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It doesn’t take that long for Stiles to figure out that his girlfriend is a kleptomaniac.
He’s not exactly surprised, he figures it has something to do with her life as a coyote, taking things and bringing them to her home was something that she no doubt had become accustomed to. He supposes he should just be happy that it’s only his stuff that she seems to have a knack for stealing, it’s not like she’s going and robbing convenience stores or breaking into vending machines.
That would surely be something awkward to explain to his father.
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It all starts with a t-shirt.
Now, Stiles doesn’t care much about fashion. He’s always been a guy that preferred comfort to style, he wasn’t Isaac for crying out loud, but he did have to say that he hosted a pretty kick ass collection of graphic tees. Because of this, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed that some were missing, it’s just that he really wanted to wear his favorite Star Wars shirt that day, and he had searched every drawer, dug through his entire laundry basket (which he probably really needed to take care of, considering he found a pair of sweat pants that he knows he spilled Gatorade on at least a month ago), and check the laundry room with no luck.
It’s not like he was cleanest person in the entire world, but there are only so many places his most beloved t-shirt could be. He probably would have ripped his entire bedroom apart, but he only had five minutes before he had to leave to pick up Malia and he still was only wearing his boxers.
Approximately nine and a half minutes later, toothpaste still on the side of his mouth, Stiles was pulling up to Malia’s house a small smile on his face. He knew that he didn’t have to honk and that her super werecoyote senses would know that he was here, he always felt weird not announcing his presence in some way, but before he could do anything, she was coming out the door, a smile on her face.
It was late April in Beacon Hills, so the weather was generous and Malia was clad in a pair of silver flip flops, her favorite pair of denim shorts (Stiles sends thanks every single day for whichever gods created Malia’s legs) and a very familiar t-shirt.
“Hey!” She said brightly once she was in the car, flashing him a wide smile, her brow furrowing in that adorable confused face that he knew all too well when she saw the smirk he was wearing. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“No, but you have something on your body that belongs to me.” Her confused face quickly turned into her puppy dogface, another one that Stiles knew all too well. She usually only used that on him when he was encouraging her to do her math homework, because she knew how hard it was for him to say no to her.
It’s not like Stiles was even mad at her, to be honest, the shirt looked a whole hell of a lot better on her than it ever did on him. Then again, he was pretty sure Malia could be dressed in a paper bag and still be the hottest person he’d ever seen.
“Do you want me to change?”
“Nope.”
And with that, his lips were on hers and his hands were finding his way under her (his) t-shirt and Stiles knew, he could hear his father in the back of his head, that if they continued they would be late for school, but then Malia climbed over the console and was straddling his lap.
Oh they were so going to be late.
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After the t-shirt incident, Stiles starts taking a closer inventory of his clothing. It’s not that he particular cares that Malia is taking his clothes; he just wants to know how much she’s been taking.
It starts with t-shirts, then it’s a few pairs of socks (why Malia could possibly want a pair of his socks, he has no idea), then it’s a couple of his old lacrosse jerseys. Most of the stuff that goes missing, is stuff that he doesn’t particularly care about, but that he knows he wears a lot, so he’s slightly confused on why she’s taking the things that she’s taking.
Then, his comfiest hoodie disappears. Now, along with his t-shirt collection, Stiles also has a million hoodies in his closet, but this one, oh this one, is without a doubt the most comfortable, worn in one that he owns. It’s one he’s had for years and every time he just wants to relax while he does his homework, or researches the latest and greatest supernatural mystery rocking Beacon Hills, he wears that sweatshirt. And now it’s nowhere to be found.
Except, he knows exactly where it’s gone. He knew his girlfriend’s love for that hoodie. He had let her borrow it a few weeks ago when the night had been particular cold. While Malia’s body had acclimated, for the most part, to the weather and she didn’t spend 24 hours a day cold anymore, she wasn’t used to the freezing cold without her fur coat. So he had given her the next best thing, and she spent the whole night cuddled in that thing with the most content smile on her face.
Damn she was cute.
So, when Malia climbs through his window a few hours later, he’s really not surprised that she’s wearing said hoodie. He smirks at her as soon as she’s found her footing and is safely through his window.
“I know, I know. This is your hoodie and you probably want it back.” She put her hands on her hips and it was then that Stiles noticed he couldn’t see what she wearing underneath. He swallowed tightly and really hoped that Malia couldn’t hear his heart speeding up. But, who the hell was he kidding, for one his girlfriend had super hearing abilities and, like Scott, could pick up when someone’s heartbeat became faster, and she had also confided in him weeks ago that she was more in tuned to his heartbeat than any other sound. So, basically, there was no way she couldn’t know he was turned on right now.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” And in a swift motion, the hoodie was unzipped and on the floor, leaving Malia in only the smallest pair of shorts Stiles had ever seen, and a tank top as thin as paper.
Later that night, when the late night breeze was coming in from the open window, Stiles felt Malia shiver next to him, neither one of them having the energy to put their clothes on after having sex, he couldn’t be mad when he saw her slip his hoodie back on, zipping it halfway before cuddling back against him.
“You know, you should keep that, it looks better on you anyway.” He said, looking at her over his shoulder, before letting his eyes fall shut, his hands grabbing hers around his waist.
He felt her smile into his shoulder.
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The day Malia comes to school in Stiles’ lacrosse jersey is probably the greatest day of his life.
He had stopped being so concerned about her taking his clothes, merely asking her to tell him when she was taking something, so he knew where it was. So, it really didn’t surprise him when she started wearing his clothing to places that weren’t his bedroom.
But, he had to say, when she showed up to school wearing a Beacon Hills lacrosse jersey with the name “STILINSKI” clearly printing on the back in white letters, he had to remind himself to breathe. He didn’t really know why she was wearing it, they didn’t have a game that night, and Stiles wasn’t exactly the star player on the team, but when she wore it as well as she did, Stiles wasn’t going to complain.
Unfortunately, he had been late that morning, turns out when Malia didn’t need a ride to school, he didn’t care nearly as much about getting out of bed, and didn’t get a chance to talk to her before first period. But, she winked at him as the bell rang and that was enough to tide him over until lunch.
For the rest of the morning, Stiles gets strange looks from a good 90% of the entire student body. At first he thinks it’s because he has something on his face, but a trip the bathroom in second period confirms that his face looks fine, and he swears he’s checked his fly like twenty times, but each time it’s looking just the way it’s supposed to.
It isn’t until the period before lunch when he hears two senior guys in his chemistry class whispering when he understands. He can’t hear the whole conversation (unlike his best friend and girlfriend, he is not blessed with their supernatural hearing, which most of the time he’s actually ok with, but not when he’s trying to listen to two dudes talk about him while he also pretends to listen to the teacher), but he picks up a few sounds bites.
“I didn’t know Stilinski had it in him.”
“I mean, I always knew she was hot, but this is some other level shit.”
Stiles knows that he should be pissed that two dudes are objectifying his girlfriend, but instead, he starts thinking about Malia wearing his jersey, just his jersey, and he suddenly can’t hear anything but a faint buzzing in his ear.
A buzzing that doesn’t clear until Malia pins him up against his locker, and kisses him like they’re in his bedroom, not the middle of the hallway, and Stiles can’t even be bothered to wipe the smirk off his face as he throws his arms over her shoulder.
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That night, they lay side by side on Stiles’ bed, her wearing one of his plain white shirts and him in only his boxers and she’s listening to the sound of his heartbeat and he’s playing with the ends of her hair.
“You want to know why I always steal your clothes?” her voice is soft, timid almost, and it’s unfamiliar, as Malia always says things with a complete purpose.
“Hmm.”
“Because, they smell like you, and sometimes when I’m alone, all I want to do is be wrapped in your scent and be reminded of you.” She looks at him, her lips twitching into a small smile. “It calms me down, and when I’m alone, it’s when I feel the most coyote, but wearing your clothes, it reminds me of why I’m human, and why I want to stay like this.”
Stiles kisses her forehead then, not knowing the words to say, but sometimes giving her affection is all he knows. And when she sighs softly, and leans her head against his shoulder, he can’t help but smile.