Malia Tate knew that her first kiss with Stiles Stilinski would be her last with Stiles Stilinski. She fooled herself into thinking something could happen between the two of them, she could make believe all she wanted. She could lie in bed at night and replay the kiss over and over again in her mind, but deep down, where reality lay, she knew he was not hers.
The kiss had been sudden, out of the blue. She had been surprised and he had been confused. When Malia had truly taken the time to think about it, she understood that the situation was not right. The boy had been stressed and confused, worried and not quite himself, so to speak.
That didn't stop her from wanting more, as much as she tried.

Malia Tate knew that she could flirt with Stiles all she wanted, she could lean closer to him than necessary when talking in class, she could wear the lowest cut tops she could find around him. She could bat her eyelashes and flick her hair; she could drop her pencil at the exact moment he walked past her desk. She also knew, as much as she hated to admit to herself, that nothing, no one, not a nuclear explosion, could take Stiles' attention away from that other girl… the girl with strawberry blonde curls and wide, innocent eyes that held Stiles' heart.
The smart girl, with an IQ that made Stiles grin with pride and hold so much respect for her, Malia could practically see it in him.
It was the firecracker of a girl, the girl with so much fight in her that Stiles would watch her in awe. She could spit insults in archaic Latin before turning back to Stiles, melting under his touch and blushing at his laughter.
The little one, the tiny girl who Stiles adored to wrap up in his strong arms and crush to his chest, his body covering hers every morning as he met her at her locker. Malia would grimace as Allison and Kira would continuously melt over the way she tucked perfectly under his arm, or the way she would have to tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek.
His girl, who Stiles had protected from the beginning, from the very fucking start – he was hers from day one.
It was her, always her. The girl that Stiles would drive to in the middle of night, because she had another nightmare and she only needed him. It was her he would let curl into him on pack nights, the two of them cut off from the rest of their friends, alone and happy in their own bubble.
She was the one who cheered him on louder than anyone else at the lacrosse matches; she was the one he would catch in his arms when they won the game.
It was the other girl that Malia would have to watch, the other girl that got to be held so lovingly, so gently by Stiles. It was her that Stiles would kiss so fucking tenderly and so full of love and adoration.
She was the girl that would walk into school on a Monday, still wrapped in one of Stiles' sweaters, smelling of him and still wearing that soft, lust filled smile from the night before.

Lydia Martin was the girl that made Stiles look like he had just seen the sun come out for the first time in his life, every time he gazed at her.
Lydia Martin was the reason that Malia never stood a chance with Stiles, kiss or no kiss.