ride [ stiles stilinski. ]

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   I PURSED MY LIPS as Stilinski and McCall led me in front of a tattoo parlor. My legs shivered slightly and goosebumps arose, mainly because I was probably dumb enough to wear those stupid athletic shorts with nike pro spandex. Not that smart. But whatever, this is for Scott. 

   Speaking of Scott, I noticed how much we grew as a trio. After the whole werewolf ordeal, yeah, I was kind of afraid but I got over it and it's pretty cool to say "Hey, I have a werewolf as a best friend!"

   Not that I would be able to say that to anyone, but it was good enough for me to say it in the mirror.

   "So," I drawled out, "What tattoo are you planning on getting?" I asked Scott as we walked in the parlor, Stiles on my right side.

   Scott paused and smiled down at me, yes down because I'm only 5'2, and quickly flashed me a photo of two lines.

   I raised my eyebrows at the photo while Stiles snorted slightly, "Wow, Scott, that's really original. I wonder how anyone could possibly draw that?"

   It was two black lines.

   "Back to kindergarten we go," I muttered, Scott shooting me a glare because we both know he heard me. I shrugged, turning my back to them and shoving my hands into the pockets of a Beacon Hills Lacrosse Varsity jacket with 'Stilinski' written in bold on the back with the number 24. It was Stiles', from the first time I stayed at his place that weekend. He didn't mind that I kept it, because he mainly wore flannels and stuff.

   As I heard Scott and Stiles going to the back, I spaced off, walking around the brim of the parlor. Pictures and designs of tattoos lined up through the walls. 

   A thump resounded from the other room, to which I quickly walked back, "Scott? Stiles? You all good in-"

   "He fainted," The tattoo artist said to me, smirking and taking a glance down at the pansy laying on the ground. I rolled my eyes, smiling slightly.

I turned back around, leaving Stiles on the ground. Scott just shook his head at me, smiling too. "Are you thinking of getting one?" Scott asked me, the tattoo artist humming in agreement and looking up at me for my answer.

Pursing my lips, my eyes drifted back over to the wall, and two designs stuck out. "Yeah-" I began, before stating more stronger and making eye contact with both males, "Yeah. I want one."

 "Alright, once I finish his, I'll get started with yours," The artist said, going back to his work.

Scott nodded his head, "So are excited for the first day?"

"No."

"At all?"

"No."

"Not even-"

"Scott!" I interrupted, "Is anyone ever going to love school?"

He frowned, pausing to think about it, "Well, I mean, there is people-"

I groaned loudly, throwing him a deadpan look, "Listen up, Scott. Nobody should love school. It's like hell. It is hell. It's what always keeps you up at night, it's what stresses you out, gives you gray hair-" Scott was frowning, running his other hand through his hair, "-And it will give you so much acne you won't have enough bags to cover your poor, oily, stressed out face."

"I don't have acne," Scott frowned, confused. In my mind, I pictured him as a little puppy.

Closing my eyes and letting out a frustrated sigh, I shot a glare at him, "Well I do, idiot. Acne is not fun. It is not something you want. Be happy you don't have any or I swear to god- I will murder you in your sleep."