Numb
Author: krimrose
Title: Numb
Rating: T, PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin
Character/s: Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore
Summary: The pain had always been there, warning him. But for so long he had been numb by its beauty.
Warnings: Tragic
Word Count: 1051
Prompt: #23. this might hurt
Author's Notes: My writing just ran off and became really tragic.
This might hurt.
Those were the words that flashed in his mind when Lydia said yes, yes she would go out with him.
This might hurt, he reminded himself, almost wanting to pull away from her, almost wanting to push her back and say, "This is a mistake. You're going to hurt me."
But Stiles Stilinski had loved her since third grade and the remote chance to be with her for a single day, for a single hour, was so completely intoxicating that he couldn't tear himself away. He wouldn't have been able to cope with the regret if he did so.
Lydia looked up at him and her brows furrowed slightly, like she sensed something wrong, so Stiles pulled her close and soaked himself in the smell of her hair.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he mumbled against her long tresses, into the nape of her neck, along the warmth of her skin.
If Lydia Martin was a drug, Stiles Stilinski never wanted to get clean.
If Lydia Martin was poison, Stiles Stilinski would drink every drop and let his mind wrap around her till his thoughts went black.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
This might hurt.
For a while, Stiles had been able to stomp out the voice. But now it came back with a vengeance when Stiles had his first real fight.
It was stupid and petty, but then it wasn't, because she was his and he was hers and jealousy is a livid, wild thing that he couldn't control.
A new guy on the lacrosse team had been hitting on Lydia and making some pretty obvious and indecent advances. Lydia thrived on that kind of flattery and had mastered dealing with the attention. She insisted it was nothing and a little flirting never hurt anybody.
Except it hurt him.
Stiles tried to be reasonable, he tried to be patient. He tried to accept her for who she was and the competition he would have to face in protecting this delicate relationship.
But when he noticed said guy in the hall, leaning on Lydia's locker and twirling her strawberry blonde hair between his thin fingers, Stiles had had enough. Because people were staring and they were expecting him to do something, to live up to his title as her boyfriend which no one had really accepted in the first place.
So he had strolled over and pull the guy away and there was punching-this might hurt-as was necessary in the war over the most beautiful woman, and he lost.
Naturally.
He lost and they were both sent to the principal's office and Lydia was left staring after them. He was sure that she was furious because he fought for her and made a fool of himself and she wasn't replying to his text messages or his calls, so Stiles sat in front of the principal's office wondering how he could've done better.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
It was after school and Stiles had been released from detention. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he walked the empty halls and thought up four different scenarios in which he could explain himself to his dad. Maybe he should sleep over at Scott's tonight.
The drive home was silent as he kept checking his phone at every red light and stop sign. He had two missed calls from his father and a text message that requested his immediate return home, one missed call from Scott, a text message from a girl who wanted to borrow his notes, and nothing from Lydia.
He pulled into his driveway and slung on his backpack, walking up the front steps and prepping himself for his father's immediate interrogation. A glance at the side window revealed a busted lip and that wasn't really going to help the situation.
He stood in front of the door and took a few deep breaths, working through his excuse and suddenly, the door opened.
This might hurt.
And it was Lydia with a smile and she reached her hand out and pulled him inside.
Apparently she had already explained everything to his dad and the sheriff really had no way of fighting against the articulate and brilliant words of Lydia Martin.
In his room, she apologized for not responding, her phone had died. She wasn't mad, she thought it was heroic. Stupid, but heroic and she gave him soft kisses and asked if he wanted ice and if it was okay if she stayed for dinner.
And so what Stiles had assumed what was going to be their first fight ended anticlimactically-"I love you, Stiles."-as a miscommunication-"You know that, right?"-and all along he had been too paranoid. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
If dating Lydia Martin meant heading into battles waged in her name, Stiles Stilinski would fight till he was pummeled down and then he would get up and fight again.
If loving Lydia Martin meant a year of busted lips and bruised cheeks, Stiles Stilinski would wear the wounds like a warrior.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
This might hurt, his brain screamed when Jackson Whittemore once again roamed the halls of Beacon Hills High School.
Stiles tried to keep calm. He tried to think about the six months he and Lydia had been dating, the slew of supernatural things they dealt with, the night they sleep together and it was so beyond his imagining and-this might hurt.
He watched from afar as Jackson made Lydia laugh and he was holding her books for her as she rummaged through her locker. She glowed as she fixed her lip gloss and straightened her floral-printed dress and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. And Jackson looked at her with these gentle eyes that was reserved for Lydia Martin alone.
For Lydia Martin who he loved, the only person he felt a true connection with, the girl who he couldn't let go of even when they were an ocean apart. And he had returned, perhaps under the guise of many reasons, but Stiles could swear that he had returned for her.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
If Stiles Stilinski loved Lydia Martin, he would let her go.
Even if it hurt.
Title: Numb
Rating: T, PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin
Character/s: Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore
Summary: The pain had always been there, warning him. But for so long he had been numb by its beauty.
Warnings: Tragic
Word Count: 1051
Prompt: #23. this might hurt
Author's Notes: My writing just ran off and became really tragic.
This might hurt.
Those were the words that flashed in his mind when Lydia said yes, yes she would go out with him.
This might hurt, he reminded himself, almost wanting to pull away from her, almost wanting to push her back and say, "This is a mistake. You're going to hurt me."
But Stiles Stilinski had loved her since third grade and the remote chance to be with her for a single day, for a single hour, was so completely intoxicating that he couldn't tear himself away. He wouldn't have been able to cope with the regret if he did so.
Lydia looked up at him and her brows furrowed slightly, like she sensed something wrong, so Stiles pulled her close and soaked himself in the smell of her hair.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he mumbled against her long tresses, into the nape of her neck, along the warmth of her skin.
If Lydia Martin was a drug, Stiles Stilinski never wanted to get clean.
If Lydia Martin was poison, Stiles Stilinski would drink every drop and let his mind wrap around her till his thoughts went black.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
This might hurt.
For a while, Stiles had been able to stomp out the voice. But now it came back with a vengeance when Stiles had his first real fight.
It was stupid and petty, but then it wasn't, because she was his and he was hers and jealousy is a livid, wild thing that he couldn't control.
A new guy on the lacrosse team had been hitting on Lydia and making some pretty obvious and indecent advances. Lydia thrived on that kind of flattery and had mastered dealing with the attention. She insisted it was nothing and a little flirting never hurt anybody.
Except it hurt him.
Stiles tried to be reasonable, he tried to be patient. He tried to accept her for who she was and the competition he would have to face in protecting this delicate relationship.
But when he noticed said guy in the hall, leaning on Lydia's locker and twirling her strawberry blonde hair between his thin fingers, Stiles had had enough. Because people were staring and they were expecting him to do something, to live up to his title as her boyfriend which no one had really accepted in the first place.
So he had strolled over and pull the guy away and there was punching-this might hurt-as was necessary in the war over the most beautiful woman, and he lost.
Naturally.
He lost and they were both sent to the principal's office and Lydia was left staring after them. He was sure that she was furious because he fought for her and made a fool of himself and she wasn't replying to his text messages or his calls, so Stiles sat in front of the principal's office wondering how he could've done better.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
It was after school and Stiles had been released from detention. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he walked the empty halls and thought up four different scenarios in which he could explain himself to his dad. Maybe he should sleep over at Scott's tonight.
The drive home was silent as he kept checking his phone at every red light and stop sign. He had two missed calls from his father and a text message that requested his immediate return home, one missed call from Scott, a text message from a girl who wanted to borrow his notes, and nothing from Lydia.
He pulled into his driveway and slung on his backpack, walking up the front steps and prepping himself for his father's immediate interrogation. A glance at the side window revealed a busted lip and that wasn't really going to help the situation.
He stood in front of the door and took a few deep breaths, working through his excuse and suddenly, the door opened.
This might hurt.
And it was Lydia with a smile and she reached her hand out and pulled him inside.
Apparently she had already explained everything to his dad and the sheriff really had no way of fighting against the articulate and brilliant words of Lydia Martin.
In his room, she apologized for not responding, her phone had died. She wasn't mad, she thought it was heroic. Stupid, but heroic and she gave him soft kisses and asked if he wanted ice and if it was okay if she stayed for dinner.
And so what Stiles had assumed what was going to be their first fight ended anticlimactically-"I love you, Stiles."-as a miscommunication-"You know that, right?"-and all along he had been too paranoid. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
If dating Lydia Martin meant heading into battles waged in her name, Stiles Stilinski would fight till he was pummeled down and then he would get up and fight again.
If loving Lydia Martin meant a year of busted lips and bruised cheeks, Stiles Stilinski would wear the wounds like a warrior.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
This might hurt, his brain screamed when Jackson Whittemore once again roamed the halls of Beacon Hills High School.
Stiles tried to keep calm. He tried to think about the six months he and Lydia had been dating, the slew of supernatural things they dealt with, the night they sleep together and it was so beyond his imagining and-this might hurt.
He watched from afar as Jackson made Lydia laugh and he was holding her books for her as she rummaged through her locker. She glowed as she fixed her lip gloss and straightened her floral-printed dress and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. And Jackson looked at her with these gentle eyes that was reserved for Lydia Martin alone.
For Lydia Martin who he loved, the only person he felt a true connection with, the girl who he couldn't let go of even when they were an ocean apart. And he had returned, perhaps under the guise of many reasons, but Stiles could swear that he had returned for her.
This might hurt.
.
.
.
If Stiles Stilinski loved Lydia Martin, he would let her go.
Even if it hurt.