MIRRORBALL ❖ stiles oneshots

▫️ sweater weather *

she knows what I think about
And what I think about
One love, two mouths
One love, one house

── ·𖥸· ──

          STILES ROLLED INTO the driveway at exactly 12 o'clock. After several hours of conversing with their friends the night had finally come to an end; the group had split into their pairs and headed home for the night. Nobody was surprised when Scott and Allison rushed to their car, giddy smiles on their faces as Scott just happened to steal a quick kiss before she closed the door.

Both Stiles and Y/N had seen the interaction—they saw them all—and they couldn't help but mimic the dopey grins formed on their lips.

The two had been in love ever since Scott gave her a pen at the beginning of Sophomore year. After that it was merely a retelling of Romeo and Juliet, except with less death and more werewolves.

She was clearly happy for the two of them, though it was a bit concerning to watch them ignore the rest of the world whenever they were together.

"I mean, seriously," Stiles complained, "can Scott not keep it in his pants for one night?"

It was honestly as if he had read her mind.

His fingers tapped against the edge of the wheel, his other hand coming down to turn off the ignition. He slumped back in his seat, still keeping one hand on the wheel.

"We're happy for them," Y/N reminded, her tone was warning, "Remember."

Stiles straightened out his hand, making a point to show it in the air between them. "You say this every time, and every time Scott manages to do something to add to his list of reasons I can't be seen in public with him."

"What was it this time?"

His expression dropped. A blank gaze met her own. "Sharing. Fries."

She laughed involuntarily. "Really?"

"Yes, really!" he exclaimed, "god, did you not see them at dinner? Scott was feeding Allison  fries as if she was the freaking goddess of all goddesses."

She had to press her lips together to hold back the next laugh that wanted to escape. Stiles always had a strong opinion on what went on around him; most of the time is was nonsense reasons that were created only to prove his point.

"They're cute," she shrugged.

"They're gross."

"It's just PDA," Y/N brushed over, "you don't seem to have a problem with it until you're the one witnessing it."

"We don't share fries," he pointed out, holding one finger in the air—as if that was going to help him prove his point farther. He faced back towards the road, hands in his lap now. "And that's not even the extent of it. You know how many times I counted them kissing tonight? Twenty-five. Twenty-five times and that doesn't even count once we left the restaurant."

She moved to lean her body over the console so that her elbows could prop her up. From this angle she could admire his side profile. She took in the slope of his nose, his tousled hair that fell forward on his for-head, and even his Cupid lips that were gaped slightly open from where he was absentmindedly rambling to himself. 

"Really?" she questioned, "I only remember seeing like...two."

"Yeah, well, I'm not talking just mouth to mouth."

Y/N smiled to herself and leaned forward to press a light kiss to his jaw.

"Exactly like that!" His hand flung out toward her in the normal spastic way. "All night too. It was-"