Stydia Oneshots - Teen Wolf.

His Leading Lady.

Summary: Asshole director + fiery actress = It's complicated.

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"For fucks sake, no!" Stiles Stilinski's voice blared out of his bullhorn obnoxiously for what felt like the thousandth time that hour. Lydia broke the kiss with a growl of annoyance, wishing her stupid prick of a director would shut up and let her act.

"What now?" she snapped, glaring at Stiles with a hand on her hip.

"It's robotic. Forced. Fucking painful to watch. You." He gestured to Aiden. "Do you even know how to kiss a girl?"

Aiden's cheeks colored with anger and embarrassment as he shot back, "Maybe I could if I didn't have douchebag directors constantly interrupting me."

Lydia dropped a soothing touch on his arm.

"He's right. We're the actors, you're the director. So you direct, and we'll act. Just let us do a full run through of the scene without interrupting for once. Maybe then, we'll actually have a feel for it." She stared him down, one eyebrow raised, head cocked to the side, her entire posture screaming defiance.

"Fine," Stiles spat. "Do your fucking run through. It won't change anything. He'll still look constipated, and you'll still look repulsed. So fine, whatever. Fuck, I need coffee." He stalked out of the theater, tossing his beanie onto his chair as he left.

"Asshole," Lydia muttered.

"Can't disagree with you," Aiden said, glaring after him.

"Whatever. We've got ten minutes until he gets back, maximum. Let's use every second." Lydia turned to the rest of the cast. "SCENE FIVE, FROM THE TOP."

They had made it through half of the scene before Stiles returned holding a massive coffee, looking a lot happier as he plopped down into his chair. They were allowed to work in peace until the kiss.

Granted, Aiden wasn't the most talented kisser. He used too much tongue and always tasted weird, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Stiles kept interrupting and she was sick of it.

"No!" Stiles interrupted again, and Lydia felt the urge to kick him in the balls for the thousandth time that morning. Stiles stormed onstage, beanie discarded again as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"What now?" She attempted to sound bored, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was pissing her off.

"It's awful. It's so clearly a stage kiss, and it's entirely unbelievable. Neither of you want to kiss the other. There's zero chemistry. You're actors? How about you act like you legitimately want each other. That might help."

"It's not our fault that the atmosphere isn't right," Lydia snapped. "You're the one who keeps fucking interrupting!"

"It has nothing to do with atmosphere!" Stiles said incredulously. "You're not even pretending to- Alright, you know what?" He turned to Aiden. "Just watch."

Lydia turned to stone as strong hands found her waist, her small gasp of surprise silenced by Stiles' lips on hers. For a moment, she was unable to think, unable to move, entirely unable to process the fact that she was kissing him. And more so, that she liked it.

She wasn't sure when she had moved her hands, but they ended up in his hair as if by magic. All sense of logic or reason had been stolen from her. She completely forgot that people were watching, that she was center-stage, wrapped around her director in a shockingly heated kiss.