being a supervillain (is hard to do)
“Um Mr. Stilinski? Mr. Stilinski? Sir?”
Stiles Stilinski jerked awake, startling the freshman girl who had been prodding him, making her jump back with a small scream. It served her right for waking him up anyways.Glaring at the offending teenager, he blindly reached for his coffee mug, cursing the fact that he was at school and he couldn't actually put alcohol in it. Then he remembered that it was a Monday.
Ah fuck it, he was pouring himself a drink.
“What do you need Prattford?”
“Um, it's Princeton actually sir.”
Stiles snorted to himself. The name fit. The girl was as pretentious as the school she was supposedly named after. Princeton his ass. The family was probably named Peters or something equally bland and then changed it in an effort to seem more affluent or whatever the hell it was social climbers did. Stiles really didn't give a damn, he just wanted to sleep.
“Told you he was Heisenburg.”
Stiles heard the whisper from the back of the room, and he immediately chucked a piece of chalk in the general vicinity, not really caring if it hit the offending student or an innocent. None of them were really innocent in his mind anyways.
“Oi! I heard that! I told you the first day you brats walked in here that references to the show full of inaccuracies, terrible acting, terrible chemistry, and millions of plot holes would not be tolerated!” Stiles didn't add that he was secretly addicted to Breaking Bad; he was just paranoid, and if his students started getting ideas about what he did in his free time, it could ruin him. Teenagers were nosy little pesks, and much more intelligent than people gave them credit for being. Stiles would know, he had been one of them.
“Terrible acting? It won an Emmy!”
“So did the Young and the Restless, but I don't see you carrying a torch for that.” Stiles shot back, knowing that if his students really bothered to use logic, they could tear apart his argument in seconds. For instance, he didn't even know if the Young and the Restless had won a Daytime Emmy, and nor did he really care, but the girl who had jumped to Breaking Bad's defense simply flapped her mouth open and shut like a fish.
“You also said we would make a bomb at some point, but we haven't done that.” Of course it was O'Brien who spoke up. The annoying little shit was clearly trying to be the bane of Stiles' existence, and considering who else was in the running, that said a lot about the kid.
Rubbing his temples and gazing at the stock picture of a bed in the picture frame he had never bothered to fill, Stiles threw up his hands in defeat.
“Fine! You little brats want to make a bomb? Let's make a bomb! Carver! Get the safety goggles! Adams, get the chemiscals! You – whoa.”
Stiles froze, staring at the female Adonis that had apparently appeared magically in his classroom. The gorgeous brunette was staring around, her mouth open, eyes wide with surprise, but Stiles would swear on his life he could detect the slightest bit of amusement in her expression.
“Um, I must have the wrong classroom.”
“No, no!” Stiles said moving forward, and tripping awkwardly over his desk, spinning his arms wildly to try and regain his balance. “Well I mean yes, this is probably the wrong classroom because it's my classroom but I can help. You! I can help you! What do you need help with?”
Stiles was bright red already, but the sniggers coming from his students only made him blush harder. But the mysterious goddess just smiled at him and holy mother of dimples. He might actually melt, good lord almighty.
“I'm Allison Argent. The new art teacher?”
He nodded eagerly, as if he had any idea what that actually meant, but he was trying to figure out where his brain cells were.
“Hehe, Allison Argent, art. Alliteration.”
Stiles just about groaned out loud, but his students were already doing it for him. Alliteration? Really? Could he be any lamer? Thankfully, Allison just giggled.
“Um yeah, that's me. I'm just, I'm looking for room 113? Would you happen to know whwere that is?”
If the gods of all things suave, charming, and flirtatious had it against him, lady luck certainly was on his side. Stiles eyes lit up and he nodded, trying desperately not to embarrass himself any further.
“Yeah, yeah that's right across from this classroom actually.” Right across form me.
Allison smiled again, and fuck, Stiles could write symphonies about those dimples. “Cool! I guess that makes us neighbors then! Thanks for helping me out. I'll see you around, um...?”
“Stilinski! Stiles Stilinski.”
Unlike most people, Allison didn't giggle or smile wider when she heard his name, she simply smiled and gave an adorable little wave, and walked out of the room, but not soon enough to miss O'Brien's obnoxious voice calling out to the entire class,
“Mr. Stilinski has no game!”
Angry and red faced, Stiles spun around on his heel and pointed his finger at the classroom. “Paper and pens now! Pop essay, you have thirty minutes and no outside sources! And I swear to high heavens if I see one of you on your smarter-than-you devices or hear you trying to get the answers, I will have you doing menial labor for the rest of your high school education!”
Sometimes it was good to be the teacher.