the_woman_with_the_key_is_queen



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    “I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!”

    Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her.

    “What?! What was that sound?!”

    “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder.

    “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!”

    “Mike,” she argued.

    “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked.

    “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

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    16 Oct 2019

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    Stiles shoved another bite into his mouth, glancing over at Boyd and Erica. Boyd was smiling down into his eggs benedict and Erica was grinning at Stiles.

    He frowned in confusion, his chewing slowing. Tucking the food into one cheek, he asked, “What?”

    “Nothing. It’s just nice. I like when the four of us come out together. Our little double dates,” she teased, stabbing her fork into a strawberry and putting it between her lips.

    Stiles snorted at her comment, since this wasn’t a double date—he wished—but didn’t comment on it because he liked their outings, too. Even if he whined incessantly about it until he got there, it was always a good time.

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    08 Oct 2019

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    “You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

    And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

    The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

    “You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

    Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

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    07 Oct 2019

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    The first time Derek shoves Stiles against a wall, she pepper sprays him in his face.

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    06 Oct 2019

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    Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—

    “No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”

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    06 Oct 2019