#And w/ a kiss. Danny put his robe and got out of their room for some food downstairs. While Steve still looked astonished

[sti1es]

I thought this event was tommorow but uhhh apparently not 😭 sorry if this feels kinda rushed, here’s a steo hogwarts au •-• @steoevents

Stiles has a crush. A really bad, bang-my-head-into-a-wall level crush. It’s not the intensity of his feelings that matters, he can deal with getting flustered every time he walks into the common room... more or less. The real problem is the subject of his cursed attraction (and no, he hasn’t literally been cursed to like him, though that would be a really good excuse). Theo Raeken, Slytherin’s top Quidditch player, out of all people, is Stiles’s unfortunate infatuation. At least what he hopes is an infatuation and not full-on love. It makes sense: Theo is all you could want in a guy - perfect hair, a perfect smile, and rock hard abs. Not to mention his disgustingly charming personality. Stiles hates him more than anything, but it’s impossible not to join the “marry me Theo Raeken” club that basically every fourth, fifth and sixth year is a part of. At one point Stiles genuinely considered making that an actual organisation. It never happened.

The point is, Stiles doesn’t want to blush every time they make eye contact across the dinner table. He doesn’t want to pretend watching Theo throw his shirt off in the morning doesn’t make him gape. He wishes he could ignore the feeling in the pit of his stomach that manifests every time Theo flirts with Tracy, but he can’t stop wishing he could kiss that stupid jerk’s smirk right off his face.

Stiles was hoping that his feelings would wear off over the summer, and they sort of did. He spent a lot of time ranting about Theo to Lydia, his best friend who graduated Hogwarts a year earlier. She’s kind of a genius. After getting all his thoughts about Theo’s biceps, Theo’s suggestive comments, Theo’s jawline, and more of Theo’s biceps off his chest, he really expected everything to fade. And yet here he is, coming back to school on the first day of sixth year, crush in full swing after he glimpsed Theo at the train platform. He was in his muggle clothes - a leather jacket, for christ’s sake - and he fucking winked at Stiles after catching him staring. The asshole definitely does it on purpose.

Stiles feels himself blushing furiously as his thoughts return to the present. Danny, who’s sitting alongside Erica, Allison and Jackson in their train cabin, regards him with raised brows: “You okay?”

Stiles shakes his head slightly, both as an answer and as a way of ridding his brain of all the unholy images within. He desperately wishes he could text Lydia right now, but of course Hogwarts doesn’t allow his cellphone to be brought along. Fucking fantastic.

“He’s right. You’re weirdly quiet today. What’s up?” Allison asks, seriously concerned like the amazing friend she is. Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry. I just can’t stop thinking about wanting Theo Raeken’s tongue down my throat, don’t mind me, would be the honest answer, but Stiles replies with: “I dunno, I’m just worried about my dad. You know how his health can get.”

He’s so going to hell.

By the time they reach their destination, Stiles has more or less forgotten about his dilemma. They ride the boats across the lake and then enter the school for the sorting ceremony. Stiles pulls at his robes, itchy green tie already starting to bother him. Seriously, why is Hogwarts so dramatic?

During breakfast the next morning, Stiles waits patiently for his owl to arrive. Through the open windows of the dining hall, he watches it swoop down gracefully. It has white feathers, almost blue, and has a bright red envelope in its clutches. “Thanks Roscoe,” he feeds it a bit of his toast before carefully removing the letter. It’s from Lydia, of course. She promised she’d write. Almost immediately after touching it, the envelope explodes in a flurry of crimson paper. Jackson smirks from across the table. “Stilinski got a howler. Great job.”

“W-“ a wave of horror crashes through him as Lydia’s voice projects through the entire room.

“Theo Raeken, if you’re listening, this is for you. Stiles has been pining after you for a year and I’m sick of hearing about it. Please hook up already so I can stop listening to rants about the veins on your arms. Thank you!” Stiles has never felt more humiliated in his life. “Oh, and don’t pretend you don’t like him back!” She adds, almost like an afterthought. The howler promptly rips itself into shreds.

Everyone in the hall is snickering, and Stiles can’t bring himself to look up. He’s hiding his head in his folded arms, his cheeks burning up, and wishing a hole could open up in the ground and swallow him up completely. When he finally opens his eyes, Theo is staring directly at him. His expression is one of shock, but not without a healthy dose of smugness. Stiles wants to punch that stupid smirk right off. But then again, Stiles is the one who put him on the spot, even if inadvertently. He gets up, face still flushed, and practically sprints out of the hall.

Footsteps follow him down the corridor after he hears great wooden doors slam shut. When he turns around, Theo is standing there, holding in a laugh. “Did you really have to do all that?” he chuckles, perfect teeth shining through his smile.

“Shut it, do you really think I would’ve-“ his glare is interrupted by the other Slytherin stepping forward, grasping his face in his hands, and crashing their lips together. Stiles wants to be surprised, but it was a telltale sign when Theo didn’t jump over the table and box him in the nose. He tastes like maple syrup and coffee. The kiss is somewhere in between rough and lazy - if that’s even possible - since Theo’s tongue is exploring his mouth at an eager but leisurely pace. His lips are soft and plush, and just as Stiles brings his hands to the other boy’s chest, a voice echoes through the hall.

“Hey, Stiles, are you oka- OH MY GOD,” It’s Scott, Stiles’s friend from Gryfinndor, who’s now running away with a hand over his eyes. Theo exhales in amusement before intertwining their fingers.

“We’ve got class now, anyway. Let’s go,”

They don’t drop eachother’s hands.