thenogitsuneandstiles-deactivat:
Stiles was slammed against the wall, the fiery red headed girl he didn’t even know the name of smashing her lips to his. How had he ended up here? He didn’t know. He remembered being angry that Lydia had dissed him (once again) and walking into a bar, talking to a cute girl, they had danced after a few drinks…
And now he was up against a wall, their bodies pressed together, lips molding into each others and somehow, he loved it. Because he wasn’t worrying, or even caring frankly, about the other red head who had consumed him. Right now, at least, he probably wouldn’t know who she was if she walked up to him.
“Have you always wanted to go to big schools?” he asked her, a smile still held on his lips.
“What does that even mean? Beacon Hills is hardly a big school. I could have gone to Stanford or something.” She rolled her eyes.
“What I meant is like college, university and that.” He scoffed, a joke-like look to his face. “Then why didn’t you go to Stanford?”
“Stanford doesn’t offer the degree I want. Besides,” she shuddered delicately, “there are too many people there. Waaaaay too many people.”