#beacondrawn

“Who are you? I’m Aurora!” she said in her typically perky, excited voice she reserved for everyone but her mother.

Scott waited patiently outside of Allison’s door. He rang the doorbell and waited. He straightened his shirt and looked around. He looked at his phone and saw the text that he sent that he was there. The teen was pretty excited about this. He wanted this to be perfect. He got flowers that he knew Allison would like and tried to look presentable without being too formal. He still waited.

Stiles hadn’t planned on coming to this party but Scott had dragged him along, not knowing how thankful he would be for it eventually. Shuffling through the room overly crowded with people, Stiles found the door that led to the balcony. The large amount of people made him a little anxious so he needed some air. Opening the door, Stiles walked out to the balcony before accidentally bumping into a stranger. “Sorry about that.” Placing his hand on the strawberry blonde stranger’s shoulder, Stiles looked down at her and smiled softly.

[ sms ; peter ] and how is my favorite wolf? I’m hoping in the mood for a get together.

[ sms : Chris ] But by all means, practice with me.

        ---         she’d been waiting in his room to surprise him, dressed in lingerie lydia had helped her pick out. it was scott’s birthday and she wanted to make up for hurting him a few days prior. of course - she had another present hidden in the closet, only to be given after he’d seen the initial present. allison waits with baited breath as she hears him coming up the stairs and fiddling with the door knob before opening the door. a smirk falls on flirty features when she sees him, cheeks flushed red as she quirks a brow at him. ❮ happy birthday, scott. ❯ // @beacondrawn

She swallows hard and follows his gaze to the apartment. She lets out a heavy breath before she turns off the car, “Okay...it’s now or never.” She opens her door and they make their way up the front stairs of the brownstone and press the buzzer for Stiles’ apartment, waiting for him to answer. 

Lydia buries her nose in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “S’okay,” she mutters, sleep still evident in her voice. She drapes one leg over his own, “You’re getting in late. Wanna talk about it?”