𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒

Desire

WARNING: very sexual, and i don't know how to write a make out session so :)
_________

AU; stiles is a tattoo artist, and when Lydia gets a tattoo, they get close

____________

THIRD PERSON POV

DONT PLAY THE MUSIC YET

Stiles etched a Spider-Man mask in his English notebook, his All Time Low sweatshirt hoodie shadowing his face as the teacher spoke about grammar he already knew. He didn't need the same thing being repeated. He had read the English textbook already. Actually, he had read all the textbooks given to him. He didn't have to hang out with anyone. He didn't have plans. He was the smartest guy in the school if you asked anyone. Just no one talked to him because he was 'weird'.

If having tattoos and a little amount of friends counted, then people labelled Stiles correctly.

Weird.

Stiles didn't really have any friends. He didn't need any. He didn't talk to anyone, and only knew two people he actually went to school with. He'd honestly rather be alone; nestled under a blanket watching Star Wars or sitting in front of the fire place drawing or reading.

He pushed up his Ray Ban glasses that dipped down his button nose while he drew, irritated about how glasses could be so annoying. He shaded in the eye part of the drawing, lightly sketching where a light reflection would be. He positioned his arms so he could get the perfect stroke. He shifted the pencil in his left hand, pushing up his glasses with his right. He finished the bold shading, moving the paper all around his desk to sketch the actual mask itself, many different lines in very different directions in very different styles. He contrasted the lines, some darker and some lighter.

He licked his lip ring, his mouth curling into a smile as he admired his work that wouldn't be put anywhere. He didn't care what kind of tattoo he had to do - he did whatever he was requested to do. He loved drawing, and he didn't care whether he was called gay or not. He hated labels, so he never gave them.

Stiles flipped the notebook page, glancing up for a moment to see what the class was doing. When he saw that the class was listening to whatever Ms. Blake had on the board, he immediately went back to his new, clean page of notebook. With her voice being drowned out by Stiles' mind, he began to sketch a dock, outlining the key strokes with his dull pencil that was short and not even as long as his pinky.

"Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles stopped what he was doing and looked up, pushing the glasses up his nose and licking his lip ring, which tasted like warm metallic. The students that surrounded him looked at him, judging him just because of the marks on his skin. They gave him disgusted looks, the corner of their lips curled in an unsatisfying snarl. Stiles briefly glanced at them with his honey glimmered eyes before looking back up to the teacher. He tried to hide his anger under the soft and confused expression he wore on his face.

"Please follow along with the rest of the class. And take your hoodie off, it's against school rules." She scolded sternly, turning back around to face the board. Some people snickered at him when he closed his book and took off his hoodie. His tattoos on his collar bone and neck stood out, some kids getting a real good look at it. Stiles narrowed his eyes at them, warning them. They looked away, scared of him because of his marks.

It wasn't that Stiles was a mean guy - he was anything but mean. Some people thought he was depressed and different just because of his tattoos and piercings. They didn't really know him, so they couldn't have the right to judge him. But they did. Nobody would talk to him because he's 'the bad guy' just because he was tattoos.