sweet, Lydia, talking wasn't what you had in mind at all".

"Funny you should assume that so quickly," Lydia says through gritted teeth; but she still manages to smile at him beneath her lashes, sharp and unruffled as ever, "seeing as you never actually gave me a chance".

"Ah," he says and his smile is sharp and too entirely disarming for his own good. Lydia flattens herself against the wall, but only as far as his arms will allow. "Now, now, Stiles wouldn't want you saying anything you'll soon regret".

She swallows down the scream rising in her throat. Lydia forces herself to meet his gaze and wills her hands not to shake. "Worried I'll end up being the one to screw up your plans?"

If he's affronted, he doesn't say. He only smirks at her, like he's entertained. "You're not the first one to come along, thinking they could outsmart me," Stiles says, practically mouthing the words into her skin. "You couldn't outsmart me if you tried".

Lydia huffs and makes a noise at the back of her throat, like she's pissed, but Stiles just drops his head into her shoulder; nips gently at her skin. "He loves you, you know," he says, dragging his teeth across her pulse point in one slow motion. "It's kind of a shame".

"You bastard," Lydia snarls, shoving at his chest. But Stiles is made of steel now apparently, so he just smirks, doesn't budge. "Give him back —"

"I really don't want to hurt you," Stiles tells her roughly, fingers curling at her hip. "Oh," he pauses slightly, "I've plans for you, little banshee".

"Then don't," Lydia says and tries not to let him hear her voice waver. "Leave him alone".

There is a moment, just for a fraction of a second, where everything falls silent; she wishes she could take it back, but then—"You can't save him, you know," he drops his hand; tilts his head at her a little and leans in closer until their hips line up. "He's already too far gone"

Here where everything is quiet, Lydia can almost hear the blood roaring in her ears; her heart thrashing in her chest. Something cold inside her clenches and she thinks about how Stiles risked his life to save hers, time and time again, lets out a shaky breath. "Get out. Get out of him right now".

"What are you talking about?" Stiles grins, all teeth. "I'm right here".

"Shut up!" She snaps and tries to wrench her arm from his grip. Stiles just looks amused, his grin stretching wider. "You're not him. You're not Stiles".

"Then tell me, Lydia," he drawls. His palm slides up her shoulder and curls around the side of her neck, the press of his thumb almost gentle against the spot where her pulse beats steady. He wasn't smiling now, but Lydia forces herself to meet his gaze and tries not to look away from what she saw there. "Who am I exactly?"

Monster, she thinks and swallows the snarl rising in her throat, slaps his hand away. "You're not Stiles," she says.

"Wrong," he shakes his head, amused. He cups her cheek in his hand, tilts her face up to his as she drops her hand, eyes bright, heart thrashing, wild. "I'm just not your Stiles".

His thumb skims her cheek and he tilts his head at her; leans in close and there's a moment where Lydia thinks Stiles might actually do it - break through the harsh whisper of space between them; take her in the way she shouldn't allow—but instead he smiles in the way the real Stiles might have; tucks her hair back and presses a chaste kiss to her temple, lingering their for a beat longer before pulling away.
"Now run along, little banshee," he says, a little roughly, but his lips have curled into a smirk. "I've chaos to wrought".

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fin.