l - teen wolf imagines

Stiles- Mistletoe, Huh?

11. "You keep persisting that you need my help with something, but when I finally give in and follow you we coincidentally find ourselves under some mistletoe."

13. "We broke up and I came over to bring all your shit back, but now we're snowed in and, god damn it, I'll be fine driving back, just let me leave."

You tried to tighten your coat around yourself as you trudged up Stiles' front steps, already covered with a thin layer of snow, but you struggled to keep a grip on the huge box in your hands. Your breath puffed out in front of you in the chill, but the cold wasn't the only thing that was bitter.
You didn't even want to be there, but you couldn't stand the cardboard box full of shit that Stiles had left at your house. An old lacrosse ball, an extra jersey, and a forgotten flannel were just some of the things that he had strewn across your room ages ago, only for you to eventually toss them hopelessly into that box.
He hadn't asked for any of it back when he broke up with you three weeks ago, but you couldn't stand to look at it anymore. You could have just shoved it into the back of your closet, but you knew there would be no forgetting about it until it was back in Stiles' hands.
You rang the doorbell as best you could, fighting the urge to just drop the box and run. You were actually considering it when the door swung open, revealing Stiles looking tired, sad, and...was he crying?
"Uh..." you began.
Anything you might have been thinking of saying seemed to slip right out of your head and drift away, right along with the falling snowflakes. You had come here angry and that hadn't just disappeared, but your expression softened at his red-rimmed eyes.
"Is everything okay?" he asked suddenly. "Why are you here?"
You blinked at his last question, a spark of hurt washing through you.
"I came to bring all your shit back," you said bitterly, suddenly angry again. "I don't really need it cluttering up my room."
Stiles swallowed. "You really didn't have to do that. You came all the way out here in the snow?"
"I was sick of looking at it," you told him, shoving it into his hands. "But it's back with you now, so it's not my problem anymore. That's all I wanted."
You turned to leave, but to your surprise, he reached out to touch your arm. "Y/n, wait."
You jerked away from his touch like it had shocked you, and Stiles recoiled in surprise. It was only in that tiny moment that he realized how much he had hurt you, but your eyes quickly glazed over in anger. He knew it was cover. He knew you were pretending to be a lot angrier than you were, but he also knew you, and you would never admit that.
Stiles sighed and quickly pulled his hand away. "What about your stuff? You've got like four months worth of clothes here."
"I'll...I'll get it another time," you said. "Or you can keep it. I don't care, Stiles."
"But-"
"I said I don't care!" you snapped.
You took a step backward, but the porch was slippery with snow, and you found your feet sliding out from under you. Stiles quickly dropped the box and darted forward to grab you, steadying you with a knowing look.
"I can't let you leave like this."
"Like what?" you demanded. "Pathetic? Angry? Well, maybe I'm angry that my boyfriend of six months decided to drop me one day with no explanation, okay, Stiles?"
"I...I just meant the weather," he choked.
"Oh," you said, feeling your cheeks begin to grow hot. "Right. Well, my car will be fine, Stiles-"
"But will you?" he asked.
"Why do you care?" you demanded suddenly.
"Okay, maybe I broke up with you," he demanded. "But you can't actually think I'd let you drive home in all this snow...alone."
"Actually, I can," you told him. "I'll be fine. I swear."
"Y/n, no-"
"Stiles, yes-"
"No way-"
"God damn it, Stiles!" you cried. "I'll be fine driving back. Just let me leave!"
Stiles froze, listening to nothing more than the sound of his own heartbeat and the silence of the snow. He couldn't hide the wounded look on his face, and when you saw it, you suddenly felt guilty, even though he was the one who had hurt you.
"You hate me that much, huh?" he asked softly.
"I don't hate you," you told him quietly. "I was hurt. I still am."
"I get that," he told you. "I totally get that. But can you just please come inside? I swear I'll let you leave when the roads are clear."
"That could take all night-" you protested.
"You could always sleep here," he suggested.
"Stiles, I don't think-"
"It's just a suggestion," he told you. "Now come on. You're freezing, and so am I."
He bent down and grabbed the box he had dropped, lifting it into his arms and looking at you with raised eyebrows. He turned to head inside without waiting for an answer, and with a reluctant sigh, you followed him. You started to take off your boots as he shut the front door, and as you set them on a rumpled towel, it finally occurred to you to ask about what you had seen earlier.
"So why were you crying?" you asked him quietly.
Stiles frowned as he set the box down on the couch. "Oh, I was watching The Force Awakens. Yeah. The last part always gets me. You know that."
You frowned. Stiles was a good liar, but something in his eyes told you that this wasn't quite true. "Okay."
"What?" he asked. "You don't believe me?"
"Stiles, come on," you said. "We were dating. You think I can't pick up on it when you're upset about something else besides your childhood hero dying?"
Stiles was silent. You could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek nervously, but he never responded to your question. He held his hands out for your coat and you gave it to him, watching as he draped it over the couch. "You want some hot chocolate?"
"You don't have to do this," you told him. "I can still leave."
"I'm not just kicking you out into the cold," he said firmly. "And I know you're freezing. I was just about to make some anyway, so it doesn't mean anything."
You frowned. "Right."
"Wait, I didn't mean it like that-"
"Yeah you did," you said, hurt bleeding into your voice. "Clearly nothing that happened meant anything to you."
"Woah, okay, that is not true," he protested. "Y/n, I was torn-"
"You were torn?" you demanded. "Stiles you broke up with me! I thought we were fine, okay? I had no idea that anything was wrong, and then you started canceling dates because Scott needed your help with god knows what, and all those murders started, and then that fucking giant bear mauling everyone at the charity game..."
You trailed off, expecting him to say something, but he was quiet. You shook your head bitterly. If he wasn't talking, you were going to continue, because you had a lot to say. Three weeks worth of anger and confusion began to stream from your lips, and once it started, it wouldn't stop.
"You were pulling away from me," you stated. "And I couldn't tell if it was because of all the weird shit happening or if you just didn't want me anymore. I was okay with that at first. I just wanted you to tell me. And then you did, and all I wanted to know was why."
Your voice began to crack, and tears started to roll down your face. It was awful and humiliating, spilling your heart out to someone who had hurt you so much, but you needed to do it. Stiles looked like he was about to start crying too, but you just kept talking when he opened his mouth.
"I didn't understand. I-I still don't understand. Everything was fine and then you were just pushing me away, and I just...I don't even know what I did. Whatever it was, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
You hastily wiped your eyes and darted forward to grab your coat. You didn't care what he wanted. You couldn't stay like this, not after you had just broken down in front of him like that.
"No, Y/n, don't-" he began, reaching for you.
You brushed off his touch and tried to put on your coat with shaky hands, but you seemed too upset to even do that.
"Stop-" you croaked, but Stiles was already reaching for you.
He wrapped his hands around your shaking ones and held them firmly. "I am so sorry."
You shook your head. "You can't help how you feel-"
"No," he said. "No, I can't, but I didn't want to break up with you. I didn't stop loving you. I never got over you."
"Stiles, this isn't funny," you told him, trying to pull away. "I get that you feel bad for me, but you don't have to do this."
"I don't," he insisted. "Please, just hear me out. I thought I was doing the right thing by breaking up with you. There's so much you don't know about this town, about me and my friends. I didn't want you to know, because I didn't want to put you in danger. I didn't want you to get hurt."
"What?" you whispered.
"I want to explain," he promised. "And I will, but I need Scott here to do it, otherwise you might not believe me. You'd probably run away screaming. Actually, you still might run away screaming, even with him here.
You simply blinked at him, and he continued. "The point is, I thought I was making the right call. I thought I was protecting you, but you still got hurt anyway. You're not the one who should be apologizing. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who made the mistake. I'm the idiot here, and I should be apologizing to you."
"Stop it," you whispered. "If this is some sick joke-"
"I would never do that," he swore. "You know I would never do that. I've been wrecked, Y/n. You can ask Scott and Lydia, or even my dad. He's given me enough shit for breaking up with you anyway. I wanted to ignore him, but he was right. It didn't help anyone, and it just made both of us miserable. I was crying earlier because I was thinking about how much I wanted to talk to you."
"Stiles-"
"I wanted you to be here," he rambled. "I wanted you to make me laugh, or to tell me I was being an idiot, or even smack some sense into me. And then you showed up here, on my porch, like you just knew I needed you...and now you probably think I'm pathetic."
He pulled his hands away from yours and wiped his eyes, turning away, but you reached out to place your hand on his shoulder. "Stiles. You're not pathetic. I didn't stop loving you. I just thought you stopped loving me. You have to know that."
He swallowed. "Well, I do now."
You shook your head in disbelief, and stepped forward to grab him by the collar. You began to pull him closer, but Stiles held up his hands. "Oh, wait, wait! Y/n-"
"Seriously?" you asked, raising your eyebrows.
"I need you to come with me," he told you.
"What?" you asked, confusion washing over your face.
"I, uh, I need your help with something," he said.
"You've got to be kidding me," you told him.
"No, seriously, just follow me."
Stiles grabbed your hand and pulled you after him before you could protest, but you figured this night could have ended much worse.
"Close your eyes," he commanded.
You did exactly as he said as he tugged you down the hallway, but soon he was grabbing you by the shoulders and steadying you in front of him.
"Okay, open."
You opened your eyes and glanced around, only to find that you were standing in the doorway of Stiles' kitchen. "Uh..."
"Look up," he told you.
You blinked and did what he said, and when you saw the green leaves hanging above you, you felt a smile forming on your lips. You opened your mouth to make some smartass remark, but before you could get it out, Stiles was grabbing your face and pressing his lips onto yours.
You had to hand it to him. After weeks of being heartbroken, this was a pretty sweet way to make it up to you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and when you finally broke for air, Stiles was grinning like an idiot.
"Alright, I have to admit," you breathed. "That was pretty smooth. Mistletoe, huh?"
"It was my dad's idea," he admitted. "Well, sort of. He just hung it up, kind of glared at me, and said 'If you ever decide to get your head out of your ass and invite Y/n over again'."
You laughed. "Really?"
"Really. So...you want that hot chocolate, or...?"
"After that, how can I say no?" you asked him.
"Come on," he said with a grin.
You followed Stiles into the kitchen and watched as he boiled the water for the hot chocolate. You lifted yourself up onto the counter and made fun of him as he ripped open one of the packets a little too enthusiastically and dusted himself in chocolate powder. You laughed at him until he moved between your dangling legs and began to tickle you, and by the time the kettle whistled, you were too lost in his lips to even think about hot chocolate.