**Chapter 1**
Stiles kicked the front door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet house. His shoulders ached from sitting through another endless pack meeting at Scott's. The latest threat was some new hunter group sniffing around Beacon Hills, and everyone had opinions. Everyone except him. He'd spent most of the time staring at the wall, pretending to listen.
"Stella?" he called out, dropping his hoodie on the back of the couch.
"In here!"
Her voice came from the kitchen. He followed it and found his twin sister pulling two mugs out of the cabinet. She was still in her worn black hoodie and leggings, dark hair twisted up in a messy bun that was one twist away from falling apart. The same bun she'd worn since they were kids. The sight of it made something in his chest pull tight.
She glanced over her shoulder and smirked. "You look like someone ran over your favorite Jeep. Rough meeting?"
"You could say that." He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her move. She always moved like she had somewhere better to be. "Scott's doing the whole 'we protect everyone' speech again. Liam kept interrupting. Malia threatened to rip someone's throat out. Same shit, different week."
Stella laughed under her breath and slid a mug of coffee across the counter toward him. Their fingers brushed when he took it. Neither of them pulled away immediately.
"You didn't say much, did you?" she asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. Her legs swung lightly. "I can always tell when you're off in your head."
Stiles took a sip, mostly to buy time. The coffee was perfect, exactly how he liked it. She always knew. That was the problem lately. She knew him better than anyone, and that knowledge had started to feel dangerous.
"I was thinking," he said.
"Shocking. Stiles Stilinski thinking. Alert the presses."
He snorted, but the laugh didn't reach his eyes. He set the mug down and rubbed the back of his neck. "Funny. Real funny, Stel."
She tilted her head, studying him the way she did when she knew he was hiding something. The kitchen light caught the faint scar on her collarbone from the night they'd fought the Dread Doctors together two years ago. They'd both turned eighteen a few months back, but some nights it still felt like they were those scared kids hiding in the Jeep.
"Come here," she said, softer now.
He hesitated half a second before crossing the small space. She reached out and tugged the front of his flannel, pulling him to stand between her knees. Her hands settled on his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there.
"Talk to me," she said. "You've been weird for weeks. Is it the hunters? Or is it something else?"
Stiles looked at her—really looked. The freckles across her nose that matched his. The way her eyes were the exact same shade of brown as his. The small notch in her left eyebrow from when she'd face-planted off her bike at age ten and he'd carried her home crying.
His hands found her waist without thinking. The fabric of her hoodie was soft under his palms.
"It's something else," he admitted.
Stella's fingers slid up to the back of his neck, playing with the short hairs there. The touch sent heat crawling down his spine. "Then tell me. We don't do secrets, remember? Not us."
He let out a shaky breath. His heart was hammering so hard he was sure she could feel it. "I know we don't. That's what makes this so fucked up."
Her eyebrows drew together. "Stiles."
He stared at the freckle just above her lip. The one he'd teased her about since they were twelve. "I'm in love with you."
The words dropped between them like a stone in still water.
Stella went very still. Her hands froze on his neck. For a long second the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the blood rushing in his ears.
"Like… in love in love?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah." His voice cracked. He tried to step back, but her legs hooked around the back of his thighs, keeping him there. "Not the normal brother-sister way. I've tried to make it stop, Stel. I swear to God I've tried. But every time we're in the same room I can't stop thinking about you. The way you laugh at my stupid jokes. How you always steal my fries but give me your onion rings. How you looked at me after we survived the Nogitsune like I was still worth something. I look at you and I don't see my twin. I see the person I want more than anything else in this fucking world."
Stella's breathing had changed. Her fingers tightened in his hair, almost tugging.
"You're serious," she whispered.
"Dead serious. And I know how messed up it is. I know. If you want me to leave, I'll—"
She kissed him.
It wasn't soft or hesitant. She yanked him forward by the flannel and pressed her mouth to his like she'd been waiting years to do it. Stiles made a surprised sound against her lips before his brain caught up. Then his hands were on her face, tilting her head as he kissed her back like a man drowning.
When they broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Stella's cheeks were flushed. Her eyes had gone dark.
"I thought it was just me," she said, voice rough. "All those nights you'd fall asleep on the couch and I'd sit there watching you, telling myself I was disgusting for wanting my own brother that way. God, Stiles. I've been losing my mind."
A startled laugh punched out of him. "You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" She pulled him in again, kissing him slower this time, deeper. Her legs tightened around him. One of her hands slipped under his flannel, palm hot against his stomach.
Stiles groaned into her mouth. He grabbed her hips and lifted her off the counter. Stella wrapped her arms around his neck without breaking the kiss as he carried her into the living room. He dropped onto the couch with her straddling his lap.
They stared at each other, foreheads pressed together.
"This is insane," he said, but he was grinning.
"Completely insane," she agreed. Her fingers traced his jaw. "But I don't care anymore. I'm tired of pretending."
He kissed her again, hands sliding up her back under the hoodie. Her skin was warm and smooth. When his fingers found the clasp of her bra she shivered and rocked against him.
"Stiles," she breathed against his mouth. The way she said his name—like it belonged to her—sent fire through his veins.
"Yeah?"
"Don't stop."
He didn't.
They moved together on the couch like they'd done it a thousand times, even though it was brand new. Every touch felt electric. Every sound she made went straight to his head. When she pulled back long enough to yank her hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, Stiles sat there stunned for a second, just looking at her.
"Jesus, Stella."
She flushed but didn't cover herself. Instead she reached for his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders. "Your turn. Fair's fair."
Clothes hit the floor piece by piece. They laughed when his shirt got stuck on his head. The laughter turned into gasps when skin finally met skin.
Stiles ran his hands up her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Stella arched into the touch, eyes half-lidded.
"I love you," he said again, because he could now. "Not the way I'm supposed to. The real way."
"I know," she whispered. She leaned down and kissed him slow and filthy. "I love you the same way. Have for a long time."
They stopped talking after that.
Later, when they were tangled together under the throw blanket on the couch, sweaty and breathing hard, Stella traced patterns on his chest with her fingertip.
"So what now?" she asked quietly.
Stiles pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Now we figure it out. Together. Like we always do."
She lifted her head to look at him. Her hair was completely down now, messy around her face. She looked beautiful and thoroughly kissed and his. The realization hit him like a truck.
"No one can know," she said.
"I know."
"Not Scott. Not Dad. Not anyone."
He nodded, running his fingers through her hair. "Our secret. But I'm not giving this up. Not now that I have you like this."
Stella smiled, small and real and only for him. She settled back against his chest, ear pressed over his heart.
"Good. Because I'm keeping you, Stiles. Even if it's messed up. Even if the whole world would hate us for it."
He wrapped both arms around her, holding her tight. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows of the Stilinski house. Inside, for the first time in months, the constant static in Stiles' head went quiet.
They stayed like that until the sky outside turned dark, talking in low voices about nothing and everything. How long they'd both been feeling it. The times they'd almost slipped up. What it meant for the pack, for their dad, for them.
At one point Stella laughed softly against his neck.
"What?" he asked, smiling.
"I can't believe I finally get to do this," she said. She kissed the underside of his jaw. "I've wanted to kiss that stupid smirk off your face for years."
"Rude. My smirk is charming."
"It's annoying. And hot. Mostly annoying."
He rolled them so she was underneath him again, grinning down at her. "You're gonna pay for that."
Her eyes sparkled with challenge and something deeper. "Prove it."
So he did.
And for the first time in their lives, the Stilinski twins didn't have to hide how they felt when they looked at each other.
At least not when they were alone.
(Word count: 2018)