#stilinski family friends | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

murdrdocs · 4 months ago

Text

torn at the seams

description. "and if we don't lose our virginities by seventeen, let's just lose them to each other, okay?" you were serious when you told STILES STILINSKI that in middle school, and now that you're both adults, and both still virgins, you intend to hold up your end of the bargain.

includes. SMUT MDNI 18+, loser! stiles (that's just canon), virginity loss for both parties, fingering, protected sex (hallelujah!), typical nervous stiles, teaching, lots of kissing, childhood friends

wc. 5.7k+

a/n: started this a yr ago and found it and finished it. for my bsf, happy (early) birthday! artwork is the kiss by edvard munch. title from cherry by lana del rey

From below, there was a soft thump of music, upbeat song after upbeat song following each other as whatever playlist your friends decided on played throughout the house. The floors and walls vibrate occasionally, giving you a faint idea of the beat.

You would’ve focused more on it, maybe tried to figure out if it’s a song you’d pressured them into putting into the rotation, if you weren’t so distracted by the body steadily moving around your bedroom.

You watch Stiles Stilinski, eyes trailing from the back of his faded shirt to the hand holding a red solo cup that you were 80 percent sure was half full of diet Coke. He walks around your bedroom, eyeing the pictures and collectible items you’d acquired over the years.

Your own solo cup sat on your nightstand, temporarily living with more trinkets. A photo of you and friends, a few rings you didn’t intend to wear tonight, a tube of chapstick that usually sat on your lips in place of the lipgloss you wore tonight, a hand cream. The items you intended to use shortly were stashed under your pillow, purposefully put there for easy access.

You had the urge to slide your hand under there and check their location, suddenly fearful that something had happened to them between the time you sat them there and went downstairs to join the party.

But doing so would’ve been too obvious, so instead you sit still on your bed, shoes discarded and your feet folded under you.

You continue to watch Stiles observe, your lips tugged into a small smile, remembering just how hyperactive Stiles could be.

“And this picture. When was this?” he asks you.

You lean forward a little, looking around his body whenever he steps off to the side. The photo in question is of you standing at an amusement park, just a year or so younger, a grin on your face as you stood in front of a popular attraction.

“Early last year, my family trip.”

Stiles nods, understanding without details that every year your family went on a trip together, extended and immediate meeting at one location for at least a week. There were times when you were younger when you had to ditch plans with Stiles for your family.

He doesn’t point out another picture. He rocks on his feet, amber eyes looking up at the ceiling. Suddenly, it occurs to you that Stiles is nervous.

It’s different from how he used to behave when he was nervous as a kid. Then, he would stammer, gnaw on his bottom lip, tap his hands on the desk or his knee. Now his fingers subtly tap against the rim of his cup, his other hand stuffed in his pocket. He’s silent. He licks his lips instead of gnawing on them and the action directs your gaze right to them.

You try not to stare, averting your eyes elsewhere.

Scooting over to make room, you let your feet dangle off of the edge of the bed and pat the newly created space beside you. Stiles falters, glancing at your hand and then at you. It takes him a second but he eventually places his solo cup on your desk and skitters towards you.

The bed dips with his weight. He sits a little far from you, basically on the other end of the bed. It’s silent again. You both stare straight ahead. You wonder if he’ll speak first, so you remain quiet, waiting for him to make a move. When he doesn’t, you take a breath.

“Do you remember when we were in middle school? And we made that pact?”

You look over at Stiles in time to catch him thinking for a second, his eyes squinted and his lips parted. You see it come to him when he turns to face you.

“You mean the whole virginity thing. If we didn’t lose our virginities by a certain age—” 17. If neither of you lost your virginities by seventeen. “Then we would …” he trails off, leaving the last bit in the air.

You finish for him. “Lose it to each other.”

“Yeah.” A beat, a moment where Stiles doesn’t say anything and neither do you. It’s then that you hear his fingers drum against the bed. “But … but that was just a stupid little pact. We were kids, y’know?”

You shrug, turning your head to look over at him, fingers starting to twiddle in your lap. “Well, yeah. But I was serious. Were you not serious?” You don’t mean to sound as dejected as you do, but it comes out naturally, an accompanying pout forming on your lips.

It feels a little manipulative, and you’re trying to get rid of it as quick as it appears, but Stiles already sees.

Not expecting the effect on him, you’re slightly shocked when you see him start to worry a bit, nerves pushed to the side as he instantly attempts to soothe you. “Wha—Yeah. I mean, yeah. Of course, I was serious. ‘Were you serious?’ D-” He can’t continue his rambling when your lips are pressed against his, gloss finally ending up where you wanted it to.

He hesitates and you start to worry that you overstepped a boundary. Before tonight, you and Stiles haven’t hung out since freshmen year. Lots of things have changed with you since then, and who knows what could’ve changed with him. Maybe he has a girlfriend, or maybe he was serious about the pact in middle school, but he isn’t serious now. Maybe he already lost his virginity and you’re just the late bloomer.

You make the first moves to pull back, already planning to scoot to the edge of the bed, apologize, and down the rest of your liquor before going back downstairs.

But then he kisses you back. Tentatively at first, nothing but a small press of his lips against yours, mimicry of a peck. It’s a tiny movement, but it’s all you need.

You push yourself closer to him, your duvet rustling under your body. You place your hands in his flannel, fisting the fabric as his hands find your back, his palms resting flat along the curve.

Eventually, the two of you peel apart, lips separating slowly, leaving both of you to look into the eyes of the other.

“Was … is this okay?” Your voice is soft, but not because you’re shy. Your voice is soft because that’s how this moment feels—gently, soft, delicate. You feel comfortable in Stikes’ presence, and any timidness dissolves from your body.

He takes a second, pretty brown eyes scanning your face with a look you’re not used to seeing on his face. His lips pulled into the hint of a smile at the corners, his eyes soft, a little lidded like they were the one time you got high freshman year. He looks relaxed in the way that he is in the morning right before he wakes up, with no stress present in his body at all. Knowing that he’s like this because of you makes you feel giddy inside.

Stiles blinks and cups the back of your head with one large hand. He pulls you closer and places his lips back on yours.

Kissing Stiles is nice, to put it simply.

He tenderly kisses you with attention. His lips, smoother than you thought with the faint taste of cherry, glide over yours with precision. He doesn’t kiss you like he’s starving, but he kisses you like he’s appreciative. Like he’s as thankful for this moment as you are.

You’ve always imagined yourself in this position.

During late-night talks with your friends where you discussed crushes each of you would never get over, Stiles was always the first person on your mind. When you lay in your bed at night, sleep just out of reach, you’re only able to get closer to it with the thought of someone—with the thought of this.

Truth be told, you didn’t expect him to kiss so well. His lips move with a bit of hesitation as if he’s still testing the waters, but his hold on you—large hands on the back of your head and the middle of your back— is secure. He keeps you in place, not like you’d want to be anywhere else.

You move even closer until your knees knock together. You don’t know if it’s a reaction, but Stiles’ hand moves lower until his pinkie finger is against the small strip of skin left bare by your shirt and your jeans. His touch is warm, and it ignites something low in your belly, making you aware of a feeling you’re suddenly desperate to reach.

You start to kiss him with a little more fervor, the change instantly picked up by Stiles who matches your energy. He guides both hands onto your back, sliding them lower until they rest at the top of your ass. He circles his grip around solely your hips and digs his fingertips into the meat of your skin. When he tugs you closer to him, there’s nowhere left for you to go. It’s only logical that you straddle his hips instead.

You throw one leg over both of his, giving him unobstructed access to slide both of his hands down to your ass, the palms cupping the shape through the denim. You want to keep kissing him, but the small inhale of air through your nose isn’t doing much, so you pull away, instantly making it your goal to get as much air as you can as quickly as possible so you can go back to him.

Stiles, though, wastes no time, his lips latching onto the skin around your jaw, kissing down your neck, reaching your collarbone. You’re incredibly thankful that you decided to wear a revealing shirt tonight, leaving the tops of your tits visible, open to Stiles’ lips. He presses kisses into the tops of your breasts, spurred on by the way you grip the back of his head with both of your hands. You throw your head back and breathe languidly, taking in slow gulps of air and letting them out even slower.

The straps of your tee shirt fall down and then Stiles stills. You dip your gaze down to look at him, noticing how he’s staring straight at where he’s been pressing his lips. Your shirt still sits over your tits, but barely. If you relaxed and leaned forward a bit, the fabric would fall around your waist.

Stiles looks up at you, his eyes wider than they have been all night as if all of it is suddenly dawning on him. “Are you sure? Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head, hands starting to twitch at the back of Stiles’ head with anticipation. You run them up, fingers curling into his hair. Stiles’ eyes flutter shut and the image is breathtaking. It makes you wonder if he likes his hair pulled. Something you’ll have to try out eventually.

“I’m sure,” you assure him, “but if you want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

His small smile makes your chest a little tight, a deep breath just barely getting rid of the feeling.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” His head tilts and he looks fucking adorable. You want to see Stiles like this as often as you can, even outside of the capacity of fucking around.

You shrug, hoping you look half as cute as he does. “It can go both ways, can’t it?”

And you can’t resist him any longer, needing to have your lips back on his. It’s quickly becoming an addiction, kissing Stiles Stilinski. You kiss him with hunger this time, tasting the lingering vanilla Coke on his tongue. Your teeth clack a few times, the sound and feeling both unpleasant. So why do you keep letting it happen?

It’s definitely because you’ll let Stiles do anything to you. That’s why you’re completely pliant even when he flips you over.

It’s quick, and a little devoid of grace, but it does the job.

You end up with you on your back, legs bent at the knees and spread open. The warmth of Stiles kneeling between your legs is comforting. It’s nice to feel crowded like this, but it doesn’t last for long. Stiles is kneeling between your legs for only long enough to kiss you once, and then he stands at the foot of your bed, staring down at you.

You know you look a little disappointed, a pout probably on your lips, but when he leans down and reconnects your lips one more time, you’re smiling again. As he pulled away the tip of his nose brushed against yours as his eyes opened just enough to stare fondly at you.

“I’m gonna take your pants off. Is that okay?” He asked you, hands already settling on the fly of your jeans.

You nodded, your noses playing with each other with the movement. Stiles’ need for consent was driving you crazy in the best possible ways. It’s like you could feel arousal steadily gushing out of you, increasing tenfold when he stood up fully and positioned his hands at the waistband of your jeans.

His eyes found yours once more, seemingly checking for any indication that you wanted to turn back. There was none deep in your body, and you hoped that your face hadn’t betrayed you and displayed any apprehension. To ease your worries, you gave Stiles a gentle smile, feet digging into the bed beneath you as you lifted your hips just a bit.

Stiles took your answer in stride, slightly shaky hands peeling the button out of the hole, then sliding your zipper down until you saw the cherry-printed fabric of your panties. Stiles took a manual breath at the sight, hands halting as he just stared for a few seconds. He blinks twice, then hooks his fingers in your waistband and tugs your jeans over your ass, down your thighs and legs, and off around your ankles and feet, leaving you half-bare in front of your lifetime crush.

You’ve always known that Stiles is one to stare, ogle even. When you were in the same fifth-grade class, he would spend lunch looking across the room at a certain redhead. When you constantly watched a horror movie together the summer before sixth grade, Stiles would shamelessly stare at the main character, even when she had one of the most brutal death scenes you’ve ever seen.

Ogling is something Stiles is known for in your book. But having that directed towards you feels different. It makes you a little nervous, teenage jitters fluttering low in your belly, making you wring your fingers together and gnaw on your bottom lip.

Stiles, realizing that he’s staring for once, takes a breath, his hands hovering at your hips before it reoccurs to him that he’s allowed to touch you in a moment like this. You’ve permitted him.

His hands shake as they approach your hips, but they steady when warm flesh meets warm flesh.

“You’re so pretty,” he tells you, voice soft and earnest. The moment is tender, it’s vulnerable, and it makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“I’m not even naked yet.” It’s your attempt at a light joke to ease the heavy tension that’s suddenly painted itself on the walls of your room, surrounding both of you, trapping you in the very thing you’ve wanted since you were young. But having it makes you uneasy, the uncharted territory suddenly a whole lot scarier up close.

For once, Stiles doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t crack a joke back, he doesn’t make you double over in laughter with his sarcasm. His amber eyes look at you, his pink lips curl up into a smile, and he tells you, “You don’t have to be naked to be pretty. You’re beautiful.”

And you’re sure that your friends will tell you that it’s a little cheesy when you tell them every single detail of this moment, but you don’t care about that right now. Right now, your heart is soaring in your chest and your entire body is alight and you need Stiles Stilinski in ways you didn’t even think were possible.

Your breath hitches. You lick your lips.

“Stiles,” your voice is softer than you intended, it makes the moment even more tender. His eyebrows lift and you continue. “I need you to touch me. Please.”

He wants to, you can tell he wants to. But something is holding him back and you think you know what it is.

“I can teach you how. I can tell you what I like.” Not like you know much, either. Only things you’ve learned from your own explorations.

He nods, eager, and his hands find the hem of your shirt. “I wanna all of you. Is that okay?”

Again with the consent. It makes your vision swirl for a second, two blinks bringing Stiles back in focus as you nod and sit up completely, arms over your head so Stiles can take the top off.

Your bra and panties are the only garments left, and you look down at your frame, a surge of confidence overtaking you as you reach behind you and unclip your bra.

It falls and the sound Stiles makes would be comical if it weren’t for the situation. Actually, it still is comical, you just stifle your laugh for his own sake.

His pretty eyes are having some serious tunnel vision, eye line straight at your tits. You sit a little straighter, puffing your chest out just enough to make you question if drool is starting to pool at the corner of Stiles’ lips.

You know that this is the first pair of tits Stiles has seen in person and the revelation makes you even more proud of the set you sport.

You eye Stiles’ frame, suddenly all too aware of the stark contrast in clothing.

You squint at him accusatively. “Are you gonna even the playing field?”

He blinks at you dumbly once, twice, and then he looks down at his dusty blue shirt. “Oh!”

He rushes to throw his flannel off and does the same with his shirt off, barely even giving you enough time to do some admiring of your own before his hands fumble with the buckle and zipper of his cargo pants, his legs were suddenly useless as he awkwardly stumbles out of his pants. When he stands up straight, there’s a proud smile on his face that makes you giggle just a little, and just that one moment eases any tension or nerves you are feeling.

Because this is Stiles. Your Stiles. The kid with the hangout house who would always invite you over after school for movie marathons. The kid who would quickly let you copy his homework before the teacher got to you. The kid who would always wave to you in the hallways, even when your cliques were completely separate and you hadn’t properly spoken for months.

And now he’s watching you climb further up your bed, following after you, a hungry gaze in his eyes as he trails his eyes over your body from head to toe.

His hands find your hips once more, his touch light as he trails it down. His fingertips graze over the tops of your thighs, then they find your inner thighs. His touch makes your legs part more, some reference to the Red Sea hidden in there deep beneath all of your all-encompassing hormones.

Stiles watches between your legs while he brings two fingers to your center. They trail down, separating your lips, letting the tips of his fingers add pressure that already has you wanting more. You gasp, just a small sound that’s accidental, and Stiles licks his lips, a determined look in his eyes.

It’s a sudden movement when he pulls your panties down and off, tossing them at the foot of the bed where the rest of your clothes sit. There’s not even a moment for you to even imagine being insecure or uncomfortable with your bare skin. Stiles is already positioning his hand at your bare cunt, fingertips just millimeters away from connecting with your skin.

He wants to act, you can see it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits, he hovers, and he glances up at you. “I … I don’t,” he takes a second to breathe, and you let him finish. “What do I do?.”

There’s just the smallest amount of shame hidden beneath his words, but you don’t let it exist much longer when you soften your eyes.

You sit up, reaching out for him. “Stiles,” his eyes lift to connect with yours, the furrow between his eyebrows starting to relax. “There’s nothing to worry about. Okay? I want you, like really bad, if you can’t tell.” There’s just enough amusement in your tone to ease the tension, Stiles’ lips turning up into a satisfied smile.

He leans forward, presses his lips to yours once, and then slides his middle finger into you, slow and steady, met with just enough resistance to showcase your inexperience. His pace is slow, almost tortuous as Stiles slides the single finger in and out.

The depth that his slender finger reaches is enough to have you begging for more. You lift your hips from the bed and push your pelvis out toward his hand, with a plea for another digit leaving your lips.

Stiles easily complies, sliding his ring finger in to join his middle. The stretch burns for a second, but you’re fucking dripping at this point, and the haze in your mind combined with the lubrication prevents any possible discomfort. Instead, you’re focused on directing Stiles, directions filling the air along with your moans.

He listens easily, something you’re more than thankful for, especially whenever his fingertips brush against a spot that sends a tingle up your spine, and he’s finding the spot to abuse over and over again as soon as you tell him where it is.

When your eyes peel away from the ceiling, and you’re able to keep them open enough, you connect with a set of warm brown that lights your body. Stiles’ eyes are so attentive. You don’t think he’s been looking anywhere but at your face this entire time, despite your sheer nudeness. His lips are parted, still glistening with your gloss and saliva. His eyes are wide, never straying from you, eyebrows raised just enough to give the look of innocence.

But nothing is innocent about the way his free hand is palming his dick through his briefs.

Your eyes find the tent accidentally, a blink that sends your gaze downward for just enough time for you to pick up on the bulge beneath checkered boxer briefs. You can’t make out the size from here, especially not with the slight blur in your vision, your eyesight unsteady even as you try to blink it away.

You start to speak, to ask Stiles for what you really want, when he does, too.

“I wanna feel you.”

“I wanna taste you.”

Both of you sit still, Stiles’ fingers stopping, too. He stares at you as if he’s shocked that the words came from his mouth, and there are three blinks shared from each of you before your hips move again, chasing a high you had briefly forgotten about.

“Can we do that next time?” The words leave your mouth surrounded by gasps, little breaths that prove how worked up you already are.

“N…Next time?” His stutter is cute, a little flattering, and you’d spend more time thinking about it if you weren’t on the cusp of an orgasm. Stiles has started moving his fingers again, pace just a little faster, fingers starting to curl at an angle that has your hands fisting the sheets.

You nod, muscles starting to tense. “Yeah. Next time. Just need you so bad right now, Stiles.”

“Yeah.” He nods, stares at you, and then nods once more. “Okay. Yeah.” You’re close, so very close, and then Stiles—overeager, enthusiastic, about to blow his pants Stiles—pulls his fingers out.

The noise that spills past your lips is completely accidental, almost guttural. It’s deep, and comes from the part of you that’s so obviously frustrated (the part of you that’s purely hormones and no logic). Stiles looks startled for a second, a string of curses coming past his pink lips as he fumbles off the bed and towards his pants.

“Shit. Were you about to cum? I’m sorry, fuck, that’s totally my bad.” He’s speaking to you, but his eyes are watching his hands which ransack his pockets. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for, the thud of jeans and a leather wallet hitting the floor alerting you.

“What is it?” Your tone is a little more bitter than intended, but you’re disastrously horny and Stiles is under too much duress to notice.

“I don’t have a condom,” he tells you, voice wobbling like it’s the worst news in the world. Like he’s telling you about the impending doom that’ll fall onto this plane of existence. His face is the most serious you’ve ever seen, and it’s a look you don’t really like on Stiles’ usually happy-go-lucky face.

You don’t bother replying as you dig your hand under the pillow, ignoring how Stiles stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

It’s not until you whip out the two condoms you have, pinched between your middle and pointer finger like you’ve seen in countless movies, that Stiles’ face relaxes.

“I came prepared.” You’re proud when you say it, happy that your anxiety-ridden over planning paid off in the end.

Stiles looks relieved, too, quickly resuming his previous spot with one of his hands reaching out towards the aluminum packet between your fingers, except this time without his boxers.

You try not to stare, truly, but it’s hard to keep your eyes from tilting down to look at his hard dick between you both. You're trying to calculate the length-to-girth ratio, making educated guesses on just how much pain and how much pleasure you’ll be in, but you’re just too busy taking it all in.

Looking at the thick happy trail that leads down to the patch of pubic hair resting above his dick. His abdomen is tight, something you’ve known from the times he’s changed in front of you, too busy ranting about Coach Finstock to notice the way you’d stared at him. Now, you don’t care if he notices. Because Stiles is fucking hot, even more so in his position.

His eyebrows politely furrow when you pull the aluminum out of his reach, his lips starting to form a question that you already started to answer.

“Let me put it on. Please?”

Stiles short circuits, you can see it with the way he dumbly blinks at you. It takes some prompting from you—a simple raise of your eyebrows—for him to nod, retracting his hand and sitting back on his heels.

“Go right ahead,” he confirms, his hands resting on his thighs.

You rip the packet open and pull the condom out, throwing the aluminum in the general direction of your nightstand, leaving it there for you to deal with afterward. Placing your fingers over the condom in a mimicking shape, you press it onto the tip of Stiles’ dick, instantly cataloging the way it’s just barely flushed the same color of his lips with a bead of nearly translucent pre cum drooling off to the side.

The pre smears over his skin as you glide the condom down, allowing yourself to feel the warmth of Stiles’ dick in your hand as you go down. You don’t see it, not when your eyes are staring intently at the cock in front of you, but Stiles’ eyes have fluttered closed above you. His lips have parted, his nostrils flaring just a bit with the exhale he lets out. He’s getting off to you putting a condom on him, and you only catch the tail end of it when you throw a curious glance up at him once the condom is seated completely over him.

“Good?”

He nods, opening his eyes to stare down at you. “Fucking great.”

You lay back, spread your legs, and let Stiles back in.

He hovers, asks you if you’re okay, and as soon as you nod, he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance.

When your friends ask you about it later, when they press you for details and inevitably come to the question that everyone wonders about, you’ll tell them that it hurt. Because it did. More uncomfortable than anything, a feeling that you had to breathe through. Luckily, Stiles was there coaching you through it.

Demonstrating breaths that he repeated with you, gently nodding even when his face screwed up. You could see the way he was holding himself back, the veins in his arms prominent as he held your hip with one hand, the other pressed into the pillow beneath your head.

“Keep going?” he eventually asked you. Excitement clearly flooded his eyes when you nodded.

He gave you slow thrusts, deep and meticulous as if he were terrified of hurting you, and he was. He kept glancing from the sight of where the two of you were connected up to your eyes, watching attentively for any sign that you wanted to stop.

But it never came. After the initial discomfort, you hooked a leg over Stiles’ back. It’s like a switch flipped, telling you that you needed as much Stiles as you could get. He was in you, yes, and he had his hands over your body, but it wasn’t enough.

Stiles could give you his all and it still would never be too much.

“More?”

You nodded. “More, please.”

Stiles was eager to obey your request. He didn’t give it his all, you could still feel the restraint in each of his thrusts, but he gave you more. He drove into you with a little more power, holding his punches towards the end. The drag-out happened faster, as did the slide-in.

It was a steady pace, rhythmic enough to provide stimulation. You won’t cum from just this, it’s obvious to you, but this is good. It puts a tickle in your lower belly. One that flutters around your insides, twisting them every so often.

You feel so good, euphoric, even. At this moment, you understand the claims of post-sex glow. How could you not glow after this? It’s like Stiles is a fucking natural. There are a few moments where he’s a little off, but he picks up where he left off. He seems confident, and undoubting of his abilities, and it only makes everything better.

Stiles groans and you’re brought back. You stare up at him, taking in as much as you can. The freckles and moles dotting his face and shoulders, the slight sunburn he has over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, how his hair falls over his forehead, a few strands sticking to his pale skin.

He’s so pretty. You don’t know how you ever thought you would have gotten over him. After this, you don’t think you ever will get over him.

He leans down and knocks his forehead against yours.

“You feel so good,” he admits. He sounds so honest and it turns you on.

You curl your fingers in Stiles’ hair, pulling only a bit, but the reaction is still there. The sound he makes resembles a whine. It’s addicting. You want to hear it again.

So you pull Stiles further down and suck on his jaw, combining it with another gentle pull of his hair. He doesn’t make the same sound, not immediately. At first, he moans, clean and simple, and then your cunt flutters around him and he whines again.

It’s such a pretty sound.

He starts to fuck into you messily, lacking any of the precision from before. His thrusts become more shallow, and you watch his features relax.

“Are you close, Stiles?” you ask him, although you think you know the answer.

He nods. “Yes. Yeah, ‘m so fucking close.”

He takes his hand off of your thigh and searches. You don’t realize what for until he finds your hand. More fumbling and then your fingers are interlocked. Stiles presses your hand back into the pillow, the secure weight of his own hand keeping it there, and then he presses his lips to yours.

He kisses you for a second, and you’re able to reciprocate for the sole moment. But you’re close, too. You can barely reciprocate when you’re as focused on your own orgasm, everything else pressed to the back of your mind.

You use your free hand to tweak your clit, speeding your pace up when you realize that Stiles is just a few thrusts short of cumming.

When he does cum—shooting into the condom with a final thrust, his forehead resting on your sternum as his grip on your hand tightens—you’re not far behind. Stiles weakly thrusts into you a few times and it’s during the second one that your muscles seize, an orgasm unlike anything else you’ve ever felt taking over your body, your middle finger absentmindedly rubbing against your clit as you let the orgasm wash over you.

It takes a minute for both of you to come down. Stiles stays hovered over your body, his forearm keeping him up as he relaxes the lower half of his body onto yours. A couple of minutes pass before he even makes an attempt to move, and even when he does, he keeps your hands interlocked.

He speaks first. “Please tell me that was as good for you as it was for me.”

You nod, unable to do anything other than blink up at the ceiling for a second. Eventually, you tell him, “Yeah.”

It’s not much, which Stiles is quick to comment on. “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

“‘m just a little out of it right now, Stiles.” When you turn your head to look at him, he’s smiling like he’s proud of himself. You scoff, weakly kicking his shin. “Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Sorry. I’m just definitely gonna be thinking about this for a while.”

#stilesworld!#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilisnki smut #celeste writes misc

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Do you have any fanfics about Stiles turning into a fox?

Hi anon! @kevaaronday made this list for you.

Mating Run by Starless_Void (9/9 | 47,631 | Explicit | Steter) Newly presented werefox omega, Stiles Stilinski, signs up for the annual Mating Run, a supernatural event designed to pair eligible were-folk of the candid variety. Alpha Peter Hale returns to his hometown after being away for ten years, traveling the world and making his fortune, or, well, adding to it, at least.

You can guess what happens next...;)

Exceeding Expectations by Dagger_Stiletto (2/2 | 20,497 | Teen | Steter) This is the last time the Hale Pack will ever entrust Stiles to Scott fucking McCall's care. The absolute last time. He couldn't keep his dick inside his pants for a single night, and now Stiles is a Were-creature, Bitten against his will and drugged and abandoned by the friend that should have been there to protect him. But now Peter is an Alpha again, and all the better for it. Peter will be sure to keep his favorite Beta safe where Scott wouldn't.

The Der-Bear-Est of Them All by sapphireginger (16/16 | 18,976 | Teen | Sterek) True Mates Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale are as close as close can be. Derek is very protective of his little mate who is only three while he himself is only seven.

This is their story.

At Home Under the Moon by wanderingeye (1/1 | 18,425 | Explicit | Sterek) There is no doubt in Derek’s mind that this fox is alone, in trouble, and needs to come home with them, with him. Derek takes a risk and lets his wolf go, calling his human side forward as he shifts. The fox barks in alarm and scrambles back to the bushes. Derek kneels and holds his hands out palm up.

Derek pushes power into the next words and lets his eyes go red. “I promise. You’re safe. No one will hurt you.”

Caged by DearDaisy, Giveemhale (1/1 | 16,274 | Teen | Sterek) Werefox Stiles instantly knows there are hunters in his town, he can smell them. But with them has come that enticing scent that he used to smell in Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills, the place where he grew up and where his mother died. And the place him and his father left.

Stiles isn’t going to let hunters come into his town, only when he investigates, he finds a captive wolf.

Stiles is My Safe Place by Star_crossed02 (5/5 | 10,106 | Mature | Sterek) Stiles gets bitten by Kali, and after a brief adjustment period, proceeds to co-lead the Hale Pack to defeat the Alpha Pack once and for all.

What happens when a sassy spark-werefox starts courting an alpha sourwolf?

Stiles Stilinski Animal Whisperer by StaciNadia (1/1 | 5,558 | Teen | Sterek) When Stiles gets bitten and becomes a werefox, he discovers that he can understand what animals are saying.

Only You Can Calm Me Down by AMatchInWater (1/1 | 3,228 | Teen | Sterek) Stiles turns into a fox after the Nogitsune leaves him and he thinks that Derek is his Alpha and not Scott. With Derek having left for South America with Cora, Stiles feels separated from not only his pack but his mate and goes feral.

Of course Derek immediately comes back when the sheriff calls him and demands he come fix Stiles. It isn't until he's back in Beacon Hills that he sees just what he needs to fix.

Dear Derek… I’m dating your uncle? By Geoff_Ramseys_Moustache (1/1 | 2,483 | Teen | Steter) Peter and Stiles have been dating for a while, and they haven't exactly been subtle... it's not their fault their family is oblivious.

The Pack find out about Peter and Stiles.

AND

@seaweed-water suggested this one.

Do Not Go Gentle by MojoFlower

(51/51 I 191,878 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale, Beacon Hills Alpha and Dom, wakes up in a dark cell already housing another captive – a mute, traumatized sub with a cruel collar around his neck. His only goal is to get them both free of their brutal circumstances; but even as he tries to get his young companion home, a bond between them grows. Nothing comes easily: danger and harrowing echoes of their ordeal shadow every step they take.

AND AND

@library-fiend suggested this one.

Hanging On (You're All That's Left To Hold On To) by vMures

(19/19 I 92,823 I Teen I Steter)

The Stilinskis find themselves struggling in the aftermath of the Nogitsune; sometimes help comes from the most unlikeliest of places.

#teen wolf #sterek #steter #stiles stilinski #derek hale #peter hale #fox!stiles #anon

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patolemus · 6 months ago

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Sterek fic recs: High School AU Edition

In honor of my conversation with @darling-winnie about same age!Sterek, as well as my promise to @oldefashioned, here are some high school au recs!

1. Double Cherries (And 'Extra' Hoodies) by undercoverbastard

“No, no - wait - don’t tell me,” Stiles suddenly said, leaning forward and grinning at the boy directly on his right, eyes gleaming with joy and mischief as he spoke. “You want… a salmon burger, swiss, with fruit, and a vanilla shake. Eh?”

Derek scowled, shoving his menu at Stiles as he slumped back. “No,” he said plainly. Stiles pouted.

“Too bad! That’s what I’m penning you in for, Eyebrows,” Stiles said, scribbling on his notepad as he stood and began to walk away. Derek huffed, opening his mouth to give Stiles his actual order, but the only word he got out was ‘I’ before Stiles waved him off without even looking back at Derek or down at the notepad, stride unbroken, as he recited:

“Double cheeseburger, half swiss, half cheddar, no pickles, curly fries, side honey mustard, strawberry milkshake, extra thick, double cherries.”

+.+.+

OR: alive hale family, alive claudia, and high school friends stiles/derek - all wrapped into one, based on a joke from a TV show i watched when i was 7, and then got wildly out of control!

Notes: adorable, I love their banter and the conection they have. Alive!Hale family is always such a treasure, and Claudia and Talia's friendship is great here. It's completed.

2. i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleepobleep

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he's not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he's ever wanted— except he doesn't seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Notes: Derek is not having a good time. Pookie just wants to be with his best friend but it turns out they're not best friends anymore and the world doesn't make sense because of it. A little angsty but it all works out. It's completed.

3. Don't Kiss and Tell by Hedwig221b

Paige has finally got the boyfriend she always wanted. The only thing is, said boyfriend doesn't touch her, doesn't kiss her and spends all his time with Stiles Stilinski. You'd think they were dating, or something...

Notes: When I tell you I go feral for this au every single time I read it! Hedwig has the best unhinged obsessive sterek fics and I'll swear on that, don't even try to change my mind. Poor Paige is definitely being led on here, and both Derek and Stiles are assholes in this one, but they're in love and they're completely devoted to each other, so it's okay (I know it doesn't make sense now, but it will. Trust). It's completed.

4. But Then What... by Stoney

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

Notes: Typical Jock/Nerd enemies to lovers only it's Stiles being incredibly paranoid and angsty all of the time lol. They both had me shaking my head because my babies truly don't know how to communicate, but we got there! Eventually. It's completed.

5. Just The Same by foxlavander

Something is seriously up with the captain of the lacrosse team. There's just no way Derek Hale is human. *** “I was wondering if you're even human. You move so quickly. I mean, it's ridiculously fast. No human should be able to move that fast, y'know? It's unfair for us. I mean, it's obvious you work out, and I don't, so that could be why, but like...I was just wondering if you were human, that's all.” “Stop talking, Stilinski, or I'll—” “Put me on the bench all season?” Stiles asks knowing full well that Derek Hale can't threaten him with shit.

Notes: This one is so good. Stiles is onto you, Derek! But seriously, they're so awesome in this one. And Derek bakes and he wants to open up a bakery and it's adorable. I love them and I love the Hales, everything is great. Look out for the werewolf reveal! It's completed.

6. The In Which Stiles Is Secretly Magic series by apocryphal

All Stiles wants from life is to learn to control his magic, keep his grades up, and not die horribly while saving Beacon Hills from supernatural threats. It's all going pretty well until Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire, has to go and ask him on a date. That asshole.

Notes: The lore for magic users in here is honestly so good. Love the world building! The Hales are alive in this one as well, which for me is always a plus. A little bit (maybe more than a little bit) angsty but it ends well. There's a few things going on, but basically Stiles is basically Deaton's apprentice and there are Rules(TM) he has to follow as a magic user. He's pretty badass though! The series is technically not finished, but both parts in the series are completed.

7. cheer up, babe by graveltotempo

He was the basketball captain. And he was a cheerleader. Can I make it any more clear? OR: Derek Hale thought he had his crush on Stiles Stilinski under control. And then Stiles decided to show up to school in a skirt.

Notes: Derek spends all 20k words thirsting over Stiles, as he should. Stiles gets to wear a skirt and be generally awesome. They are disgustingly sweet together.

8. Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Notes: This one is very sweet. There's insecure Stiles and absolutely lovely Derek. It's abo with Omega!Stiles and Alpha!Derek, and it's actually pretty wholesome. Derek is like public enemy number one of BHHS and a jock, Stiles is a loner, and when they turn out to be soulmates they have to navigate what that means for it. It has 13 out of 14 chapters, last updated in March of 2024.

9. too busy being yours to fall for somebody else by whiry

Stiles, worried that Scott may actually leave him behind because of his newfound popularity, is desperate to cling to something away from the drama of Lydia Martin's amazing parties and the woes of high school lacrosse. What he finds is Derek Hale, a guy who seemingly hates Stiles at first, but slowly, and insistently, becomes friends with him. As their friendship grows, Stiles starts to wonder if they could ever become something more or if pushing what they have will lead him to being alone for good.

Notes: Also very sweet! It's strangers to friends to lovers, and Stiles falls out of love with Lydia without even realizing because he's fallen in love with Derek. The Hales are alive in this one, yay! The way sterek bonds over music is also so good! It's completed.

10. Stupid Over You by Wolfspurr

It's a Friday night, and instead of enjoying any of the numerous things he'd rather be doing, Stiles has been roped into dinner with his dad at the Hale's. On the plus side, Derek Hale will be there. On the minus side, Derek Hale will be there, and Stiles already has a hard enough time not making an ass of himself in front of the hottest guy in school. There's no way this can end well.

Notes: Overall amazing fic! Stiles is his oblivious awkward self that we all know and love, Derek is completely smitten with him. All this wrapped up in a dinner with the Hales and the Stilinskis. That's it, that's the fic. It's completed.

11. Six Minutes by CosmoKid

“What do you want?” Derek practically grows when Stiles is near enough to hear. He can definitely feel the werewolf vibes coming from the guy as well as the fuck off vibes that roll off him in tsunami-sized waves. Stiles has one thing he needs to say to Derek, but he also has eight million questions to ask him about the werewolf thing and he can barely sort out his thoughts as it is, let alone when there’s a ridiculously attractive werewolf who’s basically Adonis staring at him. Derek takes another drag of his cigarette and raises his eyebrows at Stiles expectantly. He shivers and blurts out, “Six minutes.” That makes Derek smirk, but it’s so condescending that even Harris would be impressed. “No offense, Kitten,” Derek starts and Stiles just narrows his eyes at the nickname. Derek keeps his eyes trained on Stiles as if to dare him to challenge the nickname. Stiles bites his tongue and resists it. “But you’re not really my type.”

Notes: This is not your typical high school au, but it's a nice change of pace. It's got werewolves, which we love, and bad boy Derek. Stiles stood no chances lol. It's completed.

12. The covalent bonds series by HaldFizzbin

Awkward Nerd Derek has been crushing on Handsome Jock Stiles since forever—so getting paired with him on a Chemistry project is definitely the best/worst thing that's ever happened to him.

Notes: I went on a little Nerd!Derek and Jock!Stiles fixation the other day so here we have it. Derek is awkward and funny and insecure and we love him. Stiles is Stiles, and he's awesome. The series is not finished, but all the parts of the series are complete.

13. It's Always Been You, Dumbass by stilinskisparkles

“Alright, cool, we should go,” Stiles says breezily, dusting off his hands as he stands. “We should?” “Yeah!” “But… Do you even care about photography?” “Not as much as I should,” Stiles plants both his hands on the table, bracketing Derek in, “You’ll have to correct my miscreant ways.”

Notes: Stiles is helplessly pining, Derek is painfully oblivious and the absolute last to find out. Somehow, they still go on like three dates together. It's pretty great, and it's completed.

14. can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? by whirl

There's something strange about Beacon Hills. Stiles can't really put his finger on it, but the way certain classmates look at him at school and the way certain adults look at him in the grocery store has him curious. And it's not the sort of pitying looks that his mom's coworkers used to give him, but these ones are longer, more searching, like they're looking for something. Not to mention the weird noises that sometimes come from the woods when he runs, too human to be animal and too animal to be human. Plus the way the Hales have seemed to sequester themselves to the wild and give Stiles serious Cullen family vibes. But Stiles, like everyone else apparently, ignores it. Until it becomes too great to ignore and he has to investigate for himself and find out what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. +++ Or, the one where Stiles and Derek meet, hate each other, slowly get to know one another, and fall totally head over heels for each other all while avoiding curious classmates, an angry ex-girlfriend, and, oh yeah, imminent death.

Notes: This one is kinda crazy but in a good way! It's 120k words long so be prepared for that, and Stiles finds out about werewolves. Derek, pookie, I'm rooting for you all the way! Also Cora, my beloved. I adore her. Stiles is pretty confused all the time for a while there. It's completed.

15. scary stories and roasted goods by graveltotempo

“I have more, you know?” grumbled Jackson, clearing his throat. “Okay, fine. Here’s another; a man goes is staying at a hotel for the weekend. On his way to his room, he notices a door with no number on it-” “An albino woman with white skin and red eyes committed suicide in that room years ago,” finished Erica, inspecting her nails with a smirk. “We know that too.” “A babysitter goes to put two children to sleep in their room and notices a large creepy clown statue in the corner-” he tried again. “Get out of the house, we don’t have a clown statue,” said Allison, tried to hide a laugh at the flustered expression on Jackson’s face. “Two roommates in a room. Sarah says that she wants to go to a party and Mary wants to stay home-” “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn the lights on?” said Derek, and Stiles laughed, looking at him with sparkling eyes. OR the cheerleading squad, the lacrosse team and the basketball team go camping.

Notes: Another cheerleader!Stiles and Jock!Derek. I love them your honor. It's all very sweet and Derek pines as he ought to do lol. Don't worry, there's light at the end of the tunnel. It's completed.

That's all I have for this one. I probably have more in my TBR but I guess we'll find out. If I ever get there. My sterek TBR only ever grows and I never seem to be able to finish fics as fast as I find them lol. Hope you guys like these!

#I love high school aus #they give me life #love it when their biggest worry is passing their classes and going out on dates #and not whether or not the monster of the week is going to eat them #high school au #sterek #fic recs #sterek fic recs #ao3 #stiles stilinski #derek hale #eternal sterel #eternalsterek #teen wolf

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illiterateaffairs · 1 month ago

Text

breaking point | stiles x reader

masterlist

pairing: stiles stilinski x f!reader (best friend/witch)

word count: 2,589

warnings: brief mention of having a period but one sentence! cursing, angst, kissing (oh my!)

summary: set at the end of 3b. you pride yourself on being the strong one in the pack so your friends don't have to be. but after recent events - watching stiles get possessed, losing allison and aiden - you can't push your feelings away any longer. thankfully, there's a sweet boy outside your window ready to be there for you this time.

author's note: i have so much i can say about the world in which this story lives but don't want to drone on and on...so another note at the end and more to come. hope you enjoy! <3 (and for anyone following me for jamie tartt x reader content...do not give up on me yet!)

You couldn’t remember the last time you cried.

You think it had to have been when you were a kid. Maybe a scraped knee. Maybe after you had rewatched Bambi for the thousandth time.

What you do remember is the core reason you stopped letting yourself cry.

Seeing Scott after his parents divorced taught you there were worse things in life than cuts and scrapes. You’ll never forget the look on his face the day his dad moved out. You and Stiles tried every trick in the book to make him smile but it took days for you to see his crooked grin again.

Though, that was nothing compared to when Stiles lost his mom.

You had never experienced grief like that, that wasn’t a cartoon animal in a movie. It was anyone’s guess why your families let Scott and you attend the funeral, but the three of you were already codependent by eight years old. You were overwhelmed by the sight of seeing your silly, sweet best friend cry so hard, and it was harder to watch his dad fight through his own tears. Even Scott got choked up. But not you.

Of course, you were just as devastated. Claudia was like a mother to you. But observing the equally upset people trying to comfort young Stiles made you want to be the one person in the room who could just be there for him and let him mourn. Even as a little girl, you had the selfless instinct to put your feelings aside and prioritize your friend’s.

You stay strong so they don’t have to; that became your mantra, even subconsciously.

No matter what shit you were going through, you swallowed your own fears, pain, and anger so you could be there for whoever needed you. And that decision soon became a part of your programming. Even if no one was around, you never let yourself break, no matter the situation.

You stopped crying during movies, no matter how depressing.

The first time you experienced period cramps so bad you had to stay home from school, you just bit your tongue and didn’t shed a tear.

As you transitioned to middle school school, and into high school, and your feelings for Stiles went from innocent crush to more, you pushed any heartbreak down when he looked right past you at Lydia Martin.

Admittedly things have gotten harder the last year. Being there when Scott was bitten by a werewolf was startling but you swallowed your fear for him and focused on his well-being. You even held it together when you started learning of your own supernatural abilities and family secrets that changed everything you thought you knew about yourself. In moments of danger and near-death, you focused on making sure Stiles was okay. Making sure Allison was okay. Lydia, Derek, Isaac, even Jackson at times. You were physically incapable of taking a minute to assess how you felt about things, your mind just redirecting to concern for your friends and loved ones.

There were some close calls. Mainly when it came to Stiles.

The night he played his first lacrosse game with you cheering in the stands ended with Gerard kidnapping and scarring him. The second you saw his face afterwards, you nearly let the damn break.

It was no surprise that the last few months were particularly challenging. You could hardly stomach watching Stiles, Scott, and Allison nearly sacrifice themselves to save their parents, your hands plunging Stiles into the ice cold water. It was nearly impossible to watch him become the shell of who he was in the weeks following until he wasn’t himself altogether.

And then Allison…

You felt the loss of Erica and Boyd heavily but you knew Isaac and Derek were taking it harder, so you were there for them. However with Allison…she was one of your best friends and that made it infinitely more difficult to bear. But she was Lydia’s best friend. Scott’s first love. They needed you more than you needed to cope on your own.

And then, tonight. Just as you finally put an end to the horror that was the Nogitsune, your pack was hit with another loss: Aiden. Lydia’s relationship with him was complicated, but that didn’t make her any less devastated as she ran out of the school and took in the scene. Holding your friend while she sobbed over the death of two of the most important people in her life is traumatizing, but reaffirming nonetheless; you had no right to cry when someone else was going through worse.

It was an unhealthy and ridiculous thought, but it was what your brain had been conditioned.

So here you were, slowly entering your room at an ungodly hour after making sure Lydia would be okay on her own. If it were up to you, you would have stayed with her, but she remained firm that she needed to be alone. And you trusted she meant that. You drop down onto the edge of your bed, heavily, the weight of the last few days - weeks, months, year - making you collapse. Normally, you could push any swirling thoughts away and mindlessly get ready for bed, but as you struggle to pull off your boots, your mind is racing. Scenes of Allison dying, Lydia’s scream, Scott’s face, Stiles collapsing, play in your head. Your lip is quivering. Your hands shake as you drag the shoe’s zipper down your leg. And then suddenly, the unfamiliar feeling of a hot tear streams down your face. You wipe at them hastily, trying to snap yourself out of it but they keep coming.

You’re on the verge of hyperventilating when you sense someone outside your bedroom window, hearing something bump against it a second later. Without another thought, you’re up and pulling the curtain open, your hand nearly raised to cast one hell of a spell on whoever could be lurking outside at this time after the night you experienced. But your stomach drops when you see Stiles perched on the other side of the glass. Even quicker now, you pull open the window and yank him inside anxiously.

“Woah, you’re quick. I didn’t even get a chance to knock,” Stiles mutters softly.

“Stiles!” you gasp out as quietly as I can, “What the hell are you doing? You should be in your home, asleep, resting, safe! And you’re risking your life for the second time tonight climbing up here!”

As you scold him, your hands grip onto his flannel, searching him up and down for any sign of distress.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Stiles whispers, his hands reaching out to gently rub your shoulders, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” you shake your head, “You should be home. You should be with your dad, the last few weeks have been killing him.”

“I texted him,” Stiles bypasses quicker than he should, “I just wanted to see you.”

You look up at him for the first time since he’s been in the room, your eyebrows pinching, “You what?”

“Yeah, I…” Stiles pauses as he observes your face. He gently lifts his right hand to cup your face gently, his thumb wiping a tear, “You’re crying.”

Shit. You’d forgotten about that.

You swallow thickly, making half a move to pull away from him, but he’s instinctive and doesn’t let you get far. You start shaking your head, averting your gaze again and aggressively wiping at your own face in another attempt to hide.

“No, I’m okay. I’m fine.” you insist.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Stiles argues.

“No it's not,” you shake your head more, “God you shouldn’t be comforting me, you almost died tonight.”

“But you’re allowed to be upset. A lot has been happening.”

“But Lydia and Scott…”

“No, Allison was your friend, too. It's been a rough few days...”

“No, Stiles, stop, it's not that!” your voice cracks as you quietly exclaim, looking at him firmly now, “The last few days have been…awful. I am so sad about Aiden, and I am devastated about Allison, but I can’t stop thinking about how Scott and Lydia must feel.”

Stiles sighs, “You cared about them too.”

“I know that, but Lydia lost her boyfriend and her best friend within days. Scott lost, like, the love of his life. And that’s what makes my stomach hurt. My mind keeps going to how much it must be hurting them, and I can’t even comprehend it- I can’t even go there because it seems excruciating. And then I feel guilty for even thinking about that, when that’s not what happened to me. They lost their person, and you’re still…”

Your voice trails off when you realize the implication of what you’re saying.

He’s your person and he’s still here.

You feel your eyes widen as you process what you just admitted to your best friend. You take in his own surprised expression as he realizes it, too. His hands are still on either side of your face as you look down and sputter, trying to form another coherent sentence.

“I just meant…so many bad things have happened the last few days, but the one thing I can't stop thinking about is how I almost lost you tonight…” you whisper. You force yourself to look at him again and his lips part, still in a state of…shock? Awe?

When he doesn’t say anything after a few seconds, you hurry to fill the silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying or thinking any of this.”

You make another attempt to pull away from him, but he pulls you closer.

“No, no,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to say anything to make me feel better, in fact that’s the last thing you should be doing,” you continue rambling.

“Hey, stop it. You don’t ever have to apologize, especially not to me. Just because someone may have gone through worse, doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to react or mourn or feel. You’re always so strong for us but it's okay not to be sometimes. And…” Stiles takes a deep breath, “You’re not the only one thinking about what-ifs tonight.”

You look at him curiously as he continues.

“What if I had been stronger? None of this would have happened - that thing couldn’t possess me. What if I had been smarter and figured out how to stop the Nogitsune sooner? What if I had really hurt you when he was in control? What if he targeted you the other night or tonight? What if we lost you instead. Despite everything that happened with everyone there, I can't stop thinking about you, you, you. What if I had lost you?”

You feel your eyes beginning to well up again, at your body’s mercy with no way of stopping it. You could hardly process Stiles' words, in disbelief of the weight they carried.

“Stiles…” you whisper, but are unable to complete the thought.

“That’s why I’m here. I couldn’t stomach being away from you right now.” Stiles pauses, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I'm sorry for not saying it sooner, and sorry for every second you have spent thinking I don’t feel the way you do. You are the most important person in my life, and all I care about half the time. I am…crazy about you. Maybe that’s a poor word choice after my mental state the last few weeks, but it’s true. And if I’ve learned anything from all of this, it's that life's too short. And I don’t want to spend another moment of my life not being with you.”

You stare at Stiles, forced to blink away stray tears. Your heart is racing and you’re still unable to form words, with a million different thoughts swirling in your head.

Not encouraged by your silence, Stiles starts to grow anxious, slowly stepping back and removing his hands from your face as he speaks again, “Was that…way too much, way too fast?…I can go.”

You hardly let him move an inch before you’re stepping back into his space and holding his arms firmly in place.

“You mean it?” You ask emotionally, “It’s not just the near death experience talking? You really mean it?”

Stiles nods excessively leaning closer, “Every word. You’re my person, too.”

Your lips twist, as if trying to smile but your emotions are all over the place and it just leads to you choking out a sob. In seconds, Stiles' hands move from your face to wrap tightly around your waist as you sink into his embrace.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t wake up tonight.” You cry into his shoulder as he rocks you back and forth.

“I’m here. I’m okay,” Stiles whispers soothingly, “Mostly because of you.”

You try to steady your breath as you reply, “Scott and Kira did most of the work.”

Stiles rubs your back, “Not just the ritual tonight. The thought of getting back to you is what held together the last pieces of sanity I had left.”

You slowly pull back so you can look up at him again, “Really?”

Stiles nods, reaching up to gently wipe your face, “Yeah…I don’t think I could have survived any of it without of you.”

You take a deep breath, briefly thinking about how much torture the last few weeks have been for him, but push the thoughts away when it becomes too much to stomach. You tenderly place your hands on his face. “I’m sorry we couldn't bring you back sooner.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t think about that. I’m here now, yeah?”

You nod, your eyes flicking around his face, taking in every detail you can see in your dimly lit room. “Yeah…”

Stiles gently brushes a piece of your hair back, whispering, “Right where I want to be.”

As if by a gravitational pull, your face inches closer to him, your noses brushing first, before your lips finally meet in a soft, timid kiss. Your first real kiss. It only takes seconds for the two of you to become more comfortable, any trepidations fading away as you practically melt into each other. You sigh as his hands move down the curves of your body, your own hands gripping his hair. You would have never, ever pulled away if you didn’t need to breathe. Stupid lungs.

You stay in contact, pressing your foreheads together.

Breathing heavily, Stiles asks, “Can I…stay here tonight?”

You nearly laugh, “If you even had half a thought that I was going to let you leave after this, you’re out of your mind.” Not even a second goes by before you realize what you had said, your eyes going wide but then you see half an amused smile on his lips.

Stiles shakes his head, shushing you as he pulls you back in for another kiss.

After a few more moments of kissing, and after you finally change and curl up in bed with him, your thoughts turn back to the recent events and you find yourself crying again. But unapologetically, comforted by Stiles' embrace and the fact that he was feeling the same things as you. And that it was okay to feel them. You both mourn Allison and all the friends you've lost. And eventually, you fall asleep in each other’s arms. The last few weeks had fully broken you. But it was okay, because you had someone to help pick up your pieces whenever you needed. And you’d be there to do the same for him.

---

author's note: lmao i never know how to end things. but there it is! my first stiles fic in years. some may have read some of my old work from a years ago, but writing for stiles was my one of my first forays into fanfic over a decade ago. i always fall back on my stiles hyperfixation and with the return of fall, its back in full force.

i envision this work as part of the oc/reader character i've developed (mostly in my head) over the years, where she grew up as stiles and scott's best friend, pining over stiles and eventually finds out she is a witch. however, i never fully committed to a teen wolf rewrite, so i've written a few tidbits a while ago. i have an overall narrative i think she follows, but i also love the idea of playing with different ways stiles and the reader can get together, and this was the idea i've had most recently thinking about season 3b. i imagine the reader had already admitted to her feelings, but the timing wasn't right so she's finally giving into them and stiles finally reveals he reciprocates them. i could go on and on about the details for this "world" and the many alternate routes it can take.

let me know if anyone has any interest is seeing more of witch/bestie!reader x stiles in all of its shapes and forms, and feel free to inbox me any questions/thoughts/anything. also let me know what you thought of this! it finally got me writing again after a year, so i'm a little rusty, but eager to get back into it again <333

and again, i haven't forgotten my jamie series...i am trying to get over a hump of writers block for the next chapter but after that i'm locking in. :)

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski fanfic #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles x witch!reader #mine #my writing #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fanfic #every little thing

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okay-j-hannah · 5 months ago

Text

Part 1: Her Broken Heart

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: series rewrite, start of season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊

A/N: Just a note that the reader will be in the dark for a while, meaning that lots of episodes/scenes will be skipped. Also, the heart conditions/problems the reader has comes solely from extensive research and isn't meant to be completely accurate - I did my best.

Part 1: Her Broken Heart {You Are Here}

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Part 3: Blue Handprints

Part 4: Ollie's Catnip

Part 5: Mieczyslaw

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor

You walk purposefully to your last class of the day, holding onto the straps of your backpack like your life depended on it. New school. Old town.

It was just so noisy.

The squeak of your sneakers was drowned by the bustle of the dozens of highschoolers weaving through the hallways. Side conversations rose in volume, laughter was piercing, lockers slammed metallically, and the morning bell rang with a sharp noise.

You avoid rubbing shoulders with your peers, but inevitably a lacrosse player rams into your side while chasing a ball. You put a hand protectively to your chest, a glimmer of pain dancing across your ribs.

Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe.

Walking into English, you eye the rapidly filling seats. You recognize most faces even if they don’t recognize yours. A few skittish steps forward and you spot the dark silhouette of Scott McCall.

The uneven beating of your heart seems to lessen at someone you could at least talk to amicably. He appears to feel the same as he finds your gaze and smiles crookedly.

“Hey, (Y/N),” he whispers encouragingly. “It’s nice to see you finally at school.”

You smile back, “Thanks, it’s good to be out and about.” You pick the desk beside him, closest to the window. “There’s a lot of people here.”

Scott laughs, “What did you expect?”

“Less than this,” you say, thumbing the syllabus in front of you. “I thought Beacon Hills was a small city.”

You hear a cough directly behind you, fingers drumming against the metal desk surface. You flit your gaze to Scott, but he merely rolls his eyes.

“(Y/N), this is Stiles. Stiles… meet (Y/N).”

You turn in your seat to see a closely shaved head, wrinkled hoodie, and widening brown eyes.

“Uh… hi,” he says.

You swallow hard, “Hello.” Your brow furrows, “You’re Scott’s best friend.”

Stiles nods, playing with his fingers, “Yeah, for years. And you are…?”

“Another friend,” Scott interjects, “Friend of the family.”

You feel warmth as Stiles leans forward in his seat, “A friend that I’ve never heard about?”

That made your stomach clench. Of course you didn’t have many close friends, more acquaintances than anything else, but it still scared you to think you’d be judged on that fact.

“We don’t talk much,” you say quietly, turning back around.

Scott had what you hoped wasn’t a pitying look in his eye when he got distracted by neighbors ruffling through papers; then to a pencil dropping; then to a charm bracelet clanking against a desk. With each new noise his head was whipping about.

You tried to read the first page of your syllabus when a gentle tap on your shoulder startles you. You contained the jump in your heart as you turned towards Stiles.

He spoke with a soft but urgent voice, “Are you new to the town?”

“No,” you answer shortly.

“Then how come I’ve never seen you at school before?”

“I was homeschooled until this year.” The anxious fist in your stomach continues to clench further. “I’ve lived here almost all my life.”

He continues to lean forward as the teacher rose to address the class. “How do you know Scott?”

“Our parents are friends.”

“How come he’s never mentioned you before?”

You give a breathy laugh, “Do you always interrogate newcomers or is this just your usual charm?”

He finally leans back in his seat, “I like a good mystery.”

Your smiling reply makes the corner of Stiles’ mouth quirk upward, just as the teacher declares:

“Stiles, are we really going to end the day with a detention?”

Stiles looks up, frowning, “No, sir – just welcoming a new face.”

“Yes, Miss. Westbrook. I’d suggest surrounding yourself with different company. We don’t want a tainted reputation now, would we?”

Scott put a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh as Stiles lifted his arms in silent outrage. You are stunned but feel a giggle rise in your chest.

The teacher continues, “As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night.”

The laughter in your chest dies in a cough as you replay the teachers unfeeling words in your mind.

“And I am sure your eager little minds are coming up with various macabre scenarios as to what happened. But I am here to tell you that the police have a suspect in custody, which means you can give your undivided attention to the syllabus which is on your desk outlining this semester.”

There was a collective groan, but you had already started dating the semesters projects in your academic calendar. The different books you’d be reading were some of your favorite classics: The Scarlet Pimpernel, Jane Eyre, The Count of Monte Cristo, and Sense and Sensibility.

You could already see the outline for your midterm paper on the differences between loving with sense and loving with sensibility.

Then the classroom door opened, and a pretty girl walked in with someone from the office.

“Class, this is our new student Allison Argent.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you weren’t introduced like that to the entire sophomore class. But the introduction intrigued you. Perhaps you could befriend this new student as you were somewhat new yourself.

You met her quickly by her locker after class.

“Hello,” you say in your gentle voice, “I’m (Y/N). I’m new to the school too.”

“Oh, thank god,” Allison says, “Just when I thought I’d never survive the first day.”

You grin, “New kids on the block need to stick together. How are you feeling about the move?”

“I’m used to it,” she says, leaning against the wall of lockers, “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m not new to the city, just the school. I was homeschooled before this. Jumping into the school year in January isn’t preferable, but it’s better than listening to your mom lecture about the Pythagorean theorem while doing the dishes.”

Allison laughs just as another girl walks over to introduce herself and her boyfriend. This new face, Lydia Martin, was clearly a commanding personality. And you quickly quiet yourself as she speaks to Allison.

“So, this weekend, there’s a party.”

“A party?” Allison says, taking a step closer to you.

The boyfriend, Jackson, adds, “Yeah, Friday night. You should come.”

Allison clearly didn’t want to go, judging by how she closed herself off and turned towards you. She fumbles for something to say as you note how the two popular kids never acknowledged your presence.

“Actually, we’ve already made plans for Friday night,” you say quickly, the beating of your heart increasing as Lydia made eye contact with you. “I’m helping her finish setting up her room.”

“Who are you?” Lydia asks, surveying you with her wide eyes.

Allison interjects, “This is (Y/N), she’s new to the school too.”

Lydia seems satisfied in her findings, “Pretty.” She pulls on both of your sleeves, “Let’s go to lacrosse practice.”

You panic, “Oh, no – I actually need to head to the library. The first day came with a lot of homework.” You curse the lines of judgment creasing Lydia’s brow. “I’m sorry, I need to catch up.”

“You need to pick, sweetheart. Beauty or brains. You can’t have both in this school.”

You believe that to be blatantly untrue, but you apologize again as Allison gets dragged off. You sigh, steadying your heartbeats. Your mother will be coming soon to pick you up anyway.

~~~

It was another long evening shift at the hospital working in the clinic. You assisted with logging patients in, taking their medical histories, noting their blood pressure, and administering medications.

You were currently disposing of some items in the sharps container when Nurse McCall came around with a dirty gown and gloves.

“(Y/N)!” she says cheerfully, “How are you?”

You smile, washing your hands in the nearby sink, “Tired, but that’s not unusual.”

She gave you a motherly look, eyeing you like the nurse she was. “How’s your breathing? Have you gotten lightheaded tonight?”

“Nope.” That was a lie. “I’ve been doing great. I worked through the line waiting in the clinic. Now I’ve just got to clean up before heading home.”

She raises her eyebrows, impressed. “I wish your work ethic came in a bottle. I’d give a dose to my son.”

“Oh, you should give Scott more credit. He’s working hard on the lacrosse team, I hear.”

“Have you two… has he been…”

You give a soft smile, “He’s been talking to me in class, yes. He’s been very kind to me.”

“Good,” that seems to relieve her. “I know you’re not the closest of friends but starting school in the middle of the year can’t be easy.”

“No,” you say with a sigh, “But I think I’ve made a few friends. Scott and Lydia and Allison…”

“So are you going to the party tomorrow night?”

You give a weak laugh, “I don’t think I’m made for parties, Melissa.”

“I mean,” she laughs too, “Scott is taking Allison to that party – I figured if you’re all friends now then…”

“Oh,” you compose yourself, “No, I’m not going.”

“Shame,” Melissa folds her arms, “I would’ve liked a trusted pair of eyes on my son. I tell you he’s gotten all squirrely since coming back from winter break.”

You shrug your shoulders, “I’ll check up on Allison to make sure she’s alright.”

Melissa leans over and rubs your arm, “You’ve been working like a madman since the summer. We’re all very impressed with you, (Y/N). But you have a habit of doing too much and telling us too little. You have to promise me you’ll be honest about how you’re feeling.”

You brush her off, “How many times have we had this conversation?” You take a step back, “I feel fine. The summer tuned me up. I feel I can do anything now.”

“I like the confidence,” Melissa says warmly, but she still held worry in her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you. I promised your mom.”

You grimace, “Has she been bombarding you much?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

The pair of you share a laugh, “I wish she’d stop worrying.”

“We all worry,” Melissa sighs, grabbing a new box of gloves for the nurses station. “That’s what happens when you have people that care about you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you walk around her, “I gotta go before my dad waits in the urgent care drop off too long.”

“Hey, about that…” Melissa calls after your retreating form. “I was thinking about your carpool situation and maybe you and Scott could drive together. You know – so you don’t have to rely on your parents as much.”

Anything to get more independence from your parents. “I didn’t think Scott had a car.”

“No, he doesn’t. He gets rides from his friend Stiles. Maybe you could join them?” She watches your expression grow anxious, “Or you could ask your new girl friends?”

“Yeah, right,” you snort, “Lydia and Allison live on the other side of town in those big important houses with the four-car garages.”

Melissa shrugs, “Then ask the boys. Stiles is a little… odd. But he’s a good kid.”

“Thanks, Melissa,” you give her a tired smile, “I’ll see you over the weekend.” You pull out your phone as you head to clock out.

Your connected watch reports to you the steady heartbeat you’ve had during the day – just two rapid spikes. Swiping away the health report, you text Allison and wait for her replies as you head towards your father’s car.

“So you’re actually going to the party?”

“What can I say… Scott asked me.”

You smirk, “I saw that coming a million miles away.”

“Sorry about our hangout though, I was going to tell you at school tomorrow.”

“It’s alright. I’ll just get started on the chemistry homework for next week.”

“You don’t want to come with us?”

You scoff, “And be a third wheel? No thank you.”

Your dad continues a conversation about your workday as he drove out of the hospital parking lot. “Any big cases come in?”

“No, nothing particularly stressful. Maybe one guy who was nervous around needles.”

“Good,” your dad says. “I’m proud of you sweetheart. And not a single fainting in five weeks.”

You lean your head against the window, suddenly glum, “Let’s hope it continues.”

~~~

Friday comes and you’re on the couch enjoying another read of Harry Potter. You were just getting to the confession scene in the Shrieking Shack when your mother came in with a cup of herbal tea.

“You seem a little quiet today,” she says, nestling into the opposite end of the couch.

“No more than usual,” you say, sipping the honey and herb concoction. “I usually spend Friday nights reading, mom.”

She nods, stirring her tea in thought, “Yes, usually. But in the last few months you’ve been branching out. Going to public school, getting a job at the hospital, making some new friends.”

“And while that’s all terribly exciting, I still enjoy a quiet evening with my books.”

“Of course,” your mother replies, “How have you been feeling?”

“Mom,” you groan, “I feel fine!”

She sat straighter, “You have had two dizzy spells this past week. It’s not a crime to ask how you’re doing.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I started school this week, I’m bound to be a little stressed about that, aren’t I? When I started my job at the hospital there were a few dizzy spells in the beginning, remember?”

“Yes, but you don’t tell us about them anymore. I have to pull up your watch readings to find out.”

“What’s the point? I can’t control them all. Sometimes they happen out of the blue.”

“Precisely,” she says louder, “Which is why it’s important to monitor them for your doctor’s appointments.”

You open your book in a huff, “Can we not talk about this anymore? It always puts the house in a mood.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Allison. Your mother peers over your shoulder to see if it was a notification from your health app.

“Allison is getting a ride home from the party,” you whisper, texting a reply, “I wonder what happened with Scott.”

“Weren’t they on a date?” your mother asks, relaxed now that she knew the cause of your phone lighting up.

You shrug, “I thought so. I’m going to check on her. I’m sure she’ll want to vent.” You get up with your book and find your sneakers. “Could I have a sleepover?”

Your mother battled the rebuttal of keeping you at home – to coddle you with her security. “As long as you have your medication I don’t see why not.”

“I can drop her off on my way to the firehouse,” your father says, adorning his firefighter t-shirt and cargo pants. It would appear he had another overnight shift.

Fifteen minutes later you were outside the Argent residence, Allison waiting by the front door to welcome you with her frustrations.

The home was tall with big, open rooms full of chandelier light. It was rich with mahogany browns and beamed ceilings. Allison was guiding you up the stairs after a quick introduction to her mother in the living room.

“I just don’t understand why he left me there,” she says with an edge, “I thought he liked me.”

“I think he does like you,” you say as you enter a beautifully decorated bedroom. “We have to remember he is a high school boy.”

Allison quirks a faint smile, “But to leave me at a strangers house… he has to know I’m new to the town. I don’t know anybody well enough to get some help! And I was not about to call my parents for a ride. That would’ve been reputation suicide.”

You clear your throat, recalling every instance your parents have carted you around, refusing to let you drive yourself. “Who gave you a ride anyway?”

“Someone named Derek Hale. He said he was a friend of Scott’s.”

You feel your uneven heartbeats pick up, “Derek Hale? He’s back in town?”

“Do you know him?”

“No, it’s just…” your mind wanders to old police reports your mother talked about and past newspapers on the dinner table. “There was a fire that burned up the Hale House years ago. Most of his family died in that fire. He hasn’t been seen for years.”

Allison crosses her arms, suddenly giving herself a kind of protective hug. “You mean, he isn’t a friend of Scott’s?”

“Not that I know of, but I’m as much of a new friend here as you are.”

“But Scott said you’re a friend of the family.”

“Yes, I do work with his mom at the hospital,” you fight to keep the Hale memories at the forefront of your mind. “But that doesn’t mean that I’ve hanged out with Scott much.”

Allison nods, still gripping her arms as creases of worry etch her face. “Why would Derek lie about being friends with Scott?”

“He didn’t try anything in the car, did he?”

“No!” she says quickly, “He was really kind, even held the door open for me. He just asked about my relationship with Scott.”

You could feel the beats in your chest stutter. They were loud in your ears, “What did you tell him?”

“Just that I met him this week. I got help from him at the veterinary clinic – I accidentally hit a dog – and he asked me to this party.”

You sit on her bed, afraid that your heart rate was increasing more, “Did Derek seem interested in just Scott?”

Allison thought about it for a few seconds before sitting in her desk chair, “Yeah, it was the only thing we talked about.”

“Which would make sense if that was the only thing you guys had in common.” You put a hand to your chest, hoping to steady yourself with some pressure. “But I still don’t think him and Scott have ever been close friends.”

“That’s slightly concerning,” she says with a shaky laugh.

You return it, trying to take a deep breath without making it too noticeable. “Other than the abrupt departure and unfortunate ride home… how are you and Scott?”

A genuine smile returns to Allison’s face, “He’s so sweet. You can just tell how nervous he is and it’s so cute. After being jumped by Lydia and her friends it was nice to meet someone more sincere.”

“Lydia can be a little overbearing,” you agree, checking your watch to see your heart rate drop to a more acceptable number. “And Scott really is a sweetheart. He can be a bit of a worrier, but I find those are the ones who care the most.”

Allison likes the calming reassurance until the sound of her mother’s voice pierced the air.

“Allison! It’s for you.”

The loudness prompts the two girls to their feet. Up on the walkway towards the staircase, the pair of you had a perfect view of the door… and the boy standing out in the cold.

“Stiles?” you say confusedly.

Allison’s mother left the door open as she returned to her spot in the living room. Stiles stood awkwardly under the porch light, “Uh… yeah, hi.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, leading the way down the stairs, “Is everything okay?”

“Is Scott okay?” Allison asks quickly, following you to the doorway.

Stiles rambled, hands on his hips, “Yeah! Yeah, Scott is fine.” His eyes lingered on you as he paused. You had an instant suspicion that he was lying. “He asked that I check up on Allison since he had to run out.”

“Well, I got home all right, no thanks to him,” she replied with a huff. “But he seemed off, like he was sick all of the sudden.”

Stiles took hold of the sudden excuse, “Yes! That’s what happened. Scott just got really sick out of nowhere, like really sick – like find me a bathroom right now kind of sick.”

You wrinkled your nose at his lack of a filter, “But you said he’s fine.”

“I mean, yeah now he’s fine,” Stiles said loudly, as if that would cover up his little slip. “He met with his mom at the hospital and she gave him some… treatment.”

Your pulse was picking up again at his obvious covering up, “You know what… I told Melissa I would stop by the hospital late tonight to get my new schedule. You just reminded me,” you smile easily, putting a hand to Allison’s arm. “Raincheck on that sleepover, I don’t want to keep Melissa up all night, especially if Scott isn’t feeling well.”

“Yeah, of course,” Allison said instantly, “And would you text me if you see Scott there?”

“Sure,” you smile, “Stiles?”

He looked to you with wide eyes, “Hm?”

“Could I get a ride?”

~~~

Stiles’ jeep was old and clanky, but in an endearing sort of way. You sat with your back more against the door than the seat, arms wrapped around yourself. Your heart hadn’t stopped beating rapidly. Any faster and you were worried about another attack.

“I’m sorry the heater doesn’t work,” Stiles said with a hint of embarrassment. He smacked the dashboard, “You look cold.”

“It’s alright,” you say quietly. You try to focus on the beats of your heart, willing them to calm down before you started to get lightheaded.

“You know what…” Stiles started to flail his arms around the wheel, trying to remove his suit jacket. He banged his head against the door before straightening out, “Here.”

You look at the outstretched jacket with endearment before quietly taking it, “Thank you.” You were much more graceful putting the jacket on, smiling at how Stiles mistook your concentration on your heart rate for being cold and uncomfortable.

“Now you need to tell me where Scott really is,” you say in your gentle tone.

Stiles suddenly gripped the steering wheel, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Scott isn’t really at the hospital. And I know something is going on with Derek Hale because he lied to Allison. And I have a funny suspicion that you know more than you were telling us.”

There was a twitch in his fingers as Stiles thought about how much to reveal, “You’re right. Something’s wrong with Scott. I don’t know exactly what, but I think he ran off and got lost in the woods.”

“He didn’t give you any hint as to why he would do that?”

“He’s just been acting weird the last few days,” Stiles continued, driving slowly. “When I saw him leave tonight and Allison get picked up… I went after him. But he ran away.”

You wrap the suit jacket closely around you, giggling at how the wide shoulders stuck out on your own frame. It smelled wonderful.

“This calls for a search party.”

Stiles looked worried and frantic again, perhaps still hiding parts of the truth from you. “You don’t mind wandering the roads by the woods? I could still take you…”

“No, I want to help,” you say against your better judgement. Your heart rate still hadn’t gone down. “Let’s start on the north side closest to where the party was at.”

It was already past midnight by the time you started scouting the woods. You kept your eyes out the window, tightly bound in Stiles’ jacket. Your heart rate remained high, the lack of proper oxygen to your brain was starting to make you feel woozy.

Your mother was not going to be happy when she checked your watch monitor.

“Hey, you alright?” Stiles asked, “You need to sleep?”

You shook your head, wincing at the slow motion feeling it produced. “No, I can stay awake.”

“It’s not a problem, really. I can drop you off at home.”

“That’ll waste time when we could be searching.” You sit up straighter in an attempt to expand your lungs. “I just need to take a breath.”

Stiles kept looking towards you just as much as he was looking in the surrounding forests. “How close are you and Scott?”

“Not very,” you say, “I’ve met him a couple times with his mom. Our parents are closer than we are.”

“And you’ve lived here most of your life and yet I’ve never met you before.”

You smile, trying to anchor yourself in your surroundings. It was another attempt to control your heart rate.

The smell of Stiles’ jacket. The rough road beneath the tires. The stale, cold air of the jeep. The sound of Stiles’ investigative voice.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughed, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirked, “You said you knew Derek Hale lied to Allison. What do you know about the guy?”

You sigh, “Just a little about his past with the house fire. My mom was a part of the dispatch call that handled the case.”

“Wait, did you just say a dispatch call?” Stiles jumped in his seat, “As in, your mom is a police officer?”

“No,” you laugh at his quick movements, “She works at the front desk helping transfer calls between civilians and officers. She hasn’t been on the active force in many years.”

Stiles had a comical scrunch on his face as he thought for a few seconds, “Your mom is Angela Westbrook? Front desk Westbrook?”

You nod, a strange furrow in your brow, “And you know her because?”

“Because my dad is the town sheriff!”

“You’re a Stilinski?”

Stiles had a shock of energy zip through him, “Yes, a Stilinski! I can’t believe our parents work together.”

“Your dad has been to my house a few times,” you say, amazed at the connections. “I wonder why he never mentioned me.”

“I guess I knew Mrs. Westbrook had a daughter, I just didn’t realize we were the same age.”

The hours ticked by as the pair of you searched the woods by the road. You both thought you’d seen some flashlights and decided to avoid them. Stiles came up with the idea to search by foot away from the woods for a mile or so.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a spare flashlight in the back,” he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You sit straighter, “I mean, wasn’t there a dead body found out there earlier this week?”

“The police are handling it.” He steps out of the car to grab his flashlight.

You stay where you are, uncomfortable with the idea of standing up when your heart rate was so close to an attack. You were lightheaded enough that the rush of standing would not bode well.

Stiles came around the other side with an exaggerated expression on his face as he opened your car door. “Forgotten how to use the handle?”

“No, I’m just…” you tug on the jacket sleeves. “I’m a little lightheaded to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” his face fell into concern immediately, “Is something wrong?”

You smile shakily, “Not at all,” you lie through your teeth. “Just be prepared to catch me if I fall.”

Stiles seemed to take that with the most seriousness as he backed up and held out a hand, “I got you.”

You struggle to breathe as you clamber out of the vehicle. You hold tightly to Stiles’ outstretched hand and wait for the inevitable feeling of the blood rushing to your legs. Your head felt empty, and stars started to twinkle in front of your eyes.

Stiles held onto your hand and put an arm around your shoulders as you swayed, “Woah, you weren’t kidding. You alright?”

After a few seconds leaning into him, squeezing his fingers with light pressure, your breaths started to come easier. Your head became clearer.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” You let go of him, checking your watch to see that your heart rate decreased to an acceptable amount.

Stiles backed away quickly, rubbing his hands awkwardly down his pants. He was hesitant to look at you when he replied, “No problem. Does that happen a lot?”

“Oh, you know…” you start venturing towards the tree line, “People get head rushes when they sit too long all the time.”

“Right,” Stiles said faintly, jogging to catch up to you. He clicked on the flashlight and aimed it towards the trees. It was dark and misty and cold. The pair of you kept hearing rustlings between the tree roots and bumping into each other.

You could have sworn you heard howls and growls, but it must’ve been the wind.

“Can I ask why you weren’t at the party?”

“You can, but the answer is boring.” You cross your arms, the too long sleeves engulfing your hands. “I don’t go to parties.”

“Because?”

“Because they make me lightheaded,” you say with a smile.

Stiles tried to pick that apart, but smiled, nonetheless. “You know the more I try to get to know you, the more confusing you become.”

“I thought you liked a good mystery.”

“I do,” Stiles confirmed, shining his flashlight up through tree branches, “I don’t like not knowing things.”

“Sorry, I’m a pretty tightly sealed book,” you shrug, “I can be very evasive.”

“And I can be very persuasive,” Stiles mocked, using a silly voice.

You bump into him again, sort of on purpose and less because you tumbled on a stray twig. “You already know plenty about me.”

“Let’s check the list, shall we?” he chuckled, “You were homeschooled. Your mom works at the station. You suffer from frequent lightheadedness. You don’t get out of the house much. And you’re already a part of the pretty girls club.”

“Excuse me?” you laugh, “The pretty girls club?”

Stiles kicked at the leaves, “Yeah, you know Lydia, Allison… you.”

“Stiles Stilinski, did you just call me pretty?”

He comically puffed out his chest, “In a roundabout way, yes I did.”

You chortle, “See you know a lot about me already. We’ve only known each other three days.”

“You’ll find I can be very determined, (Y/N),” Stiles sighed, “I’ll figure you out soon enough.”

They continued their way through the woods until they came back to the car. It did not go unnoticed that Stiles went to help you open the door and climb into the tall vehicle.

The morning light was starting to peek over the horizon by the time they got back to the roads. The pair of them were starting to grow more worried by the minute. It wasn’t a friendly search party anymore.

“I hope he’s okay,” you say quietly.

Stiles looked your way before resting his hand against the stick shift between you. “We’ll find him. Or he’ll text me as soon as he gets to a phone.”

You lean towards the dashboard, “I guess we’ll find him first.”

Walking along the side of the road, pants covered in dirt and his shirt missing, was Scott. He looked ruffled.

“What happened to him?” Stiles murmured as he pulled over.

“What happened to his shirt?” you say just as quietly. Stiles shot you a look as you strip yourself of his suit jacket.

Scott came to the door and looked shocked to see you handing over the coat. “(Y/N)?”

“Scott,” you say with a smile, “Get in.”

You scoot over to be in the middle. Stiles immediately yanked his arm away as your thigh got in the way of how he was resting his hand on the stick shift. You rubbed shoulders again as Scott got comfortable.

“Long night?” you ask.

Scott rubs at his eyes, banging his head against the window, “You have no idea.” He suddenly turns to you, pressing into your side, “How is Allison?”

“She’s fine,” you say, “I’m a little more worried about you.”

“You know what actually worries me the most?” he grumbles.

Stiles licks his lips, “If you say Allison, I’m gonna punch you in the head.”

“She probably hates me now,” Scott frowns, turning to you with regretful eyes.

You take pity on him, rubbing his shoulder, “She’s upset with you, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology,” Stiles says candidly.

Scott groans, leaning against the headrest. You sit scrunched between them, almost scared to lean into either one. “I hear you were really sick last night. Though I don’t see how that explains your lack of clothing.”

“Night sweats,” Scott mumbles, “When I couldn’t sleep through it at home I decided to take a walk through the woods.”

“That’s a long walk,” you say, “Don’t worry, I’ll put a good word in for you with Allison.”

“Would you?” Scott says, looking at you like you were the answer to all of his prayers. “Could you make sure she knows how sorry I am?”

You pull out your phone to send that update text you promised her. “As long as you apologize in person too, I don’t see why not.”

“You’re an angel, (Y/N), thank you.” He bows his shaggy head to your shoulder before pouting against the headrest again.

“Could you drop me off a few blocks from my house? My parents think I’m sleeping over at Allison’s.”

Stiles nods, “Protective parents?”

“A little,” you smile.

“I’ll add that to the list,” he smirks. “I’ll have to open a full case file on you now.”

“That’ll be a dead end.”

Scott opens his eyes to peer at the pair of you, “Sounds like you two had as long of a night as I have.”

You yawn, “Stilinski here is trying to play high school detective. He’s on a role trying to figure out my criminal past.”

“Criminal you say,” Stiles drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “That’ll mean I need a corkboard and some red thread too.”

“What have you found out so far?” Scott muses, somewhat enjoying the change of subject.

“Not much.” Then Stiles points a finger at his best friend, “But you’ve known her longer than me – fess up. What do you know?”

Scott holds back a smile, “Did you figure out her mom works at your dads station?” After a swift nod he continues, “And that her dad is a firefighter?”

“Really?” Stiles says dramatically, “Any siblings?”

“Only child,” Scott continues, rubbing the tired from his eyes, “And she loves to read. Every time I saw her, she was always reading something.”

Stiles had a look of triumph on his face, as if it were a breakthrough in the case, “What book you reading right now?”

“Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.” You point the directions to your street, “I’m at the end when Lupin turns into a werewolf.”

“A what?” Scott says, shooting forward.

The friendly banter between you and Stiles suddenly shifts into surprise, “A werewolf. Haven’t you seen the movies?”

“Right,” he swallows hard, “It’s been a while.”

Stiles licks his lips again, “It’s ironic because last night was the full moon.”

“Oh, was it?” you hum, “That’s funny.”

~~~

You sleep off most of the weekend, having a lecture from your parents about the heart rate spike on Friday. You told them a night of rom coms and silly boy stories with Allison got you excited – that it was all fun and games.

You didn’t tell them you almost fainted because of it.

The next week was more enjoyable than the last. You excelled in your classes and spent your lunch periods reading in the library – you were already halfway through Sense and Sensibility for your midterm report.

Chemistry, History, and English were your favorite, most likely because your new friends were in those classes. Scott had become infatuated with Allison, especially after she had given him a second chance. Lydia was scheming something over her boyfriend being the captain of the lacrosse team. And Stiles was quickly becoming your highlight of each day.

He’d sit beside you during class and ask a personal question. “At least one a day,” he wagered, “I can ask at least one a day and get an answer.”

“As long as I reserve rights to refuse to answer any question.”

“I’m going to add those refusals to your case file.”

You’d roll your eyes, “Whatever you say, Stilinski.”

You were proud of the fact you hadn’t had another heart rate scare since the week before, meaning your body was adapting to the new stressful environment at school. That didn’t stop Stiles from insinuating you were going to have a lightheaded moment whenever you rose from your seat.

You never noticed how he prepared himself to grab you whenever you’d been sitting too long.

Chemistry had come around later in the week, you having arrived early to prepare the days experiment. Goggles adorning your face, you lit the Bunsen burner and tightened a flask of a chemical liquid above it.

Stiles skid over, sliding on his sneakers, “Hey, partner.” He threw his bag down and took the goggles you hand to him. He snaps them onto his face with a sharp, “ow.”

“I’ve started filling out the notes,” you say, observing how the liquid was starting to bubble with heat. “Why are you late?”

“I’m not late, you’re just early.” He sits on the stool beside you, resting his crossed arms on the tabletop. “Where were you at lunch today?”

You put a thermometer in the liquid, waiting for the right temperature, “In the library.”

“Is that where you always eat lunch?”

“You can’t eat food in the library, Stilinski.”

Stiles rubs at his nose fidgetily, “Scott and I were looking for you today.”

You pause, warmth filling your chest as you pour granules into the bubbling vial. “Sorry, I was reading for my book report.”

“(Y/N), book reports aren’t due for weeks.”

“Might as well get it done so we don’t have to worry about it,” you hum, writing down observations about the chemical reaction.

Stiles slumps a little, “Well, we missed you.”

“Scott just wants to gossip about what Allison thinks of him.”

“And what’s my excuse?”

You turn off the burner and remove the vial with tongs, “You’re trying to question me to continue your investigation.”

He sighs out a smile, “You’re right, of course. I haven’t asked you my question of the day yet.”

“I suppose I have no choice but to answer one,” you sigh with a smile on your face. “What do you have for me today?”

He was playing with his fingers when he asks, “Why do you spend lunch in the library rather than in the lunchroom with everyone else?”

You think about your answer carefully as you put away your supplies and let the vial cool down. “I don’t like being around a lot of people.”

“Why?” he presses.

You grab his goggles and snap them against his face, “Because it makes me lightheaded.”

He yelps and sways on his stool, “I’m beginning to think ‘lightheaded’ is code for something else.” He yanks the goggles from his face, and you snort at the deep lines they left around his eyes.

“Hey, there’s a science project that we need partners for,” you say as a way to change the subject. “Do you want to do it together?”

“(Y/N), we don’t have to do that project until the end of the semester.” He smiles at your antics of avoiding his questioning.

You shrug, “I like getting things done.”

He takes a deep breath, “Alright, at least I know I won’t fail the class if you’re helping me with the final project.”

After class the pair of you separate for final period, you heading to a different floor and running into someone at the bottom of the staircase. Someone tall and dark with light eyes.

That someone you recognize as Derek Hale.

You freeze on the last few steps, holding onto your backpack and feeling your heart beat unevenly again.

“You’re Derek.”

His face was cool and solemn, “What do you know about Scott McCall?”

“Why should I tell you?” Your arms erupt in goosebumps.

He steps closer, “Because I’m trying to help him. He needs to get it through his skull that I am not the enemy here. I need your influence in this.”

You hold back a scoff, fear overtaking that, “What business do you have with helping Scott?”

“Do you not know?” his eyes suddenly darken, “I thought you were one of his friends.”

“I am his friend,” you reply, “And I know people are suspicious of you.” A seed of doubt creeps up your spine, “I don’t like that a shady adult is creeping around the halls of a high school looking to make connections with students.”

He growls, actually growls much to your surprise. “I need you to tell Scott that I am here to help. I am innocent in whatever he thinks I’ve done.”

“What does he think you’ve done?” you ask quickly as Derek backs off.

“I can hear your uneven heart,” he says, turning around, “You should calm yourself.”

You put a hand to your chest, mouth agape at his retreating form. How the hell can he hear your heartbeat? A thrum of fear ripples through you as you run for your last class. You check the monitor on your watch until your heart rate was controlled before entering.

You didn’t see any of your friends until the next day. You were reading in the library over lunch again, finishing Sense and Sensibility and planning your report. You keep getting distracted by the whole situation with Derek and Scott.

What had the adult meant by befriending Scott? Why were you approached? What secret does Scott have that you didn’t know about?

You squeal as someone launches themselves over the library couch and sits beside you. Your cushion bounces as your heart leapt.

“Stiles!” you cry, “Don’t startle me like that!”

He nudges your shoulder, “Sorry, we were looking for you.”

Scott came around and sat on the arm of the couch, “It’s lunch.”

“Yes,” you say, “And I’m working on stuff in the library like I do every day.”

“No,” Stiles says, closing your book and stealing your pencil, “You’re going to join us for lunch today.”

You fight to get the pencil back, “I think I’ll just finish my report here.”

“(Y/N), there aren’t that many people in the lunchroom,” Scott says quietly, “And you’ll have us there.”

You stare Stiles down, “Did you tell Scott about my thing with lots of people?”

He shrugs sheepishly, “Come on, let’s go.” He waits as you stand, picking up your backpack for you. Scott led the way, nervous by how he wrung his hands.

“Has Allison talked about me lately?”

You shove his arm, “Scott, I can’t tell you everything we say during girl talk.”

“Girl talk?” Scott says in a panic, “I didn’t know about girl talk.”

“Yes, it’s where we drop all our juiciest secrets,” you snicker, “Including our thoughts on certain cute boys.” Scott points at himself, eyebrows raised, making you laugh. “Yes, Allison has been saying good things about you.”

Stiles matches your stride, “What about me?”

You look at him with a wide smile before leaning into Scott with another laugh.

“What? I’m a cute boy,” Stiles says, flabbergasted. “Aren’t I?”

They walk into the lunchroom that was still full of students. You spot Allison and Lydia sitting at the popular lacrosse table. Stiles, your backpack still on his shoulder, nudges you to one of the front tables.

Sitting down, Scott kept peering over at the back of Allison’s head. “See it’s not so bad in here, (Y/N).”

The patter of your heart would say differently, but you sit next to Stiles, nonetheless, pulling out your book report.

“I did mean to come talk to you guys about something that happened yesterday.” The boys lean in, eager for any strange story. “Derek Hale came to talk to me.”

Stiles slips out of his chair and crashes to the ground; Scott was stunned, “Derek Hale? Where?”

“On my way to my last class yesterday. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.”

Stiles crawls back onto his chair, winded, “He was inside the school? What did he want?”

You shrug, twiddling your pencil, “He wanted me to convince Scott that he was a friend. He said he was innocent, whatever that means.”

The boys share a look. You start outlining your report, “And I don’t know why but I think I believe him.”

“No, (Y/N), listen…” Stiles pulls on your shoulder so you would face him. “You cannot trust that guy. Whatever you do, do not be alone with him again, got it?”

“I don’t get it, why?”

Stiles licks his lips, urgent in the way he looks at you, “You need to trust me on this. If he tries to talk to you again, call me.”

“I would if I had your number,” you laugh. The boys pull out their phones immediately to exchange numbers. You snort at their seriousness, “If you wanted my number that bad you could’ve just asked instead of coming up with this elaborate Derek Hale story.”

“We’re not making it up,” Scott says, “That guy is dangerous.”

~~~

At the end of the week you were busy with your shift at the hospital. You had just finished checking on Jackson Whittemore who had a dislocated shoulder, and you were logging notes into the computer at the nurses station.

You were just updating a patient file when a hand slams onto the counter. You jump, clutching your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles!”

Stiles was shocked at seeing you there, “Do you work here?”

“Yes, and for the love of god please announce your presence like every other normal human being and stop scaring the ever living daylights out of me!” It was a good thing they were in a hospital because your heart was about to give out.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says with wide eyes. He rubs at his face, hiding a smile, “This is how you know Scott’s mom so well.”

“Yeah, add it to my case file,” you wave a hand, fixing your scrub top, “Why are you here?”

His eyes linger at something on your chest, making him stutter, “Um… Scott and I were uh… coming to check up on Jackson.”

“That’s right, you’re all on the lacrosse team. I heard it was Scott that knocked Jackson’s shoulder out of place.”

“That would be correct,” Stiles laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his head. “Is he alright?”

You smirk, nodding towards the end of the hallway, “See for yourself.”

Lydia had come to pick Jackson up, and the pair of them were currently making out in the middle of the hall. You turn away, slightly nauseous, but Stiles keeps observing like he’s never seen a kiss before.

“She’s never been subtle,” you grimace.

His mind seemingly elsewhere, Stiles fumbles for something to occupy himself with as he waits. He picks up a pamphlet on the menstrual cycle.

“Where is Scott?”

Stiles was stuck on a diagram of the uterus, “Hm?”

“Scott,” you say again, staring at the pamphlet cover, “I thought you said you were both looking for Jackson.”

“He went to find his mom first.”

You squint your eyes, “Melissa’s shift ended two hours ago.”

“Could you explain to me the function of the fallopian tubes?”

You snatch the pamphlet away from him, “What are you two hiding?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says nervously, “Don’t you have other patients to see or something?”

“First Derek Hale is telling me that Scott is keeping a secret and then you’re here covering for Scott while he snoops…”

“Who said anything about snooping?”

You stand from your chair, leaning towards the counter and Stiles, “Listen, I’m glad we’re finally friends. I like you guys. But I won’t be lied to forever. I deserve better than that.”

Stiles feels his chest collapse a little, sinking in on himself. “I could say the same thing about you. You’re always keeping things to yourself and giving vague answers to my questions. What do you have to hide, hm?”

A pang of hurt hit your chest, “Stiles, I’ve never lied to you about anything. If I don’t want to answer a question outright because it’s too personal, I tell you so. I’ve never hid something from you deliberately by lying to you.”

Stiles bit his tongue, folding his arms defensively.

You let the hurt show on your face, “I think you and Scott have been lying to me for a long time. About the party that Scott ran out on. About why you checked up on Allison last week. About your trust issues with Derek Hale. About what you and Scott are doing in the hospital right now…”

The will to argue was gone in Stiles, he just looks defeated as he watches the hurt fill your face. “It’s been for your own protection.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you whisper angrily.

Scott suddenly appears by the counter, out of breath. “Hey…” he saw your face, “Oh, hey what’s up?”

“Find what you were looking for?” you ask sourly before returning to your keyboard.

Scott shares a look with Stiles before muttering, “Yeah, uh… Jackson’s alright.”

“He left a few minutes ago.”

Stiles turns around to see that Lydia and Jackson really had left. He tugs on Scott’s arm and gave an imploring look towards you.

“I promise we’ll explain everything eventually.”

You keep looking at your computer screen, ignoring the words. Stiles flickers his eyes to what he noticed on your chest, just along the edge of your scrubs. Scott knits his brow as he listens to what was unmistakably the uneven pounding of your rising heart rate.

Stiles led the way to the elevators, cursing himself and smashing the downward button.

“What was that about?” Scott whispers.

“(Y/N)’s mad at me,” he rubs at his eyes harshly, “Mad at us. She knows we’re hiding stuff from her.”

“For her own good.”

“Yeah, but she sees it as us lying to her. I don’t blame her for being upset. We’ve been pretty crappy friends keeping her at arm’s length.”

Scott frowns, walking into the elevator, “You forget that keeping her in the dark keeps her safe.”

“Well, not anymore with Derek roping her into it.” He leans against the wall, holding tight to the railing. “Did you notice the scar on her chest?”

“No,” Scott says, “But I did notice her heartbeat. It was all over the place. She must’ve been really upset.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, “Did you find anything in the morgue?”

~~~

The next evening you drove with your mother back to the hospital. You were still aching with the argument you had with Stiles. You knew something was going on between him and Scott, but you still didn’t know what.

Your mother sensed your mood and said in a cheery voice, “We made an arrest today about that woods murder.”

“Did you?” you say in a quiet tone.

“Yeah, Derek Hale. He’s been back in town for a couple weeks. I guess there was evidence on his burnt property.”

You close your eyes, thinking back to the warning about Hale. “Good thing you got him.”

“And then I got a strange call on dispatch today from the Sheriff’s son.”

“Stiles?” you say.

She hums, “He’s one strange kid.”

“Does he call dispatch often?”

“He’s not allowed to anymore, but he did call today about a dog sighting.”

You shake your head, “You’re right, he can be real strange.”

“Are you sure you can’t make the big game tonight?” your mother asks. “Everyone is going, even the Sheriff.”

“I can’t. I’m helping on Melissa’s floor since she took it off to see the game.”

“That’s right,” she replies, “Shame. I’m sure your friends would’ve liked to see you in the stands.”

You turn in your seat, staring your mother down, “I thought you’d object to me watching a heart racing game surrounded by loud, rowdy people, standing in the frigid cold air.”

She shrugs, “You’ve been proving yourself capable of handling your heart rate, even when it’s the spur of the moment.”

A sudden warmth creeps up your chest. Your mother was starting to trust you despite the illnesses. It was just enough of a mood shift to prompt you to text Scott and Stiles good luck at the game.

The shift was long and grueling; you were exhausted by the end of it. Another medical assistant drove you home late, no doubt long after the lacrosse game was over. You made a mental note to commend Melissa for handling such a difficult floor of the hospital.

Your mom had been called away because of a case update and your father was on an overnight shift at the firehouse again. You were quick to shower the nights worth of patient grime off your body and throw your scrubs right into the washer.

You were just applying lotion in your pajamas when something hit the glass of your window. Startled, you stood from your bed and waited for it to happen again.

A small pebble flew through the air and pings against your window.

Peering through the glass, you saw a disheveled, sweatshirt-wearing Stiles holding a handful of your garden rocks. He waves at you shyly as you struggle to slide the window open.

“What are you doing?”

Stiles holds up his hands, “Seeing if you were awake.”

“And you couldn’t think to text?” you say incredulously, “Put those rocks back.”

He threw his handful of rocks on your mothers tulips, “My phone died like an hour ago.”

You stood there, leaning on your windowsill, regarding him with a soft expression. He looks tired and scared, eyes looking up and imploring as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Then what’s up?” you ask.

He swallows hard, the cold air making his breath come out in icy clouds. “I wanted to talk… about what you said yesterday.”

“How did you know where I live? You dropped me off at the end of the street, remember?”

“Well, yeah,” he chuckles, “And I just watched you walk to this house.” He scratches the back of his head, “Or maybe I looked up your mom on my dad’s computer and found her employee records.”

You nod your head slowly, “That sounds about right.”

“Can I… Can I come up?”

You bite at your lips, hair still wet from the shower. “Sure.”

It was like letting a dog off a leash. Stiles frantically jumps to the garden trellis growing on the front of your house. He struggles past the vines and up the wooden ladder, ignoring your calls of disapproval. He was huffing and puffing by the time he made it to the roof and next to your window.

“Stiles,” you say in your gentle voice, “My parents aren’t home. You could’ve come through the front door.”

His mouth was dry from panting in the cold night air, “Right, but that wouldn’t have been as impressive.”

You watch his fumbling figure fall from the window and onto your carpeted floor, “Yeah, that was real impressive, Stilinski.”

There was only a side table lamp on, lighting the bedroom in a soft peachy glow. You went to sit cross-legged on your bed, patting the covers in front of you for Stiles to sit.

He fixes his shirt, taking your offer before looking you in the eye. “(Y/N), I wanted to say that I was sorry.”

You look towards your hands, playing with the edge of your comfy pajama shirt. You could smell the fruity scent of your lotion still on your fingers.

“I didn’t realize our covering up was so obvious to you. We just wanted to protect you, but I guess it does seem like we betrayed your trust.” He keeps his eyes on you, waiting for you to look at him again, “When I got your good luck text I thought maybe there was still a chance you weren’t super angry with me.”

“Just a little,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

“I wanted to tell you some things that we’ve been hiding from you,” he holds his hands up, “As a peace offering.”

You shake your head, “How generous of you.”

“The body that was found in the woods… Scott and I found it. Us visiting the hospital? That was Scott and I trying to find evidence on the partial body. Derek Hale? He had been seen on the property where we found the other half of the body. He was also in the woods with the first half. We were suspicious of him, and he was basically stalking us because of it.”

You listen carefully, your heartbeat was loud in your ears. “And when he came to talk to me?”

“That terrified us. We thought he was a murderer, and he was talking to you… alone.”

“You thought? My mom told me he was arrested today for the murder.”

Stiles rubs at his face with a tired hand, “Not anymore. The coroner’s said the cause of death was from an animal attack. And the victim was Laura Hale – Derek’s sister.”

“Must be nice having your dad be the sheriff,” you smile. “So Derek’s innocent like he told me he was.”

“I still don’t trust him. He’s not telling us everything. And since we’ve gotten him thrown in jail, my guess is he’s not very happy with us.”

You nod, your head clearer than it was at the beginning of the week.

“Is that everything you’ve been hiding?”

Stiles licks his lips, a nervous habit you’re realizing. “Do you remember when you said you don’t lie, you’re just honest about not sharing the whole truth?” At your nod he continues, “There is one more thing, but it’s not fully my thing to tell. We want to tell you, but it’s not exactly safe at the moment.”

You take the cryptic words and stew with them for a while. “Apology accepted.”

He let out a deep breath, “Thank goodness. Scott would have never forgiven me if we lost our one connection to the pretty girls club.”

You punch his shoulder and laugh, “The one thing I’m good for… gossip from the girls.”

Stiles rubs his shoulder, “That’s not why we want you around.” He clears his throat at your sudden undivided attention, “What I mean is… you’ve been a good friend, and we like you.”

“You and Scott,” you smile.

“Yeah, me and Scott.”

“Scott and I,” you correct, brushing the wet hair from your face, “How was the game?”

Stiles sat more relaxed on your bed, “It was great, we won. And there weren’t any injuries like Jackson’s.”

“Good,” you smile, “And Scott had a pretty victorious after party, so I’ve heard.”

“Allison texted you?” Stiles questions.

You shrug, “Of course. She said you were watching like a little pervert.”

Stiles chokes on his gasp, “I am not…”

“You were watching Lydia and Jackson too. There’s a trend I’m noticing,” you tease.

He shoves your crossed knee, relishing in your laugh, “Very funny.” He eyes the neckline of your pajama top, searching for the edge of the scar he noticed yesterday. “Can I ask you my one personal question of the day?”

“Fine,” you sigh, “Ask away.”

“Where did you get that scar?” he nods towards your chest.

You immediately clam up, covering the spot protectively. “I got it over the summer.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, egging you on, “How?”

“I had a surgery.” You watch the concern begin to etch into Stiles’ face. “I don’t like talking about it.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, blinking rapidly as he tries to compute the information, “But you’re okay now. The surgery helped you be… healthy?”

“For the most part,” you say quietly, “The surgery did help me be healthier.” You could already see the cogs turning in his mind. He was going to head home and research what surgeries would leave scars like that on the side of the chest.

His eyes wander your room for a minute before landing on your nightstand. There were three different sized prescription pill bottles resting there. He returns his gaze to you, but didn’t ask further questions, “So I was thinking… how about I give you rides to school from now on.”

You let out an anxious smile, grateful he didn’t press you about your health problems. “Honestly, that would be great.”

“Good,” he seems pleased with himself, “And in return for gas money, you come to our lacrosse games.”

You outstretch a hand, “Deal.”

Stiles takes your hand to shake and instantly blurts, “You smell really good.”

You laugh, “I did just shower.”

He awkwardly lets go of your hand, standing from the bed, “No, you always smell good.”

“Thanks Stilinski.”

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #okay j hannah #okayjhannah #fandomfantasia

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janedoeswriting · 6 months ago

Text

The Way The Wind Blows (Stiles x OC) Chapter Six

Description: Rhiannon finds herself trapped within her guilty pleasure tv show— Teen Wolf. Now, she must choose which path to take… one that leads back home, and another that follows uncertain adventure.

Tags: extreme slow burn, frienemies to lovers, fix it fic, canon change, actions have consequences.

TW: angst, fluff, sexual harassment, anxiety, depression, obsession, domestic violence, manipulation, etc. Just please do not read if you are sensitive to difficult subjects.

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(Hotel California by Eagles) **Note: I mean, duh.

It kind of felt foolish that they were on a bus going to a cross country meet. Stiles was restless. Between the tension of what had happened the night prior and everything that was going on, Stiles knew that they could be doing more productive things. For example: mourning the death of Derek. Another example: tracking down the Darach that has sacrificed a whopping six people so far.

Another example nagged at the back of Stiles' mind, but he didn't want to think about it. Rhiannon had already been plaguing his mind for nine days. Since she disappeared, he'd both discovered the root of the enemy- being a dark druid- and spent an inordinate amount of time trying anything he could to investigate her disappearance.

His father was doing the same-- working hours longer than Stiles had ever seen his father undertake.

Last night both Scott and Derek's pack had attempted to battle Deucalion and the alphas. It wasn't successful, and the remnant tension of it lingered in the bus like a rotting stench with no source.

Quizzing Scott on vocabulary was at least a welcome distraction to keep his mind off of everything that had occured. It almost worked.

"Okay next word-- incongruous." Stiles said.

"Um.. Can you use it in a sentence?" Scott asked. Stiles knew better than anything that Scott's mind had been just as equally distracted. This was a poor attempt as satiating the pain that persisted. "Yes-Yes I can. It's completely incongruous that we're sitting on a bus right now on our way to some stupid cross country meet after what just happened. Incongruous."

Scott sighed deeply. "Out of place. Ridiculous. Absurd."

"Perfect. Okay next word, umm...," Stiles couldn't keep his anxiety to speak about it suppressed any longer. "Darach. Darach, it's a noun."

Scott gave him a look.

"We have to talk about it sometime, okay? And we're gonna be stuck in this thing for like five hours so why not?"

Scott closed his eyes and leaned against the window. Stiles looked at him incredulously, but he knew he was getting nowhere so he turned back to the tablet and cleared his throat. "Alright, next word..."

After the crime, Rhiannon drove for a couple hours before it set in that she had to stop somewhere as soon as she could. Not only was she running low on gas, but she couldn't very well be seen in public covered in crusty dried blood.

She pulled over twice before she finally found an abandoned gas station. Both of the previous ones either had bathrooms inside or someone pumping gas. Thankfully, this one was not only virtually abandoned, but the bathroom was both on the outside and unlocked.

It took her about forty minutes to quickly scrub herself clean. She had grabbed a change of Austin's clothes that she'd found in his duffle bag in the back seat. She used the hand soap in the bathroom to wash her hair in the sink, and cleaned the rest of her body with paper towels. She scrubbed at her hands vigorously until they were raw and nothing was caked under her fingernails any longer.

She finally used the toilet and left for the truck, wet paper towels in hand. She used these to wipe any dried blood off the door handle and steering wheel. Finally, she tossed out her bloody clothes and paper towels into the garbage can and pulled up to the pump.

She found Austin's credit card and held her breath as she swiped. It worked, and she quickly shoved the diesel pump into the tank. She leaned against the car, running her hands through her wet hair and sighing.

She couldn't risk being spotted, but she was starving. If she didn't get food now in this abandoned gas station, then she would have to stop when it was daylight out, which would be a horrible mistake.

Rhiannon sucked in a breath and made her decision. She would just have to keep her head down and hope she wasn't noticed. She grabbed the cowboy hat that was on the dashboard and plopped it on her head. She almost felt guilty for wearing a dead man's clothes. But the image of his milky white eyes and sharp eerie grin banished any sympathy she had for Austin at all. She walked into the gas station and the door binged at her entry.

It was illuminated in cool toned lights and all the fridges were lit up lining the wall. It was a tiny space, but jam packed with rows of items from top to bottom. A clerk was secluded behind a glass wall and mountains of tobacco products, scratch offs, and porno mags. It was an older women, aging poorly with greying hair. She was sitting down and looked ready to fall asleep. She didn't even so much as glance up at Rhiannon's entry. This was a promising sign. Rhiannon ducked her head and walked down the snack aisle. She grabbed bags of chips and candy and some water from within a refrigerator. Her hands were full, and she came up to the counter and quietly set it all down. The woman finally looked up at her. An ashtray full of cigarette buds sat next to her. Rhiannon longed for another cigarette-- she had chain smoked the entire pack of camels dry. But she had no ID and didn't want to risk it.

The clerk began to non ceremoniously scan the goods, but Rhiannon shifted under the weight of the woman's appraising gaze.

"You're not from here, are ya?" she asked. Her voice was weathered, like she had been yelling loudly earlier. Or smoking for thirty years. Rhiannon shook her head, pretending to be very interested in their selection of lighters. "You look... familiar." the woman said.

Rhiannon's stomach dropped, but she kept her composure. The woman finished bagging her things. Rhiannon shrugged, and dared to look into the woman's eyes not wanting to be too suspicious.

To Rhiannon's horror, a look of recognition settled on the woman's features. She went calm and numb in the face in a way that almost scared her as much as Austin's transformation into a monster had.

Her eyes widened and showed the entire whites of them. Rhiannon stepped back.

"You're hands... Your hands are red. Your face is red."

Rhiannon felt like the ground had moved under her feat. She knows. This woman knows what I did.

Rhiannon's fight or flight kicked in and she lunged for the plastic bag, ready to bolt out the door without paying.

The woman was too quick, and she grabbed her wrist-- the one that was already bruised and sore from when Austin had almost broken it. "You must return to Beacon Hills. You must find Scott McCall." There was no time for confusion, but the woman continued as Rhiannon fought hard to tug at her arm. "Rhiannon Watson. FIND SCOTT MCCALL."

The woman screamed this last statement, and Rhiannon did the only thing she could think of. She leaned down and bit the woman's hand as hard as she could. The woman finally let Rhiannon go, and she dashed out the door. The cowboy hat flew off her head in the process, and she barely had taken the gas pump out of the tank and left it abandoned on the ground before she got in her car and slammed the door. She tossed the bag of food into the passenger seat and struggled to put the keys into the ignition.

Just then, a gut-wrenching ear-splitting scream like nothing she had ever heard before erupted into the air. Rhiannon dropped the keys and held her ears, squeezing her eyes shut and crouching down. Rhiannon thought it was a gunshot momentarily, but when she sat up to look outside she found the entire gas station windows had shattered. By some miracle, the car windows remained in tact. Rhiannon grabbed the keys, and this time she started the car swiftly and peeled out of the gas station back onto the highway as fast as she could.

Rhiannon didn't stop shaking or driving twenty over the speed limit for another half hour. Finally, as the ringing in her ears began to subside, she slowed her pace and took several calming breaths. Her mind was reeling, and she looked at herself in the rear view mirror. She looked shell shocked- which is exactly how she felt- and her ears had a line of blood trailing out of them and down her neck. Rhiannon grabbed a dirty sock from the backseat and quickly wiped the blood away. The woman's words rang in her ears still. Eventually, she pulled over at an exit and closed her eyes, resting her forehead on the steering wheel with her eyes squeezed shut. Find Scott McCall. So that was it. The warning of a banshee. The scream of death.

She grabbed the road map from within the glove compartment, longing for her cell phone. It was confusing and difficult to drive without GPS. She traced the lines on the map using an old red pen. The ink led straight back in the opposite direction and ended right on a dot labeled 'Beacon Hills'.

Fuck.

Stiles was pretty proud of himself for his ingenious idea of getting Jared to vomit. His plan had worked-- they had no choice but to pull over at the rest stop.

But the state of Scott certainly didn't allow him any time for pride. His worry grew with every moan that Scott uttered. He and Allison carried him over their shoulders into the men's restroom as quickly as they could with Lydia closely following to try and block anyone from seeing them.

Rhiannon groaned. The uncomfortable sensation of light in her eyes ushered her to consciousness.

Sleeping in the truck wasn't ideal, but it certainly was better than being found as a missing person. She had driven all night, and found a secluded truck stop to park in and sleep. Thankfully, no cops or suspicious people had been there when she arrived in the wee hours of the morning. She had made it back into California, but was still a good ways from Beacon Hills. She had only gotten about four hours of sleep, she realized, as she checked Austin's watch that read 12:15.

It was noon, and trying to sleep during the day and drive at night wasn't working.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and groaning. Her hair was a mess and she felt like she'd slept on a pile of rocks. Her muscles were sore from both taking down a monster multiple times stronger than her and from sleeping in the car. Her morning breath was awful after all of yesterday's cigarettes and downing a bag of potato chips. She grimaced as her eyes adjusted to the California sun.

People swarmed the parking lot, and it was full of cars and trucks. She was all of a sudden much more awake, and ducked down, hoping nobody saw her. She was still a missing person, and in a stolen truck. And had killed a person-- who knew how long it would take for that murder to be traced back to her.

A big yellow school bus caught her eye as she peeked up just enough to observe the grotesque amount of people. A school bus?, she thought in confusion.

To her utter horror, students filed out in throngs coughing and waving their hands over their faces in clear disgust. A man was screaming out the window. Beacon Hills High School was stamped on the side of it. Rhiannon sucked in a short breath and ducked, pressing her back against the door as she crouched on the cramped floor. Fuck fuck fuck.

Rhiannon dared to steal another peek.

Her eyes searched the crowd of people. Rhiannon's stomach did another flip. There, Allison and Stiles held up a very horrible looking Scott McCall as Lydia looked around trying to block him from anyone's view. Rhiannon ducked down again. Find Scott McCall.

Fuck. She didn't want to find him so fast. She thought back to what episode this was. A school bus at a truck stop. Scott was dying. Derek "died". They were going to a haunted motel. Fuck. Rhiannon did a double take as she caught sight of a police officer on the other side of the truck. He hadn't caught sight of her yet, but he was patrolling around with a scrutinous gaze.

Rhiannon cursed, reached over to grab her bag-- the only evidence she had been in this truck (other than her fingerprints everywhere), and opened the drivers side door behind her to slip out as discreetly as possible. She blended in with the crowd of teenagers well, but was still getting strange looks from other students.

Thankfully-- none of them recognized her because she hadn't attended school. Still, her face was plastered on the news and it wouldn't be long before a stray student connected some dots. She ducked into the girls bathroom and found the handicapped stall.

Her appearance was horrible. She looked pale, and run down. Her hair was a mess, and purple circles hung under her bloodshot eyes. She quickly ran her hands through the tangles and made herself look somewhat better. She grabbed her toothbrush and ran it over her teeth and tongue without any toothpaste, and then begrudgingly took some gulps of water from the sink. It tasted like mold and metal, but Rhiannon swallowed it anyway.

Finally, she stepped out of the stall. A crowd of girls swarmed the sink mirrors and a que was forming for the bathroom. She ducked out with her head down and hands clutching her bag. She walked past students lingering around. A group of boys passed by muttering, and she caught someone saying "Closed for cleaning?" and another complaining about walking to the other side of the building to use the other bathroom.

Rhiannon hesitated, and then sighed and chucked her bag into the bottom of an outdoor trash can. It wasn't exactly ideal, but she didn't want to look like a run away when she ran into Stiles again-- not if she wanted to keep her place as Mr. Stilinski's foster daughter. And if a banshee had warned her to keep close to Scott McCall, staying at the Stilinski's was her best bet.

She approached the men's bathroom with a deep breath. The door was locked. She banged on it. "Closed for cleaning!" A voice shouted on the other side. It was clearly Lydia. Rhiannon banged again, harder. "We're closed!" Another voice sounded very loudly and angrily. Stiles. "Go. Away!"

Rhiannon sucked in a breath and despite her hammering heart, she banged again, harder and longer. She didn't stop until the door swung open violently.

"Go to-," Stiles began with a very harsh tone, but immediately caught in his throat at the sight of her. She looked up at him with weary eyes, but didn't have time to stand around and let someone see them. She pushed her way in and shut and locked the door behind her.

When she turned back, Lydia and Scott were gaping at her. Allison would have stared in shock too if Scott didn't grunt, and she turned back to him with a worry-struck expression.

Rhiannon didn't know how to approach this situation other than,

"Hi."

"Rhiannon?" Stiles asked, and something of relief and confusion both combined in his voice.

"Stiles." She said, but stepped by him to where Scott and Allison were crouching on the floor. "How is he?" she asked, lifting the shirt. The sight was putrid and disgusting. The jagged wound was growing blacker by the second and oozing with blood.

Rhiannon couldn't face Stiles, but she could do this.

"Rhiannon." Stiles said, more firmly this time as if he was realizing something. Rhiannon ignored him.

"Allison, grab some needle and thread. You need to stitch him up."

"What?!" Allison demanded. "You need to stitch him up. He isn't in his right mind. If he thinks he's healing, he will." She said, meeting Allison's gaze. They hadn't even properly introduced themselves, and Rhiannon was reaching for their trust. Willing it into reality.

"Trust me." she demanded. Allison stood, and moved to her bag. Rhiannon looked back up at Stiles, who was staring at her like a ghost.

"Get another shirt from Scott's bag."

Stiles didn't move, just stared. "What are you-?"

"Do it!" Rhiannon demanded. "Stiles, I'll explain everything later. Just go."

Rhiannon turned to Lydia. "Make sure the bus doesn't leave."

Lydia was appraising her in a similar way that Stiles was, but she didn't hesitate like he did. She grabbed Stiles' arm and dragged him out the door. Rhiannon walked up and locked it again as Allison used a lighter to sterelize the needle.

"How did you- How do you know what's wrong with him?" Allison asked, taking the thread and crouching down to Scott. Rhiannon shook her head, but said, "I can't explain how, I just do."

This seemed to be enough for Allison. She begged Scott to stay awake for a moment even when he complained he was tired. Rhiannon heard the fear in her shaky voice. She took the thread and attempted to push it through the eye of the needle. Her hands were shaking profusely, and Scott's groans and nodding head weren't helping. He was dying by the second.

"Come on." Allison begged, but it wasn't working. She couldn't do it. Allison squeezed her eyes shut. It dawned on Rhiannon what she was going through. "Your mom isn't here." Rhiannon said gently. Allison looked at her in shock as tears ran down her face. "Your mom isn't here. Take a deep breath." Rhiannon said, and Allison did so, desperately clinging to Rhiannon's calming voice. "You can do it, Allison." Allison turned back, taking another deep breath, and focused. A moment later, it was done. She desperately began to stitch him up and reminded Scott to stay awake.

Just as Scott was nodding to sleep, Rhiannon said his name. "Scott, stay awake."

And he did. Allison finished up the stitching, and Scott came too. "It's my fault." he said. Allison breathed a sigh of relief and clung onto those eyes that were growing more lively by the second. The wound was stitched up expertly, and Scott looked down at it. "Did you do that?" he asked Allison. She was the only person in the world to him in that moment.

Rhiannon stepped back, letting them have their moment. Stiles banged on the door, and Rhiannon wrenched it open as he rushed in with Scott's bag and a shirt in hand. He brushed by her, but Rhiannon saw him meet her eyes and he seemed struck again by the reality. She was there. She was really there.

He handed the shirt to Allison, who immediately helped him dress and stand. Stiles dropped Scott's bag and turned back to Rhiannon.

His eyes said everything. Explain. Now. Rhiannon sucked in a breath and said, "I'll explain everything in a minute, but right now I have to-," she started with Stiles fast on her heels as she left the bathroom and then stopped in her tracks. The cop had brought a friend, and now they were inspecting the empty red truck together. Fuck. Stiles grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. "No, explain now."

Rhiannon glanced at the bus, where Lydia was desperately trying to convince Coach to keep the bus there just a few minutes longer. Rhiannon looked back to Stiles, grabbing his hand and removing it from her arm. "Fine. On the bus." Rhiannon said, and turned to help Allison carry Scott. Scott did a double take, and looked at her in dizzy surprise. He looked infinitely better than he had just moments ago.

"Rhi?" He asked as they made their way there. "Nice to see you, too." she said back.

"So your telling me you got kidnapped, escaped, stole his truck, and just happened to see us at this random rest stop on the side of the road?" Stiles asked on the bus. Rhiannon was actually glad they were in a public setting where Stiles had to keep his voice down, so he wouldn't yell at her.

Rhiannon nodded. Stiles was fully turned toward her, but Rhiannon faced forward in the seat next to him. Lydia was in the seat in front and looking back, listening to the story with just as much skepticism that Stiles had. Allison sat behind them, but she was too worried about Scott's dozing figure to pay them any mind at all.

Rhiannon didn't want to say it, but she didn't exactly have a choice. She had made the decision on the way back to Beacon Hills. "It was a wendigo."

Both Lydia and Stiles sat up a bit more, their attention sharpening. She glanced at Stiles, and then to Lydia. "He tried to eat me."

Lydia blinked at her, and Stiles' mouth hung open.

"A what?"

"Whats a wendigo?" Lydia bit out the question like Rhi had just walked out of crazy town. It didn't seem Lydia was warming up to Rhiannon well, and it made sense. They had only very briefly met, and all of a sudden Rhiannon showed up after nine days missing acting like she ran the place.

"It's a supernatural creature that feeds on human flesh." They both stared at her. "Like you actually believe that werewolves are the only supernatural beings that exist. Is Jackson being a giant lizard not enough to buy that wendigos are real?"

"How do you know about Jackson?" Lydia bit out sharply in a low whisper. Rhiannon looked her in the eye and could feel Stiles' stare burning into her. "Listen-- I know things. I know probably more than you know-," This was so true it was unbearable, but she continued. "I know you've been hearing strange voices. Finding bodies."

This shut Lydia up. Stiles grabbed Rhiannon's arm, but she didn't look at him. "How do you know that?" Stiles asked, a burning in his voice.

She glanced at him, looked down at her hands, and then back to Lydia. She had factored in the repercussions of what she was about to do over and over in her mind on the drive there. But she had already decided to do it, and there was no going back now.

Not after they knew that she knew about the supernatural, and everything that had happened the past few days.

"I don't know how I know things--... I just- I just do."

"Oh thats helpful. How are we supposed to belive you?" Lydia asked, and it was true. "You don't have to. I'm not asking you to."

"Oh, so we're just supposed to go along believe you aren't the- .. the Darach?" Stiles said it like he was both trying not to believe it but also like he had no other choice than to think it was Rhiannon.

Finally, she met his eyes. "If you don't trust me, fine. I wouldn't trust me either. Lock me up, then. Watch me. Next time a person is sacrificed, you can blame yourself for not letting me help you."

Stiles sucked in a breath at this and let go of her arm, which he hadn't realized he was still holding. Rhiannon turned back to Lydia. "The only reason I'm here is because I ran into one of your kind, Lydia."

There was a short moment of horrified silence. "One of my kind?! I'm not--," Lydia started incredulously. The look Rhiannon gave her cut her short. "You're smarter than that, Lydia. You know you aren't human. Not really."

Lydia sucked in a sharp breath, as if she had received terrible news. Which, Rhiannon supposed, she had. She wasn't human, and that must have been a shock to hear.

"Listen-- I don't-.. I'm not sure of what I know. I do know things. From the past. And things that may happen. But it's all like a blurry memory. Like a book I read once that I know the plot of, but can't remember the details. Some things come to me, and some don't. I'm not saying I know what I am, or if I can even tell you how to stop the Darach. All I know is that I can help you."

They sat in a heavy silence for a long time as they took in the information. Something had shifted in Stiles. He felt betrayed. How could she go missing for nine days, with himself and worse his father at fault? How could she just come back and know how to help Scott, know what Lydia was, and still expect them to trust her? He didn't. He didn't trust her, and that was all he knew. She was a liar, and something was off. "What..." Lydia said, and couldn't get the words out. Rhiannon put her hand on the seat in front of her and met the teenage girl's eyes. "You're a banshee, Lydia. You predict death."

There was a distinct feeling of being unwanted. The sun was setting slowly, and after Rhiannon had broken the news to Lydia nobody seemed to want to interrogate her anymore. She could feel that Stiles and Lydia both wanted nothing to do with her. She took her hint, and quickly made her way to the only empty bus seat. It was fine. She didn't need to be their friend. It had felt good to help them, though. To help Scott. To tell Lydia the truth. That feeling had been squashed by the mood that weighed on her. She knew they didn't trust, or like her. Maybe she had screwed up by telling them. Then again she didn't exactly have a choice. This stupid bus was her only way back to Beacon Hills. That is, if she made it in one piece.

Rhiannon thought about everything that had happened while she stared out the window. How she had ran into two different supernatural creatures in her attempt to escape Beacon Hills. She morbidly thought that maybe she was the beacon now. A horrific voice in the back of her head said, Maybe you are. You traveled through worlds. Who knows what sort of things you've changed just by being here?

This excruciating time alone also gave her a moment to collect herself and decide what her next plan of action was. And to try and sort through her memories enough to try and know what was coming next. She knew they were going to that haunted motel. That Boyd would almost drown himself in the bath. Isaac would hide under the bed. Ethan tries to cut himself in half. And Scott would very nearly light himself on fire. Stiles had saved him, that time. Would she have to sit by and let him? What would be the best way to help them all without disrupting the timeline and causing some sort of change in plot? Did this mean she couldn't help them?

It all felt wrong and horrible. Watching a Tv show was one thing. But actually being there was different. The timeline was different in real life.

Rhiannon looked down at her hands. Despite the great plethora of distractions, she could still see it. The blood on them. The smell of it. The sound of gurgling. The fading of light. She shook her head as if this would help her banish her thoughts.

"Hey." A voice said. She jumped, and turned. It was Scott, she looked around to find the bus was already empty. How had that happened? "Scott. Sorry- I- I got distracted." she said. He smiled, his bag slumped over his shoulder. He looked perfectly healthy. And like he didn't hate her. Stiles must not have spoken to him yet. He nodded and she got up to follow.

"Ya know, you have some questions to answer." Scott said, and to her horror when they stepped off the bus Stiles, Lydia, and Allison were waiting and watching her. She tried not to grimace and lolled her head to the side as if she were gravely inconvenienced by this. Which she was. It would require more lying. "Fine." She marched forward through them, and Stiles did a double take and caught up to her.

"You can't just-- walk away." he demanded. Rhiannon looked to him with a raised brow as the rest began to follow. "I'm not? Unless you want to talk about werewolves in the open parking lot," Rhi turned to Scott. "What room?" she asked.

Stiles stopped walking while the rest continued. He threw his hands up in exasperation and ran to catch up.

Rhiannon had been struggling to start this conversation for the past five minutes. They all sat on the beds, watching her pace until Allison evidently became fed up and said, "Wellll..."

Rhiannon sighed and turned to them. "Okay. Here goes."

She knew she couldn't tell the full truth, but she'd planned for this.

"Derek isn't dead."

The room went silent and Scott leaned forward in surprise. Evidently he at least believe her. The sceptical looks on the rest of them were enough to tell her she had to prove herself.

"Okay, okay. Maybe I need to start from somewhere better," Rhiannon said.

"I know things. Things about you all that nobody else knows. I don't know everything, of course, but- I do know some things. Like, for example, Allison-- I know you're family makes silver bullets with your family crest inscribed in them. You made silver arrowheads instead." She said, gesturing to her. Allison was taken aback by this, and the rest turned to her in confusion. Allison nodded. Evidently nobody else knew this fact about her.

"And, Lydia. Your grandmother's nickname for you when you were little was Ariel." Lydia blinked in shock at Rhiannon. Stiles stood up, as if this was too much, but Rhiannon laid eyes on him next.

"You had a hallucination at Lydia's party last year. It was your dad." But that was all she said about it, not wanting to bring up painful details of that memory to the attention of the room.

Stiles stepped back, and fell on the bed staring at her in disbelief. Rhiannon turned to Scott, but he looked more surprised by anything.

"The night Peter bit you, you dropped your inhaler. You haven't needed it since."

Rhiannon let them all marinate in these tidbits of information that nobody else knew about them. These pieces of truth that she hoped would convince them to trust her. Of course, Stiles didn't. "And what, do you think this makes us think your not the Darach?!" He demanded, standing up again.

"Derek is alive. He went to Jennifer's house, and she helped stitch him up. He's gonna be okay--," she started, but didn't know what to say about Jennifer. Could she tell them? Would it be okay?

She let the silence marinate. "You don't have to believe me now. That's fine. But you do have to know that we aren't safe here. Lydia- you have a bad feeling right? One you can't explain?" Lydia looked to her like Rhiannon was speaking to the choir and she desperately needed help. Rhiannon nodded at her reassuringly. "You're right, Lydia. This place is dangerous. We have to get out."

"Am I the only one who thinks this is totally insane?" Stiles demanded. "You just appear out of nowhere, saying all this stuff after you conveniently arrived to town right before the killings, and we're supposed to believe you aren't the Darach?"

Rhiannon had to admit, he had a point. She tried not to let his cold attitude hurt her feelings. "Doesn't seem like you have much of a choice right now, given that every werewolf in this place- Scott included- are about to have suicide-inducing hallucinations."

"WHAt are you TALking about?!" Stiles demanded. Rhiannon threw her hands up and turned, not believing this. She was telling the truth but he didn't believe her, and she had no way to prove the truth. "Fine." She finally said, and sat in the chair in the corner, crossed her legs and arms.

"I'll wait."

"You'll what?!"

"I'll. Wait."

She glared at him, and he glared at her back until his frustration peaked and he gave a yell and stormed out of the room. Scott quickly followed. Rhiannon huffed and turned her head, glaring at the back of the TV. She felt eyes on her and awkwardly turned to Lydia and Allison's attentive gazes. Lydia was appraising her, and Allison was watching her like she didn't quite know wether to ask her more questions or run away.

"What is a- a banshee?" Lydia finally asked, clearly not able to hold in her frustration. Rhiannon looked at her and her stony expression softened in sympathy.

"It's not a bad thing Lydia. It might be scary sometimes, but you can use it for good. It means that you know things that others don't."

"Like you?" "No." Rhiannon said quickly. "No, not like me. Your's are... different. And you can change the things you find out. You predict death, but that doesn't mean you can't stop it."

Lydia took the information in and seemed to turn it over in her mind. "Your scream helps. Sometimes you might... have the urge to just scream out your frustration or all the noise in your head. It can be dangerous if you don't learn how to control your power."

"My power?" Lydia questioned. Allion touched her friends shoulder and smiled at her. "Don't worry, Lydia. We can look into it when we get back."

"Deaton will be able to help you." Rhiannon added. "Much more than I can."

Lydia stood and walked to the bathroom to take a moment to herself. To Rhiannon's surprise Allison spoke to her.

"You knew about my mother. That I-- That I see her sometimes."

Rhiannon nodded.

"You also knew how to help Scott." Allison added. Rhiannon sighed and leaned her elbows on her knees, wringing her hands.

"I want to help Scott. I want to help all of you. I don't know if I can. I don't think I was supposed to, but... I can't not help you. It wouldn't be right." Rhiannon confessed, and it felt so relieving to get those thoughts off her chest.

"I know it may not feel like it right now," Allison said, with a gentle smile and soft gaze, "but you did do the right thing." Rhiannon smiled at her but it was more grim. She hesitated for a moment, but said the words.

"I know who it is. The dark druid." Allison was taken aback, but her attention sharpened.

Lydia had appeared from the bathroom and stepped forward, also listening attentively. Rhiannon looked at both of them. "It's Jennifer Blake. Your english teacher. She's performing a ritual-- to make her powers stronger. She's manipulated the events of tonight to try and get rid of the werewolves. To get them out of her way so she could continue her plan."

"So far, she's sacrificed Virgins and Warriors. Next, she'll try and do Healers, then Philosophers, and finally Guardians. With every threefold death her powers get stronger. She'll eventually be strong enough."

"Strong enough to do what?" Allison asked urgently.

"To kill Deucalion, and the pack of Alphas."

"Well, who is it?!" Lydia demanded. "Whose the first healer?" Rhiannon put her head in her hands. "That's the thing-- I don't know. I've been trying to remember but, it's like I said earlier. I can't remember some of the small details."

"Small details? Someone is going to die!" Lydia exclaimed.

Rhiannon could help the glare that she shot her. "Isn't it kind of your job to find out who's going to die next?" Lydia withrew sharply at the blow.

"That's if you're right about me." She said, but the room was heavy with the truth. There was something strange about Lydia. About her ability to predict death. To hear voices and ghosts.

"You know I'm not wrong. And if my powers only extend so far, then your's can fill in the gaps." Rhiannon concluded. It was pretty easy to pretend like her memories of a tv show were actually powers of predicting the future and knowing the past. And maybe they kind of were. Maybe she was some supernatural creature-- one that could travers the multiverse.

Lydia lifted her hand and turned her head, her eyes going distant as if she were trying to listen to something.

"What?" Allison asked. "Shh." Lydia said quickly as she craned her head to listen. She slowly approached the air vent above the bed, and lifted her ear to listen.

Lydia stepped back in a rush, her hand to her mouth. She desperately turned to them. "Did you hear that?!" She looked deeply disturbed.

"Hear what?" Allison asked. "The two people in the other room. They shot each other!" Lydia said, panic thick in her voice as the led the way out of the room. The two other girls followed closely behind her.

When they burst into the room and turned on the lights, they discovered it was deeply underway of a total reconstruction. Tools, drop cloths, and lumber took up the space of the room. Rhiannon gritted her teeth, noticing the very saw that Ethan would later try to use to cut himself in half.

"We have to find Ethan. We have to find all of them." Rhiannon said. Her voice was growing thinner and wearier by the second, and Lydia's shock and fear was enough to cause Allison to adopt the same level of urgency. "Allison, what is your great uncle's name?

"Great uncle-... uhh Alexander?" She asked. Rhiannon nodded. "And do you know how he died?"

"I-I don't know. My dad never talked about it."

Rhiannon nodded and looked to Lydia.

"Lydia, you aren't wrong about what you just heard. Grab the bible in the side table," she said, gesturing to the drawer. Lydia did quickly but was visibly confused.

Rhiannon took it and quickly flipped the front cover till an article fell from the book. Rhiannon crouched and grabbed it, holding up the title. 'Couple commits double suicide at Motel Glen Capri'

They both inhaled sharply.

"This motel is haunted. Allison, your great uncle was bit by Deucalion. He came here and killed himself so he would never turn into a werewolf. This motel has been haunted ever since, and any werewolf that steps foot here is in danger of being next." Rhiannon explained.

It was a lot to take in, but to Allison's credit she processed the information quickly. And unlike the boys, Lydia and Allison seemed to trust what she was saying now.

"Scott's in danger, isn't he?" she asked.

Rhiannon nodded. "And so is Isaac and Boyd. And Ethan. We have to get them out of this place before it's too late."

Allison nodded, serious like she was on a mission. Rhiannon was struck with the thought-- How does she do it? She's so strong and level-headed. Lydia's panicked expression moreso matched how Rhiannon was feeling.

"Here is what I know: Boyd is going to try and drown himself in bathtub, using a safe to weigh his body down under the water. Ethan is going to come in here and try to use that saw," she pointed to it "to cut himself in half." The two girls made horrified faces, but Rhiannon continued hurriedly.

"Isaac is hiding under his bed having a panic attack. And Scott... he covers himself in gasoline and tried to light himself on fire. Stiles saves him. Actually, he saves everyone." Rhiannon looked down at the floor in shame. She shouldn't have fought with him earlier. She shouldn't have let Scott and Stiles get seperated from them.

"We have to find Scott." Allison said with combined worry and determination. Lydia nodded. "We can split up and try to help them." "They won't be in their right minds. Only heat will help them."

"Heat?" Lydia asked.

"Burning them snapped them out of it. Like pain is the only solution. There were flares...? I don't remember where you got them from, but they worked."

"The bus. It has emergency flares." Lydia said. Rhiannon nodded, and they met eyes. This was it. Where Rhiannon's memory failed, Lydia filled in the gaps. In that moment, Rhiannon felt a connection pass between them. A mutual understanding.

"I'll go find Scott and Stiles. Lydia, you go to the bus and get the flares. Rhiannon, find Ethan." Allison barked out orders military-style.

Rhiannon nodded and pulled the lighter from Autin's cigarettes out of her pocket. She felt quite lucky that she had kept it.

They all turned and began to walk out of the room and ran straight into Stiles.

"Stiles? What are you doing, where's Scott?" Allison demanded. Stiles read the fear and urgency radiating off of all three of the girls.

"In our room, why?" Lydia cut by him and ran for the bus.

"What's going on?!" Stiles demanded.

"Take me to your room, now." Allison said.

Stiles looked to Rhiannon in both question and anger. That was when it happened.

Ethan was quiet and distant when he approached them. He didn't say a word and his eyes were glassy. He was gone.

Rhiannon stepped forward, struggling to make the lighter catch flame. He shoved her to the side as she tried to block his entrance to the room. His strength was too powerful, and Rhiannon was thrown to the side so hard she caught air. Thankfully, Stiles caught her just in time. She grabbed onto him desperately but her lighter had flown out of her hand and into the parking lot.

Allison acted quickly and ran into the room after Ethan, and Rhiannon did the same as soon as she got her footing. The sound of a saw turning on. Rhiannon's heart leapt into her throat. Allison grabbed onto his arm, and Rhiannon ran forward to help. Thankfully, Stiles reacted quickly too and grabbed his other arm. "The heater!" Rhiannon exclaimed. Allison and Stiles didn't seem to need any further instruction.

They used all their strength to throw him into it. He landed harshly and exclaimed in pain as the smell of burning flesh wafted into the room. In the process, the saw was thrown to the floor along with Stiles. Rhiannon's body reacted before her mind could, and she grabbed his arm. His face came within inches of the saw. She used her body weight pulled him up. The saw came to a stop, and Stiles stared at it in disbelief, looking back up at Rhiannon, who still held him desperately.

They were all breathing heavily and Ethan staggered back. "What just happened?!" He demanded.

"Get back to your room and stay there." Allison demanded as Rhiannon helped Stiles to his feet. "What the fuck?!" Stiles demanded. He was breathing heavily and shaking. "They're hallucinating Stiles. They've been poisoned by wolfsbane-- all of them."

"We have to find Scott." Allison said, more urgently now. Stiles nodded, and looked to Rhiannon. "I'll go find Isaac and Boyd. What room are they in?" She asked.

Thankfully, Stiles told her.

As they ran out the door, Lydia had made it back with two flares in hand. Rhiannon grabbed one and so did Allison. "Come on," Rhiannon said, and Lydia followed her to Boyd and Isaac's room. Stiles and Allison ran the opposite direction to find Scott.

When they got there, the door was open. Boyd was standing in the bathroom, holding the safe and about to step into the bath. As Rhi ran, she ripped off the cap of the flare and struck it hard.

It lit on the first try, and she made to Boyd who had two feet in the bathtub. She used it like a weapon and pressed it into his side. The safe dropped with a loud THUD and he let out a roar of pain. When he turned, his eyes were aglow and canines sharp. He came to, and looked around in confusion.

"What's going on?" He demanded.

Rhiannon turned and handed Lydia the flare. "Under the bed," she inscructed and turned back to Boyd. He looked in better shape, and had stepped out of the water.

"Wolfsbane. You're gonna be okay."

A yelp sounded in the bedroom and they rushed out, finding Isaac standing up from the floor and Lydia crouching down, still holding the flare even though it had gone out. She looked to Rhiannon and Boyd.

"You okay?" Rhiannon asked Isaac. He eventually nodded, but looked shell-shocked.

"We have to find Scott." Lydia said, standing up.

The two boys followed them out as they rushed to Scott's room. When they burst inside, Rhiannon let out a breath of relief when she found Allison clutching Scott in her grasp as she held him. Stiles was holding a still-lit flare.

After a few moments of that sweet relief, Rhiannon turned and walked out of the room. She thought about how thankful she was that they had gotten there before he'd gotten his hands on any gasoline. About how all of them were safe, and okay. Stiles had followed her out without her even noticing. She could really go for a cigarette. He looked at her as she leaned against a pillar, calming her breaths. "You saved them." Stiles said. That was all he said. Rhiannon finally turned and looked at him. "I wouldn't have been able to without Lydia or Allison."

She looked to where Lydia stood watching her in the doorframe, and Isaac and Boyd who were both doing the same now. Rhi stood back up. "Come on, let's get your stuff. It's gonna be a long night's sleep on the bus."

Rhiannon hadn't been mentally prepared for Stiles grabbing her arm and pulling her to the side as they loaded up into the yellow school bus. But she didn't protest-- she was too worn out.

"My dad thinks you were kidnapped. So did I." he said.

Rhiannon shrugged, but knew this wouldn't be enough so she said, "I wasn't lying about the wendigo, if that's what you're asking."

"Did you run away?" He asked. There was hurt in his voice, and for the first time Rhiannon considered that Stiles might have blamed himself after she had disappeared. At the time, she had been so angry with him that it didn't matter.

She thought about telling him what she had planned to tell the police upon her return to Beacon Hills. The story she had rehearsed over and over in her mind.

She decided against it when she looked into those brown eyes.

"I- I thought that Beacon Hills was dangerous. And it is..." she said, before continuing. "I tried to get out. I didn't want to hurt your dad. Or you. I- I didn't really think about anyone but myself. I just didn't want to get caught up in all this supernatural business and get myself killed. But it seems like the supernatural business just followed me anyway. I ran into a woman after I escaped Austin-- the wendigo."

His eyes told her he needed an explanation. "I thought he was a regular person, but he, uh. He wasn't. And then I saw this woman. She told me--... she told me to come back to Beacon Hills. To find Scott McCall. I think... I think that's the only way I can stay alive in this world."

She looked up at him before he could get a word out and quickly said. "You can't tell your dad."

"I know," he started, but she interrupted.

"No, you can't tell him I ran away. I... I know it's a lot to ask. You already have to lie to him so much about all this." and she gestured around, referring to the supernatural world. "I know it isn't easy for you. But I don't want him to think I ran away because of him. He was good to me. He took me in without question when he didn't have to. I didn't want to leave, but I was scared of what would happen if I stayed. And it wasn't his fault, or yours."

He sucked in a breath, listening despite clearly wanting to say something. She continued. "I want to stay with you."

This statement was totally awkward, and Rhiannon quickly followed up. "I mean with your dad, and at your house. I think... I think I was supposed to. Like how I think I'm supposed to help you now. Like there's a reason I'm here."

"You can't lie to police. They'll know."

No they won't, I've done it before. But she didn't say this thought.

"I want to try. I'll come up with a story. I'll tell the FBI agents it isn't your dad's fault. That I want to stay. But I need you to help me."

She waited in anticipation. He eventually nodded slowly. "Fine. But only because you saved my friend's lives. And I'm still not buying that you aren't the Darach."

Rhiannon held up her hands. "I don't doubt it. I'll tell you everything I know." Not everything, but he doesn't have to know that.

Stiles sighed.

"By the way, the wolfsbane is in Coach's whistle. Next chance you get, get rid of it."

Stiles nodded begrudgingly, and they boarded the bus.

"So is anyone gonna tell us who that is?" Isaac asked, gesturing to Rhiannon.

When they got off the bus, the police were waiting. Rhiannon had told Stiles to call his dad and tell him that Stiles had found her. Upon sight of Mr. Stilinski, she was caught off guard by a hug. Mr. Stilinski grabbed her and his son and pulled them in tightly. Rhiannon hesitated, and then sunk into the embrace. It felt good to actually have someone who was happy and relieved to see her.

When they pulled apart, he inspected her. She must have looked as ragged and dirty and smelly as she felt because his face was etched with worry. He then turned to his son, holding his face and neck in one hand and clapping him on the shoulder in the other with a proud sort of smile that only a father could muster for his son. "Good job, son."

Stiles blushed and looked down bashfully. "I didn't mean to find her. I was on a cross country trip."

Rhiannon smiled and elbowed him in the side playfully. "He did though."

"Actually, we have a few questions about that." an FBI agent said, stepping in much less friendly than Mr. Stilinski had. Rhiannon nodded, expecting this. "You too," they added to Stiles, who had begun to step away. Rhiannon looked to Stiles and sent him a reassuring smile, and Stiles in turn nodded back. They'd discussed the plan on the ride there, and knew they would both have to answer questions. It took a couple hours of questioning. The entire time Rhiannon had demanded from both the agents and CPS that she stay under the care of the Sheriff, who she said was the most fit to protect her after the events of her 'kidnapping'.

She covered the events that had occured, continuing to stick as close to the truth as possible. She didn't disclose the gory details of her murder, or of her running away. She instead claimed he'd apprehended her in the street with a cloth to her mouth, and when she came to she was riding in a car, tied up and gagged. She described a story of how she escaped from the truck when they had pulled over off the highway.

"I ran through a ditch. I fell, but kept running. There wasn't anything around-- not even a gas station. I didn't know where I was. I kept screaming for help. I thought maybe there had to be someone around. But it was nighttime. He pulled around and cut me off with his truck. I tried to run around it but he grabbed me by the wrist."

She held the bruised and swollen wrist in her hand as she spoke. Everyone in the room was eating it up, looking at her with sympathetic eyes. Especially when she dipped into the memory of the real terror she had felt during Austin's attack. His bloodthirsty stare with those soulless empty eyes. The teeth dripping with drool. Head cocking to the side as he cornered his prey.

She let the feeling bubble to the surface, and didn't have to fake the terror that came with it. "He had a knife. I-I kneed him... between the legs. He let go of me so I grabbed his head and brought it down onto my other knee. He was on the ground. His face was bloody, and he dropped the knife. I grabbed it. He started to try and come up again so I- so I stabbed him... Right here," she pointed to the crook of the neck. It wasn't true, she had stabbed him through the neck, but the details didn't matter.

"I was bloody, but I ran to the truck. I was scared he would get back up again, so I drove off down the highway. In the opposite direction we came from. I didn't have a phone, or know where I was going. I was going to pull over, but I saw a sign that said Beacon Hills on it. I didn't know how far it would be. I ended up driving for a long time. I got tired, though. I almost fell asleep on the highway. I stopped at the next rest stop I could. There weren't any cars, and I was too scared to get out, so I fell asleep in the truck.

When I woke up, it was daytime. There was a school bus, and that's when I saw Stiles and Scott and their friends."

"Your friends didn't want to call the police?" One of them asked.

"I asked them not to. I wanted Stiles to call his dad. The rest of the police don't matter."

They all glanced at each other. She had said this last part with a bit of venom.

Sheriff Stilinski himself had been asked to sit this testimony out due to his interfering biases, but Rhiannon refused to speak unless he was in the room. He said, "Rhiannon, I know you've been through a lot, but if you're ever in trouble you should contact the authorities. They're here to help you."

"No, your here to help me. Stiles is here to help me. They just hold me in little rooms and ask me questions I've answered a million times. They treat me like I'm crazy."

Her adamant biases in favor of Sheriff Stilinski and his son were purposeful. They weren't necessarily false-- she did like them. But she needed to make it clear that she had no intention of cooperating if the sheriff wasn't involved.

She had to make it clear that the only person who could help her was Sheriff Stilinski.

It took hours. Stiles and Rhiannon were both kept separate. Stiles' questioning seemed to go well though, because at the end of the day Rhiannon had returned to the Stilinski household after a hospital visit and some strict lecturing from both CPS and the sheriff himself.

The FBI had immersed themselves in the new investigation of Austin. Rhiannon had both given falsified and biased information about him. They had found the truck, which matched her story. But she wanted their discoveries to end there. If his body was found... she wouldn't know what to do.

It was a long night, and when Rhiannon finally thought it was over she heard a knock at her door. She crept over and opened it an inch. Stiles stood there with pursed lips.

"What?" She asked.

"Let me in."

"That's inappropriate."

"You owe me an explanation if I just-," he harsly whispered, "lied to the FBI for you."

Rhiannon could see in his eyes that he wasn't backing down. She stepped aside and he shoved his way through, closing the door behind him very quietly.

"Didn't your dad tell you that you weren't allowed to come into my room?" She asked him.

"How do you know that?" He demanded.

"I didn't. But now I do."

He gave her an exasperated look but gestured his hands around for her to speak. He was so expressive that Rhiannon knew what he was thinking at just about all times. She sighed and sat on her bed. The comforter was fluffy, which she normally didn't like, but ever since she'd begun living there she had grown fond of it. Stiles stood, but she waited for him to finally sit on the bed next to her.

"Listen-- I don't know what I am. I don't know how I got here or what I'm doing here. All I know is I can help you and your pack."

Saying it felt silly, but he didn't cringe so she continued. "For example, I know who the Darach is."

He held on to her words. "It's your english teacher. Jennifer Blake."

He blinked at her and she spoke so he didn't have to. She told him everything that she'd told Lydia and Allison the night before. About the sacrifices, and how she didn't remember details. About Lydia's powers and how they could use them to try and find out who the next victim was.

"The veterinarian that Scott works for? Deaton. He's an emissary. Well Jennifer used to be an emissary too. For a different pack. The female alpha? The one with the claws and is always barefoot?"

Stiles nodded.

"Well, she didn't kill Jennifer. And after she survived, Jennifer decided to take it upon herself to get revenge on them. Deucalion in particular. With each trio of sacrifices, she gains different powers. And with the next round-- the healers? She'll gain that power. The power of accelerated healing. And when she finishes all of them, she'll be powerful enough to kill Deucalion."

Stiles processed the information and Rhi could almost hear the cogs turning in his mind. "We'll need to talk to Deaton. He'll know more about everything than I will. He'll be able to help Lydia hone her powers. Maybe he'll even know something about where I came from and what I am."

She said this last bit knowing that it was the partial truth. Of course, she wasn't a supernatural creature, but maybe he had heard of people traversing time and space.

Maybe he was the key to getting her back. The key was here in Beacon Hills all along. Stiles took in this information slowly. Which was funny to watch, because Rhiannon didn't even know Stiles could sit still for so long. Finally, he said, "Okay. Tomorrow, we'll talk to Deaton."

Notes: Thank you! I love seeing you guys interact with my posts. I'm glad she's back at Beacon Hills now. Six episodes into season three already. You guys are getting a little taste of the 'fix it' aspect of this fic. Rhi's got a lot of opportunities to change things, so I'm excited to pan that out. The gif at the top is how I imagine Rhiannon to look-- grey eyes and brunette hair. She's a model named Andreea Diaconu. Obv I've had her and others describe her looks to be insanely beautiful so it only makes sense she looks like a model.

PART SEVEN

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sterekmpreg · 2 years ago

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#supernatural x teen wolf #sterek are elis parents #eli stilinski hale #eli hale #destiel are jacks parents #jack kline #parent destiel #parent sterek #eli and jack #Eli hale and jack kline #sterek are dad friends with destiel #destiel family #sterek family #eli and jack texts

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jjkyaoi · 4 months ago

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speaking of stiles stilinski, the way the entire fandom like. warped his character completely for so many years is still one of my favorite talking points because what do you MEAN pack mother. what do you mean he’s this selfless hero who would sacrifice himself for his supernatural found family…???????????? girl. 90% of the characters we’ve met he’s either distrusted and theorized as killers (most of the time being right to some length but that’s beyond the point) like a cat who hisses when their owners friends come over, and the other half he’s like. made multiple comments about wanting to kill or been. unnecessarily catty to. like . that motherfucker CRAVES violence. the entire show would’ve been completely fucking different if he was the main character. why did the fandom take these things from him when they make him SO interesting

#scott is his impulse control. like that is a canon fact #scott says actually we’re befriending all of these werewolves with morally dubious backstories :)) and he begrudgingly stops thinking about #drugging their food #stiles is just a guy. who got dragged into supernatural shit. because he really really liked his best friend. and if you want a charscters #who’s a selfless mother hen THE WHOLE SERIES REVOLVES AROUND SCOTT MCCALL.#teen wolf #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #stiles teen wolf #sciles #derek hale #long post #he doesn’t trust because scott trusts too much. scott says jump he says how high etc etc #EVERYONE CALLING LIAM HIS SON. DO YOU FORGET HOW MUCH HE VISCERALLY HATED THAT FUCKING KID 😭

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hedwig221b · 5 months ago

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Do you have any fic recs that involve chasing? Like Derek gives in to the urge to run after stiles and catch him?

I kind of didn't really understand what you were asking lol so here are a few types of "chase" fics:

Mating Run Fics:

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

The Cursed Wolf by SinQueen69

2023 Suggestion Anon Wanted: Feral alpha Derek, who has been cursed and got in that feral state. The only way to lift the curse is the "sacrifice" of a pure heart. And Virgin Omega Stiles is willing to help him but the ritual has to be a mating run.

When Things Go Right by SylvieW

Stiles is nervous for the mating run. What if his soulmate is disappointed? Scott’s convinced that Allison will catch him, but Stiles isn’t so sure of his best friend’s girl, and the results could be upsetting for everyone.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward.

Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Stiles gets kidnapped and Derek gives a chase:

Out of Focus by exclamation

Stiles was taken prisoner by a coven of witches. Now his only chance of getting home is if he learns how to control his own magic… and stops blowing stuff up by accident. With surging power inside him that he can't restrain, Stiles must deal with memories of the nogitsune, and fears that he might end up hurting those he cares about.

Meanwhile, his family and friends don't even know if he's alive. His father desperately searches for answers, and Derek will do anything in his power to find Stiles, even if it means asking an Argent for help.

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Stiles runs away and Derek catches his ass:

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

If you wanted fics with their own chasing scenes, I am sorry to inform you that I have a memory of a goldfish, and do not remember any in particular, though I am sure they exist somewhere in the wild. If someone knows some, please, feel free to add!

#sterek #sterek fic #sterek fanfic #eternal sterek #stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek ao3 #sterek au #sterek fic rec #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic rec #hedwig221b replies #derek x stiles

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sundrop-writes · 4 months ago

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oo! I was just unsure of how you could do it for some of the characters but I trust you to come up with good scenarios, you’re always very creative with them.

So, could I ask for how you think teen wolf characters Stiles, Isaac, Lydia, & Derek would react to finding out reader is pregnant? (could be with their baby, or however else you think up bc ofc Lydia can’t get anyone pregnant 😂)

And no you are not alone. I really like pregnancy and baby fics, which is why I was wondering, but I was still a bit worried you weren’t up for it for this particular fandom! It’s very fun to read about having an imaginary family with my fav characters and the variety of diff scenarios that could lead to it.

'I'm sure you could come up with something good' - and the first time I read this message, I came up with something delightfully insane for Lydia. so strap in omg

I am also glad that I'm not the only one who likes pregnancy and kid fics!!! I think they are so much fun because it has elements of drama and fluff and caring. It's such a nice soup of emotions. I really hope you like what I have done here.

Teen Wolf requests are OPEN. Please read my Rules before requesting!

How would the pack react to finding out that you're pregnant with their baby?

Included: Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, and Derek Hale.

Warnings: usually I do GN readers for reactions but this one called for fem!reader - the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and has the ability to get pregnant); in Lydia's section, the reader is a werewolf; mentions of the reader having typical pregnancy symptoms; sexual themes (baby making - duh), some sentences that could be considered smutty?; I think Isaac's part is the longest because we know I have a fucking soft spot for him; mentions of unprotected sex (again - duh); mentions of the abuse Isaac experienced from his father (not detailed); umm idk what else - generally mature themes? But no major warnings other than that.

Stiles would freeze up. He would be so unsure how to react to the information that for a while, he wouldn't react at all.

When the words came out of your mouth, he thought he had misheard you.

"Stiles, I - I'm pregnant."

"What?" He gaped in response.

"I'm pregnant." You affirmed gently.

He sat there, frozen with shock, and didn't say anything for a long time.

He was overwhelmed with too many thoughts and emotions. He wanted to be happy, but he felt like he wasn't ready for this. But he also wasn't ready for half the things that had happened to him in life so far - being kidnapped (more than once), having friends die or nearly die around him, being possessed by a thousand year old demon and fighting to be freed.

This was good, right?

It was you. He wanted you, he wanted everything that came with a life with you.

But it was so soon.

His dad was going to kill him.

"Stiles, say something, please-" You begged quietly, and when your eyes began to brim with tears, that broke him free from his horrible shock.

He couldn't stand to see you hurt. He jumped off the bed and swept you into a hug, holding you tight. Instinctively, you squeezed him back, seeking the comfort that always came from his touch.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He said, whispering into your neck. "I'm sorry, I know this is bad-"

"You think it's bad?" You posed in return, misconstruing his words. "So - so you don't want to keep it?"

His heart shook in his chest.

Of all the things he had been thinking, that was not one of them.

"No." He said sharply, pulling away from the hug to get a good look at your tearful face. Your features were still twisted with pain, and he absolutely hated it. "I just - I just meant that you're upset, and that's bad."

"Well - what about the pregnancy part?" You asked urgently. "What do you think about that part?"

"It's scary as hell." He answered honestly. Your lip quivered, and he rushed to say more. "But for once in my life, I think it's the good kind of scary, like - like roller coasters or scary movies where you know nobody actually gets hurt, or - or spicy hot wings." He rambled on. "I'm terrified, but I think this is gonna be amazing. There's nobody else that I'd rather have a baby with than you."

Saying the word 'baby' out loud made it all terribly real.

You gave him a wet, tearful smile, and then pulled him into a kiss.

Isaac would be upset and insecure.

After you told him, Isaac ran - he ditched out of your bedroom window, leaving you alone and tearful, and after you spent days in bed sobbing (your sadness likely multiplied by the pregnancy hormones), you would be determined to track him down. Even if he didn't agree to be a father, even if he didn't own up to it, at the very least, you needed to finish the conversation you had started. You needed closure - the end of the relationship, if that's what he wanted.

After days of him dodging you, you finally managed to catch him at Derek's loft. It was clear that he wanted to run again, but Derek's words about owning up to his responsibilities were ringing in his ears, and he decided that at the very least, he owed you an explanation. He would give you the conversation you so desperately wanted.

"What the fuck, Isaac?" You barked at him, tears edging in your eyes again at seeing him for the first time in a week. "What the hell is wrong with you? I-"

"You really want me to run down that fucking laundry list now?" He snapped, more bitter and rage fuelled than you had ever seen him. His voice caused chills down your spine. "Because I'm surprised it's taken you this long to notice one thing, let alone half of it!"

This was not the man who you had fallen in love with. This wasn't your sweet, loving Isaac. This wasn't the man who had taken you to bed, kissed over every inch of your body, made you so ripe with passion that something like a condom felt insignificant compared to the cosmos you saw in his eyes as he pushed his cock inside of you.

"Isaac, what are you talking about?" You asked, your voice small, barely edging above a whisper as you stared him down carefully, searching through his eyes - wondering if everything before this had just been an act to get you into bed.

All you saw boiling up inside of him was hurt, and it made you ache too.

"I don't expect you to know." He sighed fitfully, shaking his head.

You put a hand over your stomach, a protective instinct, and his gaze focused there. Regret splashed up inside of him, and he couldn't contain his next words.

"When you told me you were pregnant, did you expect the fucking sun to shine down and angels to sing and some fucking - Hallmark bullshit?" He questioned, clearly jaded.

You hadn't expected that, but you hadn't expected him to run away. Part of you expected him to be happy.

"I can't be happy about this." He told you, almost as if reading your mind. "I have shitty, horrible DNA. I'm a monster, Y/N." You gave him a puzzled look, and he continued. "I'm not talking about the werewolf thing - my father was a horrible person. You know that. I can't be around a kid. I can't have a baby. I can't risk it."

He said the last part softly, that terrible regret lacing his voice, and suddenly, in that moment, it all became crystal clear to you. He thought his father's abusive ways would be hereditary.

Your chest clenched with a horrible pain, and you wandered across the room toward him, and instinctively, he backed away from you.

"Don't." He said, continuing to eye your stomach sharply. You realized now that he thought he was protecting your baby by staying away from it, staying away from you.

You inched toward him again, this time managing to snag his hand, which you brought to place flat on your stomach. You were early in your pregnancy, not showing (your stomach not any different than it normally would be) - but something wolfish inside of him flared with protectiveness, something could sense that different thing about you. It was subtle, but he could feel and hear another heartbeat under his palm. He wanted to run again, but feeling this, being so close - it caused him to relax against you, instinctively wrapping his other arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

"Isaac, you're nothing like your father." You told him quietly. "You're not going to hurt our baby-"

"But what if I do?" He argued, his voice cracking with fear.

"You won't." You assured him. "We both know that you won't."

Lydia would be shocked - in denial. Because - what the fuck is happening? This shouldn't be scientifically possible, right? Right?

At first, she was convinced that you cheated on her. She freaked out about that. She screamed at you, threw things. You cried because you hated that she was accusing you of such a horrible crime, even if you understood why (to an extent). She shouldn't be able to get you pregnant, so it was perfectly sane to think that you had cheated on her with a guy during the course of your relationship - even though you hadn't. This was crazy. This shouldn't be possible.

When you had first started feeling the symptoms - the nausea, the irritability, the generally off feeling, something that kept nagging at you and had all of your senses on edge, you hadn't even thought to take a pregnancy test. Even when you missed your period, you assumed that it was stress, not eating right... a laundry list of other things before you would have assumed this.

But then - Derek pulled you aside and asked why you smelled like that. He said the only other time he had smelled it was when he was much younger - before the fire, when one of his aunts was pregnant. You told him that it wasn't possible, and he told you that his nose never lied.

So - driven crazy by the thought, and believing it to be impossible, you peed on the stupid little stick. And then another, and then another, entirely in disbelief. And when you dumped a bunch of pee covered sticks onto Scott's Mom's kitchen counter, much to her horror, asking her if there was any way they could be wrong. She told you it was unlikely, but took you to the hospital to get you a blood test, and when it came back positive, she asked you who the father was.

She gave you that same fish-gaped mouth when you told her.

"Lydia." You sighed. "Lydia is the father. She's the only person I've ever had sex with."

And this left you and Lydia in Derek's kitchen with him and Stiles, with your positive blood test sitting in the middle of the counter, Stiles pouring over every book he could find on the subject - all of you irritably confused.

"How?" Lydia gaped, still in shock. "How?"

"I don't know." Derek shrugged. "You tell me."

"And - and you didn't cheat on me?" Lydia asked you, still believing this to be the most logical answer.

"Yes." Derek answered, cutting you off. "She's not lying. That much I can tell you."

You were glad that he backed you up on this, but it still left everyone confused and searching for answers.

"Look, okay, Lydia - you survived the Alpha bite, you have some weird immunity." Stiles said, pausing between his frantic page flipping. "Maybe... this is what happens when you have sex with a werewolf?"

Lydia scoffed and you hid your face in your hands with embarrassment. You wondered if it had something to do with the full moon. The last time - you had been so full of energy, pulsing with power as the moon came to its fullness overhead, and you had pinned her down, spent hours rubbing your cunt raw against hers. But you never thought that anything the two of you did could result in a pregnancy.

"Maybe it would help if you tell me exactly what you two did?" Stiles suggested - he was thinking of it from a theoretical, scientific standpoint, not realizing how perverted this sounded until after it left his lips.

"Really?!" Lydia glared at him.

You picked up a nearby vase and threw it at him without hesitation, and he dodged it, causing it to smash against the wall behind his head, disintegrating into dust.

"Okay, bad idea!"

"Just shut up and keep reading."

Derek would be intensely protective. From the second the words came out of your mouth, the entire axis of his world shifted. Everything became about you and protecting you and your unborn baby.

"Derek, I think I'm pregnant."

Everything suddenly made sense. The change in your scent, the odd way you had been acting, the fact that you had been sick recently.

He couldn't contain the deep, feral growl he let out - the way his eyes lit up as the news fully overtook him. The flash of red made you mistake him as angry, and your entire body sagged.

"Look, I'm sorry, but this isn't just my fault-" You hissed sharply at him, and he cut you off by sealing his lips over your own, smothering you in an intense, hot, confusing kiss.

Of course he knew that it wasn't 'just your fault'. The two of you had sex plenty of times, but if he wasn't mistaken, he remembered the night vividly well-

You thought it would be funny to tease him by tempting him with a chase through the woods, and it ended with you stomach down in a clearing, your cheek pressed against the dirt while he fucked into you roughly from behind, growling warnings in your ear, telling you not to tease him again. (Which only made you want to do it again, and again.)

"Don't be sorry, moonflower." He mumbled against your lips, using his nickname for you. "Don't ever be sorry about this."

The passion that overtook his voice sent chills down your spine. You were speechless.

"Derek?" You questioned, a quiet chirp that almost died off in your throat.

"From now on, you don't leave my sight, do you understand me?" He said, gently running his knuckles across your face, as sweet and soothing as you had ever seen him.

Before, he had been subtle in his protection of you. Reaching over to snap on your seatbelt before you could do it yourself, always putting an arm around you, especially in the face of danger, making sure that he walked in front of you if thought there might be a threat around. He had never been this outright passionate about his protection of you before.

But he would never risk the life of his unborn child - he would never let anybody come between him and the woman who was going to mother that child. It was a sacred bond now.

"Yes, of course." You couldn't help but to agree.

Then, Derek surprised you when he knelt down in front of you, placing his forehead on your stomach and gently closing his eyes as if partaking in the solitude of prayer. Which, he was - uttering silent promises to your unborn child, worshipping at the altar of the powerful, beautiful woman who was going to bring that baby into this world.

It left you speechless once again, and all you could do was run your fingers through his hair, further adding to his peace.

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