Stiles had, had her sexual epiphany early in life. Granted she was pretty sure most people hadn't taken her seriously when, in the third grade, she'd declared that she was going to marry Lydia Martin, but that was beside the point. The point was that she had long ago acknowledged and accepted her love of lady parts. So really she shouldn't be freaking out about this, like, at all. It was just a crush. She could deal with crushes; especially unrequited crushes. Cause yeah, Lydia?
And into Jackson.
Which really didn't say much about Lydia's taste since Jackson was the biggest douchebag and suckiest liar Stiles had ever met (both of which pretty much fell into the "very bad things column" when said douchebag had been turned into a werewolf. Seriously what had Devon been thinking?) Not that Stiles had much room to talk considering that she currently seemed to have a perpetual lady boner going on for one Devon Hale, resident alpha and all around terrifying werewolf.
Who was also ridiculously hot.
Devon wasn't hot the way Lydia was (not that she couldn't be if she wanted to be; she'd just have to spend less time running around the woods hunting down innocent little bunny rabbits and more time doing her make-up or whatever it was Lydia did to look like she'd just stepped out of the cover of Vogue and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now she was imagining Devon in low cut shirts and tight mini-dresses and heels and she so did not need whatever fantasy those mental images were going to cook up, cause yeah, had she mentioned the perpetual lady boner she already had going on?) she was more comic book super lady than covergirl. It totally worked for her though, because Devon? Could be covered in sweat and dirt and God even blood and she'd still look about a million times better than most women would at their most dolled up.
Seriously how was her life fair?
The worst part of all of this was that Stiles was beginning to notice a trend here. She had a type. Apparently she had a thing for assertive, take charge (read: mildly to extremely terrifying badasses) who were completely out of her league, go figure.
It wasn't that Stiles was hideous or anything. She didn't have a hump back or a lazy eye or any number or other deformities she could have ended up with seeing as she was apparently the sidekick in a supernatural drama, but she wasn't a Lydia, or an Allison, and she certainly wasn't a Devon. Her hair seemed to have a mind of its own most days, and she'd always preferred comfort to high fashion, but she wasn't so ridden with teenage angst that she couldn’t appreciate her good points too. She'd been pretty lucky so fair in the pimple department and she had rocking boobs if she said so herself (she'd tried to get Scott to confirm it for her once but he'd turned a pretty interesting shade of red and spluttered so much that she'd dropped the conversation for fear that he might have an asthma attack.) So yeah, she was pretty, but pretty in an average sort of way, which was leagues bellow the kind of pretty Lydia Martin and Devon Hale were.
As if all that wasn't enough Stiles was pretty sure Devon had to know about her little crush, because, yeah, super werewolf senses. So unless of course Devon just thought Stiles was perpetually horny she totally knew. Which, okay, to be fair could totally be a thing given that she was a teenager and, you know, hormones. Stiles didn't think she was that lucky though so clearly Devon had to know. She'd at least spared Stiles the embarrassment of ever actually mentioning it though so Stiles was pretty much eternally thankful for that. It wasn't like she could just avoid Devon till the humiliation subsided after all, since apparently, human or not, she was part of the pack by transitive property of Scott.
Which was why Stiles was here.
In the woods.
If Stiles wasn't absolutely positive that Devon wouldn't actually follow through with any of her threats Stiles wouldn't be here (probably) but that didn't make the place any less creepy. Especially not when months earlier Stiles had watched Devon kill (Jesus, she'd even helped) her crazy uncle just outside this house. Stiles knocked on the front door of Devon's horror house (Stiles wondered how Devon could even live in the place where her family had all died, if for no other reason than the fact that Stiles seriously doubted the old Hale house had electricity. Or running water. Or a roof. Which left Stiles wondering where Devon showered and okay, yeah, so not a road she needed to go down when there was a werewolf within scenting distance) but didn't bother to wait for an answer before going in. Stiles figured that if Devon really didn't want her here then she'd know by now.
Freaky werewolf senses.
"Yo Dev-" her tongue suddenly felt too large for her mouth and she was tripping over syllables and sounds and oh God why was it always her "-on"
Stiles swallowed thickly, trying to stop herself from staring but it was really, really difficult when Devon was dropping down from the door frame, hair sticking to her face and neck in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants and a sports bra.
Of course she would walk in on Devon working out. "Jesus Xena couldn't you have put on like a shirt or something?" She really hoped she didn't sound as strained as she thought she did, but Stiles didn't have much confidence in that. Devon just raised an eyebrow at her (a little on the thicker side, but not unpleasantly so, and that didn't surprise Stiles. She really couldn't imagine Devon plucking) scenting the air in that way that was both a little creepy, and somehow sort of hot (how was this Stiles life? How?)
"What are you doing here Stiles?" Devon growled, and Stiles was always surprised by how smooth her voice was. No matter how many times she heard Devon speak she somehow always imagined her voice would be more gravely than it was, rough, like Christine Bale as Batman. Devon would make a kickass Batwoman. Batwoman was a lesbian right? Not that Stiles knew for sure Devon was a lesbian. She hoped she was, or you know at least bi. Not that either of those things would really improve Stiles chances of course. Not when being part of the pack meant that she was constantly hanging around girls like Lydia and Allison and even pretty boys like Jackson, and had to be compared to those standards. The more she thought about it the more she realized just how ridiculously pretty all her friends were (and when had she started to consider Jackson and Lydia friends rather than dick and goddess respectively?) Totally not fair.
"Um." Stiles brain seemed to falter for a moment. Why was it only when she was under pressure to speak that her near constant stream of babble ran dry? "Jackson! Right! Yeah, so you need to have a talk with Jackson because he seriously almost wolfed out on a guy at school today. Not that the asshat didn't deserve it for calling Danny a fag," Stiles liked Danny. He was one of the few other “out” people she knew, and despite being best friends with Jackson he was a pretty cool guy. She wondered sometimes just why a guy like Danny would be friends with Jackson, but she could only assume he stayed friends with Jackson for the same reasons she stayed friends with Scott (despite his frequent Allison related stupors and those nasty incidents where he almost killed her.) "but he called him that from like the other side of the cafeteria. You know, like, way too far away for a normal, non-wolfy person to hear?"
Devon growled low in her throat and ran a hand through her short hair in a way that had Stiles reminding herself not to stare. Not that the reminder stopped her, but hey, at least she'd tried. God, as if it wasn't hard enough to focus when Devon wasn't practically half naked in front of her, every movement showing off those very nice muscles that Devon had clearly worked for. It didn't occur to Stiles that months ago she'd have done a double take at the fact that she'd gone out of her way to report the latest wolfy mishaps to Devon.
In the months since Peter's death it had become natural for Stiles to keep tabs on the werewolves (she'd already being doing it for Scott since he'd first gotten the bite) and then report in to Devon. At first it had been Devon showing up in her room (Stiles thought she should probably do something about her window given the frequency with which werewolves seemed to like to enter her house through it, but somehow it constantly got pushed to the bottom of her to do list) every week or so demanding to know if anything had happened that she needed to know about. Stiles didn't know why Devon didn't just go to the wolves themselves but it was questions like that, that tended to get her thrown against walls. Somewhere along the line Stiles had just started going directly to Devon anytime something was up, and now it was practically routine.
Devon pinned her with a hard stare and it was all Stiles could do not to squirm as she thought of normal, human green eyes that somehow managed to be as intimidating (and she totally wasn't secretly thinking any other verbs to describe them, nope, not at all) as glowing red ones. "Tell me everything." It was a command, plain and simple and while Stiles seemed to make it a habit to defy authority when it suited her, she plopped herself down at the mostly sturdy table in the charred remains of the Hale's kitchen to hash things out. Which was how Stiles found herself sharing a pizza (she was pretty surprised anyone would deliver to the middle of the woods let alone a house that was probably condemned, but she wasn't going to complain) with Devon (who was still in those stupid loose sweat pants and sports bra, Jesus Christ) as they discussed the pack and training ideas.
It never crossed her mind that the half of the pizza Devon seemed to be casually avoiding was covered in her favorite toppings.