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bamboozledbird · 8 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Original Female Character Pairing: eventual Stiles x OFC, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.9k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, parental death, descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author loves lesbian poets and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: Four years ago, Drea Dickinson's entire life fell apart. Her mom died, her best friend replaced her, and all she could do was watch listlessly while everything else burned down around her. All she wants is to forget and maybe get through her sophomore year without flunking chemistry and completely unraveling at the seams—a seemingly impossible task with the sudden appearance of ghosts from her mother's mysterious past and a hair-raising beast ripping people apart all over town. It would be easier to pretend if she hadn't accidentally entwined her life with the most interrogatory bastard in town. She could have gone her whole life without meeting Stiles Stilinski, and she would've been perfectly fine, but now she's stuck knowing that she's made her bed in the fragile, breakable bones of the boy with all the answers. Chapter Summary: After her annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, Drea meets his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables, poetry recitation, and incoherent babbling.

A/N: This is an entirely selfish project. This rewrite has been so incredibly nostalgic, and I may or may not have cried a few times because the TW era was such a special time of my life. To be 17 again, sigh. I wrote a very bad version of this in 2014, and I cannot believe it has been 10 years!!! I'm almost 30! Impossible! The 10-year anniversary is entirely coincidental but still a wonderful, serendipitous happenstance. I'm re-watching the entire series with my little sister, who is coincidentally 17, and good god I just miss the TW, TVD era. Bring back the cheesy teen monster shows that give perpetual fall vibes PLEASE. You can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)!

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Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before her mother’s death, Drea would have picked fire. Every single time.

She never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of her argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy.

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, her mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, Drea mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; Drea connected those dots all on her own. She’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile.

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

Drea flitted her eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Her responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.”

Her yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely her father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to her face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps Mayor Dickinson stopped being her dad somewhere between the funeral and now.

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” Drea smoothed her thumb in small circles over the armrest of her chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of her first interrogation. She’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. Drea picked at her uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of her mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Her mom had been far too indulgent of her lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at her snarky aside. She let her finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; Drea could tell. At the time, she saw it as a victory. Now, it kept her up at night, the drooping lines of her mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book she was trying to read.

Drea bit down on her tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of her thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” She paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Her mother kissed the top of her head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. Drea woke up in the hospital, and her mom was dead.

A bead of sweat dripped onto her top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, she wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints.

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though they both knew how the story went from here. She had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years.

Drea bit down on her thumbnail and winced when her teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.”

“You don’t remember how you got outside?”

Drea shook her head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, she had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room.

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, Drea looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped her knees tightly, digging her fingers into tawny skin until her wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Her eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and her voice went so quiet she could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” She pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her fists and gnawed on the soft lining of her cheek, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.”

Drea was scared to open her eyes as the silence stretched between them. They’d danced around the subject before, hinted and twisted around the heart of it, but they’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give her a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, plain old grief—but whatever caused her temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, she still had no explanation at all. When she finally peeked through her lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, Drea couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” Drea cut him off. Her eyes went flinty, deep brown darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of her anger. She never had any trouble reading her father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear.

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing Drea remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.”

Drea nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of her denim skirt until the thread snapped.

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

Drea chewed on her bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

Drea blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” Drea stood up quickly, shouldering her bag. She forced the corners of her mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.”

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. Drea had seen it before, on one of her many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, she assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. She must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave Drea a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Drea gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping her fingers around the strap of her backpack and walking to the parking lot.

The sky was grim, a mocking reflection of expression on her face. The spite in her eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of her cheeks. For a moment, she just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor. A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled her back into reality.

Unfortunately, the search for her car keys was a considerable endeavor. Typical. Drea stacked her textbooks and binders onto the hood of her sedan, haphazardly throwing her jacket on top of the pile to protect her painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time her fingertips brushed against the cool metal of her keys, her hair was damp and curling at the ends.

The momentary relief was short-lived when she pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all she could do was rest her forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to her mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of her thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

Drea jumped, and then flinched again when her keys clattered against the ground. She caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as she felt. She turned around, apprehensively—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow her rapidly rising heart.

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

Drea blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for her keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and Drea’s heart dropped back into her chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. She hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” Drea hummed, leaning back against her car. Her fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” Drea’s brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.”

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above their heads as they stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made Drea sink her teeth into her bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm.

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

Drea pursed her lips and ran her eyes over the front of her car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” Drea was slightly horrified when she finally noticed that she was smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto her face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in her cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.”

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of her car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by her freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” Drea sighed and started stuffing her things back into her backpack, shaking it violently until her notebook finally slid past her chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of her face. Drea tilted her head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. His eyes, she noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, she realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

Drea pushed his finger away from her face with her own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered as he struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked one space to her right until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Her lips parted briefly, and then she grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

Drea bit back the snark poised on the tip of her tongue. When people looked at her, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. She was the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; Drea Dickinson’s mom died, and she was there. It seemed like that was all she would ever be in Beacon Hills.

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one.

High school had been her chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so she took it, wholeheartedly. She kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and her mouth resolutely shut.

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” Drea finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting her head, Drea watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” she said faintly. It was coming back to her in pieces. That was life after twelve for Drea Dickinson: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when she surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking.

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards her, “Stiles.”

She took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Drea.”

Stiles’s brow wrinkled, “I thought it was Andy.”

Drea hadn’t been Andy for what felt like a very long time. Four years, in fact. There were several reasons: her mom called her Andy, and she wanted to become someone else, anybody else—but ultimately the deciding factor was ‘Andy Arson.’ The nickname stuck around far longer than she thought it would. With a last name like Dickinson, Drea really thought the tweenager taunting would go in a different direction, but thirteen-year-olds had a knack for latching onto a person’s deepest-seated insecurities. Middle school, she mused, was a tragedy all on its own.

“Nope. Just Drea.”

Stiles examined her face, and she saw that flicker in his eyes again: the light of recognition. “Well, Drea’s cool, y’know, in comparison.” His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and Drea’s eyes widened. She held her breath in her sternum until she registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, she concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.

The longer she remained silent the more parts of his body started to move. Stile squeezed and unsqueezed the black clamp in his hand and drummed on the side of her car with his unoccupied fingers, “Like, Andy—no offense—doesn’t exactly strike fear or confidence in the heart. I mean, I wouldn’t trust Officer Andy to save my ass in a shoot-out, and I definitely wouldn’t trust Dr. Andy to cure my unknown, incredibly rare, incurable disease.”

“No one could cure your incurable disease. That’s quite literally the entire definition of the word.”

“Sure,” Stiles connected the last clamp and glanced at her over his shoulder, almost checking himself in the chin with a large shrug, “but I’d buy that Dr. Drea could.”

Her mouth parted for a second, and then she closed it before she could say something impulsive. “That’s not even how it works; I’d be Dr. Dickinson.”

Stiles winced, “Brutal.”

“Yeah,” Drea sighed and rubbed her palms over her arms until the goosebumps prickling her biceps receded into her skin.

Stiles looked back at her again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards her face. She caught it before it could smack into her nose, and she clutched at the soft material until she realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt.

Stiles was staring at her when she looked up from her hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and she felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in her arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. Drea blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into her closet until her second alarm startled her into snatching the first shirt her fingers came in contact with—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on her lashes dripped into her eyes.

Robotically, Drea thrust her arms through the sleeves and tugged it over her head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. She smiled slightly, combing her baby hairs behind her ears, “I almost forgive you for being a dick about my name.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “At least people can say it without seizing.”

Drea looked at him and tilted her head, eyebrows crawling towards the bridge of her nose.

Stiles waved his hand in the air and extrapolated, “My full name is—just trust me. Dick jokes aren’t the worst thing in the world.”

“No,” Drea chewed on her lip, “they aren’t.”

There was a moment in middle school where she was tempted to plant the seed of something incredibly stupid and irresistibly raunchy, something like, ‘Andrea wants ‘Dickinsideher,’ because even that was better than a name with matricide as the punchline. But it didn’t take when Jared Cartwright soft-launched it in PE, so Drea seriously doubted it would ever catch-on from the target herself.

She cleared her throat, “But they are almost as bad as stye jokes.”

“Uh, absolutely not. Eyesores are nowhere near as gross as dick’n nu—” Stiles coughed, throat bobbing as he swallowed, before finishing his sentence with an audible question mark, “…phallic imagery.”

Drea pursed her lips, “Pus beats penis on the ick meter by at least 23 points.”

Stiles’s eyes glimmered in the fading light, “23?”

“Maybe even 24.”

Another bout of silence fell between them, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition.

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the quiet as Drea let out a soft sigh, dropping her head back against her car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock her car and now, but she couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, she realized, without her foul mood casting a shadow over her head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. Drea could feel his gaze on her again. A tickling sensation trailed down her spine as she fiddled with her keychain. It was old, a gift from her parents on some birthday she couldn’t remember. Paint had chipped off in most places after thoughtlessly throwing her keys every time she came home, but she could still make out the M and Y of the orange ‘Mystery Machine’ logo.

Stiles hummed for a moment and then said, “I’m Nobody. Who are you?”

Drea stared at him and waited for the punchline. It didn’t come. Instead, he shifted from one foot to the other and fumbled over each following syllable. “You know, like…Dickinson,” he waved his hands around, seemingly searching for some sort of cosmic relief. “I thought it would better than a dick joke, but upon some seriously belated reflection, I realize that you’re probably tired of corny assholes qu—”

“How dreary,” Drea interrupted, quietly but loud enough to be heard over the rumbling jeep, “to be Somebody.”

Stiles’s jaw snapped shut; it was his turn to blink at her stupidly. He smiled a little and ran his hand over his buzzed head, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t know what she was agreeing with, only that she wholeheartedly did.

“I forgot that part.”

Drea clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head, “It’s the best line.”

“It might have something to do with my species landing somewhere between microscopic bacteria and radioactive cockroach on the high-school social food chain,” Stiles said dryly. His face remained impassive, like he was talking about something benign as the weather.

Drea tilted her head a little and a timid smile unfurled over her face in time with the swell of familiarity blooming beneath her ribcage, “Then there’s a pair of us.”

His cheeks dimpled when he smiled back at her, “I do remember that one.”

“Well,” Drea slid her hands into her back pockets and shrugged, “it is the best part.”

Stiles squinted at her and then laughed.

Drea felt a bit like laughing too, so she swallowed thickly before she could choke on the impulse. She took a step backwards and curled her fingers around her keys in her back pocket, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you start reciting, ‘I Felt a Funeral, in My Brain.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. ‘Because I could not stop for Death’ would be next.”

Drea slid into her car and stared at the steering wheel, wrapping her fingers around 10 and 2 and silently calling upon every deity she’d ever heard of to end her suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but she seriously doubted her smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, she should revisit her resounding dedication to atheism, she thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life.

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. Drea bit back a smile when he shot her another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from her battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, she was convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against her window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

Drea snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. Drea decided that she much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” Drea drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.”

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

Drea thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” she sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” Drea agreed, staring at a small chip in her windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit.

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut Drea’s door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “See ya in English, Dickinson—both of you.”

“Awful,” Drea’s nose scrunched as she buckled her seatbelt, “terrible, dreadful. A solid 25 on the ick meter.”

Stiles grinned and held up his hands, “I’ll think of something better by Monday, promise.”

Drea put her car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and flicked her damp hair over her shoulder, “I dwell in Possibility.” What a scary place to be, she thought as she watched Stiles disappear in her rearview mirror. Possibility. Hope. Life. She was chronically good at surviving; cockroached her way out of every horrible thing life squashed her with. Lately, all she could do was cling to her heartbeat and the warmth of her skin, until she was barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but Death would not stop for her, so she stopped looking for him. She kept treading water, took her pills, stopped existing—she was a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. She didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced her to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

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leossmoonn · 3 years ago

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can i request a fic with stefan where the reader loses her memories (like stefan did in s5) so stefan takes her out to all the places that are special to their relationship and he tells her all about how they used to date and how she loved him and all and then at the end she kisses him ❤️

if not that's okay! have a good day and make sure to drink some water ❤️❤️

okay ill be honest i dont remember anything of tvd from season 4 and on bc it was just so boring to me but YES I CAN DK THIS. and thank you! i hope you have a good day, and hydrate too <33 mwah!

masterlist

warnings / includes - mild language, crying, sad stefan, kissing, eating and food, talk about sex. oh and youre a vampire and grew up w stefan and damon :)) and you’ve been dating stefan ever since you two turned into vampires and you two have been married for 50 years! (yay) . not really edited

————

“can’t you just do your voodoo magic and fix her?”

“that’s not how it works, damon.”

“well, it works whenever elena needs it. just admit it, you don’t like y/n.”

“i do! this is just more complicated -”

“bullshit! i know you don’t know her very well, but we’ve known her since she was born. she’s my best friend and the love of my brother’s life, who, by the way, is about to go into a frenzy if you don’t fix her!”

“i’m trying! but whatever those traveler’s did, i don’t think i can reverse it.”

“argh!” damon growled, putting his hands under a table and ripping it up.

“okay, you need to calm down,” bonnie said. “throwing a fit won’t help.”

“well, i can’t just stand here and watch her die!”

“she’s not dying, she’s just asleep. the doctor said she will wake up soon.”

“oh, as if the doctor knows anything,” damon muttered.

“she actually knows a lot, and we’ll give her the treatments the doctor recommends before we try any magic.”

damon sighed, running his hands over his face. he looked over to you, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. he walked over to you, holding your hand in his.

“please wake up, y/n. please.”

it seemed as damon’s wishes were granted. your eyes fluttered open, a soft groan filled your throat as you tried to move your head back and forth. you peered at bonnie and damon, brows furrowing.

“who are you? and why-why are you holding my hand? get away from me!” you hissed, barring your fangs.

“well, she definitely knows she a vampire,” damon muttered.

bonnie ignored him, coming over to you tentatively. “hey, y/n. do you know who i am?”

“no. i-i want to go home. where am i? why-why does this look so strange? hospitals at home don’t look like this,” you gasped as you looked around your room.

“is she still stuck in the 1800s?” bonnie asked.

“let’s see. uh, y/n, what’s the date?” damon asked.

“1866, right?” you guessed.

“oh, shit,” damon muttered.

“what’s wrong?” you frowned. “y/n, you’re in the 21st century. it’s 2013,” bonnie explained.

your eyes bugged out of your head. “what? how-how can this be? you’re lying! you’re some witch! katherine warned me that you would try to trick me. who are you with? wha-what do you want from me?!”

“okay, crazy pants,” damon sighed. “do you know who i am?” he asked.

you took a good, hard look. “you look familiar… like you’re from a dream.”

“good, good, but do you know my name?”

your brain scrambled for the answer, but it all came up was blank.

“no, i’m sorry.”

“well, crap,” damon muttered. “what if we get stefan? he’s been her boyfriend for like, a hundred and fifty years. plus, they’ve been married for 50. she’s got to remember him,” bonnie suggested.

“yeah, okay,” damon nodded. “go and get him. i’ll stay with her.”

“why don’t i stay with her, and you go get stefan. you might irritate her enough to make her snap your neck,” bonnie snorted.

“fine. i’ll be back in a second. try to use your powers on her,” damon asked.

“no. now go,” bonnie shooed away damon.

he left, zooming through the halls to go and find his brother. meanwhile, bonnie went to sit next to you, taking your hand in hers.

“what are you doing. i said don’t touch me,” you hissed.

“what is your name?” bonnie asked.

“y/n,” you said. “what’s your full name?” she asked.

“y/n l/n,” you answered. “why are you asking me this? do you think i do not know my name?”

“no, no. i just…” bonnie sighed. “what’s your mother’s name?”

“louise,” you said. “and your father’s?” bonnie asked.

“martin. and before you ask, my sister and brother’s names are anna and christopher. are you studying me or something? oh, my… i-i swear i’m not dangerous. i don’t feed on people. not usually, anyways. please, spare me. if you want a real vampire, catch katherine pierce. her real name is katerina petrova. or klaus mikaelson, his whole family needs to be killed. please, i -”

“i’m not going to kill you. no one is going to kill you. and katherine is already dead,” bonnie explained.

“oh, really? well, then ignore what i said about her."

bonnie smiled a little. “it’s alright. do you remember anything that’s happened in the last 24 hours?”

“no, i’m sorry. i must ask again, where am i?” you questioned.

“well, you’re in 2013. about one hundred and forty-nine years from when you were turned into a vampire. that man who was here is damon salvatore. he’s been your best friend ever since you were born. you grew up together, and he turned you into a vampire. i’m bonnie bennett. i am… i have a sort of friendship with damon. i’m a witch from the bennett line. i am here to help you. we’re friends, too, actually.”

“oh,” you pursed your lips. “i’m sorry i don’t remember you. i think i remember one of your family members, though… emma, ella, em-”

“emily, yeah,” bonnie smiled. “well, it’s good to know i’m in good company,” you sighed.

“yes, you are. oh, and there’s one more person i forgot to mention. he’s damon’s brother, stefan. he’s your -”

“y/n!”

your head snapped to the door. a handsome young man stepped into the room, worrying filing his features.

“hello?” you frowned.

“it’s me, stefan. you’re husband,” the man said.

your eyes widened. “i-i- excuse me? my husband? i didn’t know i was-” your breath hitched as you saw the ring on your finger. it was a beautiful silver ring with a blue jewel in the middle, stefan and your name carved in the middle of it.

“oh,” you gasped.

“do you remember me?” he asked, coming closer to you.

you looked back up at him, furrowing your brows as you tried to remember. you shook your head in disappointment. “no, i’m sorry. i wish i could. what happened to me that i can’t remember my own husband?"

“travelers took your memory,” bonnie answered. “travelers? l-like the evil witches?” you guessed.

“yes, precisely,” bonnie nodded.

“well, can you get back my memories? you’re a witch, right?” you asked her.

“exactly! that’s what i was saying. i’m so glad someone gets it!” damon exclaimed.

“i-i’m sorry, who are you again?” you frowned. “damon. i’m damon salvatore. the best salvatore, and your best friend,” he grinned.

“oh, right - damon. and you’re uh, you’re bonnie, correct?” you turned to the brunette.

“i am,” bonnie nodded.

“and you’re…“ you turned to stefan.

hope was shining in his dazzling green eyes. his lips were pulled into a frown, his brows furrowed as tears clouded his eyes.

“you’re stefan! my, uh, my husband whom i can’t remember. i’m so sorry, again.”

“it’s okay,” he sighed. “you just woke up. you’ll probably remember later.”

“yes,” you nodded, “that’s probably it.”

just then, the doctor came in. she checked you out, telling you that you had to stay in the hospital one more night before you could be discharged. after she left, damon, bonnie, and stefan made up a plan.

“i can’t just put her memories back. i don’t have any access to them,” bonnie said.

“can’t you just pull them out of the air or something?” damon asked.

“magic doesn’t work like that, damon,” bonnie glared.

“what if we take her to all her favorite places? places she’s been to lots of times,” stefan suggested.

“yes! that is a great idea, except for the fact that she thinks she’s in the 1800s and most things that were there have been torn down or rebuilt!” damon seethed.

“well, then what else are we supposed to do, damon! we can’t just sit here and hope that her memories will come back. what if they never do!” stefan yelled.

“shut up you two! you’re scaring her!” bonnie hit both of them, then pointing to you.

both of the salvatore’s face softened as they saw your eyes wide with fear.

“look, she doesn’t know you two yet. she doesn’t trust you two. she literally thought we were going to capture her for being a vampire. we need to just take it easy and gain her trust, which won’t be hard, i hope. but i think that stefan’s idea is great. and stefan, you should be the one to do it. you deserve to build the strongest bond with her and to spend the most time with her,” bonnie explained.

stefan smiled at her gratefully. “thank you, bonnie.”

“of course, stefan,” she smiled back at him.

“what about me! i was her friend before you were even born!” damon poked stefan.

“she was literally a baby, damon. she didn’t even know who you were,” stefan scoffed.

“oh, she did. and she loved playing peek-a-boo with me,” damon huffed.

“well, i’ve been her actual best friend just a few months after she was born. you’ve been like the brother she’s never had,” stefan stated.

“same difference.” damon rolled his eyes.

“b-bonnie?” you stammered.

“yeah, what do you need?” bonnie came over to you immediately.

“um, i need to use the bathroom.” you whispered.

“oh, yeah, of course. gentlemen, please exit the room.” bonnie said to the two men.

“alright. hey, y/n, you hungry? we can get you something to eat,” damon asked.

“yes. i’m famished, honestly. um, can i have some meatloaf, please? with some wine?” you requested.

“um, y/n, i’m afraid to inform you that -” damon started, but stefan cut him off.

“we’ll see what we can find,” stefan said.

“thank you… stefan, was it?” you guessed.

“yeah. it’s stefan,” he smiled. “okay, c’mon, lover boy. the lady needs to use the restroom,” damon grabbed stefan, dragging him out of your room and shutting the door.

bonnie then helped you out of the bed and into the restroom, waiting behind the door until you called for help.

“thank you so much. your kindness is very much appreciated.” you smiled at her as she helped you back to bed.

“it’s not a problem.” bonnie sighed with a smile.

“will you be able to get my memories back?” you asked.

“um… no. not right now, i’m sorry,” bonnie frowned.

“oh, well, it’s alright. maybe it’s for the better. i can’t imagine all the horrible things i must have done to you and your friends,” you laughed sourly.

“what do you mean?” bonnie asked.

“well, i… i overheard you a little when i was waking up. damon said that you didn’t like me much. i don’t blame you, i mean, i can be crass and judgmental, but i’ve changed over the years. i-i think, at least. otherwise i suppose i would be dead from those travelers now. no one wants to help a horrible person,” you explained.

“well, you’re not horrible, at all. for someone who has been with damon for like, almost two hundred years, you’re very kind. you’re also very funny and you try to help people the best you can.”

“oh, thank you,” you smiled shyly. “um… what do you mean about being with damon?”

“oh, he’s just um… not my favorite person to be around is all. you’ll see,” bonnie chuckled.

“i think i have, a little,” you giggled. “but he seems to care a lot about me. i suppose he’s known me since i’ve been born.”

“no, he does. honestly, like stefan said earlier, damon is the older brother you never bad.”

“and stefan, he is supposed to be my best friend and lover?”

bonnie smiled, “yes.”

“can you tell me about stefan? do-do you know him well?” you asked.

“i do, actually. he’s so kind, always wanting to help people and be the best. i swear, he works himself to death trying to be the hero. he’s very level-headed and extremely smart. he’s more mellow than damon, definitely, but he has his funny, savage moments. he’s dealt with a lot of pain in his years, and you’ve been there to experience it all. in fact, he always tells us how you are his light. it’s really sweet. i wish someone talked about me like that.”

heat crept up your neck and you couldn’t help but smile. “well, i understand why i fell in love with him, then.”

bonnie chuckled, “yeah, he’s a great guy. he’s probably more rough around the edges now than he used to be, though.”

“well, that’s what happens when you’ve lived for so long,” you chuckled. “i personally think i’ve softened over the years. i remember when i was a little girl, i used to be so quick and temperamental. my mother always tried to reprimand me, but i had a mind of my own, i guess. or that’s what my father used to say. now that i think about it, i think stefan is the reason why i have changed. he’s seemed to rub off on me.”

“wait, are you starting to get your memory back?” bonnie asked, getting excited.

“no, i’m afraid not. well, not of current things. i just am remembering things about myself. i still don’t remember damon or stefan,” you frowned

“oh, well, it’s okay. you only woke up an hour ago. we’ll give it time.” bonnie patted your arm.

“thank you. you must forgive me, i’ve always had a horrible memory. and now with mine taken away, i probably will be a burden.”

“no, no,” bonnie shook her head. “please, you’re our friend. i’m sorry if damon made it seem like i don’t like you, but i do. we just don’t spend time with each other that much, but we definitely will now.”

“i hope you don’t mind it, then.”

“i definitely don’t, don’t worry.”

you two sat in a comfortable silence, stefan and damon coming back only a few minutes later.

“so, you can’t have any wine, so we got you the next best thing: grape juice. and we also didn’t find any meatloaf, but we did find some spaghetti and meatballs,” damon said, setting it all down on the table.

“oh, thank you two so much.” you smiled. you began to get up, your feet slipping suddenly.

stefan rushed to catch you, his hands going under your arms. your eyes met his immediately, your breath getting caught in your lungs. you fell into a sort of a daze as he lifted you back up on your feet.

“my, you’re handsome,” you muttered.

“thank you. you’re beautiful,” stefan smiled.

your jaw fell open, your eyes widening. “o-oh. did i say that out loud? i am so sorry -”

“no, it’s okay. it was really nice to hear that,” he assured you.

“alright, thank you,” you smiled. “of course. my pleasure.” he let go of you, pulling out a chair.

“so, i say we compel the doctor to let you go home now so we can get this show on the road!” damon announced.

“no, they need to monitor her-”

“she’s a freaking vampire, bonnie!” damon exclaimed in a hushed whisper. he then turned to you. “you feel fine, right?”

“yes. a lot better now that i’ve eaten,” you answered.

damon grinned, clapping his hands. “see? she’s fine. i say we get her into her room and let her sleep in her bed.”

“damon, that’s not-”

“excuse me,” you interrupted stefan, peering at him through your eyes. “if you don’t mind me interjecting, i’d quite like to go home. and damon is right, i am a vampire so besides my memories, my body has healed me completely.”

stefan looked at you for a few moments, sighing before talking again. “yeah, that makes sense. are you sure you’re okay to go home? i mean, you almost slipped -”

“i am okay, stefan,” you smiled. “these floors are quite slippery with these socks on.” you moved your feet to show them.

“right,” he nodded. “okay, well, damon? i assume i can trust you to compel the doctors?”

“on it!” damon grinned, rushing out the door.

“is he always this eager to help?” you asked. “only when it comes to you,” stefan chuckled.

“well, i suppose that’s okay, for now,” you hummed.

“yes. you are our first priority,” stefan smiled.

“oh, please don’t let me ruin your daily routine. like you said, damon likes helping me. he seems to not have anything important to do, anyways, no offense.” you lowered your head sheepishly. “but he can help me while you two go to school and such. do you go to high school still?”

“no, we don’t. well, stefan doesn’t, anyways,” bonnie chuckled. “i’m going to college in the fall.”

“oh, that’s wonderful! i see the women have made lots of improvements. what are you going to study?” you asked.

“research and analysis. it’s not really a study, but that’s what i’m majoring in.”

“wow, you must be so smart, then. good for you. i wish i went to college,” you frowned slightly. “

“you did,” stefan spoke up. “oh? what did i study?” you perked up.

“literature. you went around the world teaching english and literature. part of it was to fit in as a human, but another part was because you always had a passion for it.”

“sounds like me,” you smiled. “i loved reading so much. i remember my mother had to hide my books for when we ate dinner.”

“woah, you’re remembering things now?” damon walked into the toom

“not really. i’m only remembering things about myself and my family.”

“damn,” damon muttered. “it’s alright,” stefan said. “anyways, we good to go?”

“indeed we are. let’s roll,” damon said.

stefan helped you out of your seat. you took out your IV, damon rushing you to his car.

“wow. this is beautiful,” you admired his chevy.

“i know! she’s my pride and joy.” damon sighed happily as he opened the door for you.

“thank you,” you smiled at him. he returned the smile, getting into the passenger seat.

“i’ll drive her home, i-”

“actually, can stefan drive me? i’d like to get to know him more. he is my husband, after all,” you said.

stefan’s chest swelled with happiness, his lips upturning into a bright smile.

“i suppose. don’t total my car,” damon warned stefan.

“no promises,” stefan smirked, getting in the driver’s seat. “you know i’m kidding, right? i won’t crash the car.”

“i know, don’t worry,” you smiled. “great,” stefan breathed out as he started the car.

“this is amazing technology. so much faster than the horses.”

“yep. it’s amazing how far we’ve come.”

you nodded, turning your head to look at him. you looked down at his left hand, smiling a little as you saw a silver wedding band.

“how long have we been married for?” you asked.

“50 years. 51 this summer,” he answered. “how long did we date for?” you asked.

“well, we actually didn’t date until we turned vampires. as you probably know, your emotions are heightened once you turn. and our crushes on each other were just too much to ignore, we started dating. we helped each other out a lot, you helped more than me. i mean, i-i was a wreck. with katherine turning us into vampires and all, me killing my dad, damon abandoning me. you were the only person who stuck by me. you know, you were, and still are, my light,” he explained.

you grinned, “bonnie told me that that’s what you call me.”

“ah, she’s told you about me, then. what did she say?” he asked.

“well, she said that you’re very kind and are always wanting to help people. she also said that you are smart and serious, but that you have your breaking moments. she also said that you have experienced a lot of pain. i am sorry to hear that,” you frowned.

“bonnie is very kind. too kind, actually.”

“oh, don’t say that. i happen to think it’s all true. just from what i’ve seen today.”

“thank you. i’m glad i’ve made a good impression.”

“well, you are my husband, so i would think that what bonnie said is true.”

“makes sense,” he nodded. “so, where do i live? with you, i presume?” you questioned.

“yes, and with damon. we live in the salvatore boarding house. it was built for uh, well, boarding in mystic falls.”

“do we have separate rooms?” you asked.

“u-um, no. but, if you’re not comfortable with that, there are plenty of spare rooms-"

"no," you said quickly.

stefan glanced at you, eyes wide in surprise. you chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck.

"u-um, what i mean is that it is okay. i'll get to know your quicker if we share a room. just um, let me have my privacy?" you requested.

"of course, of course," he nodded. "lovely," you exhaled deeply.

you looked out of your window, observing all the people walking around town square.

"so much has changed," you said, a little nostalgic.

"i know, it's crazy," stefan laughed. "but, i'll take you to all the old places we used to go, and the new ones you have gown accustomed to."

"sounds like a deal. you know, i'm excited. is that um… strange that i am so lively after having just woken up from my memories being taken away?" you chuckled a little.

"no, no, not at all. you were always really happy and upbeat, even on the darkest days. that's one of the reasons why i fell in love with you. you may not believe this, but, i'm kind of a debby-downer. you keep it light and fun, much like damon, actually. seems as though all that time you spent with him, as young as you were, you developed someone his behaviour."

"is that a bad thing? bonnie insinuated that damon isn't a good guy," you frowned.

"no, no. you're different. you pick and choose when to be a little um… eccentric. damon just says whatever comes out of his mouth, no matter what the situation is."

"i suppose that's another reason why you love me?" you grinned. "yes, you suppose right," he nodded.

"is this the boarding house?" you pointed to the mansion stefan was pulling in to.

"yes, it is. and, you can call it your home. that's what it is," stefan said.

"alright. it's beautiful." you admired the front.

"it's even better inside. especially our bedroom. you really know how to decorate." he got out of the car, opening the door for you.

"you're very chivalrous. i like it," you giggled. "well, anything for my girl," he flashed a warm smile.

your stomach flipped suddenly, a similar feeling to your heart hammering in your chest awakened. if your heart was still alive, then you it would be palpitating and ramming into your ribcage. you smiled back at him, getting out of the car.

you two walked together to the front, stefan opening the door without unlocking it.

"do we always keep the door unlocked?" you asked. "yeah. you know, the only people we are really worried about are vampires and well, you can't get in unless you invite them in," he answered.

"oh, right. well, that's nice. we don't have to worry so much about security," you said as you stepped inside.

he nodded in agreement, closing the door behind him once you two went inside.

"wow. you're right, it is better inside," you gasped. "mmhm. so, let me show you around. this is the grand study. it was mostly used by our nephew zach, but damon killed him as soon as he got here," stefan sighed.

"o-oh. and damon is supposed to be my best friend?"

"he's better than that, don't worry. you'll see, you'll remember," stefan patted your back.

"alright," you nodded. "anyways, right here is the library's and just out here is the grand hall. here is the dining room and the living room. back there is the kitchen, and next to it is the hearth room." stefan walked you around the house.

"it's amazing. wow, and to think this is my home," you laughed. "yep, all yours," stefan smiled as he heard your laugh.

he admired you as you walked through the living room, feeling around the bookshelves and the furniture. he missed this, seeing you back at home. before you woke up in the hospital, you had been kidnapped and tortured for two weeks before the travelers dumped you in the backyard of your house. after that, stefan rushed you to the hospital and about a day later you were awake. and now here you were, making yourself at home again. you looked so pretty in the setting sunlight. stefan almost wanted to cry at the relief of finally having you home.

"show me the upstairs?" your voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"yeah, yeah, of course," he nodded. he reached his hand out to you, you taking it graciously.

you both smiled at each other, stefan leading you up the stairs.

"so, up here is damon's room. that's where elena, his girlfriend, and him usually are. they have so much sex, you won't be able to get much rest here," stefan snorted.

"i'll make sure to wear my earplugs," you giggled.

stefan smiled at you, walking you to the next rooms. "these are the baths. and right here is our room. every other room up here is a guest room, but uh, this is the main event, i suppose." he opened the bedroom door, letting you peer inside of it.

he was right, you were a great decorator.

the room had green walls, bookshelves on the walls, and a few plants here and there. there was a big bed in the middle with gray sheets, pictures of the two of you hanging above the bed frame. there was a desk and chair in the middle of the room, books and papers strewn all over the desk top. there were picture of you two all over the walls, making you smile whilst also crying.

"what's wrong?" stefan rushed to you.

"oh, it's nothing. i just…" you sighed, turning to him. "these pictures are so lovely. i-i wish i could remember these events."

stefan took your hand in his, giving you a small smile. "don't worry about it. it's not your fault that you can remember.”

"right," you nodded, still disappointed in yourself.

"why don't we go and walk around town? maybe that'll help get your memories back," stefan suggested.

"that sounds fun, but i don't think walking around will reverse dark magic," you joked.

stefan chuckled, nodding in agreement. "you're right, but, you're starting to remember your own childhood. we don't know what the travelers took from you, so maybe they didn't take the memories of you and i. you might just have amnesia."

"i'd love to do anything to try and remember," you said. "me, too. before we go, do you want to change clothes? you've had these clothes on for two weeks," stefan gestured to your ripped shirt and dirty jeans.

"oh, yes. i didn't even realise i was wearing these." you looked down at your legs, eyes widening at the fact you were wearing pants. "when did they invent these?"

"1873, but women still couldn't wear them until the 19th century. and even then, women didn't wear them as regular clothing until the mid-20th century," he explained.

“well, i’m glad that i’ve stayed alive this long to be able to wear these. what are they called again?” you asked.

“jeans,” stefan answered. he walked over to your closet, opening it and presenting all your clothes. “and you have lots of jeans. so, go ahead and get changed into whatever. if you want to shower then go ahead, the bathroom is to the right.”

you nodded, “thank you. i’ll be done in a few minutes.”

“no problem. take your time,” he smiled.

you returned the expression, watching him as he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

you went to your closet, running your hands over your clothes. you had lots of grey, purple, and blue shirts. you saw lots of ripped jeans, some were their regular blue and others were white or black. you chose a light purple, short- sleeved shirt and a pair of dark-wash jeans. you found a pair of black panties and a black bra to match.

you went into the bathroom, turning the shower on and undressing. you put your dirty clothes in a near pile on the floor as you didn’t know where the hamper was. you set your clean clothes onto the bathroom sink, jumping into the shower.

the hot water felt so good, it was hard to get out, but you didn’t want to keep stefan waiting too long. you dried off quickly, looking at yourself in the mirror after you got dressed. you didn’t realize, but you were very dirty and tired-looking before showering. you looked better now. more awake, clean, and pretty.

you didn’t bother putting on makeup, not even knowing where you kept it. you went downstairs, finding stefan in the living room reading a book.

“i am ready,” you announced.

stefan looked up, jaw dropping as he looked over you.

“you look gorgeous,” he spoke.

you smiled shyly, lowering your head in bashfulness. “thank you. it’s not much, just a comfortable outfit.”

“doesn’t matter. you look amazing,” he shrugged.

“thank you, again.”

“of course,” he smiled. “let’s go ahead and go, yeah?”

you nodded, slipping on your shoes as you followed him out to the garage. you got into stefan’s car, driving back to town square.

“a lot of places have been built or torn down. i’m going to take you to the places we used to go to in this century, then go to the places from long ago that have been torn down,” he explained.

“sounds good,” you nodded.

he parked next to the strip mall, getting out and opening the door for you.

“are men still as chivalrous as you?” you jumped out of the car.

“no, not at all, but i like to be known as a gentleman. it sets a good first impression,” he answered.

“that’s sad,” you frowned. “it is. honestly, most guys nowadays are jerks and are selfish. no one teaches kindness anymore,” he sighed.

“well, i’m thankful i chose a man who still cares about those things. it really reflects on what kind of man you are.”

“i agree,” stefan nodded.

you two walked onto the side walk, stefan lacing your fingers together and guiding you into a store.

“this is your favorite store in the whole

town square. you always rave about the good deals and i’ve bought you lots of jewelry here,” he explained.

you hummed in reply, looking over the store. “it’s quaint. i see how it would appeal to me.”

“yeah, this store is the most popular one here, i’m pretty sure.”

“the owner must be rich, then.”

“probably is,” stefan nodded.

he then led you out of the store, explaining all the other stores and restaurants in the town square before stopping and showing you a specific place you liked.

“this is the grill, the most popular restaurant here. you and caroline, who you have yet to meet, love to sing karaoke here. you and bonnie and elena, who again, you have yet to meet, play pool here and get tipsy on the weekend.”

“what is karaoke and pool?” you questioned.

“karaoke is when you pick a song you like, and you sing it with a friend, or sometimes yourself. a lot of bars have karaoke, and some restaurants do, like this one. it’s just a fun activity for drunk people, honestly. and pool

is this game over there. you see those people

shooting the balls with the sticks?” he pointed across the room.

you studied them, seeing as they would curse in disappeared, or jump and clap in happiness.

“yes, it looks fun.”

“it is, and you’re quite good at it. maybe tomorrow you can meet everyone else and i’ll teach you how to play,” he suggested.

“i would like that very much,” you smiled.

“me, too,” he smiled back. “are you hungry? we can take a break from walking and get something to eat.”

“my stomach does ache a little. what kind of food do they have here?”

“burgers, fries, salad. classic american stuff, basically. i can order what you usually do.”

“sure, but i’m afraid to tell you that i have no money,” you sighed.

“it’s not a problem. this is my treat. plus, we have a joint bank account so, it doesn’t really matter who pays.””

“wow, that’s nice.”

“it definitely is.”

stefan then led you to a small booth, ordering immediately once the waiter came.

“tell me more about yourself,” you prompted.

stefan stared at you, not expecting you to want to know about him. it wasn’t completely surprising, but you just seemed a lot more interested in the town than him. he was happy that you asked, though. it reassured him that you two had a chance, even if you two had to rebuilt your relationship.

“okay, well, my birthday is november 1st, 1846. my favorite color is blue, my favorite type of alcohol is bourbon, but i do like a glass of whiskey every once in a while. one of my best friends was lexi branson. she was also your friend, too, but damon killed her for absolutely no reason.”

“oh, my - i am so sorry, stefan,” you gasped. “oh, it’s alright. damon has uh, since proved himself to be better… unfortunately,” stefan sighed.

you put your hand on his, looking him in the eyes.

“it’s not alright, stefan. i know you say damon is a lot better than people say, and that he has proven himself better, but that doesn’t justify what he did. i’m so sorry you lost lexi. i understand what it is it like to lose someone so close to you. i’m sure you remember, but i lost christopher only a few years after we became vampires. i don’t remember all of it, but i do remember terrorizing a whole village because of the anger and depression i felt. i’m sure lexi was an amazing young woman. one day, i would love it if you told me more about her.”

stefan smiled at you gratefully, eyes prickling with tears. “thank you, y/n. it means a lot to me. and yes, i’d love to tell you about her.”

“fantastic.” you squeezed his hand for support, the gesture warming his chest. “anyways, go on,” you said, keeping your hand on his.

“alright. well, i love i love lucy, which is a ‘50s sitcom that, funnily enough, you hated,” he chuckled.

“what is a sitcom and why did i hate it?” your brows knitted together in confusion.

“well, a sitcom is a comedy tv show. and a tv show is content that is broadcasted onto something that is called a television, which was the big black screen in the living room of our house. sitcom is a type of tv show. there are sitcoms, dramas, romance, horror, and lots of others. a lot of these genres bleed together, much like books. and as for why you hated the show, you just thought it was annoying because i would watch it all the time.”

“well, i do have a short temperament, so that explains it, i suppose. that tv show thing is a little confusing. can you show me how it works when we get home?”

“yes, of course. i can show you your favorite tv shows and movies,” he nodded eagerly.

“lovely,” you smiled at his enthusiasm. “so, what else do you like?”

“well, i am a fan of scorcese, who is a famous tv director. he directed taxi driver, which is a film i am a fan of. i love to cook, and i’m quite good at it, if i do say so myself. um, let’s see… what else is there…” he trailed off, looking at the table as he thought. “i am a bit or a hoarder, as you probably could see in our room. i enjoy any and all types of music, i have a rose tattoo on my right shoulder, and i am a scorpio, if that means anything to do.”

he looked back up at you, the tips of his ears turning pink as he realized you were staring and smiling at him the whole time.

“why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“it’s just nice hearing all these things about you. i can piece together who you are, who the man i am married to is. it’s obvious you don’t open up to people a lot, and i appreciate you doing that with me,” you explained.

“oh, well, it’s no problem. you’ll remember all these things, anyways. but this is just surface level stuff, nothing special.”

“i think it is special and important. now that i know you a little better, i’m able to talk to you more and be more comfortable.”

“mm, that’s true,” he nodded.

you gave him a small smile, your food then arriving.

“wow, this is a lot,” you chuckled, looking at the cheeseburger and fries.

“it’s really good, too,” stefan said.

“how do i eat this?” you asked. “pick it up in your hands and take a bite, like this.” stefan took a bite of his burger and fries.

you followed in suit, groaning in pleasure.

“my, they never had this food at home. this is delicious.”

“i know, right? so glad america stopped the wine and beef soup at dinner.”

you giggled, nodding in agreement. you two ate in silence, stefan paying before you two left.

“do you want to continue going around town, or are you tired?” stefan asked.

“i want to continue,” you stated.

“alright. time to go to all the torn down places now,” he sighed, walking you back to his car.

you two drove a little ways away from town square, finding yourselves at the cemetery.

“are anna, christoper, and my mother buried here?” you asked.

“yes, they are. do you want to see their graves?” stefan asked.

you sat in the car for a few moments, holding your seatbelt in thought. you shook your head as an answer.

“no, i would hate to put a damper on this lovely evening.”

“oh, well, it’s okay. you always manage to make things bright and happy, even when we’re visiting the cemetery, but if you really don’t want to, then i’ll take you to the salvatore estate, and where your house was located.”

“mm, i am sure. we can visit some other time,” you smiled.

he returned the expression. “alright.” he got out, going to open the door for you, but you had already jumped out.

“sorry, i um, wanted to see how the door works,” you admitted sheepishly.

stefan grinned, finding your curiosity adorable. “no worries. ready to go?”

“indeed i am,” you nodded.

you took the initiative and laced your fingers with his. stefan glanced at you, his chest swelling with joy. it was almost like old times.

“so, where is the salvatore estate?” you asked.

“it’s just a mile into the woods. there’s only a singular pillar there because it got torn down, but the pillar marks the spot where the house stood.”

“why did it get torn down? it was such a beautiful home. surely someone from these days would want to live in it,” you frowned.

“you’d think that, but i guess folks these days want something more modern. but, wait, do you remember my house?” hope filled his eyes, carrying all the way through his voice.

“i think i do. it seems… familiar in my mind. i remember the front of the house, the beautiful entrance and the pretty rose bushes, the steps that led up to the door. i remember a room… it was of medium size. there was a big bed in the middle, a deep-sea blue carpet under it. there was a bug mirror across from the bed, a painting or two hung up on the walls. there was a small desk in the corner next to the closet. the room is very empty, but it brings back feelings of warmth and calmness.”

“yeah, that was my room. you spent most of your summer’s in there with me.”

“oh,” your eyes lit up. “you said that we didn’t officially get together until after we were vampires, but i remember being in the bed in lots of white, button-up shirts. did we-?” you looked to him, eyes wide and hoping he would say yes.

his cheeks were tainted pink as he nodded. “yes, we had lots of fun nights, but not all of them consisted of sex.”

“i see,” you nodded, a little smile on your face. “what else did we do besides sleep together, then?”

“well, most times we just laid there in each other’s arms. sometimes i would read to you and you would fall asleep in my arms. other times we danced, sang, talked about the future together. and let me tell you, we definitely did not imagine an eternity together, but i’m really glad it turned out that way. despite all the pain we suffered.”

your chest warmed as you imagine you two in the 1800s, doing more and being more than just friends with intimate relations.

“does damon know of this?” you questioned.

“he does, but no one else doesn’t. to make things easier, we just told everyone that we started dating after we became vampires, and that we got married in 1963, which we did.”

“and how was the wedding?” you asked.

“the best night of my life,” he grinned. “we have lots of pictures of that night in the living room and our room, which i will show you when we get back.”

“i can’t wait,” you smiled giddily.

you squeezed stefan’s hand, the gesture making both of your body’s shiver.

“here it is,” he said, taking you closer to the singular pillar.

you let go of his hand slowly, walking around the property. you closed your eyes, feeling the cool breeze fan your face. you stood in the middle, right where the living room be. lots of memories then flooded back to you, making you snap your eyes open.

“your father didn’t like us together,” you stated.

stefan furrowed his brows. “yes, how-how do you know that?”

you didn’t answer him, continuing to reminisce.

“i was meant to wed damon, yet, i fell in love with you. your mother would let us play together, knowing that the fate your father decided wasn’t going to happen. she accepted us. she actually liked us better together than damon and i. she thought damon was too wild, too untamed to settle down so young. he was like her, in that way. but you, once you saw me at our first ball at age 14, you knew i was the one. i remember you telling me this one night on my sixteenth birthday. you had taken me up to your room, sneaking up extra cake for me, and we laid together on your bed. that was both of our first time that night - it was amazing. you told me before we went to bed about your growing feelings for me. that night we both said ‘i love you’ for the first time.”

stefan stared at you, mouth agape and tears welling in his eyes.

“you-you really remember that?”

“i do,” you smiled slowly at him. “i remember the marks you left on my skin, the joy i felt as you held my hand, the way i cried when you told me that you loved me. i-i’m afraid that this is all i remember, but -“

“no, no, it’s enough. it’s more than enough,” he sniffled, coming closer to you. he slipped his hand into yours, his other hand wrapping around your waist.

you smiled, putting your free hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb up and down on his cheekbones. you looked into his eyes, studying his face as your hand went up and ran itself through his hair. you brought your hand back down to cup his cheek, your fingers dancing along his jawline.

“i also remember skipping school, playing football in the backyard, me wearing your shirt for the first time and it leading to us sleeping together again,” you giggled.

“how do you remember all of this?” he asked.

“the travelers must’ve just took all the important information about us, which we can deal with later. i want to enjoy this moment now,” you breathed out.

“thank god that they took that important stuff. it’s not that important once you think about it,” he nodded.

“i agree. i bet damon wouldn’t agree about that, though,” you joked.

“well, damon has never been madly in love until the last couple of years. but, me? i’m been in love with you forever.”

your lips spread widely and you looked deeply into his eyes, feeling yourself falling for him again.

“i love you,” you exhaled. stefan grinned, “i love you more.”

“nu-uh,” you shook your head. “mmhm,” he smirked.

you moved in closer, your nose bumping his softly. your eyes flickered down from his eyes to his lips multiple times before closing the gap. your lips met his in slow motion, immediately moving with his. his lips were soft and kissed you well, like he had done this a million times before, and couldn’t wait to do it again. he held you close against him, breathing in deeply at the taste of your lips. he felt at peace once again, whole and complete. and as for you, you felt alive.

every atom in your body was humming in pleasure. the feeling of his hands in your body, fitting right in with your curves, were like finally finishing a puzzle. it gave you butterflies, the way he tasted and smelled. the way he kissed you was delicious. it was gentle, but passionate. his lips worked against yours quickly, his tongue sliding against yours, eliciting a small moan from your throat. your teeth bumped each other gently, causing the kiss to then become fast, needy, hot.

you pulled away before anything else could commence, your chest heaving up and down. a line of spit broke off from your lips, breaking off as the breeze ran through it.

“remember anything else now?” stefan breathed out.

“just how much i’ve missed you,” you stated.

“i’ve missed you, too, baby. wanna go and see where old home was now?”

“yes, i’d love that,” you nodded. “great. come and follow me, then we can go home and i’ll make you your favorite meal, okay?” he suggested.

“that sounds amazing.”

“i’m so glad to have you back, y/n,” he squeezed your hand.

“i’m glad to be back.”

————

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