His mother would smile, ruffle his umber-brown hair, and if she hasn’t grown tired of hearing her own voice enough yet, tells the tale that sounds too much like another Blockbuster romance. A triad of triangles under the right side of her collarbone that fit perfectly in the spaces inside the black octagon on the left side of her husband’s chest.Īt least twice a month when he was younger, Stiles would ask her to retell of how his parents met. These girls are intelligent, intellectual, and proper. Those girls are modest, polished, eloquent, connected, sophisticated and spoiled products of the lavish and of hundred dollar investments by parents with too much to spend-parents who you’ll hear have a new squeeze in a week after the divorce files. He dates girls who wear cashmere and lacy lingerie, who leave your bed smelling of lavender and release and that bitter, tangy aftertaste of snuffed lecherous fire. Stiles likes girls that have that I know what you did last weekend kind of snarky smirk, and a model’s walk. Girls who style their hair in French braids, expensive gold and silver dangling from their ears that costs more than your entire wardrobe, and practically kill themselves in stilettos every day girls who likes skirts, rompers, mini dresses that add to their figure and make her backside look so damn. He likes girls who leave red lipstick stains on cups, who prefer dark Brazilian roast-organic, whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top because they’re not some type of hooligan-in favor of tea, or like more consumers, Powerade. Stiles likes girls who come from rich, polished marble, and families alumni from private preparatory schools with wait-lists queued longer than most restaurants in New York. Girls who aren’t tall but who won’t hesitate to cut you down, to grind her heels into your spine if you backtalk girls who date winners and captains, not almosts and second bests. Girls who have curly hair and wear Hermes, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada who carry handbags in the crook of their elbow and have fur boots bought exclusively. It’s short girls, five foot three inches tall, plum-purple acrylics fashioned with rhinestones and abstract accents, and lurid, enticing, kissable lips. He is unsure, but soon the Nogitsune takes over. Stiles' type are pretty girls with expensive tastes and who could kill a man with her heels. She holds his stares with a look of foreboding before turning, eyes large, then dark ponytail swaying. Stiles catches that she has a mark on the back of her bicep once, but Kira pulls her sleeve down before he could see. She’d smile shyly and-īut she gravitates toward Scott instead. And then he’d swallow and say something stupid or too serious. Kira has thick, ebony hair that sways in her eyes when she’s nervous and tilts her head, and has dimples that makes a tug pull somewhere in Stiles’ thorax just a little bit more every time. There's a new girl named Kira who is quirky and shy and imbalanced. He sees Lydia, the light of his young adult life-īut then, there's Kira. He sees that Lydia’s mark is a pretty little indented scar on her ring finger and his gut twists into an unsure knot. Girls who wear stilettos, skirts, rompers, and mini dresses girls who are intelligent and proper. Stiles has a type: short, strawberry blondes with rhinestones and lurid, enticing, kissable lips. Teen Wolf AUs Stats: Published: Words: 4832 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 3 Kudos: 68 Bookmarks: 4 Hits: 1856
#Radio silence teen wolf series#
← Previous Work Part 3 of the The Clock Opera series Next Work → this one is more closer to canon at least.doesn't end quite like how you'd expect.
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