"I know," he says as soothingly as possible, rubbing her back gently. "I'm so sorry I haven't noticed you were struggling sooner." Haven't noticed that she and his best friend are practically living on different planes of existence. - Scott makes Stiles realize how much Lydia really needs him.
Scott should have known this would be a bad idea. Since they were in eighth grade and he and Stiles had snuck off with a six-pack for the first time (okay, since Stiles had convinced him to sneak out and try a beer, and then himself was completely wasted after three), there was only one thing Stiles ever talked about when he got drunk, even just slightly.
Malia might be the one Stiles is kissing, but Lydia is the one he loves. And Malia knows that, but she's a bit confused about whether or not Stiles does.
Lydia, Stiles, and a Ferris Wheel Date Moment. Or, the pack goes to the amusement park to have some fun after the nogitsune.
"Stiles," Lydia whispered. "I know you're in there." The nogitsune smiled at her, indulgently, sardonically. Confidently. "You're right, banshee. He's in here. He's hearing everything, seeing everything, feeling everything. He's going to feel it when I rip out your beating heart with his hands."
He thrust out a hand to her, palm open. "Dance with me," he said. Written for Stydia Week 2014.
"Ah-ha!" She popped back up in her seat holding her prize. "Tijuana's finest." "You have tequila in your backseat?" Stiles asked incredulously. "I can barely get away with Monster!"
Lydia wanted to put her hands over her ears, but she couldn't. She had to be strong in front of the nogitsune, in front of Stiles. She had to show him, both of them, that she wouldn't back down, that she believed in him just like he had in her.
Lydia the butterfly, he thinks that so often. Fluttering and beautiful and always, always just out of reach. Butterflies fly away if you approach them too fast. Written for Stydia Week 2014.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything. Hi, Stiles. Stiles, it's me. Stiles, get your ass out of bed. I need you, we need you. None of it came out - nothing did. She stood there gaping like a fish for at least a full minute, and then slowly closed her lips. Written for Stydia Week 2014.
"We're something!" she spluttered.