Stydia Oneshots - Teen Wolf.

Cookies and Kisses.

For Gabbi. Happy (late) birthday, petal. I love you. Xx

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Summary: Stiles can't say no to either of his girls.

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"Do not tell your mother," Stiles whispered, bringing a finger to his lips. "Or she'll kill me. Possibly."

Thea giggled, fishing around in the cookie jar clumsily. Her eyes - the same seawater green as her mother's - shone with mischief.

Stiles couldn't help but worry about what she would be like in ten years, when she was older and just as beautiful as Lydia had been at fourteen, with the world at her feet and nobody who dared tell her no. If disobeying her mother excited her this much now, god only knew how much drugs and boys would entice her later on. The thrill of breaking the rules, he thought.

Stiles attempted to push it out of his head. This was Thea. Bullheaded, independent, incredibly stubborn Thea. She wouldn't submit to peer pressure like that.

He told himself to switch off the dad reflex. She was his daughter, sure. She was also Lydia's mini me. They were carbon copies with a twenty-year age gap. The only true difference was their hair color; Thea had his dark brown, dead straight hair, not Lydia's strawberry blonde curls.

She was smart, too. With Stiles' knack for puzzles and problems, and Lydia's knack for... everything. Beauty and brains. Four years old, and already a force to be reckoned with.

She reminded him of Lydia constantly. Even with cookie crumbs and melted chocolate chips all over her face - there was a spot of chocolate near her hairline, and Stiles had no idea how it had got there - she was painfully like her mother.

"Shhh!" Thea shushed him earnestly, as if in agreement. She was already tucked into her little pale green bed, looking perfectly content. People always questioned why Thea didn't have much pink or purple in her room. Lydia would look at them coolly, before matter-of-factly informing them that Thea didn't like pink or purple.

Lydia refused to let any form of gender stereotyping affect Thea. For the first three years of her life, Thea's bedroom was a kaleidoscope of different colors, and as she had gotten older, Lydia had let her pick out things for her bedroom. Most of them were in some shade of green.

Thea liked green, and Thea liked sneakers. Every morning, they would watch from the doorway as she went over to her custom-made mini wardrobe (Stiles' father had made it for her as a birthday present when she had turned four) and rummage through the sea of green, blue, and red skirts and dresses. She would find one after a few minutes of looking, wriggle into it, then sit on the floor with one of her many tiny pairs of converse and wait for Stiles to help her put them on.

Lydia was certain that Thea's obsession with sneakers came from her father. Stiles had to admit that she was probably right.

Her sheets were covered in crumbs, and the little girl under the covers was grinning up at him in sugar-fueled glee.

"Daddy, can you read me a story?" She looked up with the smallest hint of a pout, and Stiles wondered how she was able to pull off puppy dog eyes when her irises were a brilliant, gemstone green. He was certain that she had inherited it from Lydia.

"Sure, princess." He sighed in defeat and smiled at his daughter, pulling her favorite gold-embossed fairytale book off its shelf. "Which one are you reading right now?"