imagineseclipse

[imagineseclipse]

Stiles Stilinski x Reader- Together

Part 1

The air was cold. Sharp. Too quiet.

You didn’t notice at first. Not when your trainers hit the pavement. Not when you tugged your hood up over your headphones to block out the wind. Not even when your bag, heavy with post-gym weights, thudded against your spine with each step.

The music in your ears was loud—deep bass, a distorted melody that made your bones vibrate. Aggressive. Hypnotic music that made you space out into your thoughts as you walked.

You stopped when you saw it. Your car that sat pretty in the deserted car park. Your flat tire… No—slashed.

You stood there for a beat. Head tilted. Breath curling in the air. Something wasn’t right. You’d just had your tires re-done.

You reached up slowly, pausing the track with a single finger tap on your headphone cord. The silence that followed was deafening.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, thumb hovering as unease crept up your spine. You called Stiles—because of course you did. Because if something felt wrong, he was always your first call.

No answer.

One ring. Two. Straight to voicemail.

“Stiles, hey, it’s me—call me back. Something’s… off” you muttered, already scanning your surroundings.

You spun on your heel, eyes flickering around the dimly lit car park—each looming light above casted long, twitching shadows across the cracked asphalt. Nothing. No footsteps. No breath. But your skin was crawling.

Calming your breathing, steadying each inhale like you were bracing for something. Slower. Quieter. Your heartbeat began to settle, your senses sharpening with it. If there was a sound—even the smallest shift—you’d hear it. You were human but you had learnt from your friends in every aspect.

And then—

Wind.

Not the kind that comes with a breeze. This was a movement. A shift. Something behind you.

Your gut dropped—and your reflexes took over.

Before you could even see what it was you spun your whole body, swinging the weight-packed backpack behind you with everything you had.

CRACK.

Direct hit.

Donovan’s face twisted mid-lunge. The force knocked him sideways onto the floor with a meaty crunch, teeth flying—blood spraying from his shattered nose.

You stumbled backwards a little accidentally turning your back music on, it began to blare in your ears and you just stared, your eyes wide with adrenaline and fear.

He looked up at you. Blood smeared across his jaw. And he smiled. Rows of fangs. Too many teeth. Too many mouths.

Your lip curled. “Oh, hell fucking no.”

Donovan launched. This time, faster. Feral.

You were faster.

He swiped at you with elongated claws, tearing through your sleeve and slicing your arm, but you gritted your teeth and moved with it.

You dropped low, twisted out of his reach, and flicked your wrist— Your blade slid clean from its hiding place in your sleeve. Silver. Sharp. Familiar.

You slashed out— And sliced through his thigh. Blood sprayed. He screamed, stumbling, snarling like a beast.

You didn’t wait. One small slip up and that would be the end of you.

You slammed your shoulder into his chest and used the weight of your backpack to knock him back again, the metal inside clanking with the impact.

He crashed into a dumpster. Hard.

You bled from your arm. Your lip was busted. But your eyes? Steady. You stared blankly at Donovan as he struggled to rise, one leg bleeding, nose broken, the gleam of hunger still in his eyes.

And suddenly— You weren’t in the car park anymore.

You were back at the station. Behind the Sheriff’s desk. Watching the moment everything should’ve been taken more seriously.

INT. SHERIFF’S STATION – HOLDING CELL – FLASHBACK

Stiles stood next to Scott near the cell, his arms folded those brown eyes flickering back and forth around the room. You twirled around on the computer chair and shuffled your way over towards the boys.

“Ohhh, I should’ve got a haircut.”Sheriff Stilinski adjusted his shirt in the mirror.

“Well, you know, someone your age should be happy you still have hair to cut!”Stiles grinned.

“I think you look great.” Scott smiled politely.

“Well, thank you, son-I-should-have-had!”Stiles dad nodded, pointing over in Scott’s direction.

You perched on the edge of your chair, twirled a pen between your fingers, watching the whole thing unfold with amused eyes.

“If I knew you were going on a date, Sheriff, I’d have at least brought cologne. Maybe something that says ‘stable father figure, but also emotionally available”you wriggled your eyebrows at Noah.

“Oh thanks y/n, what the hell am I doing kids? This is a terrible idea.” The Sheriff groaned.

“What? Dad. Dad, it’s one date, okay? The town of Beacon Hills won’t implode while you’re out with one woman.”Stiles interjected.

“Or man…”Stiles added quickly, his voice trailing away.

“It’s a woman, Stiles.”His dad deadpanned.

“Okay…”his son ran his hands through his hair.

“A very beautiful woman.”Noah smiled proudly.

“What beautiful woman, by the way…?”you narrowed your eyebrows. Intrigued.

“None of your business. Either of you, why can’t you just be like Scott- no questions just answers”Sheriff Stilinski waved the two of you away.

Just as you were about to protest all four of your necks snapped towards the doors as they swung open. Chaos entered the room.

“I want to know.” You recognised the voice, a boy from your school. The group turned as Donovan, in cuffs, was led into the room by Deputies Parrish and Clark, along with his lawyer, Mr. Stewart.

“I’ll be blunt—it’s not what I was hoping for. But, the DA’s offer is still pretty reasonable…” Mr.Stewart shook his head firmly.

“What’s ‘reasonable?”Donovans eyes flickered around the room quickly taking in everyone as you all stared.

“Talk in the van, guys. Let’s go.”Deputy Clark ordered.

“No! Just tell me! What’s ‘reasonable?!’”Donovan resisted getting agitated by the second.

“Mr. Stewart, are we going to have trouble with your client?”Deputy Parrish reached for his belt.

“No, Deputy.” Donovan’s lawyer tried to calm the situation. He turned to the boy in cuffs “They want you for three to five. So, why don’t we get in the van and discuss a plea bargain that gets you out in two?”he offered.

“Stilinski! STILINSKI! I’m going to kill you!” Donovan’s eyes fixated on Sheriff Stilinski like a wolf locked onto prey. He was furious.

You stood from your seat instinctively and stood next to Stiles, your mouth settling into a firm scowl at his threats towards the Sheriff.

“Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember it was well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory.”Stilinski responded calm and unimpressed.

“Deputies, escort the prisoner out.”he added sternly.

“I’m not angry, like I’m gonna throw a brick through your window—I’m angry, like I’m going to find you, I’m going to get a knife, and I’m going to stab you with it until you’re dead. And when you look at me and you ask, ‘Why?’… remember right now. Because this is why. “Donovan strained against his cuffs, voice growing darker.

A moment of silence passed after his outburst.

“Wow, that was awesome. That was great. Can we do one more? Give us another one, maybe like Christopher Walken this time, you know? Okay, you know what? It’s fine. You’ll have plenty of time to work on it when you’re in your tiny, little cell. You know… just stuck there… forever.”Stiles broke the silence with a mocking smile, taunting Donovan and as he should have because he threatened his father.

You let out a small involuntary laugh. It wasn’t loud. But it was real. Honest. Sharp around the edges. Just one dry chuckle that escaped before you could stop it. Your mouth slapping over your mouth quickly.

Donovan’s head snapped toward you.

Your face didn’t shift—still calm. But you could feel Stiles glance at you—eyes flicking sideways. That single laugh from you had done more damage than a dozen insults. You’d tipped Donovan over the edge.

“I’ll remember that laugh when I gut you alive”Donovan seethed directing his rage at you.

“Get him out of here!”Sheriff snapped before Donovan could continue and within seconds Donovan was gone, the sounds of his angry yells disappeared down the corridor with him.

“What the hell’s an Anger Expression Inventory?”Scott asked curiously, lifting the mood slightly.

“It’s a test you take when you’re applying to become a deputy.”Stiles answered with folded arms.

“That guy wanted to be a cop?”Mccall asked surprised.

“At least now, he’s getting the full law enforcement experience…”Stiles let out a sigh.

For a moment, the room was quiet again. Stiles turned to look at you.

His voice was low, no witty remarks for once, just concern.

“You okay?”he mumbled, his voice raspy. You blinked—like you were just snapping out of something.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Your tone was cool, too fast to be casual. Stiles studied you for a second longer, but said nothing.

Just nodded once. Quietly.

-

Donovan dragged himself up off the dumpster, blood slick down his leg, teeth stained red—but he was still standing.

Barely. You shifted your stance, chest heaving, blood soaking through your sleeve.

Your fingers tightened— But your knife was gone.

Your heart stuttered. You looked down. Nothing.

Not at your feet. Not beside you. Gone.

You spun, scanning the dark asphalt, breath catching.

“What now, Huh?” Behind you, Donovan let out a ragged breath—and grinned.

He stepped forward, and something in his posture shifted. His back straightened, his breathing slowed.

His veins pulsed black under his skin. His mouth split wider—rows of fangs gleaming under the streetlight. He was powering up. Fully transforming.

You had seconds. No time. No weapon.

But your hand reached instinctively to the cracked pavement—and landed on something solid. A brick. You gripped it in both hands, blood dripping from your fingertips. And you stood tall.

“Come on!”you roared. Your scream ripped through the car park like a war cry, echoing off the walls, raw and filled with something deeper than fear.

Donovan hesitated—just for a second. You didn’t. You charged. He lunged. The brick collided with his temple with a sickening crack. He reeled backward, and you hit him again—swinging with both hands, screaming through gritted teeth.

Donovan hit the pavement hard. But he was still breathing. Still twitching.

And then—you saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t done, he would heal easil. He wasn’t beaten. Because this fight? It wasn’t about you. You were just a starter.

But it was more than that. He didn’t come to kill you. Not really. He came to use you—to bleed you out on a dirty car park floor as a message. A warning. A knife to someone else’s heart.

You stumbled forward, breath ragged, and spotted your phone lying face-down near the wall. You rushed to it, sliding on your knees as you snatched it up.

Your bloody fingers fumbled on the screen as you tried to unlock it—already swiping to call Stiles—And then you turned around.

And Donovan was gone. Vanished. No blood trail. No footsteps. Nothing.

Your stomach dropped. No. No, no, no—He hadn’t run away. He wasn’t retreating. He was going after Stiles. It was about Stiles and his father.

Your phone trembled in your grip as you pressed call again. Voicemail. Straight through.

You lowered it and stared at the screen like you could force it to ring back. Like if you stood still long enough, he’d answer with some snarky “What now?” and everything would reset.

But he didn’t. And your tires were slashed. No getaway. No shortcut. No wheels.

You stood in the middle of the the car park, blood drying on your arm, your breath misting in the night air as the reality hit you—You were on your own.

And you had no time.

You gritted your teeth and turned toward the road, leaving your car and your backpack behind, your hoodie sticking to your back with sweat and blood.

You knew where Stiles was. You always knew. The school.

You didn’t hesitate. You ran. Not a jog. Not a panicked shuffle. You sprinted like hell was chasing you. Streetlights passed in a blur. Your phone stayed clutched in your hand, still calling, still going to voicemail, over and over.

Every step was a beat of desperation.

“Pick up, Stiles—come on.”

Your legs burned. Your lungs screamed. But you didn’t slow down. Because you weren’t running from something anymore. You were running to him.

And nothing—not blood loss, not fear, not the sting in your muscles—was going to stop you. Not until you reached him.

The entrance doors were wide open. That was the first thing you noticed when you reached the school, breath heaving, blood on your sleeves, heart racing like it wanted to break your ribs.

Roscoe sat abandoned in the lot, driver’s side open, headlights still on, casting long beams into the parking lot like a spotlight over an empty stage.

You skidded to a halt, your trainers crunching glass near the front entrance. “Stiles…” you breathed.

Then you saw it—the blood. A small trail. Smudged across the pavement leading all the way inside. You gripped your side, adrenaline forcing your feet forward, and bolted into the school.

The silence was overwhelming. Halls echoing only with your shallow breathing. Lights flickering overhead.

You followed the trail, heart pounding. Then—a crash. And somewhere in the distance, a scream—

“AHHH!” Stiles.

You moved faster now. Knife gone. Still bleeding. But more dangerous than ever. Your footsteps were silent as you moved past lockers and through a corridor into the library. You turned the corner—

And practically slammed into him.

Stiles clutched your arms. Hard. Eyes wide, wild, and grateful. He held onto you like you were the only thing tethering him to reality.

“Thank fuck, why didn’t you answer your phone!?” you hissed in a whisper-yell, breathless.

Stiles blinked. “I—I was fixing my Jeep. It was on silent.”

You gawped at him. “I’ve had quite a mare with this guy,” you panted, still catching your breath.

His brows knit together as he took you in—blood on your lip, bruises blooming across your cheek, your sleeves torn.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stunned. “I can tell.” His eyes drifted up.

Without a word, he gently lifted the bloodied headphones off your head, his thumb brushing your temple. You had honestly forgotten you were still wearing them.

“You’re hurt”Stiles mumbled assessing your current state.

You blinked. “Well, shit.” Stiles just stared at you.

Wide-eyed. Barely breathing. Like he couldn’t believe you were real and standing there.

“You came all the way here?” he asked, his voice low as you both began tiptoeing through the darkened library, side by side.

“On foot?” he added, shocked.

“He slashed my tires I had no choice”you whispered back, scanning the shadows. “And he can totally pay for them.”

Stiles trailed behind you, blood drying on his shirt, limping slightly. He looked at you like you were insane.

“You ran here on foot… to die with me?” he repeated, voice rising slightly.

You shoved his arm without looking. “Yes. Now shhh before you get us caught. Also, we’re not going to die, don’t say that”you hissed.

He opened his mouth to argue— Stiles was bleeding from his shoulder, limping and pale, his back pressed to the wood. You were next to him, knuckles scraped, ribs aching, your hoodie torn and stained with dried blood.

You could hear Donovan’s footsteps pacing on the other side of the shelves, his breathing heavy and uneven.

“I hate to say it, Stilinski… but we’re gonna have to split up.”you whispered up at your best friend.

“Absolutely no way.”he shook his head violently. You glanced at him. Your voice stayed low, but firm.

“One of us is gonna have to distract him.”you schemed.

“Yeah, and I vote neither.”Stiles shot back with no hesitation. You cracked the faintest smile.

“You dropped your phone…”Donovan’s voice rang out from across the shelves. Mocking. Loud.

You froze. He was holding it. You could hear the buttons clicking in his hands.

“It’s Y/N. Should I text her back? Oh wait… she can’t—she’s been held up.”the troubled boy sang out. He laughed.

You didn’t move. But your lips twitched. He didn’t know. He didn’t know you were here. You gave Stiles a tiny nod. He exhaled silently.

“You don’t really know who I am, do you, Stiles?”Donovans voice grew darker. His voice moved closer.

“Maybe you heard about my father… Did your dad ever tell you about him? About the time he was still a deputy, and how his partner got caught in a shootout?”

You and Stiles didn’t move. Just breathed. Quiet and fast.

“Did he tell you a bullet shattered my dad’s T-9 vertebra? Went straight through his spinal cord. Know what that means? Means everything below the waist? Useless. Not just the legs.”

“I bet he told you some of it. But I bet he left out the part where he was sitting in a car calling for backup while my dad went in alone.”

“Too scared. Too much of a frightened little bitch to go in after him.” Stiles winced—shoulders tensing, jaw locked.

“Or do scared little bitches not tell their little bitch sons about their failures?” Donovan was really angry.

“About how they put their partner in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?”

You reached over gently, placing your hand on Stiles’ arm. Just once. Just enough to say don’t listen to him.

“Don’t worry, Stiles. I’m not gonna kill you…”

Stiles looked at you, wide-eyed.

“I’m just gonna eat your legs!”

The shelves rattled. He was getting closer.

“I’ll go left. You take the wrench and go right.”you mumbled trying to keep your voice light.

“I hate this plan.”Stiles groaned.

“I know.”you pouted sympathetically. And then—you moved.

You shifted your weight slightly behind the bookshelf, and your phone slipped from your pocket. It hit the ground screen-down with a dull thud.

The screen lit up faintly—your thumb must have hit something on the way down. You didn’t notice. Too busy holding your breath as Donovan’s voice crept closer. But behind you, a small glow illuminated the floor.

Your phone had landed on the Emergency Call screen.

A quiet buzz. Then a voice.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”A dispatcher’s voice came through. You didn’t hear it. Neither did Stiles.

You were both frozen, eyes trained on the shadow flickering at the edge of the shelves.

“Nine-one-one, please state your emergency.” The volume was low—just barely audible. But it was on.

“You’ve reached nine-one-one. This line is for emergencies only. If you do not have an emergency, please hang up.”the voice repeated.

Donovan was still talking, still pacing, still boasting about Stiles’ father and his legs and all the things he was going to rip off Stiles.

Behind your foot, your phone continued:

“Want me to send a car out? What’s the address?”A deputy took over the radio.

“It’s the school. Beacon Hills High.”The dispatcher responded firmly.

A pause.

“Let’s see if we got a car in the area…”the deputy answered. Donovan’s footsteps were getting faster.

He was locked in on Stiles now—bleeding, limping, cornered. And still he came.

You moved before you could think. You sprinted from behind the shelf, leapt forward, and launched yourself onto Donovan’s back.

He staggered under your weight, howling as you brought your fist down on his head with everything you had—once, twice, three times.

“STILES! CHECK THE EXITS!” you yelled, legs locked around Donovan’s torso as he bucked and snarled.

Stiles scrambled up from the floor, wincing as he clutched his side. He bolted to the far doors, throwing his weight against them—locked.

“They’re not opening!” he called back, voice cracking with panic.

Donovan let out a monstrous growl and flung you off his back like a rag doll.

You hit the floor hard, bones cracking but still you rolled, staggered to your feet, and ran—drawing Donovan away. Keep him busy. Just keep him away from Stiles.

You ducked behind the shelves, then bolted toward the towering construction scaffolding still set up in the corner of the library for renovations.

Your shoes slammed against metal as you climbed, two steps at a time, blood from your temple dripping onto the bars below. Donovan followed.

Stiles watched, helpless, from the floor.

“Y/N!” he choked, eyes wide, chest heaving.

Donovan was right below you—climbing, snarling, lamprey fangs glinting.

Stiles darted to the nearby tool cart, throwing tools out of the way until his hand gripped something— A key.

The scaffolding key. His eyes flicked upward.

“To your left, baby!” he yelled.

Your head snapped toward him. That word—baby—cut through the chaos like lightning. You almost didn’t register what he meant.

Almost. But then—you saw it.

A rusted key. Holding the upper level of scaffolding in place. You reached for it, hand slick with blood, just as Stiles hurled the key upward.

You caught it. Fumbling. Shaking. But you caught it.

The key slid into place. You turned it. CLICK. The scaffolding groaned—metal screeching as it gave way. And in that split second, Stiles was already moving.

He ran straight toward Donovan—who looked up just in time to see you unlock the drop.

A scream. A crash.

Pounds of metal braces fell from above, slamming into Donovan’s back, knocking him to the ground. But it wasn’t over yet.

Donovan rose to his feet—bloodied, cracked, furious.

And that’s when Stiles lunged, using all his weight to slam Donovan forwards—right into a jagged metal brace jutting from the wreckage.

It impaled him through the torso.

Donovan gasped—one last sound, one last breath—and then he was still.

The library went silent. Stiles staggered back, panting. You climbed down, limbs trembling, adrenaline fading into ache.

Except for the soft crackling of settling metal and the rasp of your breaths in the thick air. You and Stiles stood completely still. Side by side. Wide-eyed. Dust-covered. Cuts and bruises burned across your skin, but you barely felt them.

Your chest rose and fell sharply, lungs trying to keep up, hearts still thudding from the chaos.

Across from you—Donovan’s body lay slumped in the wreckage. Twisted. Bloody. Still. You couldn’t look away. Neither could Stiles.

It was like your brains were trying to catch up with your bodies. Trying to understand what had just happened. What you’d both done. What you’d both had to do.

Your fingers twitched slightly.

And that’s when you noticed it— You were holding Stiles’ hand.

Somehow, somewhere in the madness, your hands had found each other. Gripping tight. Unmoving. You turned to look at him. And Stiles was already looking at you.

His face was unreadable. Like he was cycling through every emotion at once—shock, guilt, fear, disbelief.

Maybe even something else. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. And then—he moved.

He stepped in fast and pulled you against him, arms locking around your body like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

The second he touched you— You broke. Your knees buckled, and he caught you. The sobs came fast—ugly and guttural and real. You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking in his hold.

Because you had just killed someone.

And worse— You had both almost died. You were covered in blood, but alive.

Because of him. Because of each other. And in that moment, standing in the debris of survival and destruction— All you could do was hold on.

The distant wail of sirens cracked the silence. First one. Then two. You both froze. Stiles looked over your shoulder toward the broken library doors. The flashing lights hadn’t arrived yet—but they would. Fast.

“Shit” he muttered, fingers tightening around yours. “We have to go.”

“Surely we can’t just leave him there?” You were still catching your breath, body vibrating with shock, but when he tugged, you followed. Your converse scuffed the tile floor as he pulled you into a sprint.

“Where are we going?”you asked, half-panicked, half-dazed, your fingers still locked tightly in his.

“Away” Stiles shot back over his shoulder. Helpful.

“Oh, great. That clears everything up,” you quipped, stumbling slightly as he sped up. “Any chance we walk away and just tell them what it was, I don’t know—self-defense?”

“There’s two of us,” he replied quickly, weaving through the hallway, “and one very, very dead him.”

You blinked. “…Good point.”

The doors of the school were just ahead now. Roscoe sat like a beacon in the parking lot—beaten, dented, lights still on.

Your heart was pounding. Your hand was sweating in his. Your brain was short-circuiting.

And still— “Baby?” you said, breathless, almost without thinking.

Stiles glanced back at you, confused. “What?”

You swallowed. “You called me baby. Back there. Before we—”

His ears went red instantly not knowing what to say. Because now wasn’t the right time to tell you how he really felt. You raised an eyebrow even as you ran.

He practically crashed into the door, yanked it open, and looked at you, deadly serious now. “Y/N… we don’t tell anyone about this.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. “That’s gonna be kind of difficult considering I don’t have my phone anymore and I’m pretty sure the place is riddled with our DNA.”

He blinked. “Shit. Okay. Okay, we’ll worry about that later. Right now, we just need to get the hell out of here.”

You slid into the passenger seat, heart still rattling against your ribs.

“What if we explain it to Scott?” you offered, even though you already knew the answer. Stiles shook his head hard, shoving the key into the ignition.

“Scott is the last person who should know about this,” he said, his voice sharp now, but not angry—scared. “You know him. He won’t forgive it. Not from me. Not from you.”

“I’m doing this to protect you” he said. His voice cracked slightly. You looked over at him, softer now.

Your voice matched his. “And I’m doing this to protect you.” That stunned silence settled again—for one long breath. Then he nodded, face pale, jaw tight.

“Okay. Perfect. Great. So… perfect reason for us to just never talk about this again.”

He opened the passenger door for you, then slammed his own shut, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“Just me and you, okay?” His voice trembled now. “Just me and you.”

You stared out the windshield, the sound of sirens closer now, echoing like a countdown. You nodded slowly, still in that numb, blinking haze.

“Just me and you,” you echoed, eyes unfocused, voice flat as the gravity of it all finally started to land. And with that, the jeep roared to life.

And the two of you disappeared into the night.

[imagineseclipse]

Stiles Stilinski x Reader- Perishable

OUTSIDE THE SHERIFF’S STATION – NIGHT

The wind kicked up. Streetlights flickered overhead. The kind of night that already felt like a bad idea. You were leaning against the Jeep, arms crossed, watching Stiles pace around in front of you like he was solving the whole damn supernatural world on his own again.

“You do realize you’re not going in there alone right?”you hummed out, picking at the cuticles on your nails.

“It’s just a quick in-and-out.”Stiles continued to pace.

“That’s what you said last time. And you ended up locked in a vault with a were-jaguar and a pissed off Peter Hale”you noted, the tone of your voice getting higher like you knew it all.

“I can handle Eichen House”he answered, holding up one finger as he spun on his heel to face you.

“Can you handle a psychotic orderly and a banshee psychic link you don’t understand? Also let’s not talk about the last time you were at Eichen house”you referred back to the whole ‘Nogitsune’ era. Absolute nightmare.

He sighed. He really sighed, like it physically pained him to admit he didn’t want you there—but needed you anyway.

“Can you be any more annoying?”Stiles huffed out.

“Sure. Want me to show you?”you raised your eyebrow daringly.

He started to grin. You matched it. Neither of you say it out loud, but you’d always been better together—chaotic, reckless, smart… but better.

He nodded toward the passenger side of the Jeep as he sucked his bottom lip under his teeth.

“Okay my little fiend, get in before I change my mind”Stiles swung his keys around his finger.

“You won’t”You sighed, jumping into the passengers side.

“Just a thought Stilinski-We can’t just go in and demand to check out their files cabinet. But maybe… there’s someone inside who wants to make a little extra cash”A metaphorical lightbulb popped up above your head.

He popped the glove compartment open and pulled out a wad of bills, folded and ready. You raised your eyebrows curiously.

“Wow. You actually planned for this, great minds think alike I suppose” You laugh under your breath, shaking your head, there’s warmth there. Comfort. Familiarity.

EICHEN HOUSE PARKING LOT – MOMENTS LATER

Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, restless energy rolling off him in waves.

You knew where his head was-where it always was as of late.

Lydia. Malia. He had a dilemma on his hands.

And he was doing a really bad job pretending he didn’t.

You’d watched it unfold quietly, in half-finished sentences and the way he stared too long at his phone when it buzzed. He never talked about it—not to you. Not really. But you’d seen the signs. The hesitation. The quiet guilt. The way his voice always changed when either of their names came up.

Malia was the now. The girl who made sense in a world that rarely did. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t overthink things. She acted first, felt second. That worked for him… for a while.

And Lydia—well, Lydia was the forever. At least, that’s what you’d always assumed. The girl he’d wanted for years. Smart, radiant, untouchable. She’d grown closer to him recently. Trusted him. And maybe that meant something.

But it wasn’t your place to ask. Because you were neither of them.

Lydia and Stiles had spent most of the day holed up in his bedroom full of dust and genius, trying to crack a code that her dead grandmother left behind. You hadn’t been there, but you’d heard all about it when you’d arrived at the sheriff’s station. Stiles had been buzzing when he showed you the list. Names of the already dead—suicides, all linked back to this Eichen.

You both sat in the Jeep, headlights off. Silence building. Tension settled low in your stomach—not just from where you’re going, but from how often he looked at you like he was trying to say something but he never did.

“You’re doing that thing again”you interrupted his thoughts.

“What thing?”Stiles responded quickly, not looking over at you.

“Staring like you’re about to say something and then pretending you didn’t”You answered.

He finally looked up at you, and it’s soft. Honest. But still not enough.

“Remind me again why I keep you around?”his eyebrow raised slightly.

“Moral support. Emotional labor. I remember your Starbucks order”you grinned.

“Right. The holy trifecta.”Stilinski nodded.

“Still think this is a good idea?”you asked honestly.

“Absolutely not. But since Lydia’s at her grandma’s lake house trying to figure out how a banshee left clues in her death tape collection… this is what we’ve got”Stiles shut off his ignition.

You both hopped out, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the dark. Somewhere inside, danger was waiting. But so was the truth neither of you were ready to face.

As you walked toward the entrance, your hands grazed. Without thinking, they found each other. His fingers closing around yours.

Neither of you let go.

EICHEN HOUSE – INTAKE LOBBY – NIGHT

The moment you stepped inside, the air shifted-sterile, cold, thick with history you didn’t want to know. The buzz of fluorescent lights was too loud. Somewhere in the building, someone was screaming.

You didn’t flinch. Neither did Stiles because the two of you had danced this dance before.

“Good vibes in here as usual. Real welcoming.” You whispered.

“Right, I was going to book us in for a spa day here”Stiles offered you a half smile.

He walked ahead to sign the fake visitor log. You trailed behind, trying not to focus on the nurses, the cameras, the smell of bleach.

When he glanced back, you’re already staring at him. You glanced away way too quickly.

“So. What’s the plan? Talk to a dead girl? Flirt with danger? Accidentally piss off a banshee?”you continue, trying to hide your fear with a little small talk.

“I didn’t bring you to flirt with danger-who is he anyway?”Stiles muttered, a small frown evident on his face.

“Yeah, you brought me because I’m your emotional support human”you corrected him.

That stung more than you meant it to. He didn’t respond, just handed you a visitor badge. Your fingers touch as he passed it over—brief but electric.

It’s always like that lately. Lately as in the past two years but who was counting- you were. And it never meant anything anyway.

Because he has Malia. Because he had previously loved Lydia. Because you were just Y/N. The best friend. The girl who was too late.

EICHEN HOUSE – BRUNSKI’S OFFICE – NIGHT

The office looked like it hadn’t seen a cleaning supply—or a conscience—in about a decade. The light flickered overhead. A cheap fan rattled on the desk. It smelt like burnt coffee and bad choices.

Brunski leant back in his chair, twirling a key ring between two fingers like he’s doing you both a favor.

“A thousand”Brunski grunted.

“A thousand dollars? To use one little key to open one little file room? Are you out of your mind?” You could feel Stiles flaring up next to you.

“When you get the keys, you make the price” Brunski shrugged cooly.

“Right. You actually think we have that kind of money?”Stiles snapped.

“I know you don’t—if you did, Daddy Sheriff would’ve paid the bill by now” You tensed up at the odd mans words. No one speaks on Sheriff Stilinski in that way.

That landed sharp. Stiles stiffened up beside you. You feel his breath hitch, but he doesn’t say anything.

Then Brunski turned to you.

And the way he did it made something in your chest go cold.

It wasn’t just a glance—it was measured. His eyes lingered too long, dropped just enough to make your skin crawl. It wasn’t curiosity. It was control. He looked at you like he knew you didn’t belong here, like he wanted to remind you exactly who held the power in this room.

Your spine straightened, jaw tightening, but you didn’t flinch.

From beside you, Stiles froze. Subtle, but sudden. His arms dropped to his sides, fists just slightly clenched. His gaze flicked from Brunski to you—then back again, harder now. Sharper. The teasing edge he always wore had evaporated, replaced by something colder.

He saw it. The way Brunski looked at you. And he hated it. He shifted half a step closer to you—not obvious, but enough. A barrier. A warning.

“That’s why I’m talking to her”Brunski noticed Stiles’ anger rising and smiled wider.

You sighed, already regretting this entire field trip, and dug into your coat pocket.

“I have eight hundred”you offered with a roll of your eyes.

There’s a pause. Stiles slowly turned his head toward you like you just pulled a live ferret out of your hoodie.

“Where did you get that from?”Stiles muttered, stunned. You had also been prepared.

You shrugged without looking at him.

“Saving it for a rainy day. And from where I’m standing pretty fucking wet out there tonight”you glanced up at the window and the lightening struck against a tree outside as if on queue.

Stiles made a noise somewhere between a laugh and an “are you serious right now?”—but Brunski just grinned like he’s already counted the cash in his head.

“That’ll do. Follow me”Brunski ordered.

He stood slowly, his keys jingling in hand as he unlocked a drawer and grabbed what he needed. You exchanged a glance with Stiles—one full of unspoken “keep your eyes open.” He didn’t say a word, but when you followed Brunski out the door, he made sure to fall in step between you and the man with the keys.

Just in case.

The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, the kind of space that made you instinctively walk closer together. Brunski led a few paces ahead, keys jingling with every smug step.

You walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Stiles, arms brushing, footsteps echoing off tile and metal.

Just before you rounded the corner, you pulled your phone from your pocket, checking the signal. One bar. Fading.

“You wanna text Lydia or Malia? Let them know you’re alive before we’re completely off the grid?”you asked casually shoving your phone back into your pocket.

You didn’t look at him when you said it. You meant it to sound offhanded, practical. You weren’t sure if it came out that way.

Stiles didn’t answer right away. You finally glanced sideways. He was already looking at you.

Not with guilt. Not with hesitation. Just this quiet, open-eyed kind of certainty.

“No”Stiles replied softly, no need for explanation.

And somehow, that one word landed heavier than anything he could’ve said. He didn’t need to check in with Lydia. He didn’t feel the urge to text Malia. Not right now.

Because the one person he needed to be with—the one he trusted to be next to him when everything went to shit—was already walking beside him.

Your heart was louder than your footsteps now.

EICHEN HOUSE – FILE ROOM

The door creaked open on rusted hinges as Brunski unlocked it with exaggerated slowness, like he thought he was granting you access to some top-secret vault.

The walls were lined with dusty cabinets, each drawer stuffed with the kind of secrets Beacon Hills likes to bury. Old patient files, faded labels, and the soft mechanical click of Brunski unlocking the drawer echo in the quiet.

“Good?” He gestured lazily at the open drawer and stepped aside.

“Yeah. We can help ourselves”Stiles waved him away as he started to go through the files.

You and Stiles knelt beside the drawer. He flipped through names and folders, sorting through the deaths Lydia had flagged—every suicide Lorraine Martin tracked. You hovered behind him, scanning with him, heart pounding faster with every file.

“Uh, Y/N, you got the list?”he turned towards you quickly.

You handed him the folded Deadpool list Lydia cracked earlier. He unfolded it—then suddenly stills.

“Y/N… why did you write more names on here?”Stiles sighed as if this was one of your many pranks.

You blinked confused and slightly startled. “I didn’t write anything”

“This is your handwriting”Stiles held up the list in front of you, almost waving it around.

“Okay, first of all, why would I do that Second—that’s not my handwriting… That’s Lydia’s handwriting”you stepped closer, squinting at the paper.

“Why would she write our names?”Stiles voice grew quieter as he stared at it.

You went completely still. Then—

“It was the tapes, wasn’t it?”Brunski’s voice rang out from behind you both.

Before you can even react—

ZAP.

A sharp scream ripped from your throat as the taser hit your ribs. Your whole body seized, pain exploding through your spine as you collapsed to the floor.

“STILES—“you gasped.

“HEY!” Stiles boomed, trying to take in the situation but only focusing on your body.

ZAP.

Brunski slammed the taser into Stiles’ chest. He dropped groaning, twitching as he hit the ground beside you.

You could barely move, muscles twitching involuntarily as your vision swam. The file cabinet loomed above you, still half open. Stiles groaned and turned his head to look at you managing to hold out his hand desperately trying to reach you.

And then—

“Your turn, sweetheart”The corrupt orderly stood over you. He raised the taser again, humming like this is all just part of his night shift.

Everything goes black.

AN HOUR LATER

You came to slowly—like surfacing from a nightmare you can’t quite remember. Your head was pounding. Your vision was unfocused. Everything ached.

The first thing you registered was the cold. The floor beneath you was concrete—hard, unforgiving, biting through your clothes and into your spine. Your hands are pulled tightly behind you, wrists bound by leather restraints, secured to a thick metal pole. Your legs are folded awkwardly beneath you, tingling from lack of circulation.

And you’re not alone.

Your back is pressed against someone else’s along with an uncomfortable metal pole, someone solid, warm, breathing fast.

Stiles.

“Y/N? Please tell me that’s you”you hear his voice and it’s groggy filled with a panicked undertone.

“Nope. Just the ghost of Beacon Hills sarcasm past”you replied dryly.

“Thank God. You’re okay. You are okay, right? Like, full sentences? Blinking? Breathing?” He let out a breath that’s more like a laugh strangled in relief.

“If I say yes, do I get untied?”you asked, peering around the dark room trying to get a grip of your surroundings.

“No, but I might stop hyperventilating”Stiles replied.

You shifted again, testing your arms. Leather restraints bite into your wrists, tight and unforgiving.

“Where are we?”you questioned.

“Back room. Concrete floor. Some kind of weird… medical cart thing in the corner. Also, bad lighting. Classic villain lair stuff”Stiles breathed out unevenly.

“So like, exactly how I pictured dying with you. Just less snacks”you tried to joke, your voice slipping a fraction.

“Hey. Don’t joke like that” His voice changed. It’s still Stiles, but lower. Scared. Like the idea of something happening to you isn’t a punchline—it’s the nightmare.

“I shouldn’t’ve brought you. I should’ve made Lydia come. Or—anyone who didn’t get tasered because I thought bribing a psychopath was a solid plan”Stiles kicked himself.

“You didn’t make me come. I chose this, remember and it was half my idea too?”you reassured him, your voice lowering to match his.

“Yeah, well… I’m never letting you choose again”Stiles murmured to himself.

You both go quiet, sitting there with your backs pressed together, breathing in the same silence. You can’t see him, but you can feel the constant little movements—the way he’s testing his wrists, trying to get a glimpse of you, trying to do something.

And behind you, Stiles’ thoughts were unraveling.

His hands ached from fighting the restraints, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not when you were hurt. Not when you’re this close and still out of reach.

His brain was moving a mile a minute—running through every worst-case scenario he’d ever imagined. What if Brunski comes back and doesn’t stop at a taser this time? What if you were already too late? What if—

What if he’d just told you?

That was the loudest thought.

It crashed into him like a punch to the chest.

What if he hadn’t spent all that time chasing Lydia’s ghost? What if he hadn’t buried himself in something safe with Malia? What if he’d just looked at you—really looked—and said what he’d always been too much of a coward to admit?

That he noticed everything.

That you were the one who never left. The one who kept showing up. Who laughed when no one else could. Who knew how to calm him down with a single look. Who somehow always knew when he needed you—without him having to say a word.

You.

And now you were tied to a pole in the middle of a nightmare, and all he could do is sit here and hate himself for how long it took him to figure it out. For wasting time.

For not choosing you first.

His fingers twitched behind the restraints, aching for yours.

He didn’t say it. Not yet. But God, he wanted to.

And beside him, still tethered to the same cold metal and the same dangerous silence—you breathed. Alive. Brave. Still you.

And that was the only thing keeping him together.

Screams echoed somewhere down the corridor—desperate, hollow cries bounced off the walls of Eichen House.

“Help us! Somebody, help!” Your voice joined them, your throat raw, fear cutting through the sarcasm you usually wore like armor.

From behind you, Stiles’ voice came, low and tight with panic barely masked by cynicism. “Y/N, there’s a lot of people screaming for help in a place like this. I don’t think anyone’s listening.”

You didn’t answer right away, breath shaking as the leather restraints bit into your wrists.

“Well,” you finally muttered, “I’m open to better ideas… because, if you didn’t notice, all of those suicides Lorraine Martin tracked? They were murders.”

There was a pause, heavy with realization. Then Stiles’ voice again, quieter now, like the pieces had clicked together. “That’s why she left the message… the files. Everything.”

“She predicted her own death,” You said, your voice thinning. “She knew Lydia would figure it out. That’s why she gave it to her.”

But a new voice cut through the air before you could say anything else—smooth and too calm.

“Once Lydia were able to predict her own,” Brunski said, stepping into the light like he’d been waiting for his cue.

Your stomach turned. Stiles stiffened behind you.

“But they weren’t murders,” Brunski continued, slowly pacing closer, voice disturbingly casual. “I’m not some serial killer like Ted Bundy, going around cutting up college girls.”

“No” Stiles snapped, his voice tight with rage. “You’re just an Angel of Death.”

Brunski chuckled under his breath. “I don’t think you understand my level of commitment to my work here, Stiles.”

He crouched now, eyeing you both with cool detachment. The taser hung loose in his hand again, like a toy.

“There are people here who don’t simply need treatment,” he said calmly. “They need release. I helped them. I helped Lorraine.”

Behind you, Stiles barely breathed. But your voice came first—barely above a whisper.

“You killed her.”

“I helped her,” Brunski corrected gently, as if that made it better.

He tilted his head at you then, almost intrigued. “And now… you can help me. Because there’s something about it that’s always bothered me.”

Your chest rose and fell too fast, heart thudding against the bone like it was trying to break free. Brunski was still crouched in front of you, staring at you like you were the final piece of some sick puzzle only he could see.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I can’t help you,” you said, voice flat, but barely above a whisper. “I’m not a banshee.”

He didn’t react.

“I’m not what you think I am,” you added, a little sharper now. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”

Brunski tilted his head slowly, a thin, amused smile creeping across his face like he found that adorable.

“But you hum,” he said, like it proved something. “Loud. Even when you’re not speaking.”

Your spine pressed tighter against the pole, trying to inch away even though you had nowhere to go. Behind you, you could feel Stiles pulling against his restraints harder, sharper—silent, desperate.

“That doesn’t mean anything,”you said quickly. “I’m not psychic, I don’t hear voices, I don’t scream when people die—I’m not Lydia.”You began to grow impatient.

Brunski’s smile widened just a little. “No,” he murmured. “But you’re still useful sometimes… the wrong girl turns out to be the right one.”

The words echoed off the walls, sticky and cruel, and landed hard in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

Sometimes Useful.

That’s what Brunski saw when he looked at you. Not a person. Not her. Just another means to an end. Another name. Another body.

And Stiles hated it. Hated the way this man was speaking to you. Hated that you had to sit there and listen to it. Hated that you couldn’t see the way his whole body pulled tight behind you, like if he just strained hard enough against the restraints, he could break them. Could get between you and Brunski. Like he could stop this.

But then came the second part.

The wrong girl turns out to be the right one.

Brunski said it like it was meant to taunt you. Like he thought he was clever. But to Stiles, it hit somewhere deeper.

Because that’s exactly how you saw yourself, isn’t it? The wrong girl.

You thought you were the one he never looked at the way he looked at Lydia. The one he overlooked when Malia came along. You thought you were safe to stand beside him, to be his best friend. But you were wrong.

Because in that moment—right there, in the flickering light of a nightmare—Stiles knew. You were the right one. You always had been. You were the girl who made his heart race and his world tilt.

Behind you, Stiles struggled again, harder this time. “Get away from her.” He seethed. Brunski didn’t move.

You held your breath and stared him down, doing everything you could to hide the shaking in your voice.

“I’m just human,” you said lips trembling, voice cracking “There’s nothing special about me”

The words hung in the air, broken and raw. For a second, it was dead silent. Then behind you—Stiles snapped. Not in a loud, dramatic way. Not with panic or sarcasm or one of his usual half-panicked rants. It was quiet.

Steady. Painful.

“Y/N…” he breathed, like saying your name alone hurt. “Don’t say that. Ever again.”

You felt his back tense against yours, felt the way his breath caught like it physically hurt him to hear you believe that.

“You are,” he said. “You’re—God, you’re so special.”

You were never a placeholder. You were it.

And the fact that it took a sadistic orderly’s taunt to make him see that? That made his stomach twist with guilt—and love.

Real, gut-punching love.

The kind that doesn’t need fanfare. The kind that builds quietly. Over years. Through every glance, every moment and conversation, every time your hand found his in the dark without meaning to.

Then, behind you, Stiles moved.

Not loudly. Not desperately. Just enough.

You felt the tug of his arms shifting, the leather straps creaking as he twisted his wrists, straining until his fingers brushed yours behind the pole.

And then—he found your hand.

He didn’t grip it at first. He just touched it. Like he was making sure it was real. Like he needed the connection as badly as he needed air.

A voice sliced through it—mocking, too loud in the stillness.

“Aw,” Brunski drawled from somewhere behind the light, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “That’s awfully sweet.”

You flinched, and Stiles’ hand tensed instantly in yours.

“But you know what’s not sweet?” Brunski continued, his tone turning cold beneath the sugar. “The fact that Lydia’s not here.”

He moved into view, smile stretched thin and bitter.

“I needed Lydia. I needed her, and instead…” He gestured lazily at you, like you were an unfortunate stand-in.

You didn’t say anything. But your jaw clenched.

“Now,” he said, taking a step closer, voice dropping, “You’re going to have to listen—human or not.”

“Touch her,” he said, voice low and shaking, “and I swear to God—” Behind you, Stiles twisted again in his restraints.

The click of the tape recorder was deceptively quiet.

Your breath caught in your throat the second you heard it.

The static buzzed to life, followed by a soft, trembling voice—one you recognized from Lydia’s memories, from photographs and silence and the unspoken pain that lingered behind your friend’s eyes.

Lorraine Martin.

“What are you…? Brunski, what are you doing?”Your entire body stiffened at the sound of Lydia’s grandmother.

“No,” you whispered. “No, no, no…” But it was already playing.

“Don’t worry, Lorraine,” Brunski’s voice crooned through the crackling audio. “It’s going to be all right… You’re just going to have a little trouble breathing…”

Stiles reacted instantly. You felt him jolt against the pole, heard the panic in his voice.

“Y/N,” he said, trying to steady himself even as the horror grew in his chest. “Y/N, look at me. Don’t listen, okay? Don’t listen to it. Just focus on my voice.”

“Hey, turn it off!” Stiles yelled, jerking violently against the restraints.

His voice echoed through the restraint room, cutting through the suffocating sound of Lorraine Martin’s dying voice still playing over the crackling tape recorder. He twisted hard, metal and leather groaning against his wrists.

“Turn it off!”

He didn’t see it coming.

Brunski swung with no warning, no hesitation.

The punch landed hard against Stiles’ cheek, snapping his head sideways with a sickening thud. His body sagged briefly against the pole, stunned.

“STOP!” you screamed, the word tearing from your throat like a sob. “Don’t—don’t hurt him!”

Your voice cracked. It came out too loud, too raw. But you didn’t care. You twisted toward the sound of him groaning, straining in your own restraints, tears still streaking down your cheeks from the tape.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t not hear it.

Your chest began to heave as the recording continued, every second sinking like glass into your skin.

“Just block it out,” Stiles begged. “Block it out. Just… stay with me. Please.”

But you were already crying. You didn’t realize how hard until the first sob escaped your lips—sharp, ugly, helpless. Your face crumpled as the tears came fast and hot, streaking down your cheeks like they couldn’t get out fast enough.

This wasn’t supposed to be yours to hear.

It was Lydia’s. And it would have killed her.

“Please,” Lorraine’s voice begged through the speaker. “Don’t…”

Brunski leaned closer, whispering now, savoring the moment.

“Here it is,” he murmured. “The part I never understood…” He pressed his finger harder on the tape recorder, like he could slow time.

“Just Listen.”

“Please… don’t hurt her…” Lorraine’s voice—barely audible, choked with tears—crackled through again.

“Don’t hurt who?”Brunski’s voice came next, soft, cruel, curious.

A beat of silence. Then Lorraine’s answer, soft as breath.

“Ariel…”

You let out a broken cry. The name hit like a punch. You squeezed your eyes shut, chest caving in around the sound.

Lydia had been a little girl.

You remembered the story. The mermaid books. The nickname. How Lorraine had called her Ariel when no one else did. This wasn’t just a murder.

It was a goodbye.

And you had heard every second of it. A part of you was grateful that Lydia wasn’t the one listening to the horror.

And now, bound and sobbing in the dark, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to forget the sound of Lorraine’s last breath.

The tape clicked off. And then—nothing. Silence.

A silence so thick it pressed in around you, like the whole room had collapsed inward, like even the air couldn’t bear to move anymore.

You stared at the wall in front of you, barely seeing it. The edges of your vision blurred. Your mouth was dry. Your chest felt too heavy to rise and fall, but somehow, your body still remembered how to breathe.

You couldn’t cry anymore. You were emptied out. Paralyzed.

The echo of Lorraine’s voice still rang in your skull, soft and strangled, whispering Ariel… like she was still there, still dying, over and over again. You knew Lydia wasn’t here—but somehow, it still felt like you were breaking for her. Carrying the weight of a grief that didn’t belong to you—but now, never would leave you either.

You didn’t even realize you were shaking until you felt it.

His thumb. Rubbing gently over the back of your hand.

A subtle movement.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask if you were okay—because you weren’t. And he wasn’t either.

But his thumb kept moving, back and forth, anchoring you to something that wasn’t horror.

You blinked slowly, still staring into nothing.

And then Brunski’s voice slid through the silence, jarring and casual—like he hadn’t just forced you to relive someone’s murder.

“We get a lot of teenagers trying to break into our drug cabinets,” he said, stepping back toward the medical tray. Your head didn’t turn. Your muscles wouldn’t move.

“Most of the time,” he added, as if it were some inside joke, “they don’t succeed.”

You felt Stiles’ grip tense just slightly in your hand. You knew he was watching Brunski now—waiting.

“But you two…” Brunski trailed off, tapping a syringe between his fingers. “You look pretty clever to me.”

Brunski was humming now.

Not a song. Just a sound. A low, tuneless hum that curled under your skin and made your stomach churn.

“I’ll admit, Stiles,” he said, picking up the syringe from the tray with practiced ease, “I don’t have any unusual talents like Lydia…”

He turned it slowly in his fingers, admiring the way the liquid shimmered inside.

“But somehow, I just knew we were gonna get a chance to do this again.” Again?

Stiles jumped behind you, his whole body pulling forward like he could somehow throw himself between you and Brunski.

“No. No. No—”

The panic in his voice shot straight through you. Then Brunski lunged. You didn’t even have time to scream.

The needle pierced the side of your neck, sharp and sudden, a sting of pain exploding down your throat. Your breath caught. Your limbs went stiff. The sensation was cold and burning all at once—like poison wrapped in ice.

Your eyes widened as your body betrayed you.

“NO!” Stiles roared.

You couldn’t see him. But you felt the fury, the helplessness in his voice. The sheer desperation that came from watching the one person he couldn’t lose—being hurt right in front of him.

Brunski held the plunger steady, thumb twitching over it like he was savoring the moment.

You gasped. Your body began to tilt—

“DROP IT!”

The shout cracked through the room like a gunshot. Suddenly Brunski froze.

“Take your thumb off that needle,” came the voice again, calm and commanding, “and slowly withdraw it from her neck.”

You didn’t have to turn your head to know who it was.

Parrish.

His voice was steady. His gun was raised. Brunski’s fingers hovered.

Your heart thudded so loudly you could barely hear anything else—except Stiles still murmuring your name behind you like a prayer.

For a second, no one moved. And then Brunski—sneering, defeated—lifted his hand away.

“Young deputy…” Brunski rasped, eyeing Parrish’s gun with a pathetic smirk. “You’re just a kid. I bet you’ve never even fired a—”

The shot rang out before he could finish the sentence.

The crack of the gun echoed through the tiled room, deafening. You flinched, the sound ripping through your already-frayed nerves as Brunski’s body jolted backward from the impact.

He hit the wall hard, sliding down in a boneless heap, a red stain already spreading across his chest. Parrish didn’t lower the gun. Not yet.

The room went silent again—except for your breathing. Sharp, ragged. Stiles was behind you, still bound, but you felt the same tension in his posture, like the shot hadn’t fully landed until he knew you were safe.

Brunski didn’t move again. You didn’t feel sorry. You felt… nothing. Just the faint sting in your neck, the heaviness in your limbs, and the echo of Lorraine’s voice still rattling in your skull.

“He… he killed Lorraine,” you said, your voice trembling as you stared at Brunski’s slumped body. “He was using Meredith. Manipulating her.”

“He used her to create the Deadpool—” Stiles added sharply.

“—And he killed her when she tried to help us,” you finished, your throat tightening.

Brunski let out a weak, gurgling laugh, coughing as blood stained the corner of his mouth.

“You… You think it was me?” he rasped. “That I was controlling her?”

“Idiots… She was controlling me.” His head lolled against the wall, voice fading to something bitter and thin.

Before the words could fully sink in, someone at the edge of the room finished cutting Stiles free.

The second his wrists were loose, he dropped to his knees beside you.

His hands were everywhere in a rush—hovering at your face, brushing gently over your arms, checking your pulse at your neck like he didn’t trust his eyes. You could see the worry in every line of his face, how shaken he was even trying to hold it together for you.

“Hey,” he said, voice hushed and rough. “You okay? Did he—did he hurt you anywhere else?”

You nodded, still slightly dazed, and he let out a breath that sounded more like a release than relief.

His thumb swept instinctively across your cheek, catching a dried tear. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

Then Meredith spoke from the doorway, soft and composed.

“No…”

Your heads turned in unison.

She stood quietly, like she’d always been there, like she belonged in the silence.

“And… he wasn’t on my list,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But he was a bad person.”

And just like that, everything you thought you knew shifted again.

BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the sterile quiet of the ER broken only by the soft rustle of curtains and the low beeping of distant monitors. You sat on the edge of the hospital cot, knuckles resting in your lap, the nurse’s voice barely registering as she ticked off vitals and asked about the soreness in your neck.

You kept nodding. Kept pretending you were listening.

But your mind was still back there—in that room, in that chair, tied up next to Stiles with fear rattling in your bones. The sound of Lorraine Martin’s final breath still hadn’t left your ears.

Or the sound of Stiles screaming your name.

You hadn’t looked at him much since they brought you in. He was across the hall, behind another thin curtain. You could hear bits of conversation though—his sarcasm filtering through, even while Melissa tried to pin him down.

Across the hallway, thin curtains separated you, but you could still make out the sound of his voice.

“I’m completely and totally fine,” he was saying.

Melissa McCall didn’t hesitate. “Uh-uh-uh. You completely and totally have a concussion, Stiles. Lie back down. The doctor said you’re not leaving without a CT scan.”

Stiles groaned. “We still haven’t paid for the last one.”

You could almost picture Melissa’s face from the tone of her voice. Firm, unimpressed.

“Oh no, no, no. Meredith is at the station. Your dad said it could take some time, but he will get her to talk.”

There was a pause. You imagined Stiles looking toward the door, the hallway, maybe even your room.

Melissa’s voice softened slightly. “Even if I let you go… what would you do?”

You heard him exhale. “Okay, fine. Can you do me one little favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you get me a tape player?”

There was a pause.

“Like… cassettes?” she asked.

“Yes. Tapes.”

“I’ll see what I can do…”

“Okay, tapes though, please.”

“Cassettes.”

You let out the faintest breath of a laugh at the absurdity, but it vanished almost immediately. Then his phone buzzed. And you went still.

You couldn’t hear what Malia was saying, not from this distance, but the low, familiar cadence of her voice drifted faintly from his room. You recognized it instantly.

You didn’t need to hear the words. You already knew them. Of course she’d call.

They were together. Official or not, it didn’t really matter.

And he answered. No hesitation. Just… answered.

You sat there, unmoving, blinking hard at the floor tiles. Something small and cold settled in your chest—something that had been building for a while. You couldn’t name it, but you didn’t have to.

Stiles slumped back against the pillows, still dizzy, still wired, still trying to piece everything together.

He could still hear her—Y/N—in the back of his mind. Her voice cracking. Her fingers shaking in his, both of them tied to that damn pole. He had told her she was special. It had just… slipped out.

“Hey.”Stiles uttered out, holding his phone to his ear.

Malia’s voice was scratchy. Tired. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied, pressing the phone harder to his ear. “I’m fine.”

“You were at Eichen House. That place is—” She stopped herself. “What happened?”

Stiles closed his eyes. Where would he even start? With the part where he almost watched Y/N die? With the part where he realized she was never supposed to be there in the first place, and yet somehow she was the one who held it all together?

“It was… bad,” he said finally. “But we got what we needed.”

Silence buzzed on the other end. Then, “Is she okay?”

His chest tightened. “Yeah. She’s okay.”

Another pause. Malia wasn’t the type to press, but he could feel the question hovering. The question she wouldn’t ask, and the one he wouldn’t answer.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“I’ll call you later, okay?” he mumbled.

“Okay,” she said simply. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah. You too.” He ended the call.

And for a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the door. Not at where Melissa had gone. But at the hallway.

At the room across from his.

One minute he was staring at the closed door, and the next he was pulling the IV cuff off his finger, ignoring the dull pulse in his skull as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted—briefly—but he blinked past it, steadying himself with one hand on the wall.

They’d told him not to get up. To stay put. Concussion. Possible internal trauma. CT scan pending. But you were in the room across the hall.

And he needed to see you.

Not later. Not after more chaos. Now.

The hallway was too quiet. A few nurses moved between rooms, distracted, clipboards in hand. No one stopped him.

He hovered in your doorway for a moment. You were perched on the edge of the hospital bed, a sweatshirt pulled on over your gown, eyes unfocused as you stared down at your hands.

“You always get the bigger room.” You didn’t notice him until he spoke.

Your head snapped up.

He looked pale. Tired. A hospital bracelet still dangled from his wrist, and his hair was a total mess, but he was standing—barefoot, slightly hunched like the floor might fall out from under him.

You blinked. “You’re not supposed to be up.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, stepping in and pulling the curtain slightly behind him, “I’m not great at listening.”

You gave him a look. “You have a literal head injury.”

He shrugged, and the corner of his mouth tugged up—barely. “I’ve had worse.”

There was a beat of silence between you. A thick, buzzing quiet that said too much and not enough.

You spoke first, soft and dry. “I figured Malia called, she tried to ring me too but my phone died.”

His eyes flickered, just briefly. “Yeah. She did.”

“Good”You nodded slowly, like you’d already prepared yourself for the answer.

Stiles shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then sat beside you carefully, wincing slightly.

“I couldn’t stay in that room,” he admitted. “Not without knowing you were okay.”

You glanced at him sideways, heart thudding in your chest.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly. “You’re the one who nearly got his face bashed in.”

He gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “So, you do admit you care about my face.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

It was familiar, that teasing rhythm between you. Comfortable. But underneath it, something else trembled. Something too big for either of you to name just yet.

You didn’t speak for a while after that.

He just sat there, beside you, his shoulder barely brushing yours. And neither of you moved.

Because sometimes, it wasn’t about saying anything.

It was just about being there.

Melissa found him hovering near the nurses’ station again, rubbing at the bruise on his temple.

“I didn’t find a tape player,” she said, offering a half-smile, “but I found someone looking for you.”

He turned, just as Malia approached. She looked unharmed, a little scuffed maybe, but composed in that way only Malia could be—like she hadn’t almost burned alive the night before.

“You almost got killed,” she said.

Stiles tried to smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I heard you almost got killed.”

“You okay?”she asked ignoring his statement.

He shrugged. “Brunski punched me in the face. Turns out, he was a serial killer.”

Her lips barely twitched. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah…” he muttered, glancing down the hallway—and then he stopped mid-thought.

The door to your hospital room was cracked open.

And stepping through it, with that same lazy walk and tailored coat, was Isaac Lahey.

Fresh off a transatlantic flight. France hadn’t changed him much—still tall, still brooding, still effortless in that annoyingly charming way. He carried a small duffel bag, slung over one shoulder, and in his other hand, a paper cup of something steaming—maybe coffee. He hesitated just outside your room, knocked once on the frame, and slipped inside.

Stiles’ stomach turned, slow and hollow.

“What about you?” he asked absently. “Are you okay?”

“We almost got set on fire.”

“Everyone okay?”his gaze flickered to Malia.

“Basically.”

He nodded, distracted.

“You okay?” she asked again, but her voice had changed.

He didn’t answer right away.

“You keep looking at her room, I just went in to see her she’s doing okay you don’t need to worry”she said, not unkindly. She was your friend too.

Stiles blinked, dragged his eyes away.

“You always do worry about her”she added. Her tone wasn’t bitter. Just tired.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’ve always kind of known,” Malia said softly. “Even before we were… whatever we were.”

Stiles turned toward her fully now, guilt rising to his throat.

“I never meant to—”

“I know you didn’t,” she cut in gently. “You were trying. So was I.” He didn’t deny it.

“I’m sorry”he murmured.

“You don’t have to be,” she said, and she meant it. “We were what we needed to be. But we’re not it.”

He nodded. “No. We’re not.”

She took a step back. “I’m gonna go.”

“You don’t have to,” he offered. But it was automatic, there was no weight to his words

“I should.” He didn’t stop her.

And she didn’t look back.

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, his eyes went straight to your room again. The door had closed, but the image was burned into his brain—Isaac’s smile, your face lighting up, the way you leaned toward each other like no time had passed.

And for the first time in a long time, Stiles wasn’t afraid of monsters or lists or nightmares. He was afraid he was too late.

You weren’t expecting the knock.

And you definitely weren’t expecting the tall, soft-footed silhouette that stepped through your hospital room door, wearing a familiar coat and that faint, crooked smirk you hadn’t seen in months.

“Hey,” Isaac said. Your heart stalled.

“Isaac?”

You blinked, as if he might disappear if you looked too hard. “What are you—how—?”

“I got on the first flight I could when I heard what happened.”

He crossed the room slowly, setting a paper cup of coffee on your tray table. “I talked to Scott last night. He didn’t give details, but when I heard Eichen House and your name in the same sentence…” His jaw clenched slightly. “I didn’t want to wait.”

Your fingers curled into the blanket.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, though you didn’t sound convincing even to yourself.

Isaac gave you a look—flat and unimpressed. “I didn’t cross three time zones for fine, Y/N, I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing.”

You gave a small shake of your head, something bitter curling in your throat. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Why?” he asked, brows pulling together. “Because I care about you?”

“No,” you snapped, a little too quickly. Then, softer, “Because it’s not safe here. There’s a Deadpool, Isaac. Supernaturals are being hunted and killed. You’re a werewolf—if they know you’re back, you could be on it now. You need to go.”

“I know about the Deadpool,” he said quietly, folding his arms. “I know everything. Scott filled me in. Brunski, the tapes, Meredith… you. I’m not staying long.”

You looked up at him. “Then why come at all?”

His eyes met yours, unwavering. “Because I had to see you, I see you as family after everything that happened with Allison. And because I came to ask you something.”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure where this was going.

“I have a flight back tomorrow morning,” Isaac said carefully. “And I want you to come back to France with me.”

Your stomach flipped.

“What?”

“Not forever,” he clarified. “Just… for a while. A break. Get out of Beacon Hills, out of all this death and trauma. I think you need that. I know you do.”

You stood there frozen, eyes wide, your mouth slightly open—but no words came.

And then—

“You want her to go where?” The voice cracked across the room like a whip.

You turned toward the door.

Stiles stood there, arms braced against the frame, like he’d been leaning there longer than you realized. His eyes locked on Isaac, jaw set, disbelief burning behind every syllable.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Stiles stepped into the room, not looking at you—only at him.

“France?” he said again, voice lower now. “You’re asking her to leave?”

Isaac didn’t flinch. “I’m offering her peace.”

“Right,” Stiles scoffed. “Because running away from everything solves so much.”

“I’m not running,” Isaac said calmly. “I’m giving her a choice.”

“And what—you’re the better option?” Stiles stepped closer, eyes flashing. “Is that what this is?”

“Stiles,” you said, finally finding your voice.

He looked at you then — really looked — and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. There was something behind his eyes you couldn’t name. Not yet.

You turned back to Isaac. And without a word, you stepped toward him and wrapped your arms around him.

He exhaled, arms curling around your back like second nature, holding you just tight enough to say everything he didn’t say aloud.

When you pulled away, your hand lingered on his forearm.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For coming. For always showing up when you don’t have to.”

“But?” he asked, already hearing it in your voice.

You offered a small, sad smile. “But I can’t go. Not right now. I can’t leave everyone”

Isaac nodded, no bitterness in his expression — just something quiet and knowing. “I figured you’d say that.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bouquet — clumsy and hospital-gift-shop cheap, but thoughtful.

“I brought these,” he said, holding them out. “Forgot flowers are supposed to be for people who are actually injured.”

You rolled your eyes but took them anyway. “I was injured.”

He smirked. “Barely.” Then he backed up, toward the door.

“I’m going to see Scott before I head out. My flight’s in the morning.” His eyes flicked briefly to Stiles. “You can still change your mind.”

And with that, Isaac left — The room felt heavier once he was gone.

You looked down at the flowers for a second too long.

Just you and Stiles now and more silence than either of you knew what to do with.

You adjusted the flowers on your tray table, fingers tugging at the crinkled wrapper. Across the room, Stiles hadn’t moved. He just stood there, watching you like he was bracing for something.

“Don’t go to France,” he said suddenly. You looked up, startled.

“I’m not going to,” you muttered, your voice softer than you expected. He nodded once… then fidgeted, like his mouth was moving faster than his brain.

“I mean—if you are going, I’ll pack a bag too,” he added quickly.

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think Isaac was offering you a ticket.”

He placed a hand on his chest with mock offense. “Is it because I don’t like his scarf?”

“It’s because you don’t like him.”you replied dryly.

“I have reason to.”

“And what’s that reason?”

Stiles paused for just a second too long. “I don’t know. He’s too nice to you.”

You shot him a look. “God forbid I deserve someone being nice to me.”

“I’m nice to you,” he muttered.

“You threw a Sour Patch Kid at me for saying The Empire Strikes Back is overrated.”

“And I’d do it again.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was already winning. The ease between you both was always there, ready to snap back into place no matter how long or how messy things got.

Then something tugged in your memory, and your smile faded just slightly.

“How’s Malia?” you asked gently. “I bet she’s worried sick about you.”

Stiles inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Not quite.”

Your head tilted. “Elaborate.”

“We broke up,” he said, voice quieter now.

You blinked. “Wait—you and Malia broke up?! When?!”

“Just now.”

Your eyes widened. “Like—just now as in outside this door just now?”

He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. Kind of mid-hallway, post-concussion, pre-jealous-fit-of-rage moment.”

You stared at him. “That’s not just now. That’s literally now.”

“Time is relative,” he muttered. You threw a pillow at him.

But as the laughter faded, a quiet settled again.

“And you’re okay?” you asked, the warmth in your voice dipping just enough to show the worry you couldn’t hide.

Stiles looked at you — really looked — and it hit you like a punch to the chest. His eyes were sincere, honest in a way that always knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“I will be,” he said. “I think I already am.”

You were about to nod, to move on — but then something nagged at you.

Your eyes narrowed. “What did you mean… pre-jealous-fit-of-rage?”

Stiles’ eyes went comically wide. “Wha—what? You really don’t see it?” he stammered, suddenly very interested in the tiles on the floor.

“See what?” you pressed, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Stiles opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“You know,” he said, waving a vague hand between you and the door. “The whole… France… Isaac… scarf-wearing… soft-talking thing.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

He stopped pacing, face twisting like you’d just asked him to solve quantum physics on a napkin.

“What—you’re telling me you really don’t see it?!” he nearly shouted.

You blinked. “See what, Mieczyslaw?!”

He froze. The silence between you stretched taut.

Then— “That I’m so fucking in love with you?!”

The words dropped between you like a pin in a silent room. Sharp. Sudden. Unmistakable. Everything stopped.

But you… you just sat there. Absolutely still. No sarcastic retort. No teasing quip. Just a slow realization crashing over you like a wave.

Stiles was frozen, eyes wide, chest rising and falling too fast. He looked like he’d just set the whole room on fire and wasn’t sure whether to run or apologize for the smoke.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just stared at him, heart pounding like it was trying to speak for you, blood rushing in your ears louder than any of the chaos Beacon Hills had ever thrown at you.

And then you stood.

You crossed the space between you before he could open his mouth again, before he could spiral into one of his thousand-word explanations. And you kissed him.

No warning. No buildup. Just hands cupping his face, lips finding his with every ounce of clarity and certainty you hadn’t been able to put into words.

His breath caught—stunned, frozen for a beat.

Then his hands found your waist, like they’d been waiting forever, and he kissed you back like something had snapped inside him. Like all those years of friendship and late-night conversations and aching, aching almosts had finally, finally broken loose.

When the kiss ended, you didn’t move far. Just enough to breathe again — barely.

“Okay… either I just kissed you, or I blacked out and hallucinated the best moment of my life.” Foreheads still pressed together, Stiles was the first to speak, voice hushed and stunned.

You huffed a laugh. “If you passed out mid-confession and I still kissed you, that says a lot about me.”

He pulled back just slightly to look at you — disheveled, dazed, and definitely overwhelmed. “You did kiss me though, right? I didn’t dream it?”

You shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.”

His eyes widened. “Y/N.”

“Okay, okay,” you grinned, rolling your eyes. “Yes. I kissed you. Congratulations on surviving your emotional meltdown.”

“That was not a meltdown. That was a passionate declaration.”

“You shouted. Loudly.”

“You said my actual name,” he shot back. “I had to go dramatic.”

You went quiet for a beat, but your voice was softer when you added, “You deserved it. I only reserve ‘Mieczyslaw’ for emergencies.”

“Well, next time I have a near-death experience and a life-ruining secret, I’ll try to make it a bit more subtle.”

You smiled, and the room felt warmer somehow.

“You know,” you added, tilting your head, “you’ve kind of ruined my five-year streak of pretending I didn’t want to kiss you.”

He smirked, that lopsided grin making a return. “Please. I’ve been pining so dramatically I should’ve been cast in a Regency-era tragedy.”

You laughed, leaning into him again.

“We’re disasters,” you said.

“Speak for yourself,” Stiles replied. “I’m charming.”

[imagineseclipse]

Master Prompt List

Romantic Prompts

Romance Prompt Lists (Masterpost)

Bad romances/unrequited/break-up (Masterpost)

Flirting + Teasing Prompts (Masterpost)

Two smart and also stupid people in love

Romance Dialogue - Bubbly + Reserved

Push and pull romantic prompts

Jealousy Prompts

heartbreaking.

Things said during sex Prompts

Awkward Post-Sex Dialogue

Smut Prompts (Masterpost)

One-Liners Dialogue - Romantic, Smutty + Physical (Masterpost)

Love Language - Showing, not telling love

Love Language - Showing you care

Romance Dialogue Prompts – Uncomfortable with affection

Grumpy Affectionate Dialogue

Grumpy + Sunshine Dialogue

Inexperienced with romance Prompts

Love Confessions (Masterpost)

Lovers being caught Prompts

OTP Christmas Prompts

Meet Cutes/Meet Uglies

Relationship Milestones (Masterpost: moving in, getting married, honeymoon, having children)

Physical Reactions

Seeking out physical affection

Romantic, non-sexual intimacy prompts

Date Prompts (Masterpost)

One Night Stand Prompts

Forbidden Romance

Secret relationship dialogue

Love-hate relationship

Friends with benefits (Masterpost)

Enemies/Friends to Lovers & more (Masterpost)

Ex-Lovers Prompts (Masterpost)

Dating the bad boy/girl

True Idiots in Love

Matchmaking Prompts

Fake Dating Prompts (Masterpost)

OT3 Prompts (Masterpost)

Love Triangle Ideas

Second chance trope

OTP Prompt Challenge

Relationship Changes

Bed Sharing/Only One Bed (Masterpost)

Kisses Masterpost (Prompts, First Kiss, Accidental Kiss, …)

Ship Dynamics

WLW Plot Ideas

Queer Platonic Relationship Prompts

Fluffy Prompts

Fluffy Prompts (Masterpost)

Showing Comfort

Pregnancy Prompts

Hidden Pregnancy Dialogue

Sleepy Starters

Cute Interactions

Physical Contact Masterpost (Hand-holding, hugs, touches & co.)

Sharing Clothes

Things to do at a carnival

Cooking/Baking Dialogue Prompts

Quiet movie night Prompts

Having fun in the rain

Height Difference Prompts

Same Height Prompts

Caregiving Ideas

Doing nice things prompts

Love Languages (Masterpost) 

Subtle Acts of Love

Asking for permission

Late-Night Calls

Hurt/Comfort Prompts

Hurt/Comfort Prompts (Masterpost)

Injury Dialogue Prompts

Sickness Dialogue Prompts

Fighting & Making Up Prompts

Angsty/Angry Prompts

Angsty Dialogue (Masterpost)

The angstiest masterpost (over 40 prompt lists)

Angry Dialogue

Family Prompts

(Found) Family Prompts (Masterpost)

Friends/Fun Prompts

Friends Prompt Challenge

Platonic activities for friends

Online Friends Prompts

Group of Friends Prompts (x)

Opening Sentences (Friend group in NYC)

Road Trip Ideas

Party Games Prompts

Drunk Friendgroup

Silly Drunk Dialogue (x)

Amusement Park Activities

Surprise party gone wrong

Settings for conversations

Having fun in the rain

Bar Conversation Starters

Girls’ night out ideas

Outside of school activities

Walking to school prompts

Rekindling Friendship Dialogue

Not Wanting to Rekindle Friendship Dialogue

Reconnecting Friends Prompts

Slow dancing with a friend

AU Prompts

AU ideas

Royalty AU (Masterpost)

Victorian AU Prompts

Historic Prompts - 1800s Ball Prompts

Wild West Prompts

Parallel Universe Romance Prompts (x)

Roommates AU (Masterpost)

Sport Romance Prompts

College/School AU (Masterpost)

Hogwarts Prompts

Workplace AU (Masterpost)

Neighbors AU (Masterpost)

Musician/Actor/Celebrity AU (Masterpost)

Gossip Girl/Rich AUs

Coffee Shop AU (Masterpost)

Bookstore AUs

Flower Shop AUs

Bodyguard AUs

Bodyguard Dialogue Prompts

Patient and Doctor Prompts

Groundhog Day Prompts

Pirate Prompts

Soulmates AU (Masterpost)

Lifeguard AUs

Camping Prompts

Ice Skating Prompts

Supernatural/Mystery/Thriller/Crime Prompts

Ghost Prompts (Masterpost)

Mermaid Prompts

Angels & Demons Prompts (Masterpost)

Summoning a God Prompts

Life & Death Prompts + Dialogue

Showing aliens the human world

Murder Mystery/Thriller Prompts (Masterpost)

Survival Game Prompts

Partners in Crime – Meeting again

FBI mentor and mentee prompts

Assassins Banter Dialogue

Assassin x Target Prompts

Heist Prompts

Hero x Villain (Masterpost)

Causes for the apocalypse

Post-apocalyptic romance prompts

Fantasy/Sci-Fi Masterpost  (Werewolves, Vampires, Time Travel, etc.)

Holiday/Seasonal Prompts

Holiday/Seasonal/Monthly Prompts (Masterpost)

Birthday AUs

Birthday Prompts

Ranked Prompt Lists

Ranked Lists (Top 20 Lists, Best Prompts/Posts of the Year)

Various Prompt Lists

Random Prompt Lists (Drabbles, Dialogues, One Word Prompts,…)

Favourite Tropes

5 + 1 Fic Prompts

‘Write about’ Prompts

‘Imagine your OTP’ Prompts

All The Fic Titles

All The Prompts List

List of Names

Writing Games

Ask Games

Daily Writing Challenge

30 Days Writing Challenge

AU & Trope Combos

Dialogue Masterpost

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[imagineseclipse]

Damon&Stefan Salvatore x Reader- ‘How Embarrassing’

Part 1 - Part 3

No one moved. Not at first. Then—

“What the fuck did you just do?” Stefan’s voice cut through the silence, sharp, horrified. Damon didn’t answer. He just kept holding you.

“Damon—what did you do?” Stefan yelled stepping forward now, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with disbelief.

“She was dying,” Damon said, voice low and unwavering. “I saved her.”

“You turned her!” Stefan snapped. “You made that choice for her.”

“She didn’t have time to choose,” Damon snapped back, still cradling you like you were glass. “She wouldn’t have made it another minute. I had to—”

“No. No, you wanted to.” Stefan’s voice cracked, anger and sorrow bubbling beneath the surface. “You said it yourself—you were being selfish.”

“I care about her” Damon said, louder now, rising slightly to meet his brother’s glare. “What was I supposed to do? Let her die in my arms knowing we could stop it?”

Stefan looked away, jaw tight. Because he knew that feeling. Too well. Across the room, Caroline stood frozen, hand covering her mouth.

Bonnie’s fingers were clenched into fists, torn between understanding and heartbreak. She’d watched too many people cross that line—watched too many change. Elena stepped closer, voice soft but shaky. “She’s going to wake up… in transition.”

Damon nodded.

“She’ll have to choose,” Bonnie said quietly. “Complete the transition… or die for good”

“She didn’t ask for this” Stefan muttered, almost to himself.

“No,” Damon agreed, finally looking down at you again. “But she earned it don’t you think? After buying us time?” There was another pause.

A heavy silence full of disbelief, fear… and awe.

Because lying there in Damon’s arms, blood on your lips, your heartbeat gone—You didn’t look helpless. You looked inevitable.

Damon tightened his grip around you, still cradling your limp body as your skin began to cool, your veins now carrying his blood.

His eyes burned, jaw locked, heart pounding against a chest that had once been numb to this kind of fear. He looked down at you like you were a match he was terrified to strike, but couldn’t let burn out.

Then, quietly, more to himself than anyone else, he whispered: “It won’t be long before Sybil comes back, I give us a couple of days max”

The group turned toward him.

“We go into hiding for a while,” Damon said firmly, standing now, lifting you easily into his arms. “Give Y/N a chance to adjust before she comes for her.”

Bonnie’s voice cracked, her arms folded tight across her chest. “And what if… what if she doesn’t want to live like this?” Damon’s face darkened.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his jaw ticked, and his grip on you tightened instinctively.

“You can’t force her,” Caroline added softly, but firmly. “Damon, she didn’t get to choose.”

“She’s going to hate you for this” Enzo muttered, stepping back, the weight of truth behind his voice.

But Damon didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look up.

Didn’t say a word.

He turned away, eyes flicking briefly toward Stefan—one final look, almost like a goodbye.

And then, without another breath, Damon vanished. Gone.

Supernaturally fast, a blur of grief and need and love all wrapped into one man sprinting into the night with the woman he couldn’t lose—even if it meant she’d never forgive him.

He didn’t know what would happen when you woke. Didn’t know if you’d scream, cry, shove him away. But he knew one thing: Sybil wasn’t going to have you.

And the only place safe enough for you now was a location only a few people on earth even knew existed.

The old boarding house ruins in the woods. What remained of a Salvatore family hideaway—rewired, sealed, Bennett spelled shut. A place forgotten.

The place only the Mystic Falls Six ever used when the war got too loud.

He arrived at the Salvatore family hideaway in seconds, hidden behind overgrown brush and old glamour spells—secrets buried deep, untouched by time. It was one of the few places in the world that had never been touched by the chaos of Mystic Falls.

But it wasn’t enough. Not now. Not with Sybil still out there.

By the time Damon laid you gently down on a dusty velvet chaise, he already knew. She’d come looking. And she’d find this place eventually. Bonnie appeared not long after—spellbook in one hand, fury in her eyes. The air around her crackled with raw magic and barely contained grief.

“I’m not here to argue,” she said, voice tight.

Damon looked up at her, still kneeling beside your unconscious body.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’m not risking her. She’s our friend”

Bonnie glanced at you—still as stone, eyes closed, blood on your temple—and her face softened just a little. Then she exhaled, stepped forward, and slammed her hand against the wall.

The runes pulsed. A new lock clicked into place—stronger, older magic. Protection layered like armor.

“No one gets in,” she said. “Not even Sybil.”

Damon nodded, barely able to form a thank you. But it still wasn’t enough.

He stayed just long enough to make sure the spell held—then vanished again, you still in his arms.

He took you to the only place left where he knew how to breathe—the house he hated as much as he loved. The Salvatore mansion. But not upstairs.

He took you underneath. To the underground wing built beneath the original foundation—sealed off, soundproofed, hidden from all but a few. A room tucked away from conflict. Quiet. Still.

He laid you in the bed like you were sleeping—not dead, not in transition—just sleeping. You looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Your lips were stained red, your brow still furrowed faintly from the fight, your pulse completely silent.

He sat in a chair by your bedside, elbows on his knees, fingers knotted together so tightly they turned white.

And then he just watched. Hours passed. Then more. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

But he kept watch.

Morning filtered in through the narrow, barred windows high in the walls—soft gold light brushing over stone and silence. Damon hadn’t slept.

He hadn’t moved from the chair, either.

He sat with his fingers loosely intertwined in his hair, head bowed, gaze fixed on you like if he looked away, you might vanish. Your fingers had twitched once during the night, barely.

And then— It happened.

You gasped.

A loud, sharp, awful inhale—like someone being pulled out of deep water. Your body jolted upright, spine arching, eyes wide and wild.

You were alive. Or something close to it.

You choked on the breath, clutching at your chest as your senses overloaded. The taste of blood on your tongue. The burn in your throat. The dizzying sharpness of the room—every sound, every smell, everything was too much.

Damon was on his feet in an instant.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” he said quickly, hands up, voice steady but low. “You’re okay. You’re alright.” You turned to him, eyes glassy, chest heaving.

And you knew.

Before he said a word. Before he stepped forward. Before you even really looked at yourself—you knew.

It was in the way the air burned in your throat like fire and ash. The way your skin felt too tight, too sensitive, like the world was pressing in from every direction. It was in the stillness inside you—the wrong kind of silence.

Your heart wasn’t beating.

And Damon… Damon was standing just feet away, looking at you like you were breaking him in real time.

He didn’t have to say it.

Because something about the way he stood—rigid but careful, like he didn’t know if you’d scream or shatter—told you everything.

Your fingers curled against the sheets. They didn’t feel like yours.

The entire room felt off, like a stage set under lights too bright. You stared at him, breath sharp and uneven, The silence stretched between you—until you couldn’t hold it anymore. Your breath hitched.

Once. Twice. And then the tears came.

Quiet at first. Barely noticeable. But then they shook your whole body—heaving sobs you tried to swallow down, hands trembling in your lap, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

Damon stepped forward instinctively.

“Don’t,” you warned through clenched teeth, voice cracking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Y/N…” he said softly, like your name might anchor you.

You laughed—a bitter, broken sound. Then you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and fire in your voice.

You blinked, confused, frowning faintly as your gaze dropped to your hand resting in your lap. And there it was.

A silver ring. Set with a small black stone. Simple. Familiar. Your breath caught in your throat. He’d put it on you.

At some point—after—he’d slipped the daylight ring onto your finger, silent, thoughtful, prepared. Your chest tightened.

He hadn’t just made the decision to turn you. He’d made sure you’d stay.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Damon?”

He flinched.

“Was doing this to Caroline not enough, you had to do it to your best friend too?” You stood abruptly, staggering slightly. “You turned me into a plaything? That it?! Some twisted immortality fantasy that you will throw away once you get bored?”

His face twisted in guilt. “That’s not, you were going to die-

“You should have let me” You reached down and ripped the daylight ring from your finger. The second it left your skin, your body flinched—sunlight searing a red-hot sting along your arm. You hissed, dropping the ring to the floor.

“Shit—” Damon blurred forward, grabbing your hand, pulling it back into the shade, the ring already in his other hand.

“Let go of me,” you snapped, yanking your arm free, face streaked with tears and fury. You’d come back to save him and he had killed you. Your emotions clouding your judgement. Smart Y/n would have known that he’d done this to keep you alive.

But then— Everything went still. Your shoulders lowered. Your breathing evened.

The emotion… dropped. Just like that. Your face emptied. And your eyes—red-rimmed and glassy only seconds ago—went cold. Utterly still.

Damon stepped back, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

You tilted your head slightly, wiped the tears from your cheek like they were a minor inconvenience.

He blinked. “How did you… how did you do that?!”

You stared at him, deadpan. “I lost my mortality, not my brain cells, I’ve watched all of you do it a million times it’s not hard” -Oh you were going to be a piece of work.

His heart cracked somewhere deep in his chest.

Because you were standing in front of him.

Alive. Immortal. And gone.

-4 years earlier-

It wasn’t some grand gesture.

It wasn’t one of the nights he saved your life or swaggered into a room with that crooked smirk and a glass of bourbon in his hand.

It was a Tuesday. Late spring. Quiet.

The group had holed up in the Salvatore library during yet another town crisis. Elena was pacing, Stefan was flipping through grimoires, Bonnie was meditating with her eyes closed, and Damon—

Damon was sitting next to you on the floor.

Not on a couch. Not in his usual overdramatic lean against the fireplace.

Just… next to you. Legs stretched out, boots scuffed. A book open in his hands. Nothing supernatural. Just a dog-eared copy of something he claimed was “tolerable.”

And for a minute, everything was still.

He looked… tired. Not broken. Just quiet.

And then, without looking at you, he reached into the bowl of popcorn you’d made earlier and picked out every single burnt piece. Set them on a napkin beside you.

Said nothing.

Didn’t even glance your way. Like it was a reflex.

And for some reason, that tiny thing—that nothing moment—hit like a brick to the chest.

Because it wasn’t about the popcorn.

It was the way he knew you hated the burnt ones. The way he listened even when he acted like he didn’t. The way he sat beside you like it was normal, like you belonged there, even if he didn’t say it.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and your heart did something reckless. It chose him.

Right then. Right there. In the middle of a quiet crisis and a half-lit room.

But you kept it to herself. Because girls like you didn’t end up with guys like him.

He liked bold. Tragic. Dangerous. The kind of love that burned cities to the ground.

And you? You was just his best friend. The girl he had become close to due to circumstances.

So you smiled, tucked the moment away, and said nothing. Not a word.

It hadn’t been a crush. Not even close.

Damon had been aimlessly flirting with you for years—and he didn’t even realize how deep he was until it was too late.

It started as harmless teasing. Little jabs. Sarcastic quips. He flirted with everyone, right? So why would you take it seriously?

Except… he wasn’t like that with anyone else. Not really.

He remembered the way you’d roll your eyes when he said something smug, and how he’d smirk like it was a game only the two of you played. The way he always seemed to find a reason to sit next to you at group meetings, to walk you to your car even when you weren’t in danger, to notice when you was too quiet and offer you a drink you didn’t ask for.

It was the way you saw through him, didn’t buy into his charm, but somehow still believed he was worth something underneath it. The way you called him out when he was being an ass, but never looked at him like a monster. You were insanely smart, not like most humans.

You’d always thought he was joking.

That all the lingering looks and sly compliments were just Damon being Damon.

But he wasn’t trying to charm you. He wasn’t trying to toy with you. He was yearning.

He was wrapped around your finger and too much of a coward to admit it—because you were human. Normal. His best friend. And he told himself he’d ruin you if he let it be more than that.

So instead of saying anything real, he kept the jokes going. And you always laughed. Told him to shut up. Never once realizing he meant it. Every single word.

And now, as he stood across the room watching you stare past him, your emotions shut off, your humanity stripped away—

He wondered if it would’ve made a difference.

If he’d just told her back then.

-

“Why did you turn it off?” he finally asked, voice low, hoarse.

Y/N didn’t flinch. You didn’t blink. Damon’s breath hitched, just slightly.

You tilted your head. “The whole Elena saga must’ve finally run dry, huh? So you found the next best thing, someone stuck with you for eternity. The easy one. The safe one- also I’m fucking starving.”

“Y/N,” he warned softly, eyes flicking with something close to panic. “That’s not—”

“Did you know I was in love with you”you asked flatly. “You definitely knew it. For years. And you let it hang there like a safety net. You let me orbit you and you knew that I would run back to mystic falls to save you, you knew that I would die trying”

You stepped closer now, slowly, like you were just testing the way your new body moved.

“And when it came down to it, when you had the choice—you didn’t let me die. Not because you couldn’t live without me. But because you couldn’t stand being alone because I’m the only one who ever tolerated you”

Damon flinched like you’d slapped him.

“Little naive human y/n, looking up to this GOD” Your expression didn’t change. Your voice didn’t rise. That was the worst part. You weren’t angry. You just… wasn’t.

No emotion. No heartbreak. No pain.

Just truth spoken in the vacuum of numbness.

“You didn’t do this out of love or mercy”you added, finally. Damon’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but his voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you said, without hesitation. “And the worst part is? I don’t even care if it’s true anymore.”

You turned your back on him, like the conversation didn’t matter. Like he didn’t matter.

You were halfway to the door when you stopped weakly, eyes on the sunlight pouring through the cracks in the stone wall. Damon hadn’t moved.

Your voice broke the silence—dry, factual.

“So either I feed…” you turned slightly, gaze hollow, “or I kill myself.”

Damon stiffened. The words hit the air like stone on glass—shattering everything soft between you.

Y/N wasn’t trying to get a reaction. You weren’t threatening. You were just stating the terms. The two options laid out in front of you like some sick equation.

“Don’t say it like that,” Damon said, almost immediately, his voice low and frayed. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple,” you said flatly. “This is the part where I either accept what you did, or I end it. That’s how this works, right?”

Your eyes met his then—steady, detached. And that’s when Damon really saw it.

That flicker behind your eyes—the part that used to fight, used to care, used to burn. Gone.

He took a step forward. “You still have time. You can turn it back on, Y/N. Feel it. Feel everything.”

“I don’t want to.” The words were quiet. Unapologetic.

“You’re scared,” he said, trying—desperate to reach you.“You’re pushing it down because you don’t want to face what this means. But you don’t have to do it alone. Let me help you.”

You laughed once. Cold. Sharp.

“You did help me,” you said. “You helped me die.”

And for the first time in decades, Damon felt helpless.

Because this wasn’t a fight. It was a funeral. And you hadn’t even left the room yet.

You were almost to the door when Damon stepped in front of her—fast, but not aggressive. Just there, blocking your path with eyes that had burned through centuries and were now glassed over with something far more terrifying than rage.

Love.

“You asked why I did it,” he said quietly, voice low but shaking under the weight of what he’d never said. “And I’m going to tell you. Not because I think it’ll change anything. But because if I don’t say it now, I never will.”

Y/N didn’t look at him. Didn’t flinch. But you didn’t walk away, either. So he kept going.

“I did it because I have loved you in every way a man can love a woman—quietly, selfishly, from a distance, and with every goddamn piece of myself I didn’t think I still had.” Your eyes flicked to his, just barely.

Encouraged, he stepped closer.

“You were never the backup plan. Never the girl in the wings. You were the one I turned to without thinking. The one I trusted without asking why. And somewhere along the line, I started looking at you like you were already mine—even when I knew I had no right to. So yes you are right I knew you would come back for us and I knew you wouldn’t survive it that’s why I was so angry earlier”

His voice broke, just a little.

“I didn’t turn you because I wanted to keep you. I turned you because the thought of a world where you no longer existed—where we would wake up and you wouldn’t be anywhere—was more than I could bear.”

She blinked. Her jaw clenched.

“I know what I took from you. And I will regret it for the rest of my life, if you ask me to. But don’t you ever think it was boredom. Or loneliness. Or convenience.”

He stepped forward again, close enough to feel your breath.

“I did it because I love you. Because I am in love with you. And if I had a thousand lifetimes to live, I would fall in love with you every single time.” A beat of silence passed.

You looked at him—really looked at him. And for just a moment, her lips parted like she might speak.

But instead… you dropped your gaze.

And Damon braced himself for what would come next.

The numbness remained—your expression unreadable, your heart locked behind a wall even you didn’t want to face.

Damon stared at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching. Then—

He reached into the drawer beside the bed. Pulled out an old box of matches.

And struck one.

The tiny flame flickered to life, dancing between his fingers.

“If you really want to die,” he said quietly, calmly, “then let’s go.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped to him, sharp and cold. “What the hell are you doing?”

“If you want to burn” he continued, stepping closer, holding the flame just inches from his skin, “then we’ll burn.”

The fire danced in his dark eyes, his voice unwavering.

“If you’re done, if you want to end it, then fine. I want to, too. Right here. Right now. Just say the word.”

She stared at him, unmoving

“You think I care about eternity without you in it?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “You think I’d survive that? If you want out—really want out—then I’m not letting you do it alone.”

The match burned lower, creeping toward his fingers.

“I will burn with you.” His eyes never left hers. The match hissed, flame licking dangerously close.

And something shifted in her. A twitch in her lip. A tear that broke loose without permission. A tremble in her jaw that betrayed the storm just beneath the surface.

Her voice cracked, barely audible.

“Damon…”

He dropped the match.

Snuffed it out with his boot.

Then stepped forward and gently—so gently—reached for her face.

“You don’t really want to die,” he whispered. “You just don’t want to feel what this is, but I’d rather take your life and give it back to you instead of letting Sybil take it”

And you crumbled. Her body stiffened. Just for a second.

Damon’s hand was on your cheek, warm and steady. His eyes—unflinching. Honest. Unapologetically open.

And then— It hit you. All at once.

Like drowning in reverse.

Your breath caught in your throat, sharp and guttural. You stumbled back a step, clutching at your chest as if something inside you had just torn open.

The tears came before the sound.

Heavy. Hot. Relentless.

You gasped—once, twice—then sank to your knees as a sob ripped through your chest, the force of it breaking something loose inside you.

“I didn’t want this—” you choked, eyes squeezing shut, hands fisting in your own shirt like you could physically hold yourself together. “I didn’t ask for any of this—you took it.”

Damon was there in a second, dropping to his knees in front of her, but not touching you. Not yet.

“You took it from me,” you cried, voice shaking, furious and broken and real.

“I know,” he said, pain thick in his throat. “I know I did.”

“I was ready to die, I had already mentally prepared for it”you whispered, tears streaking down her face. It shattered him. Not because you said it. But because it was true.

And he could see it—etched in every tremble, every tear, every breath you dragged into your lungs like it hurt to feel again.

You finally looked up at him, eyes raw and red.

“You ruined everything,” you said. And he nodded.

“I did.” And then you leaned into him—a sob escaping your lips as he caught you, held you, wrapped his arms around your shaking frame like it was the only thing keeping them both from falling apart.

No words. No promises. Just the weight of what they both had done—pressed into the space between them.

Because love like this didn’t come without destruction.

And now, at last, you were alive enough to feel every piece of it. It had been hours. The underground room was still. No fire. No yelling. No tears.

Just two people sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed in silence.

Your head rested on his shoulder now, eyes red, breath calm, but your body still tense—like you weren’t sure how to relax in your own skin yet.

Damon hadn’t moved in a while. He didn’t want to. And he wasn’t going to risk saying the wrong thing—not yet.

Y/N shifted slightly beside him. Your voice was hoarse when you finally spoke.

“So this is it?”

He turned his head slightly, watching your profile in the dim light. “What is?”

“This,” you said, gesturing to yourself. The forever thing. The hunger. The ring. The nightmares. The everything.”

He hesitated.

Then nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

A pause.

You looked down at the daylight ring on your finger. Turned it once. Loosely.

“I don’t know how to live like this-well I know how I just don’t want to”

“I’ll show you,” he said simply. Your eyes flicked up to him. Not moved by romance. Just… tired.

“You think you can fix what you broke?” You asked, no bite in it. Just honest.

“No,” he said, after a beat. “But I can try to make it matter.” Another pause. Your gaze softened. Slightly.

“You don’t get to save me twice, Damon,” you said quietly. “You got your one, we are even now”

He smiled—tired, but warm. “Then I’ll just have to be really annoying and keep trying anyway.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at your lips.

It didn’t last. But it was there.

And for the first time since you opened your eyes, the world didn’t feel like it was ending.

Not quite.

-The Next 24 Hours-

The first few hours were the worst. The hunger hit hard. Violent. All-consuming. You nearly collapsed in the hallway just trying to stand.

Damon didn’t say anything. He just caught you, handed you a chilled blood bag from the fridge, and looked away while you drank—because the first time always felt like shame.

And you hated it.

You hated how quickly your body adjusted. Hated the way your hearing sharpened, how the smell of pine outside the window overwhelmed you. Hated how easy it was to feel alive again in all the wrong ways.

But you did it. You drank. You survived.

You didn’t cry again. By morning, you were sitting on the porch. Surrounded by Bonnie’s protection spell.

The sun was out, and the ring on your finger kept you safe—but it didn’t make you feel human. It just made you feel wrong in daylight. Damon handed you coffee.

“You know this won’t do anything for me anymore, right?” You muttered, eyeing the mug.

“Yeah,” he said. “But it used to. So I figured… muscle memory.”

You took a sip anyway. Out of habit. Out of nostalgia. Out of spite. You sat in silence a while.

And then—without looking at him, without any weight behind it—you said: “We’re never going to be together.”

Damon didn’t respond right away. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

He just stared straight ahead.

“You changed me,” you continued, voice even. “You made that decision for me. And yes I’m still here. But I don’t forgive you. And I don’t know if I ever will. I’m tethered to you now but I wont become your property- not like the other girls, we have never been like that before and it won’t start now”

He nodded once. “I know.”

“So whatever you think this is… whatever you want it to become—it won’t now.” You finally turned your head to him.

And Damon looked at you, really looked at you-the dark circles under your eyes, the ring on your finger, the blood still drying at the collar of your hoodie, and the tiny crack in your voice you probably didn’t even hear.

He gave a soft, almost bitter smile.

“Are you saying we could have been together before?” he said.

Damon shrugged, taking a long sip of his own coffee. “Look y/n you can hate me. You probably should. But deep down you know—you and I? We’ve always been heading here. Whether I made the call or you did.”

You scoffed. “You really think that?”

He looked at you with all the calm, quiet certainty of a man who had seen lifetimes pass and still only ever chosen one person.

“I know that.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Didn’t argue.

But you didn’t walk away, either.

And Damon knew—this wasn’t the end. He just had to have patience.

It was just the beginning of something far more complicated. Something real. The front door creaked open slowly as Damon stepped aside, letting you enter first.

You scanned the room with unreadable eyes.

Everyone was already there—Bonnie, Stefan, Caroline, Elena, Enzo. They all went still when they saw you. It was like the air changed.

No one said anything at first.

Y/N crossed the threshold, arms folded tight, the daylight ring a faint gleam on your finger. Your voice breaking the silence.

“So… this is the part where you all pretend not to be horrified?”you mumbled.

Bonnie stood slowly. “We’re not horrified.”

“You should be,” you said, expression flat. “I am.”

Caroline looked like she wanted to cry. “You’re alive.”

“Not the word I’d use,”you muttered.

Elena took a step forward. “We didn’t know Damon was going to—”

“Turn me?” Y/N snapped, your voice sharp but exhausted. “Yeah. Join the club.” No one moved. Except Damon.

He hadn’t left your side since you’d come back. Now, he reached out—not to touch your, just enough to remind you he was there. You didn’t look at him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Stefan said carefully. “If you want space—”

“I don’t want space,” you cut in. “I want honesty. From all of you. Because every single one of you has treated me like I was breakable since day one. Like I didn’t belong in this supernatural world. And now, guess what? I am supernatural, I am a part of this world. I’m fucking stuck in it”you spat bitterly.

The house slowly came back to life.

No one really knew what to say around you yet—you were sharper now, colder, but still you. There was a distance in your eyes, though. Like you were still adjusting to the volume being turned all the way up on existence.

Later that day, in the study, you reached for a blood bag Damon had set aside for you. But your hands were still unsteady. Not from fear—just the sheer newness of everything. Your fingers trembled slightly as she tried to open it.

Before Damon could even move, Stefan stepped forward.

“Here,” he said gently, taking it from your shaking hands. “You just twist the cap—like this.” Y/N watched, eyes narrowed faintly, more curious than anything as your fingers brushed his accidentally.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice low.

But Damon… froze. Just for a second. Watching Stefan as he guided you slightly. Something clenched in his chest, the way you accepted Stefan’s help.

He crossed his arms, leaning back against the bookshelf, jaw tight.

“I had it,” he muttered under his breath.

You looked up. “Sorry?”

“Nothing,” Damon said, plastering on a crooked smile. “Just… didn’t realize we were doing the mentor-brother thing again.”

Stefan shot him a look. “She’s adjusting. I’m helping.”

“Of course you are,” Damon said, his voice light, but something darker just underneath. “You always have a thing for helping the newly turned.”

“Damon,” you warned, not unkindly—more like you were tired already.

Stefan stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. “You know what? I’ll let the guy who killed her take it from here.” You didn’t flinch at that. But Damon did.

Still, you grabbed the blood bag from Stefan with a nod and twisted the cap yourself. You took another sip. Then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and stared up blankly up at Damon.

And he stared right back. His jaw tensed. His eyes dragged over you like he was trying to memorize this version of you, like maybe if he stared hard enough, he’d see the girl you were before.

But all he saw was darkness. A black sports bra, low-rise but insanely baggy tracksuit bottoms clinging to your hips like a dare. Your lips darker and more full, stained from feeding. Your hair was sharp and styled. Nothing about you was soft anymore. You were beautiful. Lethal.

You licked a drop of blood from your thumb, slow and unbothered.

“What?” you asked flatly, cocking a brow at Damon. “Is this not the aesthetic you imagined when you decided to kill me?” The words were meant to sting—and they did.

But Damon didn’t flinch.

His voice was low. Rough. But Stefan did something else entirely. He watched you. Not with pity. Not with shock.

With fascination.

There was a flicker in his eyes—something between curiosity and caution. The kind of look he used to give when someone turned and spiraled. But this wasn’t a spiral. It was like you were meant to be a vampire in this life, you had taken it in your stride, knowing what to do and when, knowing what you shouldn’t do.

You were in control.

And Stefan couldn’t look away noticing that your intelligence had carried over into the afterlife. You caught him staring and held it.

“Staring’s rude,” you said, voice smooth. “Unless you’re going to buy me dinner.” Stefan blinked, caught off guard for a second. Damon, standing off to the side, visibly tensed.

“More of this preferably”you nodded, You held up the half-empty blood bag like it was a glass of wine.

“What is it? Squirrel? Jenny from down the street?”

Stefan laughed under his breath—genuine, low, and a little stunned.

“No,” he said. “Not Jenny, not human” Your lips curved, eyes glinting.

“Well, whatever it was, it tastes expensive.”

Stefan just kept looking at you. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The confidence. The sarcasm. The cool ease with which you carried the weight of your death and rebirth like it was a pair of designer heels. Compared to your previous bumbling self.

You weren’t cracking under it like everyone else had done. You were owning it.

And Damon saw everything.

He saw the look in Stefan’s eyes—the admiration, the curiosity, that specific kind of awe Stefan got when he saw someone pull themselves together after the worst had hit. Damon had worn that look before.

Too many times.

He pushed off the wall, stormed across the room, and grabbed Stefan roughly by the shoulder.

“We’re not doing this again, not with her”

Stefan blinked. “Doing what?”

Damon dragged him into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind them.

“I swear to god, Stefan,” Damon hissed, voice low and dangerous, “we are not going down this road again.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Damon snapped. “I see the look on your face. The same look you had with Elena. And Katherine before that.”

Stefan scoffed. “It’s not the same.”

“The hell it’s not.” A tense pause.

Damon’s chest was heaving slightly. Not from exhaustion—but rage. Panic. Jealousy.

“She just died, Stefan,” he said, quieter now. “She just came back. She’s angry. She hates me. And you—you’re already hovering, like it’s your job to fix her.”

“You’re forgetting I was friends with her first”Stefan seethed, his jaw tightened. “So what? You think I’m not allowed to care about her?”

Damon stepped in closer, eyes blazing.

“No. I think you’re not allowed to fall in love with her.”Stefan didn’t answer.

And that silence said everything.

[imagineseclipse]

Damon&Stefan Salvatore X Reader-‘How embarrassing’

Part 2

You were supposed to be gone for one week, ONE week to sort your shit out. To better yourself and learn something new. You lacked in strength, speed, immortality and supernatural coolness but you had the smarts, you had all the plans, you were the one that always had the answers.

Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Apparently, just enough time for your hometown to go straight to supernatural hell. Again.

Your phone buzzed before you could fully step foot in New York.

Bonnie: “Don’t come home. It’s not safe.”

Naturally, you got off the plane, grabbed a coffee, and came straight back.

You returned to a ghost town. Elena’s house—trashed. The Salvatore mansion—eerily silent. Blood—splattered across the driveway like a warning. It didn’t take long to figure out that whatever had gone down, it was bad. And you were the only one around.

A rush of fear curled around your chest like a vice, your legs buckling slightly as the realization sunk in: You had to do something.

The thought followed you like a ghost as you moved through the empty Salvatore house without hesitation, your footsteps echoing down the hallways. You were supposed to be in New York. Getting a break from Mystic Falls chaos. Getting a break from this. But your friends—your family—were in trouble.

And what were you? The comic relief? The emotional support human? The one they hugged before running off into battle?

“What is this, hmm? A sacrifice is what it is,” you muttered to yourself, storming down the stairs into the Salvatore cellar throwing a tantrum. “Little Y/N versus literal demons.”your pitch got higher as you mimicked Damon Salvatore’s voice.

You yanked open the weapons room and stared at the vast arsenal laid out like a vampire-hunting showroom.

“A joke, is what this is”you muttered again, shaking your head as you clumsily started grabbing things at random—a stake launcher, a flask of vervain, some kind of dagger that glowed faintly under the flickering light.

You nearly dropped a crossbow on your foot.

“Great. Let’s arm the human. Let’s just hand her all the sharp, deadly, probably cursed objects. What could possibly go wrong”

Still, your fingers trembled with purpose now. You’d seen enough of these things in use. Hell, you’d patched enough people up after using them.

You grabbed a bag off a shelf and stuffed it full with anything that looked remotely useful. Stakes. Salt. Herbs. A flashlight. A couple vials that smelled like burnt sage and bad decisions.

Then out of the corner of your eye you spotted the glint of keys on Damon’s desk.

You swiped them up after a second of deliberation. “I’m taking this too,” you mumbled, spinning them around your finger before stopping and staring blankly at them.

“I’ve been waiting to do this”you grinned.

The car roared to life, the familiar purr of Damon’s Camaro vibrating under your hands like it was encouraging you—like it was reminding you whose friend you were.

Y/N, the human. But you weren’t just the human anymore. Damn you were their lifeline.

And if no one else was coming to save the day, it would have to be you. Even if you were scared. Even if your hands were shaking and sweating. Even if you weren’t sure what the hell you were about to walk into.

The roads were still dead. Mystic Falls—silent.

But now you had a destination: the tunnels beneath the town. You hadn’t been down there in over a year. Last time, Caroline got trapped for two hours and nearly set the place on fire trying to get out. Classic Mystic Falls memory.

The thing that twisted your gut the most though? You knew.

A week ago, you’d overheard it—just some late-night planning in Caroline’s kitchen, voices low like they didn’t want to wake you. Bonnie had mentioned a strange energy pulsing through the tunnels, something dark. Damon had called it “siren-level spooky,” and Stefan said they’d check it out once they cleared out the armory vault.

At that point you were half-packed for New York, stressed and distracted. You’d shrugged it off and waved them goodbye the next morning.

And now here you were, trudging through the old Lockwood cellar entrance with a duffel bag of weapons, cursing your own ignorance.

The air was colder down here. Damp. Rotten.

The tunnels groaned around you as you moved deeper, flashlight trembling slightly in your grip. The walls were slick with moisture, lined with cracked stone and remnants of old supernatural battles. Every step echoed back at you like a warning.

You paused at a crossroads—three paths branching out in different directions. The air grew colder toward the left. That was enough of a sign for you.

Your boots crunched against the ground, dirt giving way to uneven stone, your breath shallow with anticipation. You didn’t call out their names. You knew better. Whatever had them—whatever was doing this—would hear you before they ever could.

After a few more steps, you found an old outcropping—an alcove where the Salvatore brothers used to stash things they didn’t want others finding. It was barely more than a dent in the tunnel wall, but it was dry, and more importantly, quiet.

You knelt, setting down your duffel and reaching inside.

The book you’d taken from the Salvatore study was older than most of the furniture in the house. Bound in leather, its title had long since faded. You’d grabbed it on a whim—half because it looked ominous, half because Damon had once slapped Stefan’s hand away from it and muttered, “That’s not for bedtime reading.”

Now seemed like the right time to crack it open.

You flipped through the yellowed pages by flashlight, eyes scanning centuries-old notes. Demon lore. Occult bloodlines. Witch curses.

And then—there it was.

Siren: A creature of ancient myth, weaponizing song and thought to control the mind. Capable of psychic possession. Draws power from secrecy and emotional vulnerability.

Your mouth dried as you read.

“Once claimed by a siren, the victim’s sense of reality and self will deteriorate rapidly. The link is rarely broken—unless the anchor is severed or the siren is weakened emotionally or physically, often through triggers of their past.”

You blinked.

“Emotional triggers”you whispered. “Guilt. Memories. Regret…Or death”

You looked up at the tunnels surrounding you, snapping the book shut, jaw tightening.

“Okay,” you said aloud to yourself, standing. “Let’s see if I can talk some sense into a siren and save six supernatural idiots without dying.”

You stuffed the book back into your bag and clicked off the flashlight for a moment, letting the darkness settle around you.

And you took the next step forward—into the depths of the tunnel.

You crept deeper into the tunnels, steps careful, heartbeat hammering in your ears. The air was thicker now—like the darkness itself was pressing against your skin. You kept one hand on the wall, the other clutching the hilt of the knife hidden in your coat sleeve.

Your flashlight had died five minutes ago, and now you moved by touch and instinct alone.

Then—bang.

Your shoulder slammed into the corner of a stone wall. You hissed through your teeth and fumbled for your backup light. The beam flickered to life, shaky in your grasp—and landed directly on the wall inches from you.

Damon.

His hands flew up, gripping your arms to steady you just as you jolted back in alarm.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he seethed, eyes wild. His voice was low and sharp, more annoyed than relieved.

You tensed, your fingers flexing slightly toward the blade. “Are you Damon-Damon,” you asked, voice measured, “or are you Sybil Damon?”

His grip tightened for just a beat, and he gave you that signature half-glare, half-scoff that told you exactly who you were dealing with.

“What the fuck do you think?” he bit out.

“Oh, so normal Damon,” you deadpanned, eyes narrowing as you shook his hands off. “Great. That’s real cute, swearing at the person who showed up to save your ass.”

You lifted the flashlight, sweeping it quickly around the space. Your beam caught the others—Bonnie, Caroline, Stefan, Elena, Enzo—all clustered together like they’d just woken up from a shared dream. Confused. Tense. Alive.

Stefan rushed over the moment he saw you. “What are you doing here?!”

“Good question, actually,” you shot back, giving him a sharp look. “Better question: what the hell are you all doing here? Empty town. Just cryptic siren radio silence.”

Caroline blinked, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t be here—it’s not safe.”

“Well, no shit Caroline”you snapped. “There’s a mind-controlling sea witch running a damn psychological torture circus down here, and you all volunteered as tribute.”

Bonnie’s expression softened. “Y/N, how did you even know—”

“I overheard you,” you cut her off. “The night before I left. You said something about strange energy in the tunnels. I thought it was just another Mystic Falls side quest. Figured you’d handle it.”

A low clang echoed through the tunnel—metal scraping stone. Everyone froze.

Your head snapped toward the sound. Damon reacted faster.

He hissed out profanities before grabbing your shoulders and shoving you backward into the dark.

You stumbled blindly, hands scrabbling across the rough wall for balance. Your fingers found the strap of the duffel bag and clutched it to your chest as you ducked behind a collapsed portion of the tunnel. Heart in your throat. Breath caught. Silent.

Footsteps clicked into the space.

The shadows clung to you like second skin as you held your breath, body tense and still behind the jagged tunnel wall. You could see her now—Sybil, sauntering between your friends like a queen admiring her broken court.

No one moved. Damon’s jaw clenched, Caroline looked ready to snap, and Bonnie’s hands twitched at her sides like she was fighting against an invisible leash.

“I hate dragging things out, truly,” she began, voice echoing off the stone, melodic and mocking all at once. “But it’s necessary. I have to be precise. The darkness inside each of you—that’s what I need. The trauma, the guilt, the regret… It ripens the soul. Gives it flavor.”

Your stomach turned.

“You think I just toy with you for fun?” she asked, smirking. “Well, yes. But also—I’m harvesting. That’s the part you always forget. The devil wants souls, not just stories. And he only takes the rotten ones.”

Stefan flinched at that, his face twisting.

“Oh, Stefan,” Sybil cooed. “You’re practically a buffet. And Damon, you… you are absolutely brimming with centuries of delicious self-hate. I could dine on you alone.”

Damon didn’t respond, but his fists curled at his sides.

You stayed still, barely breathing. Your fingers slowly inched toward the zipper on the duffel bag in your lap, trying to open it without a sound. Every little pull of metal felt like a gunshot in the silence. You winced, teeth gritting as the bag gave way millimetre by millimetre.

From where he stood, Damon’s eyes flicked to the shadows—and he saw you.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. But inside, he was praying—praying you weren’t about to do something reckless and stupid. Because you were smart. You were supposed to stay hidden. You were supposed to let them handle it.

Sybil’s voice pulled his attention back.

“You know why this works?” she continued, slowly pacing in front of them. “Because all of you qualify. You’ve all killed. You’ve all crossed that line, made that choice, shed that blood. Whether it was for love, revenge, rage—it doesn’t matter. A kill is a kill.”

She paused, a wicked little smile curling on her lips.

And then, in one reckless, breathless moment—

You moved.

No thinking. No strategy or plan. Just a rush of adrenaline and rage burning in your chest as your boots scraped against the stone floor. You sprinted forward from the shadows and launched yourself at her, blade in hand, teeth clenched with a scream caught in your throat.

She didn’t see you coming until it was too late.

You crashed onto her back, stabbing down with everything you had—blade sinking into her shoulder with a satisfying, sickening crunch.

Sybil shrieked.

The sound was inhuman, like glass shattering in a hurricane.

She spun violently, her hand shooting up and wrapping around your throat like a vice. In a blink, she lifted you off the ground, rage bleeding from her eyes as you choked out for air.

“You stupid child—” And then she threw you.

Your body slammed against the wall with a gut-wrenching crack, the air knocked clean from your lungs. You crumpled to the ground, landing hard next to your duffel bag, vision going fuzzy at the edges.

Pain thundered through your ribs. Your head spun.

“Y/N!” Stefan’s voice was raw—his control, his apathy, gone.

Caroline surged forward, screaming your name, but an invisible force yanked her back. Bonnie’s hands glowed faintly, shaking as she tried to summon something, anything, but her magic stuttered under Sybil’s tether.

Sybil stepped away from where she’d thrown you, brushing the blood from her shoulder with a grimace.

She turned back to your friends, slow and mocking, arms outstretched like she was giving a performance.

“You used a human, really?” she scoffed. “That was your grand plan? Send the fragile one in to stab the siren?”

She let out a cold, musical laugh.

“Smart, I suppose,” she added, “since I can’t use her soul. Too clean. Not corrupted. She doesn’t belong to me. But really—a human? That was your weapon?”

She glanced down at you, bleeding and barely upright, then smirked.

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

“I expected more from the great defenders of Mystic Falls.”

Your limbs weren’t listening. Your ribs screamed. Your head swam. But your hand found the edge of the duffel bag. Shaking fingers brushed the zipper.

“She is pretty I suppose”Sybil offered as you scoffed, blood splattering out of your mouth.

Sybil stepped closer again, looming now, blood still dripping from the wound in her shoulder—but her confidence had returned.

“I should’ve harvested you the second you walked back into this town,” she said, voice venom-sweet.

And then you looked up at her, eyes defiant despite the pain, mouth curled into a bloodied, breathless smirk.

“I’m like really hard to schedule,” you rasped, coughing once. “Busy week.” You reached weakly toward the bag.

Your hand brushed the zipper of the bag.

“I suppose you have to use humour to make up for the fact that you are nothing amongst the supernatural”Sybil wrapped her hands around your throat once more as you let out a squeal.

Your hand, trembling and slick with your own blood, barely gripped the edge of the duffel bag.

“I’ve heard,” Sybil began as she took another step forward, her voice like silk laced with steel, “that you’re supposed to be one of the most intelligent people to reside in Mystic Falls.”

She crouched, inches from your face now.

“I am immortal,” she whispered, fingers curling slowly around your throat, tightening. “Obviously, you’re not that smart if you tried to kill me”

Your vision began to blur again, black at the edges, her grip stealing the air from your lungs. But then—faintly, just beyond the ringing in your ears—you heard it.

Bells.

Faint. Distant. Like an echo from somewhere deep in your memory.

Bonnie’s voice came back to you suddenly—weeks ago, in Elena’s kitchen.

“If you ring the Maxwell bell eleven times with hellfire at its core, it can destroy a siren. It’s what almost killed Sybil last time.”

Eleven rings.

You didn’t have a bell. But you had rage. And a bag full of weapons. And a window.

Your fingers dug desperately into the duffel. Sybil leaned in, her breath brushing your cheek.

“Say goodnight, Y/N.”

Your hand closed around something solid—cold and curved.

You yanked it free.

And then you struck. Pushing it towards her with a yell that took more air from you.

The blade—vervain-coated and carved with runes Bonnie had once told you were “just in case”—sank into her chest with a sickening crunch.

Her eyes went wide.

Before she could scream, you twisted the knife, yanked your free hand up—and plunged it into her chest.

There was a moment of total, suspended silence.

And then her body jerked once. Her hand fell from your throat.

And you ripped her heart clean from her chest.

Sybil crumpled to the ground at your feet, lifeless.

Her heart, still faintly glowing with some kind of siren energy, pulsed once in your blood-soaked hand—then went still.

The tunnel was quiet. Completely, impossibly quiet.

All that could be heard was the sound of your shallow, ragged breathing as you sat up slowly, shaking, drenched in blood—your own and hers.

Your friends were frozen in place, no longer tethered, no longer fogged—but too stunned to speak.

Elena stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Wh—what did you just do?” she whispered.

You looked down at the heart in your hand. Then back at her.

And with a dazed, breathless insane laugh, you said:“Brought us some time.”

Damon had watched it all unfold.

Frozen at first—not by Sybil’s power anymore, but by the sight of you.

You, throwing your body forward with nothing but instinct and fury.

You, stabbing a siren like you’d done it a hundred times.

You, ripping out her heart with your bare hands.

And now… you sat there, slumped and bloody, Sybil’s heart still gripped in your hand, your chest heaving with every shallow breath.

His own heart thudded painfully in his chest.

You weren’t the same.

You weren’t the human girl he’d teased and protected and rolled his eyes at when you tried to get involved.

You weren’t fragile anymore.

You were soaked in blood—yours and someone else’s. Your eyes distant. Your shoulders trembling. You looked like something straight out of a myth.

And you had never looked more powerful. More dangerous. More real.

He moved before he could think, feet pounding across the tunnel floor.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked with something desperate.

You barely turned your head before he was kneeling in front of you, his hands on your face, then your shoulders, like he couldn’t decide what to check first. His eyes darted over your wounds, the blood on your neck, your scraped palms, your trembling fingers still curled around a dead woman’s heart

“Are you okay? Are you—Jesus, what were you thinking—” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. His hands stilled on your cheeks, and then his forehead dropped to yours, breath ragged. “You idiot. You stupid—brilliant—beautiful—idiot.”

Behind you, the rest of the group just stared.

Caroline blinked like she hadn’t fully processed it. Stefan’s mouth was slightly open, speechless for once in his life. Bonnie’s hand was covering her mouth.

Elena took a small, stunned step forward, eyes flicking between Sybil’s body and the blood dripping from your fingers.

You looked at all of them—still dazed, your face pale beneath the smears of red—and then you grinned, weak but wicked.

“How embarrassing for you guys, huh?” you rasped. “Lil’ old me… saving your asses.”

Silence. Then a choked laugh from Bonnie.

Caroline blinked again, still stunned. “You ripped out her heart.”

“She threw me against a wall,” you muttered. “Kinda rude.”

Damon let out a sound—half laugh, half broken breath—and wrapped his arms around you without warning, pulling you against his chest, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to shake you or never let go again.

“You’re not pure anymore,” he said, voice low, his lips brushing the side of your head. “You killed someone which means that when Sybil returns then you’re the first person she’s coming for.”

You closed your eyes.

“I know, that’s why we need to go and ring that fucking bell”

And he pulled back just enough to look at you again—really look at you. You swayed slightly in his arms, the adrenaline wearing off fast, the pain catching up quicker. The world tilted sideways as the blood loss finally demanded your attention.

“Y/N—hey, hey—no.” Damon’s voice broke as he caught you before you hit the ground fully.

“I’m just—literally gonna have a nap, that’s all that was a lot of work y’know” you mumbled, slurring slightly, trying to wave him off with a weak flick of your bloodied hand. “You’re overreacting”

“Yeah, no napping for you,” he muttered, breath shaky as he pulled you tighter against his chest. “Me and you have things to talk about—serious things.”

“Go on then,” you breathed out, a faint grin tugging at your lips as your hand gripped tighter onto his arm. “I’m listening.”

But you weren’t. Not really.

Your eyes fluttered closed again, exhaustion dragging at your limbs like anchors. And Damon froze.

He looked down at you—his best friend, the human girl who somehow survived in a world built for monsters. The one who always rolled her eyes at danger but never ran from it. The one he teased, protected, pretended not to care too deeply about. The one he pushed to the sidelines because she wasn’t like them.

But here you were—covered in blood, bruised and shaking—and you had saved them. Not with magic. Not with immortality. Not with some grand supernatural ability. You saved them because you were you.

And for the first time, as he cradled you in the stillness, it hit him like a punch to the chest.

He’d been falling in love with you this entire time.

Not because you were powerful. But because you weren’t.

Because you were the most human thing in his entire world—and you chose to stay, to fight, to bleed for people who had constantly underestimated you. For him.

His jaw clenched as he stared down at you, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out of his chest. His thumb gently brushed the blood off your cheek, lingering there like he didn’t want to pull away.

“Y/N,” he whispered, softer now. “You don’t even know what you mean to me.”

Your fingers twitched against his jacket.

And even half-conscious, you smirked again.

“Is this one of those dramatic vampire declarations about how I’m your best friend and will be forever? Because I am very into those.”you replied lightly.

Damon didn’t laugh this time.

Instead, he bit into his wrist hard—his breath shaky as his fangs tore into his skin, blood pooling fast. And as he brought it to your lips, eyes locked on your face like it was the only thing keeping him upright, he murmured—almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard:

“No,” he said quietly, his voice thick, breaking around the edges. “This is one of those dramatic vampire declarations about how you’re my best friend… and I’m in love with you.”

“So now,” he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, “I’m going to be selfish.”

You were fading fast, and he could feel it—your heart still beating, but weaker by the second, your eyelids fluttering as you tried to stay with him, drinking up the blood from his wrist.

His hand moved from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, gaze locking on yours, the panic in his eyes softening into something achingly intimate.

“I’m so sorry, forgive me”he whispered.

And then—

Snap.

A clean, gentle motion.

Your body went limp in his arms.

For a moment, the tunnel was silent again. Not from peace—but from the weight of what he had just done.

Damon pulled you closer, pressing his forehead against yours. His hands trembled as they held you, rocking you slightly like that might keep your soul anchored long enough to come back.

He’d taken your life to save it.

And now all he could do was wait—for the choice you hadn’t had the time to make.

“You’re gonna hate me,” he murmured, eyes closed. “But you’re gonna live.”

[imagineseclipse]

Stiles Stilinski x Reader- It’s always been you.

Part two- Isaac Lahey

There was a knock at the door.

Not a polite one.

Three rapid-fire taps, a pause, then two more — the exact knock pattern Stiles had been using since you were both ten and thought you needed a secret code for everything.

You sighed and shuffled across the living room, one hand tugging your too-large hoodie tighter around your bandaged ribs.

When you pulled the door open, there he was.

Stiles Stilinski, standing on your porch with two overstuffed grocery bags, a sheepish grin, and his hair sticking up in a way that said he’d definitely lost a battle with his Jeep’s air vents.

“You” he said dramatically, pointing straight at you accusingly.

“Me?”you asked confused as to what you had done.

Stiles tutted pushing past you before you could speak, “You are officially on house arrest.”

You raised a brow. “House arrest?”

“Yep,” he said, dropping the bags onto your kitchen counter with a heavy thud. “By order of me. Sheriff’s son. That’s gotta mean something.”

“It means nothing to me, plus I can’t be on house arrest what about Lydia she needs help and hold on isn’t Derek hale running around turning teenagers into werewolves!?” you asked, crossing your arms carefully so you didn’t pull on your side too much.

“You exist. You’re reckless. You almost got turned into werewolf sushi two weeks ago. Lydia does need help yes, but you have already helped enough so leave that to us and also the Derek Hale thing-totally a conversation for later”he tried to change the subject quickly knowing you had many questions.

You smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “You are so odd sometimes Stilinski”

“Says the girl who ran straight at a supernatural serial killer with no weapon and a very questionable plan.”

“It was a solid plan!” you protested.

“You screamed”he interjected.

“Solid ish plan?”you offered.

Stiles threw his hands up. “Exactly my point! Hence—house arrest. Which includes,” he said, excitedly pulling items from the bags, “movies, junk food, and no emotionally and physically damaging supernatural activity for at least—” he checked an invisible watch, “—twelve hours.”

You laughed, a real one this time. A little cracked around the edges, but it made his shoulders drop a little, the tension easing out of him like he hadn’t realized how tight it was.

He set a tub of ice cream down with a flourish. “I also brought ice cream. Because I’m a great nurse. And a better best friend.”

“You’re a disaster,” you said fondly, grabbing a spoon from the drawer.

“No, we are both disasters”he said easily, nudging your hip with his.

The casual words hung in the air for a second too long.

You caught his eye.

He looked away first, suddenly way too interested in reorganizing your fridge.

Maybe healing wasn’t just about the stitches and the bruises.

Maybe it was this too—standing in a messy kitchen, with someone who made you feel like everything wasn’t completely broken yet.

-

The hallway smelled like cheap bleach and high school nerves.

You were finally off crutches — mostly. Your limp was still obvious, but you ditched them at your locker and refused to look back. If you could survive getting slashed open by a psychotic alpha, you could survive this.

“You sure you should be walking that much?” came a voice behind you — breathless, rushed, worried.

You turned and grinned.

Stiles Stilinski was there, backpack half-zipped, shirt sleeves shoved up, hair sticking up like he’d sprinted across the parking lot to catch you.

You leaned back casually against your locker. “Gonna start carrying my books for me too, Stilinski?”

He flushed immediately, glancing down at your bag like he was about two seconds from actually offering. “If you want. I mean, I can. I could—I could carry you, if you need. Like a—like a… backpack but for people?”

You snorted. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Right, right,” he mumbled, shouldering his bag again and somehow managing to smack himself in the face with one of the straps. “Totally cool. Normal. Fine.”

You hid your smile as you started walking toward class.

He fell into step beside you, trying very hard not to hover but failing miserably.

Ever since the night of the Winter Formal — ever since Peter’s claws had torn into you — Stiles had been… different. Still sarcastic. Still quick with a joke. But around you?

He was all nervous hands, red ears, and tangled words.

And he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Every time you winced slightly.

Every time you adjusted your sweatshirt to hide the healing scars.

Every time you laughed like you meant it.

He noticed. He noticed everything. More than usual.

You slid into your usual seat near the back, sighing quietly as you stretched your leg out to ease the pressure off your side.

Stiles started toward the seat next to you—

—but someone beat him to it.

Isaac Lahey.

He dropped into the chair beside you, setting his worn backpack down with a soft thud. His movements were careful, almost too careful — like he was trying not to draw attention.

You blinked.

Isaac Lahey had never so much as looked at you before this year.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, almost cautious.

You blinked in surprise.

Isaac Lahey didn’t talk to you. Or anyone, really.

Not until now.

“You doing okay?” he asked, flicking a quick glance to your side, then your face.

“Yeah,” you said slowly, a little wary but polite. “Healing.”

Isaac smiled — small and almost apologetic. “Good. You… looked rough for a while.”

You huffed a short laugh. “Oh, thanks Lahey.”

At that exact moment, a chair scraped loudly against the floor.

You turned your head and found Stiles.

He was dropping into the seat directly on your left, clutching his notebook a little too tightly, the front of his sneakers practically bouncing against the floor.

He gave you a wide, almost manic grin that screamed everything’s fine, totally normal, I definitely didn’t just sprint across the room to sit next to you, please don’t notice how bad I am at breathing right now.

You smirked, biting your lip to hold back a laugh.

Stiles shifted in his seat like he couldn’t quite get comfortable, shooting a tight, sideways glare past you at Isaac.

Isaac, oblivious (or pretending to be), just smiled a little more and leaned a bit closer to you to whisper, “If you need someone to help carry your stuff… I’m around.”

From your left, Stiles made a wheeze-sputter noise that he tried (badly) to cover with a cough.

You barely kept it together, giving Isaac a polite nod, then tapping your pen against your notebook to hide your grin.

The entire class passed in a weird, hilarious tension bubble:

• Isaac subtly trying to make conversation when the teacher wasn’t looking.

• Stiles dropping his pencil twice, his notebook once, and almost elbowing you in the ribs when he tried to lean back coolly and missed the chair support entirely.

By the time the bell rand you were practically burning feeling Stiles eyes in the side of your face.

You gathered your things, letting Isaac head out first with a casual, “See you around.”

As you stepped into the hallway, Stiles right beside you, you didn’t even have to say anything.

You just turned your head slightly, caught his eye—

—and he was already looking at you.

Both of you raised your eyebrows almost at the same time.

“Bitten?”Stiles uttered out.

“Totally bitten”you agreed.

Stiles nodded once, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth twitching in that way he always got when he was hiding panic under sarcasm.

You smirked, bumping your shoulder gently into his as you walked.

He bumped you back, just a little too carefully, like he was still terrified of hurting you.

You didn’t say it out loud. You didn’t need to.

You both knew exactly what Isaac Lahey was now.

And Stiles, judging by the way he kept glancing sideways at you like he wanted to chain you to his side for protection, was absolutely not okay with it.

The hallway buzzed with the usual noise — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, the heavy drone of bored teenagers.

You and Stiles walked side by side, your bag slung lightly over one shoulder, his bouncing awkwardly against his hip.

He slowed his steps naturally, unconsciously matching your slower, limping pace, never commenting on it, just being there like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“What makes you so sure he’s been bitten?” you asked, glancing sideways at him.

Stiles raised his eyebrows dramatically. “What makes you so sure, Stilinski?” you teased, bumping your hip lightly into his.

He huffed, pretending to be offended.

“Okay, theory time,” he said, launching into it with all the energy of someone who definitely spent way too long thinking about this.

“Isaac Lahey stares at you. Like, all the time. Literally for years. He’s just been, I don’t know, creepily lurking over in the corner—”

He paused, waving his hands vaguely around his own neck.

“—in his stupid scarf.”

You let out a soft, amused snort.

“Anyways!” Stiles said louder, pointing a finger at you like you were on trial, “he didn’t have the confidence before to just walk up to you and talk to you.”

You slowed slightly as you reached your locker, eyebrows pulling together.

“What do you mean… staring?” you asked, genuinely confused, your hand tightening on your strap.

Stiles stopped too, spinning around to face you fully, walking backward a few steps like it physically hurt him that you didn’t already know this.

“C’mon, Y/N, you’ve never noticed?!”

You shook your head, blinking at him, utterly bewildered.

He stared at you like you’d just told him you didn’t know the sky was blue.

“Seriously?!”

He threw his arms up.

“The kid looked like he was trying to memorize your soul with his eyeballs every time you walked into a room!”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he steamrolled ahead, pointing at you again like he was listing official government evidence.

“Stop interrupting me! Anyways—that, and paired with the fact that he walked in today wearing a brand new Derek Hale™ approved leather jacket—”

he mimed air quotes furiously,

“—means he’s officially one of Derek’s glorious, broody little wolf cubs.”

“He was totally listening to our conversation in the corridor too what was that comment about holding your bag, he wasn’t even nearby when we were at your locker”Stiles explained.

“How do you know that?”you questioned raising an eyebrow.

“Well for one I’d notice that fucking scarf from a mile away- I mean what is that all about?”Stiles grew red in the face a fraction.

You laughed under your breath, unable to help it.

“I also have many theories-“ You began to explain as You and Stiles reached your next class. Stiles leaned against the locker next to yours like he hadn’t been doing that exact move since you were twelve — arms folded, expression cocky but still buzzing with that barely-contained worry just beneath the surface.

You started to spin your combination when the hallway noise shifted — just slightly.

Conversations paused. A few heads turned.

You glanced up instinctively — and there she was.

Erica Reyes. But not the Erica you remembered.

Gone was the girl who barely spoke, who kept her hair pinned back and her shoulders hunched, always half-hiding behind hoodies and lockers.

Now she walked like she owned the hallway.

Hair curled. Leather jacket zipped just enough to be intimidating. Boots that clicked like punctuation.

And confidence — radiating off her like static.

Stiles actually choked a little. “What the—”

You blinked. “Is that… Erica?”

He stared, eyebrows climbing so high they were practically in his hairline.

“She looks… different,” you muttered.

Stiles coughed into his hand. “Different? She looks like she walked off the set of The Craft and onto a Vogue cover.”

“Bitten, definitely fucking bitten”you whispered, shell shocked.

“She used to faint during PE,” he whispered like it was confidential government info. “She once panicked doing a chin-up. One.”

You leaned slightly out into the hallway Stiles following your actions seconds later, watching her glide past like she wasn’t even aware people were staring. Like she didn’t care.

But then — she glanced sideways. Just for a second.

Right at you.

And she smirked.

It wasn’t cruel.

Just… knowing.

Like she was in on something you weren’t yet.

“Why’d she look at you like that”Stiles murmured his mouth settling into a firm line.

“Me? I thought she was looking at you like that”you murmured back, your face matching his expression.

“Me? Why would she be looking at me like that?”Stiles eyes turned from curiousness to confusion.

“I don’t know, maybe because she has a raging crush on you”you answered quickly.

“What?! No way”he shook his head.

“C’mon Stiles, you’ve never noticed?”your mouth fell open slightly.

He shook his head, blinking at you, utterly bewildered.

Before you could fill Stiles in there was another shift in the atmosphere.

Isaac.

Rounding the corner minutes behind Erica, wearing that brand-new leather jacket, looking more like a threat than a background character.

He scanned the hallway — and his eyes landed right on you.

This time, you felt it.

The look.

Stiles stiffened next to you like a drawn bowstring.

“Here we go,” he muttered.

Isaac walked up slowly, all calm eyes and quiet confidence. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. “You dropped something.”

You looked down—

He held out a pen. Yours. Must’ve fallen from your bag.

You took it. “Uh-Thanks. It’s always nice to have an extra pen”You offered him a small smile, gently taking it out of his hands.

Stiles’ pupils flickered between the two of you, as the exchanged lingered, Isaac holding on slightly as you took the pen from his grasp. The werewolf effect had settled in that dazzling, mysterious and broody effect that was working on you slightly.

“What’s with the scarf?”Stiles coughed out cutting the moment short. Earning glances from both you and Isaac. You pushed the pen into your pocket.

Isaac gave the faintest shrug “It’s literally December”, then looked back at you. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You nodded once, and he walked away.

Stiles didn’t speak for a second.

Stiles turned to face you fully, serious now. “I don’t trust that guy, not even for a second”

-

Lunchtime rolled around and the four of you had taken over your usual table — the one slightly off to the side, where it was just quiet enough to talk without someone breathing down your neck.

Scott was mid-rant about Derek, Allison was picking at a salad like it had personally offended her, and you were trying not to laugh as Stiles attempted (and failed) to open a bag of chips with one hand while also gesturing wildly with the other.

“…I’m just saying,” he said through clenched teeth, tugging at the seal like it owed him money, “if Derek’s suddenly giving out bites like Oprah gives out cars, we’re gonna need a better system. Like a list. Or an application process.”

You snorted. “With references?”

“-Exactly,” he shot back, pointing at you with half a chip.

Scott rolled his eyes. “You two realize none of this is helpful, right?”

“It’s therapeutic,” you and Stiles said in sync, exchanging a quick glance that lingered a little too long.

Allison raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Then—

SLAP.

A hand slammed down on the table so hard it made Stiles drop his chips again.

“What in the holy hell is that?” Lydia Martin snapped, voice pitched somewhere between disgust and horror.

All four of you jumped.

She was standing at the end of the table, eyes wide, lips parted in shock as she pointed across the cafeteria.

You followed her gaze.

Erica was strutting between tables like she didn’t even know people were staring. Eyeliner sharp, heels hitting the floor like punctuation marks. And yes — the leather jacket was still making its appearance.

You blinked.

Then looked back at Lydia.

“You’ve only just seen?” you said dryly, raising a brow. She shot you a look that screamed obviously not. You and Lydia had gotten significantly closer since the whole ‘you kinda saved her life thing’.

After the Winter Formal, Lydia Martin was hospitalized with serious injuries from Peter Hale’s bite. Everyone expected her to turn into a werewolf — even Derek. But she didn’t. And that’s what made it worse.

She vanished from her hospital bed days later.

When she came back, she was… off.

Not in an obvious way at first. She was still Lydia — sharp-tongued, styled, pretending she wasn’t scared. But people noticed. Her hands shook sometimes. Her eyes drifted toward things no one else could see. She stopped showing up to class. She walked into the woods alone at night. And she had no memory of where she went.

Lydia was unraveling in front of everyone, and no one knew how to stop it.

Meanwhile, your wounds were different.

Peter didn’t bite you— he clawed. Deep. Along your ribs and side during the chaos of the lacrosse field.

But when you came back… you were still yourself.

Not hallucinating. Not breaking down.

Just watching.

You were more careful. More quiet. Less quick to speak in a room full of noise.

And that started to freak people out too — especially Derek.

Because while Lydia spiraled, you stayed steady.

And somehow, that was more unsettling.

“She looks like a backup dancer for Rihanna,” Stiles muttered, eyes still wide. “Like… a violent one.”

You all stared at each other for a second — no one laughing now. Lydia looked around at you all for an explanation because you couldn’t tell her the truth about the supernatural just yet.

Something was changing. Again.

And you could all feel it.

-

Scott, Stiles, and yourself stood off to the side as the police finished loading up the last of the scene. Isaac had just been taken in. Flashing lights paint streaks across the parking lot.

“His father’s dead. They think he was murdered”Scott explained to the two of you.

“Holy shit”you held your hands up to your mouth, feeling sadness for Isaac.

“Are they saying he’s a suspect?”Stiles quipped out.

“I’m not sure. Why?”Scotts eyebrow raised slightly.

“Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours…”your eyes widened as you realised.

“Like, overnight?”Scott’s eyes drifted between you and Stiles as he nodded tensely.

During the full moon.

“How good are those holding cells at holding people?”Scott asked regretfully.

“People? Good. Werewolves? Probably not that good”Stiles answered grimly.

There’s a beat. The weight of the full moon sinks in. Everyone glances toward the police car disappearing down the street.

“Guys remember when I said I don’t have the urge to maim and kill?”Scott hummed out.

“Yeah…”Stilinski trailed off.

“He does, I can feel it”

A cold silence settles between you. Stiles shifts uncomfortably.

“Isaac is probably still figuring out how to stop himself just like Scott did, If no one’s in that cell with him…”

“Then someone’s gonna get torn to pieces. Or he’s gonna tear himself apart trying not to”Stiles finished your sentence.

You stood there, the three of you, knowing that you were going to have to fix this—again—before someone else gets hurt. Your hand brushes your side without thinking, the faint reminder of Peter’s claws still there. The danger feels closer than ever.

Back in class, the teacher drones on at the front of the class, but none of you are paying attention. Scott leans over toward Stiles, whispering urgently. You lean forwards, clearly listening.

“What if he can’t control it?”Scott whispered.

“Then we’re all screwed”Stiles whispered back

“He’s locked up. Even if he loses control, how much damage can he really do inside a cell? I mean Scott survived handcuffed to a radiator”you murmured.

“Y/N… he also escaped that night , look Isaac is not going to politely sit there and breathe through it if he shifts”

“We have to get to him. Tonight.”McCall stated.

“You mean… break into the sheriff’s station during a full moon?”you bit down on your pencil.

“Exactly. Which, for the record, sounds both suicidal and illegal”Stiles confirmed, trying not to wave his hands around.

“Great. Let me grab my bag”you rubbed your hands together excitedly.

“Oh definitely no, You’re not going. Absolutely not. You’re still healing and I am not dragging you out of another bloody situation”Stiles stated shaking his head.

“That’s adorable. I’m going”you snorted seriously.

“ I hate to say it Stiles but she’s right. We need her. And she’s not just a bystander in this anymore”Scott reasoned.

The three of you exchange a look — not just worried, but committed. You’ve all done this dance before. And you’ll do it again. Because no one else is going to.

“Okay. But the second something goes sideways, you run. No arguments”Stiles warned.

“Only if you do too”you shot back quickly.

Stiles doesn’t answer. He doesn’t promise.

-

Sheriff Stilinski stood across from Jackson in the principals office, Jackson slouched arrogantly in a chair. The door is slightly ajar. Just outside, you, Stiles and Scott wait awkwardly. You swung back and forth on your chair trying to listen out for something important.

“Listen to me — you’re telling me that you knew Isaac’s father was hitting him?”The sheriff tutted out.

“Hitting him? He was kicking the crap out of him”Jackson corrected Noah.

“Did you ever say anything to anyone? A teacher? Parents? Anyone?”Stiles’ dad continued.

“Nope. It’s not my problem”Jackson shrugged.

“Asshole”you muttered as you held the decoy book up to your face.

“No. No, of course not. You know, it’s funny that the kids getting beaten up are always the ones who least deserve it”the sheriff replied dry and bitterly.

“Yeah”Jackson agreed, completely missing the point.

“…Wait, what?” It finally hit him.

Sheriff Stilinski grabbed the file that was sat on the table and started walking to the door.

“I think we’re done here”Noah shook his head opening the door, stepping out into the hallway where Scott, Stiles, and you are standing. Scott stiffened instinctively.

“Hi, Scott, hello miss y/n” he offered you half a smile.

You shyly lifted your hand to greet your best friends father.

A new voice cuts in from behind you.

“Boys, Y/n…Come on in”you turned your head to take a peak at who had called your name so boldly.

You turn to see Gerard Argent waiting behind the principal’s desk, hands folded like a well-practiced politician. His smile is all teeth.

“Scott McCall… Academically not the most accomplished, but I see you’ve become quite the star athlete!”he started off as the three of you piled into the office.

You shift slightly, instinctively stepping closer to Stiles, eyes narrowing.

“Mr. Stilinski… Oh, perfect grades, but little to no extracurriculars. Maybe you should try lacrosse?” The principals lack of awareness made you snort a little.

Stiles side eyed you. “Oh, actually, I’m already—“

“Y/n, amazing grades, a fair few extracurriculars and an interesting choice in friends, Sorry to hear about your…injury”Gerard’s voice trailed away like he knew something, like he knew everything.

“Hold on… McCall. You’re the Scott that was dating my granddaughter”Gerard’s attention turned back to your friend Scott who shuffled around in his seat.

So he does know everything.

“We were dating, but not anymore. Not dating, not seeing any of each other, or doing anything with each other at all—“Scott jumped into defence mode.

“Relax, Scott. You look like you’re about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth”Gerard attempted to joke but it fell short.

“Just a hard breakup…”Scott rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, that’s too bad. You seem like a pretty nice kid to me”Gerard’s tone changes.

You crossed your arms, posture defensive. If you weren’t watching Gerard before you definitely were now— reading him, not buying the kind tone for a second.

“Now, listen, guys. Yes, I am the principal, but I really don’t want you to think of me as the enemy”he continued.

“Heh, is that so?”Stiles muttered under his breath.

“I so second that comment”you murmured back.

Gerard glances at you, the smile barely shifting. But the look in his eyes darkens — briefly.

“However, this being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention”he started up again gesturing between the three of you.

The three teens exchanged a look. Stiles sighs dramatically. You just glare at Gerard.

“You mean punish someone to make a point”you cut your eye at him.

“I prefer to think of it as setting a tone”Gerard grinned.

-

The hallway was mostly empty. Lights buzz overhead. The door to detention clicks shut behind them. You and Stiles step out, both looking exhausted and annoyed. Being the ones to take the fall and sit through detention.

Stiles pulled the phone out of his pocket and held it to his ear as it started ringing.

“Come on, come on…”his foot tapped impatiently.

“Stiles?”You could hear Allison’s voice buzzing through the speaker on the other end. She was currently rummaging through her families belongings on the sly.

“Hey, sorry— we just got out. What’s going on?”he answered sending you a brief nod.

“Is Y/N with you?”you heard as he pushed the loud speaker button.

“Who else do you think I’m with whenever I say ‘we’”he rolled his eyes as if it was common knowledge. It was.

“We need to do something right now. My family were asking me questions about Lydia and Y/n-about how they were attacked by Peter—and then they sent this guy out…”Allison’s words were rushed and urgent with a hint of panic.

“Wait, first of all what questions were they asking about y/n and second of all what guy?”Stiles eyes flickered over to you briefly.

“We will talk about the questions later, and the guy? He was dressed like a Sheriff’s deputy”Allison responded.

Your eyes land on Stiles, already frowning.

“That’s not normal. There aren’t that many deputies on call tonight”you noted.

“They’re sending him to the station for Isaac”Stiles thought aloud.

“He had this box—like something carved into it”Allison continued.

“What kind of carving?”you ask curiously as Allison flips pages. The line rustles.

“Hold on… I’m taking a picture”she calls out quickly.

Both of your heads snap towards the phone as Stiles’ phone pings with the incoming image.

“Yeah. Wolfsbane”Stiles ran his hands over his mouth.

You let out a fearful gulp, your eyes meeting Stiles once again. Finding them already trained on you.

“They’re not bringing him in to question him…”you shook your head.

“What does that mean?”Allisons voice rang down the phone.

“It means they’re gonna kill him.”Stiles’ stress levels rose.

“We need to get to the station. Now” Stiles looks at you as you speak— panic rising fast but controlled — and nodded.

[imagineseclipse]

Stiles Stilinski x Reader- It’s always been you.

Part 1- Winter Formal

The air that night was sharp with cold, but not the kind that bit—just enough to keep the windows fogged and breath visible, like the whole town was holding something in. The sky was heavy with clouds, too low, too gray, like it knew something was coming.

Beacon Hills High had gone all out. The gym was strung with white lights and dripping with cheap silver tinsel. Music thumped low and steady like a warning heartbeat. Girls in glittering dresses clustered in bathrooms to reapply lipstick, guys in borrowed blazers fidgeted with clip-on ties. Everyone was pretending this was the best night of the year.

It wasn’t, and Y/N Y/L/N knew it.

You stood just outside the school entrance, hugging your arms around yourself. Your burgundy dress was elegant, classic, a last-minute find you’d convinced yourself you didn’t care about. But now, standing alone while everyone arrived in pairs, it felt like armor you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Scott had walked in with Allison—his hand in hers, nervous, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to be happy. Lydia had Stiles, though barely. It was more of a convenience than a date. Allison had asked Stiles to take Lydia, and Stiles, still caught in the haze of years-long pining, said yes without thinking.

And Y/N? She came alone. Not that you cared.

Not because you didn’t have options—there were always guys who’d ask. But none of them mattered. Not when the person you wanted to go with never looked at you that way.

Everyone else was buzzing about how much they planned to drink, who they were going to kiss, who’d get into whose car after the last song. But all you felt was this low dread, coiling in your stomach like something bad was just over the edge of the night.

You hadn’t felt right in days. Not since the last full moon. Not since the latest rumor about a body in the woods. Not since Scott started acting different.

Because everything had changed.

And none of you had figured out how to say it out loud.

Stiles P.O.V

Stiles tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, pretending not to be sweating bullets. Lydia sat beside him in silence, scrolling through her phone, her presence somehow louder than the music playing quietly through the speakers.

This was supposed to be his dream, right? Driving Lydia Martin to the Winter Formal.

Only it felt wrong. It felt off.

He couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see y/n’s reflection, even though she hadn’t come with them. She’d said she was coming on her own. Shrugged it off when he asked why. Smiled a little too quickly.

They’d been best friends since they were kids. Since kindergarten, when she punched a boy for pushing Stiles into the sandbox. Since third grade, when he broke his wrist and she stayed with him in the nurse’s office all afternoon. Since fifth grade, when his mom got sick and stopped coming to parent-teacher nights, and she’d started waiting for him by the front gate without saying a word.

They’d grown up side by side, through every scraped knee and failed math test and supernatural catastrophe. When Scott was bitten and everything went sideways, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t run.

Y/n was the one person who never needed to ask what was going on—she just knew.

So when you said you’d come to the dance alone, when you smiled too quickly, when you laughed off the idea that it mattered—Stiles knew something was wrong. But he didn’t push.

Because he was too wrapped up in Lydia.

Then you walked in. Alone.

Hair curled and pinned up. Wearing a deep burgundy dress that stopped the air in his lungs. He didn’t know what he expected—sneakers, probably. Sarcasm, definitely. But she walked in like she wasn’t even aware she looked stunning.

Just like that, she wasn’t the little girl who used to throw Goldfish crackers at his face anymore. Suddenly, nothing else was in focus.

Not the music. Not Lydia beside him. Just her.

Y/n caught his eye across the room. Smiled, small and real. He smiled back—instinctively, shyly. Then Lydia tugged on his arm, dragging him toward the dance floor.

“Come on,” she said.

Stiles stumbled after her, his body moving while his mind stayed stuck on you, still standing near the punch bowl, twirling the end of your clutch strap in your fingers like you weren’t sure you belonged there.

The slow song started. Lydia turned into him, hands on his shoulders, eyes locked on Jackson from across the room.

And Stiles—he danced with her, like he was supposed to.

But over Lydia’s shoulder, he watched you sit down alone at a table near the edge of the room.

Your smile was gone now.

And then a guy walked up to you.

Stiles didn’t recognize him—tall, older-looking, probably someone’s cousin. He said something. You looked surprised, then laughed and shook your head. He asked again, holding out a hand.

And Stiles felt it—a twist in his chest. Like something was being pulled tight.

Jealousy? No. Not just that.

Fear. Possessiveness. Something.

Lydia’s voice broke through. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah,” he lied, eyes still on Y/n. Still on the guy. Still on the way you slowly stood up taking the older boys hand hesitantly. Glancing over at Stiles quickly but he looked away too fast.

-

Stiles didn’t remember how long he’d been standing at the edge of the dance floor. Lydia had disappeared into the crowd, probably in search of Jackson, but Stiles barely noticed.

His eyes were moving—searching. Scanning.

He didn’t even know he was doing it at first. It was just a reflex, muscle memory. Like how he always looked for you in the hallway before class, or checked the back row of the bleachers at lacrosse games, even when you had said you weren’t coming.

His eyes kept drifting to the far side of the gym, where you were once stood with that guy. You and the unknown male were deep in conversation now. Not close—nothing romantic—but the guy was trying. His hand lingered a little too long on your arm.

Stiles should’ve looked away. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

And in couple of moments he was able to catch you on your own.

You stood near the punch bowl, cup in hand, pretending to be interested in the orange-ish liquid sloshing inside. You weren’t really sure what it was supposed to be—citrus motor oil, maybe—but it gave you something to do with your hands.

“Wow,” came a familiar voice from behind you making you instantly perk up. “That is some seriously bold beverage selection. Did they mix it with antifreeze on purpose, or was that just a happy accident?”

You smirked before you even turned. “Should we try it and find out, Stilinski?”

He stepped up beside you, hands in his pockets, tie already slightly loosened like he was allergic to looking put together for more than ten minutes.

“Risking the punch? Brave. Bold. Potentially fatal. I’m so down you know me so well”he hummed out, leaning into you.

“The sarcasm. It travels ahead of you like a warning sign.”you uttered back, handing him a cup of the unknown liquid.

“Someone has to live on the edge tonight,” You added. “You already used your one act of rebellion by showing up in a wrinkled dress shirt.”You let out a quiet laugh, taunting your bestfriend.

His mouth twitched into a knowing smile. “Rude.”

His eyes lingering on you for half a second too long before he looked away. “You look… nice.”

“Nice,” she echoed flatly.

“I-I- Well -I” Stiles cheeks unknowingly tinted red as he stumbled for words. Making him choke slightly.

“Relax I’m just messing w-

“Y/n, you look fucking gorgeous”Stiles cut you off, his statement firm. Your eyes widened slightly the colour of your cheeks matching Stiles’, mouth opening to say something when Stiles noticed the guy from earlier approaching from the corner of his eye.

He clocked him before he even reached the two of you—tall, slightly older-looking, dressed like he actually cared about this dance. He was walking straight toward you dodging through the crowd with the kind of focus that made Stiles’ stomach twist.

You didn’t notice. You were still slightly gawping at Stiles after his compliment.

But before you could say anything—before you could breathe—the guy from earlier slid into your orbit, cutting through the air between you and Stiles with way too much confidence.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a clean, practiced smile. “Didn’t get your name earlier. Figured I’d try again.”

You blinked, still catching up. “Oh. It’s—uh—Y/n.”

“Y/n”he repeated, like he was trying it on. “Nice. I was hoping I’d get another shot?”

Stiles laughed, short and sharp—just loud enough to be noticed. “Wow. Bold. Really going for it, huh?”

The guy turned toward him, confused. “Sorry?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stiles said with a tight smile. “Just admiring the timing. Literally couldn’t have waited ten more seconds. Impressive.”

You shot Stiles a look, brows raised, but your mouth betrayed you with a small twitch at the corner. He was being a pain- a pleasant one”

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the guy, still recovering from the chaos of the last minute. “Maybe later.”

He took the hint and nodded, though his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary before he backed off.

Once he was gone, you turned fully to Stiles. “Really?”

“What?” he said, too innocent. “I was just being supportive.”

“You sounded like you wanted to fight him, like literally pick up the punch bowl and smash it over his head type of fight him”

“I mean what if I do wanna fight him”Stiles shrugged.

Stiles opened his mouth again—this time maybe to say something real—but the sudden shriek of Coach Finstock’s voice cut through the gym like a grenade going off.

“DANNY! SCOTT! WHAT IN THE NAME OF LACROSSE FUNDING IS THIS?!”

Everyone turned.

On the far side of the dance floor, Coach stood wide-eyed, one hand clutching his heart as Scott and Danny twirled each other like it was the last dance of the century. The two boys looked completely unbothered, smiling, their moves just chaotic enough to be impressive.

Stiles blinked. “Oh, God.”

You laughed softly. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a liability,” he muttered.

Coach was now storming across the floor, yelling something about dignity, and chaperone protocol, and how he swore if anyone took a photo of this, he’d quit right now and move to Idaho.

Stiles sighed, already taking a step back. “I have to go make sure Scott doesn’t break the space-time continuum.”

“Well, you’d better hurry”

Stiles gave you a questionable look.

You smirked. “It’s fine, I’ll be right over to help you”

But before you could turn or disappear into the crowd again, he stepped closer, hand brushing yours for a second longer than it needed to.

“Don’t move,” he said seriously, eyes locking with yours. “I’ll be right back. Seriously. Don’t move.”

The tone in his voice made something in your chest pull tight.

You nodded once.

And with one last glance over his shoulder, your best friend hesitated—then forced himself to turn and head toward the chaos.

The noise of the gym settled back into its usual rhythm—bass thumping, heels clicking, laughter and bad decisions hanging thick in the air.

You stood where Stiles had left you, still half-smiling, still half-waiting for him to turn back again.

But he didn’t.

He disappeared into the crowd with that frantic, slightly unhinged stride of his, chasing after Coach and Scott like some weird subplot in a show only they were in.

You turned back to the dance floor, your eyes scanning out of habit more than intent—until something caught your attention.

Lydia.

You narrowed your eyes.

She wasn’t walking with purpose—more like she was floating. Pale, distracted. Detached from everything around her. And she wasn’t alone for long.

Jackson. She was following Jackson.

They disappeared through the far exit, heading toward the back of the school—toward the field.

Your stomach twisted.

There was no reason to follow. This wasn’t your problem. You weren’t even close with Lydia. And Jackson? He barely looked at you unless he wanted something.

But still.

Something felt wrong.

The way Lydia walked like she didn’t even know where she was. The way Jackson didn’t seem like he really wanted to be there. The way your gut clenched the second they vanished into the dark.

Without thinking, you handed your cup to the nearest table and started toward the door.

Quiet. Unnoticed.

Your heels clicked softly against the gym floor, then sank into silence as you stepped out into the cool night air.

The laughter and music faded behind you.

Ahead, the lights of the lacrosse field buzzed faintly.

And Lydia Martin was disappearing into the dark.

The further Y/n walked, the quieter everything became. The music from the gym was a faint, distant thump now—like a memory. The cold crept in around her, wind biting against yours skin, cutting through the warmth of the night.

You stepped onto the edge of the lacrosse field, heels crunching softly on damp grass.

And then you saw her. Lying motionless in the middle of the field, her red dress stark against the dark ground, like a dropped rose in the dirt.

You froze.

For a split second, you thought maybe Lydia had tripped. Passed out. Something harmless because it must’ve happened so quickly.

But then you saw him. Peter Hale, standing just beyond her body, looming like a shadow cut out of the night itself. His eyes glowed faintly gold, his hands slick with blood.

He looked up at you, the sound of your heels against the grass gaining his attention immediately.

A cold, paralyzing fear gripped your chest—but it snapped just as fast.

You screamed. Loud. Raw. Real.

The sound tore through your throat like it had claws. An ear-piercing, instinctive scream that echoed across the empty field and carried through the gym, slicing through the music for only a select few- the ones who recognised your voice.

Then you ran.

Straight to Lydia. No hesitation. No second thought.

You dropped to your knees, skidding on the wet grass, arms immediately circling Lydia’s body and pulling her into your lap.

“Lydia—Lydia!” You cried, hands trembling as you pressed them against the wound at her side. Blood seeped through your fingers. Your dress was soaked within seconds, blood staining the deep burgundy into something even darker, more permanent.

She was still breathing—but barely.

Peter hadn’t left.

His eyes glowed, reflecting the field lights like an animal about to strike. Blood still dripped from his claws, and his expression was something worse than rage.

“Two birds,” he murmured, voice like gravel. “One scream.”

You scrambled backward, trying to pull Lydia with you. “Stay away from her,” you spat, but your voice cracked. Your hands were shaking too badly to grip.

Peter just tilted his head.

“You’re braver than you should be.”

And then before you could take another breath he moved like a blur. Fast—too fast.

You barely had time to shield Lydia with your body before Peter’s claws slashed out, cutting across your side with brutal, inhuman force.

You screamed again—sharper this time, almost like a yelp.

Blood poured hot and fast from your ribs, soaking through your dress, your arms, your hands as you held Lydia tighter with your left arm, your right shooting up to your side.

The second your scream rang through the air, Stiles had stopped moving.

Mid-conversation. Mid-chaos.

He turned sharply, eyes snapping to the empty space where you had been standing minutes ago. Gone.

His heart dropped. He didn’t wait.

“Y/n!?”he shouted, already pushing through the crowd, the music and lights now meaningless noise. Scott and Allison’s eyes widening simultaneously at the sudden sound of your call for help.

Stiles didn’t know what he was running toward but that didn’t stop him for even a second. He just knew it you.

And you were in trouble.

The freezing night air hit him hard, burning his throat and lungs, but he didn’t slow down. He tore across the grass, shoes slipping in the wet mud as the field lights finally came into view.

And then he saw it. Two figures crumpled on the ground.

Y/n—still in that burgundy dress, the fabric ripped and soaked dark with blood—curled around Lydia’s lifeless body, shielding her even now. Your arms were shaking, your hair a mess of blood and sweat.

For half a second, Stiles stumbled.

The ground tilted underneath him, and a wave of nausea punched the air from his lungs.

No—no no no—

He nearly collapsed right there, right where he stood.

But somehow he kept moving.

He forced his legs forward, a broken sound tearing from his throat as he sprinted toward the two of you, the cold forgotten, the music and lights behind him swallowed by the rush of terror.

“Allison, Scott!” he shouted over his shoulder, his voice cracking. “Over here!”

They weren’t far behind—he could hear them crashing through the lot, footsteps pounding, voices frantic—but Stiles was faster.

And then—Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him.

Standing on the far edge of the field, partially hidden in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Their eyes locked. For one heartbeat, time froze.

Peter tilted his head slightly, a slow, calculating smile creeping across his face.

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

Stiles felt every survival instinct in his body scream at once—but he didn’t stop.

He dropped to his knees beside you, mud soaking through his jeans, hands already reaching for you without even thinking.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice cracking open. He was already pulling you closer, hands searching frantically for where you were bleeding.

Your skin was freezing cold under his touch.

Scott and Allison skidded to a stop behind him seconds later, but Stiles barely heard them.

His whole world had narrowed to the girl in his arms and the blood soaking through her dress.

And the monster still standing somewhere out in the dark.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispered, not sure if he was lying, not sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

“I know I’m okay-I’m fine yeah it’s Lydia I’m concerned about”you shifted weakly, your head pressing against his shoulder. Your breathing was fast, ragged, like were fighting for every second.

“I know you’re going to tell me I’m really silly for this,” she said, voice small but steady, forcing herself to breathe through it.

Stiles let out a broken laugh, the sound too close to a sob. “Yeah. It was incredibly fucking stupid.”

“I’m so mad at you for this,”he added quickly, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt his hand reached down to put pressure on your wound.

He smiled, terrified, brushing your hair back from your forehead with his other hand.

She gave a weak, uncomfortable laugh, a sound that twisted straight through his chest.

“It does really hurt, Stiles,” you whispered, voice cracking around the edges. A single tear slipped down your cheek.

Stiles felt like he was drowning.

“Fuck,” he choked out, voice breaking. “Scott—Scott! Call a fucking ambulance or kill Peter Hale, I don’t care which—just fucking do something!”

Allison was already fumbling through her purse in a panic, pulling out her phone with trembling hands, dialing with fingers that didn’t want to work.

Scott hovered over Lydia, helpless for a second, before glancing toward the dark edges of the field where Peter had disappeared.

“I’m going after him,” Scott growled.

“No!” Stiles barked, holding you tighter. “Stay here. Help me. Please—help them”

Scott hesitated, torn between instincts, but the way Stiles looked at him—broken, desperate—made the choice.

Allison stumbled forward, pressing the phone to her ear, rattling off their location to the operator with a voice thick with fear.

Stiles looked down at you again, his forehead resting against yours for half a second. And all he could do was hold you tighter.

The sound of the sirens tore through the night, growing louder with every heartbeat, bouncing off the empty bleachers and stadium walls.

You had already passed out by this point, Stiles making sure that your chest was still rising and falling. He couldn’t move.

Not when the paramedics rushed across the grass.

Not when Scott tried to pull him back gently by the shoulder.

His arms stayed locked around your trembling body, holding you against his chest like he could somehow will you to stay alive just by refusing to let go.

“They’re here—she’s breathing, but she’s bleeding bad—she’s bleeding so bad,” Stiles rattled off to the first paramedic, his voice pitching higher, sharper.

One of the EMTs, a woman with calm eyes and blood-streaked gloves, knelt beside him. “We’ve got her, okay? Let us take her.”

Stiles shook his head, hard. His whole body curled tighter around you, shielding her instinctively. “No—no, you don’t understand. She needs me. She needs to hear my voice. She’s scared, she’s—”

“Stiles,” Scott said gently, crouching beside him. “They need to stop the bleeding, man. You have to let them help.”

His hands were shaking so badly now that he barely felt it when Allison gently tried to pry his fingers from the blood-soaked fabric of Y/n’s dress.

Stiles swallowed hard, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted to break free. Your hand twitched weakly in his.

The paramedic touched his shoulder. “We have to lift them now.” Stiles nodded, his lips trembling.

“I’m going with her” he insisted.

“You can ride up front,” the medic said, already prepping a stretcher.

Another tear slid down your temple, mixing with the blood.

And then Stiles, hands still trembling, helped the paramedics lift you onto the stretcher. Helping an unconscious Lydia onto hers.

As they wheeled you toward the flashing red lights, he walked beside you, never letting go of your hand. Trying to keep up with the stretcher flashing red and blue lights painting his face in quick, dizzying strokes.

You were so still.

Too still.

And Lydia—Lydia was being wheeled away too, pale and unconscious—but Stiles’ eyes never strayed from you.

The world blurred around him. Voices barked orders. Scott said something behind him, but it was muffled, distant.

And then it hit him.

Hard.

Like a truck to the chest. Like the ground had been ripped out from underneath his feet.

It wasn’t Lydia. It had never been Lydia. It was you.

It had always been you.

Y/n—his best friend, his partner-in-crime, the girl who fought for him and with him, who stood by him when the whole world turned inside out”

And he loved you.

Not in the easy, distant way he used to dream about Lydia Martin. Not in the glossy, unreachable way. No—this was different. This was real.

Messy and painful and terrifying. Tangled in years of friendship and stupid inside jokes and late-night conversations and quiet moments he hadn’t known how to name before now.

And he felt like he had realized it too late.

The stretcher carrying you disappeared into the back of the ambulance, the doors swinging shut with a heavy, final slam.

Stiles stood there, soaked in your blood, heart pounding so violently he thought it might crack his ribs open.

He loved you.

And if you didn’t make it—

If you slipped away before he could tell you—

He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep breathing

-

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, humming like a second, smaller scream that never stopped.

Stiles sat in one of the stiff plastic chairs, hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, hands still stained dark with your blood. He couldn’t look at them. Couldn’t wash them off. It felt wrong, like scrubbing them clean would erase you somehow.

The hospital smelled like bleach and cheap coffee and something metallic he didn’t want to think about.

Every time the automatic doors at the far end of the hall swooshed open, his head jerked up.

But it was never for him.

Never for you.

Scott paced back and forth nearby, quiet and tense. Allison sat stiffly in a chair, hands folded tightly in her lap, her phone buzzing periodically with missed calls from her dad. Sheriff Stilinski was going back and forth asking you all questions about the events leading up to the incident. Even Jackson skulked away in the corner waiting for the news on Lydia.

But Stiles barely registered them and everything around him.

He was locked in a loop.

What if you never woke up?

What if the last thing you heard was him yelling?

What if—what if—what if—

He scrubbed his palms over his face, dragging them down roughly, trying to ground himself, trying to stay upright when all he wanted to do was curl into himself and vanish.

Melissa McCall came down the hall, clipboard in hand. Her face was calm—professional—but her eyes softened when she saw him.

“Stiles,” she said gently, crouching down in front of him so they were eye-level.

He didn’t breathe.

“They’re both stable.”

The words barely made it through the static in his head.

“Y/n lost a lot of blood,” Melissa continued, her voice even, measured. “But the scratches weren’t as deep as we thought. They got her into surgery fast. She’s resting now. She’s gonna be okay. She saved Lydia’s life tonight”

For a full second, Stiles couldn’t move.

The room tilted. His vision blurred.

Then the breath he’d been holding for what felt like hours finally punched out of his chest in a shuddering exhale.

He nodded, too fast, wiping his sleeve roughly across his eyes.

“Can I—can I see her?” he asked, voice wrecked and small.

Melissa smiled, a little sad, but real. “Yeah. She’s asking for you.”

Those words undid him all over again.

He stumbled up out of the chair, too fast, too eager, his knees almost buckling.

Scott clapped him on the shoulder. Allison gave him a shaky, relieved smile. The room was dim and quiet, machines beeping low and steady around her.

You lay in the bed, hooked up to IVs, your face pale but alive. Your chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths.

Stiles stepped inside, his hands trembling again, and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

You blinked slowly when you saw him.

“Hey,” you rasped, your voice weak but threaded with something stubborn.

Stiles let out a broken laugh, dragging a hand through his messy hair.

“Hey yourself,” he whispered, voice thick with everything he couldn’t say.

For a second he just stood there, drinking in the sight of you, alive, awake, undeniably beautiful even in a hospital bed.

Then he moved to your side, pulling the chair up so close that his knees hit the bed.

He hesitated only a moment before reaching out—careful, so careful—and wrapping his hand gently around yours.

It was smaller than he remembered.

Or maybe he just realized now how badly he never wanted to let it go.

“You scared the hell out of me kid”he said, voice barely more than a breath.

You smiled slowly, squeezing his fingers. “You’re the one who keeps saying there need to be more adventure.”

“Yeah, well, next time let’s stick to cliff diving or, I don’t know, illegal fireworks or something maybe not death.”

Your smile cracked wider. “I’ll put it on my to-do list.”

“Seriously, you are my best friend, my family and if something ever happened to you I would lose my mind”he uttered out.

Sooner or later, he was going to have to tell you.

[imagineseclipse]

Hey angels

I know I’ve been M.I.A, I’m still writing don’t worry I have a lot coming up that will be posted. In the meantime I have started to edit and you guys can reach me on my TikTok where you can stay in contact, request anything you’d wish for and just chit chat🫶🏽 would like to thank everyone who has stuck around for this long as I have had this blog since 2015 I love you all.

@ssrx517

Message me on here or there and let me know you came from Tumblr, I’m going to be doing a giveaway at some point 🤍

[imagineseclipse]

Pack Of Hearts- Stiles Stilinski x Y/n PT4

part three - part five

It had been half an hour since Scott had left Stiles’ house. Half an hour of you and Stiles going back and forth, trying to agree on the next plan of action.

“So you really think it’s a good idea to go after him, when he did…this?”you shook your head, pointing to the leather seat that was now shredded.

“He’s my bestfriend Y/n”Stiles got up from his seat on the end of his bed, searching around his room with a purpose.

“Yeah and look at what he did, look at what he was going to do to you”you replied quickly.

“I’m not going to give up on him, just because he might be a-a” Stiles’ voice trailed away, not knowing what to say. He snapped out of his thoughts resuming the rush around his bedroom.

“So for the love of god would you get your jacket on because we’ve got a party to go to”He stopped in front of you, shaking his car keys around excitedly.

“Have you lost your mind?”You asked genuinely, staring at him with empty eyes.

“Not recently”he mumbled under his breath.

“You’re insane, I’m going home”you laughed out, absolutely convinced that he had lost brain cells. There was no way in hell that you would be attending Lydia Martin’s party that night. Never.

“Are you sur-

“I’ve truly never been so sure of anything in my life”you cut him off, nodding violently as you grabbed your jacket and bag.

“I know your car is still in the shop so I’ll drop you off on the way, it’s getting late”he offered, holding his bedroom door open a small smirk dancing across his face.

He drove straight past your house.

“I should really call the police station and report you for kidnapping, in fact I should call your father”you hissed, slumping down in the passenger’s seat in Stiles’ jeep. If you could call it a jeep.

“If you must”Stiles sighed, tossing his phone over into your lap. You responded with silence, debating on jumping out of the car whilst it was still moving. You’d do anything to not have to go to this party.

“Hey, y/n can you pass me the-

“No”you replied, staring out of the window, a scowl fixed on your face.

“At what point do you become mature?”Stiles laughed out to himself.

“When I get to go home”you answered, sending him a glare from your corner of the vehicle.

“I hope the ground swallows you whole Stilinski”you added for extra measure.

“Honestly same”he muttered out as the two of you turned into Lydia’s driveway. Stiles jumped out of his side, jogging around to open the door for you.

You swung your legs over the side, jumping down from the seat as you rolled your eyes. The smell of alcohol invading your nose almost immediately. The sound of music drowned out every single one of your thoughts. It was extremely busy, and you were extremely terrified.

Stiles noticed the way your skin had turned a shade paler, the goosebumps that crawled up your skin as you shivered. His eyes widened when he realised, you had never been to a party before.

“H-hey, let’s just treat this as an investigation stakeout right? Don’t even stress, we’ll grab a drink- non alcoholic if that’s how you roll- a-and we’ll chill at the sides…just keeping watch”he took a step closer to you as your eyes darted around, taking in the party scene.

“If you leave me to fend for myself I swear-

“I promise i’ll be by your side the whole time”he reassured you, pulling on your jacket intent on leading the way.

You and Stiles tried your hardest to manoeuvre your way through the tight crowd without losing eachother. Him squeezing through in front and you fighting for your life in the back. A dancing stranger nudges Stiles making him lose grip of your jacket, his hands falling down your arm somehow catching your hand at the bottom.

You ignored the weird feeling you got as your hands fit perfectly together, his grip tightening as he weaved through the sweaty teenagers. The bass of the music travelling through your body to the beat. The two of you decided against letting go, you’d definitely get lost if he did.

You thought the walk through the house toward the back patio would never end but you felt relief wash over you when you felt the breeze hit your face. There you found dozens of party attendees dancing and drinking around the swimming pool and the fire pits scattered across the yard.

As you take the party in, Stiles peered down at your intertwined hands, how comfortable it felt. It was like your thoughts had caught up to his as your hand slipped out of his, becoming self aware.

He tried to brush off the cold shiver he’d felt after you let go before pointing over to the drinks table where it was quieter. As you followed Stiles across the patio you caught sight of Allison and Scott dancing together on the other side of the garden.

You observed as Allison and Scott are nose-to-nose, and just when it looks like they're about to kiss, Scott's fingers tighten around the back of Allison's jacket. He looks as if he is suddenly stricken with a terrible headache caused by all of his senses being heightened all at once.

You lifted your head, noticing the full moon blazing over the garden, gulping as you looked to Scott once more.

He groaned out as he clutched his temples with both hands. Allison stopped dancing and looks at him with concern. Over near the drinks table your arm reached out behind you trying to gain Stiles’ attention as he was pouring the two of you a drink.

Scott continued to hiss out in pain until the ache subsided slightly, opening his eyes just enough to see where he's going as he turned to go somewhere private and ride the sickness out.

“I'll be right back”he uttered out turning to walk away from Allison. Leaving her alone.

Scott stumbled towards the house, as he grows closer to where you were stood his vision started to get shaky and blurry. You nudge Stiles in the side and he croaks out at the sudden jab. Giving you a confused frown before following your line of sight. He notices Scott and looks at him with a worried expression.

“Yo, Scott, you good?”Stiles asked concerned for his friend. Scott seemed too overwhelmed to respond to Stiles.

“Are you okay?”you questioned straight after watching as Scott sway side to side, getting further away from the two of you.

You looked up at Stiles, mentally asking if you should go after him, Allison had the same idea it seemed as she appeared next to you looking both confused and hurt. Understandable.

The three of you silently followed Scott until you saw him get into his mom’s car, driving off without another word. It seemed like ten minutes passed before Stiles reached into his pocket pulling out his phone.

“I’m gonna try and call Scott”he caught your eye, telepathically asking if you were okay to wait whilst he made a phone call. You gave him an approving nod watching as he skulked away to his jeep.

You turned to the familiar face, her face frozen on the spot where Scott had parked his car.

“Silly question, but are you alright?”you ask quietly, the wind blowing her brown hair out of her face as she forced a smile onto her face.

“I’m always alright y/n”Allison turned to you, the grin never faltering, you felt a small smile twitch onto your face as your gaze fell to the ground.

“How have you been?”she added, remembering the last time she’d spoken to you and how you were in a rush to leave.

“I’ve been- I’ve been okay, thanks for asking”Your smile grew bigger. What was happening to you?

“Hey- Listen, I don’t know Scott well at all actually, but I know one thing… I know he’s not a bad guy”You offered, not knowing if you were helping the situation.

“I appreciate that a lot, thankyou”Allison blinked slowly, nodding gratefully.

Your conversation was cut short by Stiles tripping over his own feet as he made his way over to where you and Allison were stood. Kneeling down to tie up his shoelaces as he mumbled profanities.

“I had him and then I lost him”He jumped up seconds later, slightly out of breath and waving his phone around frantically.

“C’mon y/n, let’s go home”Stiles motioned towards you abruptly. You perked up when he mentioned your house. Home sweet home.

You pivoted to face Allison, giving her an expression that told her that you didn’t want to leave her all alone outside a party. She caught on quickly, almost shoo-ing you away telling you she’d be okay.

“Maybe I’ll see you at School?”She called after you waving you away.

“Maybe you will”you smiled, lifting your hand to wave back. Stiles watched the interaction his mouth falling open slightly.

“What was that, huh?”he smirked as he leant against his jeep, a smirk playing on his lips. He didn’t have to say it aloud.

“Start the jeep Stilinski”watching him unlock your door.

“Right yeah, home time”he agreed, opening the door for you so that you could climb in. Your eyes wandered across the car park over to where Allison was stood but she was now joined by yet another familiar face.

“Derek hale?”Stiles head snapped up from his wheel at your words.

“What about him?”Stiles raised an eyebrow confused.

“N-no he’s here, he’s talking to Allison…In fact im pretty sure she’s getting into his car?!”An unsettling feeling had gotten caught in your chest, the pairing already highly suspicious.

“Okay we gotta go”Stiles mumbled, speeding out away from Lydia’s house before you could choke out a “Wait”.

When Scott had gotten home from the party he rushed upstairs to his bedroom, locking the door before sliding down into a crouching position.

Groaning in pain, he eventually stumbled into the attached bathroom and stripped out of his jacket and tshirt before climbing into the bathtub and turning on the shower so that hot water poured over him.

It seemed to give him some momentary relief until he suddenly gritted his teeth in pain and anxiously rubbed his right hand over his face to try to distract himself from it, his fingers started to ache, and when he looked down at the palms of his water-swollen hands, he was horrified to see his fingernails growing into long, sharp claws.

Across town you sat in Stiles’ jeep as it sped down the road. Stiles driving like a mad man, a determine scowl on his face as he bit his lip.

“Stiles, why do I get the feeling you aren’t actually taking me home?”you finally sighed your knee bobbing up and down.

Stiles stuttered, his eyes falling on you before switching back to the road.

“What gives you that idea?”he hummed out furrowing his eyebrows.

“That fact that you drove past my house five minutes ago”you folded your arms across your chest.

“Sorry y/n, we just have to make one more stop”He confessed.

“Seriously?! You could at least tell me where we’re going”You huffed out, winding down the window.

“We’re going to Scott’s”

Frantically getting out of the shower, Scott looked in the mirror over the medicine cabinet and was even more overwhelmed to find his canine teeth growing into fangs and his irises glowing a bright gold color. Just then, a loud pounding knock is heard on his bedroom door. Scott pressed his forehead and torso against the inside of the door.

“Go away”he growled out.

“Scott, it's us”Stiles called out from the other side, the two of you standing close to the door with your ears against it.

Scott, realizing that it is just you two on the other side, unlocks the door but only allows Stiles to open it a few inches so that Stiles can hear him but not see him. Scott continued to lean his forehead against the door as he struggled to control his breathing.

“Let us in-“

Stiles looked over to you pausing for a moment, seeing that you are already giving him a slight nod of encouragement.

-Scott. We can help”he continued, trying his hardest to get through to his bestfriends who was clearly suffering. The thought of you and Stiles getting closer to him causes him to panic, he was deathly afraid of what would happen . Instead, Scott, lisping slightly due to his fangs, pleads with you.

“Y/n, Stiles you can’t be here, you gotta find Allison”he begged.

“She's fine, all right? We saw her get a ride from the party. She's-she's totally fine, all right?”Stiles tried to calm the situation.

“Don’t worry Scott, Allison is okay I-I spoke to her”Scott perked up at the sound of your voice, that being the first time you had spoken since arriving at Scott’s.

“No, I think I know who it is”Scott uttered out.

“Know who? What are you talking about?”you asked looking up at Stiles who looked just as baffled as you did.

“Dude, just let me in! We can try-

Stiles tried to push the door once more, becoming exasperated.

“It's Derek. Derek Hale is the Werewolf! He's the one that bit me. He's the one that killed the girl in the woods”Scott revealed, letting out what sounded like a cry.

Your mouth fell open slightly, your eyes widening in fear, Stiles mirrored your expression, the horror of the situation dawning on you both.

“Scott... Derek's the one who drove Allison from the party”Stiles tried to listen out for any sign of Scott, pressing his eyes to gap in the door.

“I’m sorry Scott”you offered sincerely, pressing your hand against the door. You felt terrible. You felt like if anything happened to Allison it would have been your fault you should have just gotten out of the Jeep when you’d seen him approach her.

Scott processed your words for a short moment before he quickly pushed the door and locked it again. Out in the hallway, Stiles rattles on the doorknob, and when he can't open the door, he starts to pound on it with his fist in an attempt to be let in.

You took this as your queue to start running towards the staircase knowing that Scott’s window was his only exit, you jumped down the stairs two at a time landing with a wobble before speeding towards his front door. You let out a frustrated yell as you fumbled around with his door handle.

You felt the breeze on your face as you sprinted outside of the house just in time to see Scott land the jump from his second-floor window. The air being knocked out of your lungs as he lands on his feet in front of you in perfect form.

Glancing in your direction before completing his transformation into his Werewolf form, complete with a ridged brow, pointed ears, gold glowing eyes, claws, and fangs. Saliva dripped from the tips of his elongated canine teeth as he looks up at the full moon and roars.

“Scott, stop!”you hear Stiles’ voice getting closer as he came to an abrupt halt next to you, grabbing your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. He felt how you were frozen to the spot his eyes following your to see Scott who was fully wolfed out.

He let out a growl before hurtling down the road away from you at a speed you’d never witnessed. You couldn’t bring yourself to form full words as Stiles once again dragged you towards the jeep, sending you a sympathetic smile before opening the door for you just as he been doing all evening.

“Is there any point in asking if going home tonight?”you sighed out, buckling yourself in.

“Nope, I kinda need you tonight”Stiles blurted out, it was like he was uncontrollably vomiting up his words. Your mouth settled into a frown, unintentionally staring at Stilinski as he swerved around the corner.

No one had ever told you that they needed you, and this was completely new territory for you.

Across town at the Beacon Hills preserve Scott jumps on top of Derek's car, which is parked just out front of the entrance sign. He looks inside to see that neither Allison nor Derek are there before he headed deeper into the woods.

Scott, fully transformed, is running through the woods, using his new superhuman sense of smell to track Allison's scent in order to locate her and Derek.

Meanwhile, you and Stiles had just arrived at the Argent’s house, immediately rushing out of the Jeep toward the front door, where he frantically rings the doorbell as he mutters under his breath You cringed as he continued to ring the bell.

“Okay, you’re quite erratic right now so I think it’s best if I do the talking”you advised, watching as he shuffled about restlessly in front of you.

He sends you a brief ‘I’m fine, not at all freaking out’ stare. The door swings open and Allison's mother, Victoria Argent, finding an overwhelmed Stiles and a wary y/n on the doorstep.

Stiles wastes no time trying to figure out what is going on with Allison and your eyes widen. This was not the plan.

“Hi, Mrs. Argent. Um - You have no idea who I am. I'm a friend of your daughter's. Uhhh, look, this is gonna sound kind of crazy, um...-

“We were just wondering if Allison was home”you interrupted, saving both Stiles and yourself from further embarrassment.

“Allison! It's for you”she shouted into the house, Victoria looking at Stiles as though he's stupid.

Allison walked onto the balcony at the top of the staircase, seemingly safe and sound. You noted that she was missing the black blazer that she had been wearing that night.

Stiles looks flabbergasted by the sight of her, and Allison looked confused as to why he was so panicked. Sending you a small wave from up the stairs, you lifted a hand offering her the same, letting out a sigh of relief.

Scott continued to run though the woods, following Allison’s scent until he reached a clearing, Allison's jacket dangled from a branch and Scott realises that this was the scent he was following, and not the scent of Allison herself. When Derek steps out of the shadows, Scott glares at him and growls in warning.

“Where is she?”McCall calls out angrily. If only he’d answer the damn phone.

“She's safe... from you”Derek hissed back.

Derek lurches forward to tackle Scott, leading to the two of them rolling down a slight hill. Once they reach the bottom, Derek pulls Scott to his feet and pins him against a tree.

“What did you do with her?”

“Shh, quiet. Too late. They're already here. Run”Derek replied in hushed tones, his eyes flickering out behind him into the woods.

Derek disappears, but Scott, takes a minute to catch on, a flash-bang arrow flies past him, blinding him momentarily. Another arrow hurtles towards him, slicing into his left forearm.

Suddenly, a group of three middle-aged male Hunters stepped out of the shadows, with the leader, Argent, holding a crossbow aimed right at Scott while Derek watches from a distance.

“Take him”

Before the Hunters can move, Derek appears knocking out the two closest to him, leaving Chris outnumbered. Derek pulls the arrow out of Scott's arm, a loud roar echoing through the preserve.

When Chris finishes checking on his men, he looks back at the tree to find that Scott is gone.

Scott, now in his human form, fell to his knees as he recovered from the overwhelming combination of transforming into a Werewolf, believing Allison to be in danger, and being shot by Hunters. He looks at Derek with an expression of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

“Who were they?”Scott breathed out.

“Hunters. The kind that have been hunting us for centuries”Derek shoved his hands in his pockets as he stood in front of Scott who was furiously glaring at him.

“Us? You mean you! You did this to me!”Scott accused.

“Is it really so bad, Scott? That you can see better? Hear more clearly? Move faster than any human could ever hope? You've been given something that most people would kill for. The bite is a gift”Derek shot out at the teenager shaking his head.

“I don't want it”Scott retorted.

“You will. And you're gonna need me if you want to learn how to control it”Derek placed his hand on Scott's shoulder.

“So you and me, Scott? We're brothers now”Derek added before disappearing into the night.

The sun began to rise between the trees as Stiles tapped his fingers against the steering wheel along with the low volume music. He let out a quiet yawn as he reached forward to adjust his mirror, pausing when he caught sight of you in the back seat sleeping underneath his jacket that he’d placed over you not long after you’d let sleep take over.

Stiles began to slow the jeep down when he noticed Scott walking along the side of the road, still wearing only his jeans from the night before and cradling his now-healed left forearm.

Stiles' Jeep pulled up next to him to pick him up. Scott climbed into the passenger seat, putting on one of the many hoodies he’d left behind. He buckled himself in, his eyes flickering to the back of the jeep where you snored lightly.

The two boys share a look before Scott breaks the silence.

“You know what actually worries me the most?”he murmured out, trying his hardest to not wake you up.

“If you say "Allison," I'm gonna punch you in the head”Stiles lowered his voice to match his bestfriends, finally starting up the Jeep.

“She probably hates me now”Scott continued.

“Ugh. I doubt that. But you might want to come up with a pretty amazing apology. Or, you know, you could just tell her the truth and revel in the awesomeness of the fact that you're a frickin' Werewolf”Stiles exclaimed, his voice getting a little louder.

Scott shoots him and look and Stiles immediately backtracks.

“Look, things are changing right- just speak to her”Stiles briefly glances at Scott who furrowed his eyebrows.

“Things are changing?”Scott questioned, leaning his head against the window.

“Yeah things are changing, with you, with y/- Stiles sentence cuts short as the two boys hear you stir and move about in the back. They quickly turn to check on you for a moment before swivelling forwards to face the road.

Stiles doesn’t finish his sentence, him and Scott sitting in a knowing silence.

[imagineseclipse]

Pack Of Hearts- Stiles Stilinski x Y/N PT3

part two - part four

A/n:Slowest of burns

Warning of strong language:))

You walk through the dense foliage of the woods, your footsteps carefully avoiding dry leaves that would crackle and give away your presence. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows through the trees.

As you move through the woods, you can't help but reflect on the events that led you to this moment. You mull over the strange incident with Scott, the revelation of his enhanced hearing, and the possible connection to his mysterious bite.

Your mind works through the pieces, trying to connect the dots and make sense of the puzzle. The more you think about it, the more convinced you become that something unusual is going on.

You continued your search for your phone, cautiously navigating through the trees when suddenly, you heard the sound of two male voices nearby. Startled, you quickly found a large tree to hide behind, carefully peeking out from behind the trunk.

You tried to stay as still as possible, hoping not to attract attention to yourself. The soft rustling of leaves and the murmured voices fill the air as you wait, trying to hear what they're saying.

Scott and Stiles made their way across the creek, their sneakers and jeans getting wet as they wade through the chilled water. They chatted casually, discussing the events of the day's lacrosse practice.

Stiles teased Scott about the missed shot he took during the game, Scott, though amused, tried to brush off the comment, laughing it off.

You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head as you immediately recognize the voices of Scott and Stiles, causing you to quickly move backwards to hide even further behind the tree.

As you adjust your position behind the tree, trying to hold yourself up, you inadvertently made a noise - a soft crunch of leaves and a rustling of branches - loud enough to catch Scott and Stiles' attention.

Instantly, their conversation came to a halt and they turned their heads in your direction, their eyes scanning the area for the source of the sound. You were well aware that Scott's new found senses may also have picked up on your presence.

You cringed, silently praying that they dismissed the noise as a product of the wind or some small animal. You stayed stock-still, hoping and praying that they didn’t investigate further.

Scott and Stiles returned to talking after a few minutes of hesitation, You let out a small sigh of relief, taking the opportunity to peak out from behind the tree trunk.

Just as you thought you'd caught a break, you attempted to make a run for it, your foot soon getting tangled in a root. You stumbled, landing on the forest floor with a thud, revealing yourself to Scott and Stiles.

“Y/n, is that you?”Stiles called out, hearing two sets of footsteps coming towards you, it took everything in your being to not bury your head in the leaves beneath you.

“No”you uttered out, your voice coming out like muffled as your head dropped into your hands.

In that moment you desperately wished for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You're stuck lying there as Scott and Stiles approached, their footsteps coming to a stop right in front of you. The leaves crunch underfoot as they stand there, looking down at you with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

Stiles bends down, his tall frame stooping to reach your level. He gently wrapped his arms around your body, lifting you back onto your feet with a surprising ease. His touch is both firm and unfortunately comforting, ensuring that you're steady on your feet.

As he pulls you up, he gives you a playful grin, his dark brown eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "There you go. You alright?"he asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he began to pick the leaves and twigs out of your hair.

“I’m fine”you grumbled out, embarrassment engulfing you in a massive hug, you lifted your hand to swat him away.

Being in such close proximity to Scott, knowing what you knew, caused your heart to race. You could feel your chest rising and falling faster as you stole a quick glance in his direction.

Stiles, ever the observant friend, instantly noticed the way your gaze occasionally flickered towards Scott. A small frown appeared on his lips as he watched you, his hands pausing in your hair for a moment.

“What are you doing out here anyway?”Stiles questioned again, attempting to divert your attention. You could sense the subtle hint of suspicion and concern in his question.

“If you must know I lost my phone out here last night”you answered quickly, focusing on Stilinski.

Stiles continued to prattle on, filling the silence with his usual random chatter. As he does, you began to notice something in the background - the sound of quiet sniffing coming from where Scott is standing.

You came to the conclusion that without your phone, you'd have to resort to a more verbal investigation. Taking a deep breath, as you tried to shake off the nervous tension and prepare yourself for questioning.

“You can smell something we can’t”you stated, turning to Scott.

Scott was visibly taken off guard by your directness. He looked up at you, a mixture of shock and caution in his eyes. Stiles, stood next to you, stopping his conversation abruptly as he turned to look at both you and Scott.

“What do you mean?" Scott asks, his tone guarded and wary.

“You know what I mean, earlier you were listening to my conversation with Allison from across the field, you have suddenly somehow overcome your asthma overnight and you have been sniffing around here like you can smell something that we can’t for the past ten minutes”

Scott hesitated for a moment, He couldn’t deny the truth of your statements.

Stiles, meanwhile, looked at you, his expression one of disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak but closes it again, unsure of what to say. He clearly needed a moment to try and process the information you’d just dropped on them.

Stiles breaks the tense silence, finally managing to speak up. His voice is somewhat hoarse as he asks, his tone filled with both concern and confusion, "Smell things? Like what?"

“Like the mint mojito gum in your pocket”Scott, despite looking uneasy responded.

Stiles made a face, clearly thinking that what Scott just said sounded like a ridiculous claim. He looked at Scott as if he's gone insane and scoffed,

“I don't even have any mint mojito-

Stiles, still looking a bit perplexed and disbelieving, checked his inner breast pocket of his blazer. To his astonishment, he found, just like Scott had said, a single piece of folded-up mint mojito gum. Stiles' expression changed from disbelief to utter confusion as he stared at the gum in his hand. Scott stood with his arms raised to his sides, his face wearing a satisfied "I told you so".Stiles contemplates this revelation for a moment before speaking again.

You, however, are frozen in place. The realization that your suspicions were correct hits you like a truck.

Stiles, turned to you abruptly with betrayal on his face. Eyes narrowing. Stiles’ mouth dropped open, and he threw his arms around in the air behind you when you had your back to him, frustrated that you didn’t mention it earlier in the day.

"And you knew about this and didn't say anything?"Stiles’ arms fell back down to his side quickly when you turned to face him.

“I didn’t know anything, I just had - suspicions”you hummed out, shrugging Stiles’ accusations off.

“So you had suspicions and you didn’t tell me?!”Stiles exclaimed, thinking back to earlier in the day when he’d seen you running out of Lacrosse practice.

“Oh yeah sorry Stilinski, I didn’t know I had to inform you of my every thought and theory?!”You scrunched up your face, your tone getting slightly higher.

“Can you feel that?”Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose as he began to pace back and forth.

“Can I feel what?”your eye twitched as you folded your arms, tapping your foot impatiently.

“My disappointment in you”Stiles jabbed back immediately.

Tensions simmered between you and Stiles as your conversation quickly turned into an argument. The two of you continued to bicker back and forth, your voices rising in volume.

Scott stood to the side, watching the entire exchange. He glances back and forth between the two of you, unsure of whether to intervene or let you settle the disagreement yourself.

He grew increasingly awkward with the intensity of the argument between you and Stiles, finally stepping in to intervene. He raised his voice, trying to be heard over the two of you.

“Guys stop arguing, it’s going to get dark soon and we still haven’t found my asthma pump or your phone” Stiles and you, were caught up in the moment pausing as the two of you turned to Scott, slightly sheepish as you realized the truth in Scott's words.

You and Stiles shared one last look, irritation lingering between you.

“So all this started with the bite?”Stiles raised his eyebrow at Scott. Stiles seemed genuinely intrigued by the situation, while Scott looked concerned and anxious about the changes he was experiencing.

“What if it's an infection? Or something worse?”Scott shoved his hands in his pockets looking you both for answers and comfort.

“Hmm, it definitely could be something more serious. But I’ve heard of a condition that might explain what’s happening”You snapped your head towards Stiles, wondering if he did actually know. You wouldn’t have been surprised, Stiles was smart. From what you’d seen anyway.

“Are you serious?”Scott asked on behalf of the two of you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it's called lycanthropy”Stiles smirked.

"Lycanthropy?" you echoed, your face dropping like a stone as you realized Stiles was just making a joke. You tutted out a slur before turning on your heel to continue the search for your missing phone.

“What's that? Is that bad?”Scott’s eyes widened with panic, his voice trailing off as you got further away, pushing back the bushes.

Stiles fake-howls like a wolf nearby as they follow in your direction, your head involuntarily snapping to stare at him blankly. Not impressed at his sense of humour.

“Hey, you're the one who heard a wolf howling!”Stiles tried to reason with his bestfriend.

“There could be something seriously wrong with me!” Scott interjected. He wasn’t wrong.

“I know! You're a Werewolf! Rawrrr!”Stilinski growled playfully his eyes meeting yours as they rounded the corner to where you had been the night before.

Scott halted in his tracks, taking a moment to look around your surroundings. He scanned the area carefully, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Everything appeared mundane and unremarkable, causing a frown to form on his face.

“No, I-I could have sworn this was it. I saw the body, the deer came running. I dropped my inhaler...”His eyes darted around confused.

“Maybe the killer moved the body?”Stiles suggested as he faced you. He lifted his hands, watching you give him a vacant glare.

“No?”he called after you.

“If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks”Scott complained.

You, Stiles, and Scott continued to search the area, when a sudden and unexpected presence startled you. A man in his early twenties with pale skin, black hair, and a stern expression appeared in front of you all, seemingly out of nowhere.

The scowl on his face gave off a clear sense of annoyance, and he studied the three of you intently.

The newcomers gaze shifted to you, and a flicker of recognition seemed to cross his face. He studied you intently for a moment, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as if he was trying to place where he had seen you before.

Stiles, seemingly not fully aware of what he was doing, took a subtle step towards you. The movement was quick and stealthy, as if his instincts were guiding him as if he had done it a million times before without question. As he moved closer, he ended up slightly positioning himself in front of you.

“What are you doing here?”The man finally addresses the three of you. His words coming out low and snappy.

“Huh? This is private property”The man's voice took on a gruffer tone as he repeated his question, Both Scott and Stiles appeared visibly panicked, unable to find the words to respond back to stranger.

The two of them exchanged nervous glances, their fear clearly evident on their faces. The man's intense gaze remained fixed on the three of you, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, sorry, man, we didn't know”Stiles offers, his tone apologetic. That statement wasn’t entirely true on your behalf, that is why you were standing silently behind Stiles, trying not to draw attention to yourself.

Scott swallowed hard, trying to find the words to explain their presence in the woods. The strangers gaze shifted to him, and Scott continued, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

"We're just looking for something," Scott repeated, his voice both nervous and uncertain.

Scott's voice trailed off as he suddenly lost his nerve and gave up on the topic, realizing that it was futile.

“Uh, forget it," he mumbled, shifting around awkwardly. The man continued to watch you with a stern expression, his gaze flickering between Scott and Stiles before resting briefly on you again.

Suddenly, he tossed an object towards you, Stiles stepping forwards to catch it in seconds. Scott’s inhaler is practically thrown at him and you stare down at your phone as Stiles places it in your palm.

Warning bells rang through your ears as you peered back up at the mysterious guy. Stiles nudges you to catch your attention, him and Scott more than eager to leave.

“Um... All right, come on, I gotta get to work”Scott spoke aloud, giving all three of you a get out of jail card.

As you started to walk away you heard the same voice boom out from behind you one last time.

"Wait a sec," he said gruffly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Do I know you from somewhere?"he singled you out, your expression remaining cool, calm and collected. You were absolutely freaking out inside.

You felt Stiles’ eyes burning into the side of your face as he watched the interaction between you and the bad tempered man before you. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around suspiciously.

“No, you don’t”you lied before turning on your heel. Almost racing past Scott and Stiles. Anywhere but here will be nice thankyou.

Scott and Stiles started to follow you, their footsteps echoing through the woods as they quickened their pace. Stiles, moving with more urgency, ran a bit faster. Scott, doing his best to keep up, jogged behind Stiles.

“Dude, that was Derek Hale”Stiles exclaimed, his eyes still trained on you. You remained unphased by Stiles’ silent questions whilst Scott looks at Stiles blankly.

“You remember, right? He's only like a few years older than us?”Stiles tried to jog Scott’s memory.

Scott finally caught up with the two of you, not a thought behind his eyes. “Remember what?”

“His family. They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago”Stiles answered as if it was common knowledge. It was.

“I wonder what he's doing back”Scott thought out loud, a hint of interest evident.

As the three of you walked back towards the entrance of Beacon Hills Preserve frustration and disappointment washed over you as you got closer to your car. Realising that you had a flat tire.

You bent down to inspect the tyres, noticing four distinct puncture holes in the rubber. Your eyes widened in surprise.

“What the fuck?”you muttered out angrily, standing up and taking a look around to see if the culprit was nearby.

Stiles noticed your movements finding himself slowly trudging over to where you stood, his eyes scanning the punctured tyres. He kneeled down to where you once was a hint of suspicion and concern flickered across his face as he studied the damage. Who could have done this?

"I’m guessing you need a ride home then?”he asked, his tone half-lighthearted, yet laced with genuine concern.

You paused for a moment, your frustration and annoyance clear on your face as you retrieved your belongings from your broken down car.

You responded with a slow nod, grumbling to yourself, as you made your way over to Stiles' jeep.

After dropping off Scott at his house, you and Stiles were the only two left in the Jeep. The air was slightly tense as the engine hummed quietly, the silence only broken by the sound of the radio playing softly in the background. Stiles’ fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. You, meanwhile, stared out the window, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of the mysterious vandal who had targeted your tyres.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the feeling of Stiles' gaze upon you. He kept glancing over at you, his eyes flickering from the road to your face. It was clear that he was itching to ask you questions, his curiosity getting the better of him. The tension in the car grew palpable as the silence between you stretched on, the weight of his unspoken questions hanging in the air.

“Okay what- what do you want?”you breathed out, not being able to take it anymore. You tilted your head in his direction for the first time since leaving the preserve.

Stiles glanced over at you again, a mix of surprise and relief on his face as you finally broke the silence. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, his gaze lingering on your face as you tilted your head towards him.

"Derek Hale-“he admitted, his voice slightly hesitant. He paused, clearly debating whether or not to continue.

“We don’t know each other”you stated, trying to drop the hint for Stilinski to end the conversation right there.

“Well I mean- he was certain”Stiles protested.

“He probably got me confused with someone else”you waved it off nonchalantly.

“Impossible, Y/n there’s only one of you, there is no way that he got you confused”Stiles shot back adamantly, his eyes stuck to you as he pulled up in your driveway. Stiles' insistence sent a shiver down your spine, as if he saw straight through your attempt to play it cool.

The air was thick with an unexplainable feeling, as if both of you were attempting to process the significance of what he had said. Stiles' words sent a wave of mixed emotions through you. Complimenting you came naturally to him, as if it was a habit ingrained deep within him one which he’d never been able to express due to the two of you never communicating.

He couldn't help but wonder why you found it so difficult to register his words, as if it had never been said before so you couldn’t understand that it was a compliment.

There was something about the genuine conviction in Stiles' words that struck a chord within you, a chord that you didn’t even know you possessed. His unwavering confidence in your uniqueness had a strange effect—they left you with the overwhelming urge to be honest. The oddest feeling you had felt in a while.

Without even meaning to, you found yourself speaking the truth, your words spilling out completely betraying you.

“He recognises me because today wasn’t the first time i’ve trespassed on his property”you sighed, picking at your own nails.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Stiles' lips as he took in your confession. There was a sense of triumph in his eyes, as if he felt like he had finally broken through to you. Stiles had a natural instinct to get under your skin and get you to open up, and in that moment, he felt like he had accomplished exactly that.

He noticed the hesitation in your story, rolling your eyes as you shook your head.

“It’s not the first time you’ve trespassed on his property anddd?” Stiles pushed even further.

“And that’s it, I’ve just been trespassing”you pouted, not understanding why he was so interested.

“I don’t buy it”Stiles hummed out.

“I’m not asking you to”you shot back.

“Okay I think I’m asking the wrong questions- I uhh okay, Why?”Stiles uttered out to no one in particular.

“Why what?”you let out a long breathy sigh as you folded your arms, sinking back down in the passengers seat.

“Why did you trespass?”Stiles carried on interrogating you.

“Does it really matter-

“Yes”he blurted.

“I don’t think it does matter I think you’re just being extremely nos-

“It does matter”he retorted, pushing the last of your buttons.

“FINE! Fine- I- I trespassed because I was investigating The Hale fire. It was for a school project last year and I just got a little carried away are you happy now?!”you exclaimed, shuffling around in your seat.

Stiles couldn't help but feel a hint of irritation as he listened to you. There was a likeness between the two of you that you seemed determined to ignore, and it frustrated him. He saw the similarities, the shared love of investigating and both of your curious tendencies, and yet you were stubbornly oblivious to it.

“See that wasn’t so hard was it? It’s good to talk about things sometimes”Stiles’ voice came out raspy as a lopsided smile crept onto his lips.

“Yeah it was amazing, greatest experience of my life. I’m going home now”you spoke impassively, swinging your bag over your shoulder as you climbed out of Stiles’ jeep.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”He asked, a hint of confidence loose on his words.

“Hopefully not, thanks for the ride though Stilinski”you chirped out, shutting the car door behind you.

Stiles waited until he saw you safely disappear into your house, Only shifting the Jeep back into gear after he had seen your front door close behind you.

He glanced once more towards your house, noticing your mother lurking behind the curtains, peering through the window. She caught his attention, her face filled with joy. He couldn't help but smile, offering her a friendly wave. To his surprise, she returned the gesture, a big smile forming on her lips as she waved back at him.

“Seriously mom?”you groaned out, catching your mom staring out at Stiles as you dropped your keys down on the table.

“Sorry sweetheart I couldn’t resist, he’s a lovely boy I’m glad you have chosen to be friends with him”Your mom danced over to you pinching your cheeks lightly.

“Again we aren’t friends, he was just giving me a ride. I have a burst tyre”you followed her into the kitchen where she began to make you a hot cup of coffee.

“Honey, acquaintances don’t just sit outside and wait until you have safely made it inside for nothing”your mom raised her eyebrow in your direction.

“Who knows what he was doing, it’s Stiles Stilinski we’re talking about”you answered matter of factly.

You were exhausted the next day at school, having stayed up late into the night researching Scott's symptoms on the internet. The lack of proper sleep was evident in your weary eyes and the occasional yawn that escaped your lips. Sitting in class, your head felt heavy as you attempted to take notes, but your drooping eyelids made the task feel nearly impossible.

Your day so far had been shockingly peaceful and oddly quiet. Not that you were complaining. Scott and Stiles were nowhere to be seen, and the campus was unusually quiet. As the day progressed, you found yourself enjoying the tranquility.

The closest you had been to the boys was hearing Scott’s name in a conversation you’d unwillingly overheard between Allison and Lydia. Apparently last night during Scott’s shift at the animal clinic Allison had run into trouble- something to do with a dog, an eyelash and they were totally crushing on each other.

Finally the bell rang out, signalling your freedom, you held you books close to your chest as you got lost in your own thoughts, you reflected on the research you had done the previous night, your mind drifting back to the topic of lycanthropy.

You knew that Stiles was joking but the more you had explored it, the more it bizarrely made sense. You remembered the countless websites and articles you had skimmed through, soaking up any information you could find. You found yourself falling into a rabbit whole so deep that your mind filled with even more endless questions and theories.

You made your way towards the lacrosse field, the book on lycanthropy clutched tightly in your hands. The field was bustling with activity as players warmed up. You found a spot to settle down and indulged in your reading. The words on the page captivate your attention as you immerse yourself in the world of werewolves and their legends.

Scott busied himself a couple of feet away, preparing for tryouts on the lacrosse field, when suddenly Stiles appeared, visibly agitated. Stiles rushed towards Scott, his usually calm demeanor replaced by an air of urgency. He had something important to discuss and you were in perfect earshot.

“Scott! Scott, wait up”Stiles panted as he tugged on his bestfriends sleeve.

“Stiles, I'm playing the first elimination, man. Can it wait?”Scott dismissed Stiles, who was bumbling about all over the place.

Stiles held onto Scott's shoulders, refusing to let him brush off his concerns. He fixed his gaze on Scott.

“Just hold on, okay? I overheard my dad on the phone. The fiber analysis came back from the lab in L.A. They found animal hairs on the body from the woods!”he tried to form the words quickly so that Scott would understand.

“Stiles, I gotta go.”Scott, distracted by the prospect of making first line, picked up his lacrosse stick and helmet before jogging onto the field leaving Stiles stood alone dumbfounded.

“It was a wolf”Stiles finished his own thought.

You opened your book of notes, quickly scribbling down the information you had just heard. Before you knew it practice began with the players doing a drill in which they pass the ball back and forth between each other.

Scott and Jackson were up against each other for the lacrosse equivalent of a kickoff, and the two stared at each other for a long moment until Coach Finstock blew the whistle.

Just like the previous day's practice, everything seemed to slow down around Scott, allowing him to spin out of the way when the other players tried to tackle him, jumping over another player's ankle when they tried to trip him, and finally, doing a hands-free round-off flip over three players who attempted to knock him down together, and shooting the goal by throwing the ball between the goalie's legs,

Scott gasped, clearly having difficulty believing what had just happened, in the bleachers you and Stiles were equally as shocked, your pen tapping getting more violent against your notepad.

The rest of the game flew by, with your pages almost being full of scribbles and notes that you had made, by the end Scott was so pleased with himself that he bounced around happily, and all the players on the field and bench clapped for him except for Stiles who seemed concerned by the uncharacteristically athletic prowess Scott showed on the field. He’d made first line.

After practice Stiles settled down in his room, his fingers swiftly maneuvered over the keyboard as he commenced his research. He began by delving into the history of the first werewolf, Lycaon. After that, he shifted his focus to wolfsbane, consuming article after article, uncovering its significance as a weapon against the supernatural. Deep down, he felt a sense of determination to understand the phenomenon.

Stiles sat engrossed in his research when he was abruptly interrupted by a knock at his bedroom door. The sound echoed through the room, pulling his attention away from the glowing screen. He turned his head in the direction of the door, his mind wondering who could be on the other side. With a few swift clicks, he minimized the window he was working on and got up from his chair.

Stiles' eyes widened as he opened the door and saw you standing there, clutching a book and a folder in your hands. It was definitely unexpected, the last person he would've thought to find at his doorstep. Nervousness washed over him, and even though he tried to maintain his composure, he found himself stuttering as he spoke.

“Y-Y/N, uh- if- what?”he reached up to rub his head as he managed to stammer out some noises.

As you stood outside Stiles' bedroom door, a sense of unease washed over you. You questioned the decision you had made by coming to his house unannounced. It was as though something deep within you had compelled you to be there. It was completely against your will, like you had gained a conscience suddenly.

The realization of this involuntary action only intensified your confusion, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

“Y-Your dad let me in”you clutched the books tighter against your chest as you leant against his doorframe. The two of you stood quiet for a moment, two stuttering idiots.

Stiles spun around to look at his messy room, a wave of embarrassment washed over him. He hadn't exactly anticipated guests, especially not you, and his room was a testament to his carelessness.

Random articles and empty soda cans littered the floor, and his desk was cluttered with research. He quickly turned back to you, a sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry about the mess”he muttered apologetically, standing aside so that he could welcome you in. Stiles’ bedroom was exactly how you envisioned it- not that you had.

“This doesn’t mean anything- me being here… so don’t get excited”you dropped the disclaimer, Stiles turning away to roll his eyes as he began to gather the papers on his floor. You were in a state of heavy denial.

“I just thought there was something you’d wanna see”you uttered out as you took a tour of his room, handing him the information you’d collected the night before looking at the pictures stuck on his wall.

Stiles' eyes flickered back and forth between you and the pile of work you had given him, Shock and gratitude washed over him as he realized the effort you had put into gathering this research on lycanthropy, seemingly knowing exactly what he needed.

“You clever girl”Stiles smiled to himself, shaking his head as he briefly glanced up at you again, you were absentmindedly moving things around on his pinboard.

“You’ve got me for an hour at most, you’d better start taking notes”you raised your eyebrows at Stiles as you dropped your bag to the ground.

Two hours had gone by and you were currently sat cross legged on Stiles bed flicking through his notes comparing them to your own. Noah’s head peeked in to check on the situation.

“Hey kiddos”Sheriff Stilinski greeted you with a warm smile, his eyes lingering on how concentrated the two of you were. "Just wanted to check and see if you guys were hungry I’m about to order pizza”he offered gaining both of your attention.

You were about to politely turn down his offer glancing down at the time on your phone, however Stiles beat you to it.

“She’s starving, pizza sounds great dad thanks”Stiles answered on your behalf, sick of the loud rumbles of your stomach that had been echoing around the room for at least forty-five minutes.

You opened your mouth to protest, a small Thankyou coming out instead of your usual angry rambles.

An hour later and you were surrounded by pizza boxes and more theories, the two of you falling into heavy debates every so often before exchanging bullet points. You couldn’t quite grasp what was happening, two days earlier you would have laughed aloud if someone had told you that you would be sitting in Stiles Stilinski’s bedroom eating pizza.

It seemed as though he shared the same thought as he pushed his keyboard towards his computer, turning on his spinning chair to face you, you lay on your stomach with your feet up in the air reading about full moons.

Another knock at Stiles' door startles him so badly that he nearly falls out of his chair, he thinks for a moment on what to do next, ultimately shutting down his computer and walking over to open his bedroom door. When he finds Scott in the doorway, he sighs in relief before allowing Scott entry.

"Of course you would turn up" you muttered to yourself. Scott sending you a confused stare as he entered.

“Did she come here willingly?”he turned to Stiles who nodded proudly.

Scott took in the scene before him. Stiles shutting the door behind him, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and urgency. Scott set his backpack down by the bed, his eyes widening as he surveyed the mess of papers covering the floor and desk.

“You gotta see this thing. We’ve been up all night reading-- websites, books, all this information”Stiles quipped out.

“How much Adderall have you had today?”Scott addressed his friend concerned.

“A lot”Stiles blinked.

“Too much”you answered at the same time, sitting up from your position on Stiles’ bed.

“Doesn't matter, okay? Just listen” Stiles shook his head before changing the subject.

“Oh, is this about the body? Did they find out who did it?”Scott asked taking a seat next to you on the bed.

“No, they're still questioning people. Even Derek Hale”

“Oh, the guy in the woods that we saw the other day?”

“Yes. But that's not it, okay?”

“What, then?”Scott frowned impatiently briefly looking in your direction.

A nervous expression flashed across his face at what he's going to say next, which only gets worse when Scott shakes his head, not knowing where Stiles was going with this.

“Remember the joke from the other day-not a joke anymore. The wolf, the bite in the woods... I started doing all this reading”Stiles words started to get faster as he spoke.

“Do you even know why a wolf howls?”Stiles stands to his feet, already sidetracked from his original point.

“Should I?”Scott retorted.

“It's a signal, okay? When a wolf's alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack. So if you heard a wolf howling, that means others could have been nearby. Maybe even a whole pack of 'em.”Stilinski explained.

“A whole pack of wolves?”Scott entertained Stiles’ explanation.

“No…Werewolves”Stiles finally lands.

Scott, thinking this is just an elaborate joke on Stiles' part, starts to get irritated as he stood to his feet.

“Are you seriously wasting my time with this? You know I'm picking up Allison in an hour”Scott’s aura changed completely as he stood in front of the two of you. Your eyes flickered between the two friends as they began to bicker.

Scott reached down to pick up his backpack and got ready to leave, but Stiles grabs him by the arm with one hand and presses his other against his chest so that he's forced to stay where he is while he tries to convince Scott that he's telling the truth.

“We saw you on the field today, Scott, okay? What you did wasn't just amazing, all right? It was impossible” Stiles gestured between the two of you.

“What do you mean ‘we’, y/n you have got to be kidding me?”Scott turned his attention to you almost as if he was accusing you. A silence fell over the room as the two boys stared at you expectantly.

You shrugged, caught off guard by your sudden forced involvement, up until then you had been an innocent bystander.

“I-Well-I, I believe him”you answered truthfully, earning an unrecognisable glance from Stiles.

“Why am I not surprised”Scott huffed out at your response side eyeing the both of you who stood offended. Two peas in a pod.

“What is that supposed to mean McCall?”you scowled, folding your arms and narrowing your eyes.

“Yeah, so what I made a good shot”Scott scoffed, ignoring your question.

Stiles reached forwards to grab Scott's backpack and tossed it onto his bed to dig around inside of it for something.

“No, you made an incredible shot! I mean, the way you moved, your speed, your reflexes? Y'know, people can't just suddenly do that overnight. And there's the vision, and the senses, and don't even think I don't notice that you don't need your inhaler anymore”Stiles tries to prove his point.

You held your arms up in utter disbelief “These are points I literally made yesterday why doesn’t anyone lis-

“Okay! Guys, I can't think about this now. We'll talk tomorrow”his voice getting louder making you and Stiles jump backwards a little.

At the sound of this statement, Stiles became panicked, whereas you became increasingly frustrated at Scott’s tone towards the two of you.

“Tomorrow?! What? No! The full moon's tonight. Don't you get it?”Stiles became alarmed.

“He doesn’t get it”you muttered out, shaking your head as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“What are you trying to do Stiles? I-I just made first line. I-I got a date with a girl who I can't believe wants to go out with me, and everything in my life is somehow perfect. Why are you trying to ruin it?”he shouted, his voice almost deafening you and Stiles.

“I'm trying to help!”Stiles yelled back matching Scott’s volume.

“And what about you?”Scott breathed out, looking to you once again.

“What about me?!”you replied using a tone of warning, you were so ready to argue with Scott.

“If we aren’t your friends then why do you care so much?” Oh, he’d gotten you there.

“Actually that is a brilliant fucking question”you seethed out, stomping over lightly to gather your belongings, Stiles beating you to it as he swiped up your bag, holding out his hands trying to mentally beg you to stay put.

“You're cursed, Scott. You know, and it's not just the moon will cause you to physically change. It also just so happens to be when your bloodlust will be at its peak”Stiles spoke out to him, his tone getting softer as you were both frozen in position, your hands both clinging onto your bag.

“Bloodlust?”Scott scrunched up his nose.

“Yeah, your urge to kill”Stiles answered.

“I'm already starting to feel an urge to kill, Stiles”Scott hissed out, his glare reaching the two of you.

“You better not”you shot back, taking a step forwards.

Stiles frantically lurches forwards to grab your notebook off of his desk before you and Scott have the chance to quarrel. He started reading aloud from it in an attempt to convince Scott that you weren’t lying.

“You gotta hear this-- ‘The change can be caused by anger or anything that raises your pulse’ All right? I haven't seen anyone raise your pulse like Allison does. You gotta cancel this date”Stiles stuttered out.

“Y/n call her right now”Stiles ordered, pointing over at you.

“I don’t have her number”you stood still watching as Stiles paced back and forth.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”Scott threw his head backwards.

Stiles grabbed Scott's phone from his bag and starts to pull up Allison's number. You stepped forwards slightly, trying to figure out a way to diffuse the situation. If there was a way to do it, this wasn’t it.

“I'm canceling the date”Stiles yelped out.

“No, give it to me!”Scott growled grabbing the phone out of Stiles' hand, dropping it on the floor before shoving Stiles against the wall. The sound of Stiles’ body thudding against the wall made your jaw click. Before you knew it your body sprung into action, your body almost flying across the room just as Scott raised his right fist.

Scott felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and he was torn away from Stiles within seconds, he snapped out of his sudden rage as he took in your presence.

“Absolutely fucking not McCall”You voice was low as you stood as tall as you could just in front of Stiles. His body relaxing as he sunk down the wall.

“I'm sorry. I-I gotta go get ready for that party”Scott started to realise what he had done picking up his phone and his backpack as he headed for the door, giving you both one last apologetic look before he left.

The two of you were left reeling in silence. Your chest rising and falling heavily as you registered what had just happened. Scott nearly hurting his best friend, you jumping in to help said bestfriend who you had been claiming wasn’t your friend. The whole werewolf thing.

Stilinski let out a long breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. Still clearly upset. He hadn’t fully taken in the whole situation until he felt you move in front of him.

Stiles’ head tilted up when he notices a hand being held out in front of him. You tried to avoid eye contact as he placed his hand into yours slowly feeling you pull him up off the ground.

His gaze trained on you, the memory of you standing in front of him flashing through his mind. He would never forget it.

“Thanks”he whispered out rubbing the back of his neck. You sent him a knowing small nod roughly picking up his desk chair, setting it to rights.

Stiles froze in horror when he saw that the leather cover on the chair has four long slits on the back that strongly resembled claw marks. Turning it to face you as you bit your nails. Giving you a look that screamed ‘We’re so back on the case”.

[imagineseclipse]

I Know You- Anthony Bridgerton x Y/n: Part three

Part two - Part four

You slowly opened your eyes as sunlight filtered in through the bedroom window, the curtains blowing gently from the open window. You took a moment to get your bearings, your brain trying to catch up to consciousness as memories from the night before suddenly returned.

You remembered sitting in the carriage with Daphne the night before, the ride back from the ball had been unusually quiet. You noticed that Daphne kept sneaking glances at you, her head tilted slightly to one side as if she was studying you. You shifted nervously in your seat, a feeling of unease in your gut as Daphne continued to stare you down.

“What is it with you Bridgerton’s and staring, it’s very rude and I wish you would stop”you uttered out fixing your hair behind your ear.

Daphne scoffed at your remark, her mouth curling into an amused smile “Do not pretend you don’t know why I am looking at you”she responded, her voice laced with an irritating hint of knowing.

“The Duke Y/n, I saw the two of you dancing together tell me everything”Daphne clapped, excitement radiating off of her.

You exhaled slowly, clearing your throat slightly as you spoke, trying to keep your tone neutral “The Duke?” you questioned, trying to give off an air of innocence.

“Yes, The Duke, do you like him?”your bestfriend smirked, folding her arms.

“I can’t possibly like him I have only just met him”You were caught slightly off guard by the directness of her question, but quickly composed yourself to answer. “He is very charming- well from what I have seen”you responded.

Daphne leaned forwards slightly. “And Anthony-

Your heart suddenly thudded in your chest eyes widening at the mention of her older brother.

“Anthony?” you replied, pretending to act as if you didn’t know what Daphne was referring to. “What about him?”

“I know the two of you get underneath eachothers skin sometimes, don’t take anything he says personally, i kind of actually believe he cares for you”she answered out truthfully.

You blinked as the morning sunlight streamed in through your window, casting the room in a soft golden glow. You shifted onto your back, slowly stretching your arms above your head as you allowed yourself to wake up properly.

A knock at your bedroom door made you jump slightly, the door opening a fraction.

“Darling you must wake up, I shall have Rosa come along and fit you into a dress, you have visitors”Violet urged you softly, a grin settled on her face.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you attempted to process what Violet was saying, still groggy from sleep. Your brows furrowed as you pushed yourself even more upright.

"Visitors?" you questioned sleepily, a slight note of confusion in your voice.

Violet stepped further into the room, holding up the latest issue of the Lady Whistledown paper, a knowing smile on her face as she placed it in front of you.

You skimmed the article in your hands, your eyes widened as you took in the content.

Lady Whistledown focused on the recent ball, specifically the interactions between you and the Duke. According to her, the two of you had spent most of the evening on the dance floor, twirling around each other as the Duke appeared to be quite enamored with you. The whole room was apparently gossiping about the Duke's sudden interest in you.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh as you finished reading the article. Groaning loudly, you threw yourself back against the pillows, glaring at the ceiling as a wave of annoyance washed over you.

Of course Lady Whistledown would write about this. Making it a bigger deal than it actually was.

“Don’t take too long, you have many potential husbands waiting”Violet sang out as Rosa entered the room with your dress.

Your stomach twisted in unease at Violet's words, knowing that the last thing you wanted to do right now was entertain suitors. Rosa entered the room moments later, carrying a beautiful pink dress in her hands.

Anthony made his way down the corridor, following the noise of voices that had woken him from his sleep. He found himself nearing the bottom of the stairs as he spotted the queue of young men waiting outside the drawing room.

Anthony's frown deepened as he stepped forwards, taking in the queue of young men waiting patiently outside the drawing room. He made his way over to Eloise, who was stood nearby observing the scene with an amused expression.

"Who has gathered such a crowd of suitors?" he questioned, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Our very own Y/N Y/L/N”Eloise chirped before disappearing down the hall.

Anthony couldn't help but roll his eyes slightly as he stood outside the door, his ears picking up the sounds of chatter from the young suitors as they waited. However, his annoyance suddenly skyrocketed when he recognized the sound of Christopher's voice coming from the end of the line.

“You know you are extremely early Christopher, y/n definitely will not be awake at these hours you might aswell return later this afternoon”Anthony spoke out as he approached the duke who stood with a bouquets of flowers in each hand.

Christopher turned towards him, a charming smile on his face as he held a bouquet of flowers in each hand. "Ah, Anthony Bridgerton, my dear friend. I didn't realize you would be awake this early especially after the gentleman’s club last night”he said in greeting.

Anthony responded with a raised eyebrow and a look that clearly said 'obviously,' his arms folding over his chest.

“Say you are the perfect person to ask, you know Y/N Y/L/N reasonably well”The Duke began.

Anthony's attention was piqued, his curiosity getting the better of him as he wondered what the Duke could possibly want to know about you.

“Yes, I'm familiar with her," he responded carefully, maintaining a neutral expression.

“I was wondering which bouquet she might prefer”The Duke peered down at his gifts,

“Well, if I recall correctly, Y/N has always been partial to-" he trailed off, pretending to think before continuing "The Roses, I'm quite sure the roses are her favourite." They were not your favourite. In fact you were allergic to them.

“You are a fantastic friend and a brilliant right hand man Anthony Bridgerton”Christopher reached forwards to pat the Viscount on his shoulder, offering a grateful smile.

You sighed heavily as you sat in the drawing room, a look of pure boredom plastered across your face. For nearly an hour, you had been sat in this very chair, entertaining suitors who were one after the other paraded in front of you by Violet. Your patience was wearing thin, each new man making you deeply regret your decision to seek marriage.

“There she is”Christopher grinned ear to ear as Violet held the door open. You perked up slightly, pushing yourself up off the seat you had found comfort in.

“Thank goodness, finally some potentially good conversation”you uttered out as you closed the gap in between yourself and the Duke.

“It seems as though I am an exceptional dancer and good conversation”he lightly joked.

You chuckled lightly at his playful tone, rolling your eyes as you responded.

“Exceptional dancer perhaps, good conversation? That remains to be seen, I shall be the judge”you teased back, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips. You were surprised at how easy it was to interact with the Duke, words flowing back and forth as you picked up where you had left off the night before.

“I brought you a gift, I believe that the little things are important so they are simple but beautiful”he lifted the pretty red roses from behind his back, gently placing them in your hands.

Your eyes widened suddenly, going from in awe of the flowers to an ultimate panic. Feeling your skin itch immediately, you opened your mouth to speak but Christopher beat you to it.

“Oh I can’t- I-

“I did in fact get you a bouquet of Lillie’s but I just could not decide on which to give you. I hope you find them suitable”The Duke rubbed the back of his neck nervously, unaware that your face and throat were swelling up feet away, hives appearing on your skin as you choked out finally.

“They ar- They are mesmerising- truly, however I am unfortunately v-very allergic”you breathed out . Violet had already disappeared to request a doctor as soon as she caught sight of your persistent itching.

The Duke's confident demeanor immediately shifted as you struggled to speak, panic flooding his features as he realized the situation.

"Allergic?" he repeated, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes darted from your face to the flowers in your hands and back again.

"My deepest apologies my Lady, I feel distraught, believe me this was not intentional”his hands reaching out towards you to take the flowers away, not knowing what to do.

The Duke quickly ushered you over to one of the sofas in the room, gently guiding you down so you could sit. As you collapsed onto the plush cushions, he hovered beside you in a state of panic, his eyes darting from your face to the doorway where Violet had exited.

“That is the last time I take advice from the Viscount”Christopher joked lightheartedly trying to calm you down, hearing the uproar down the corridor.

Despite your struggle to breathe, you couldn't help but narrow your eyes at the Duke. Curiosity taking over as you gulped uncomfortably your throat burning.

“The Viscount?” you whispered out suspiciously slurring your words, growing annoyed whilst your condition worsened.

The Duke lifted his head sheepishly. “You may not be impressed with my efforts after I reveal this to you but my nerves had gotten the better of me and I needed his assistance in choosing the correct flowers for you, I believe he knew you well enough”Christopher revealed shaking his head.

Your eyes widened, your breathing getting more labored as you processed the Duke's words. Anthony had chosen the flowers?

Your lips twisted into a grimace as you struggled to respond, your throat was getting tighter by the second and you were certain your face was swelling up even further.

“I am a fool Y/n, I hope this unfortunate encounter does not fill your mind with ill thoughts of my intentions”The Duke wasted no time, apologising profoundly as the doctor entered the room.

The doctor quickly assessed your condition, confirming that you were in need of bed rest until dinner and a soothing hot drink. Violet, as per usual, took control of the situation and immediately began sending the remaining suitors on their way. Sending you away to your room.

As each man left, they threw Violet sympathetic looks, clearly concerned for your wellbeing. Your mind, however, was completely occupied with one thought - Anthony.

He had chosen the roses, knowing that you were allergic, in some twisted attempt to sabotage your efforts in securing a match.

Anger and betrayal filled you at the thought of Anthony's underhanded tactics. However, beneath that anger was a familiar spark of determination and excitement.

Growing up, you and Anthony had been known for playing pranks and tricks on each other. Clearly, he was employing similar methods now with his choice of flowers. Your eyes flashed with confidence as you decided that you wouldn't go down so easily. If Anthony wanted to play games, you would make sure that you beat him at his own game.

As the afternoon dragged on and evening approached, you slowly started to feel slightly better. Your throat ached less, and the itching had decreased in intensity. The doctor's remedies were working, which allowed you to regain some clarity of thought and focus.

Your mind wandered to the upcoming evening, where you knew you would likely have to face Anthony again. Part of you was nervous to confront him, but part of you was already planning your retaliation.

Night had fallen, and the household was quiet and still. You had waited patiently in your room until you were confident that everyone was in their rooms getting ready for the evening for important meal tonight.

Silently, you slipped out of your bed, being careful not to make any noise that could alert anyone to your absence. The corridor was dimly lit, but you knew these halls well thanks to your childhood misadventures.

With careful, calculated footsteps, you slowly made your way through the house, hiding behind corners and shadows as you made your way to the kitchen.

You carefully pushed open the door to the kitchen and slipped through, your eyes adjusting to the warm lighting. Soft light from the candle illuminated the room, making the shadows dance across the brick walls.

As you crept further into the room, you spotted Mrs. Higgins, the head maid, working diligently. She looked up as you approached, a surprised expression on her face.

“Lady Y/L/N, I’m very pleased to see you are recovering from- from your incident”Mrs.Higgins coughed out as she made her way towards you.

“Thankyou Ma’am, I am very grateful that Violet alerted the doctor as fast as she did”you nodded.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”The lady in the apron asked, pouring herself a glass of water.

“Indeed there is, I have some news regarding dinner this evening, I know it’s to be served soon”You answered innocently. Pausing for a moment making sure you had her full attention.

“The Viscount has asked me to request that he has additional herbs and spices added into his meal this evening, I assume he is trying something new”you lied, leaning against the table.

“That is very strange, the Viscount does not usually take very well to certain seasonings”Mrs.Higgins furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I think that Colin returning with his stories of travelling has made Mr.Bridgerton want to finally broaden his horizons”you shrugged lightly.

“You are sweet my child, I shall inform the chef’s immediately now run along and get ready for dinner”Mrs.Higgins dismissed you with a grin, turning on your heel as a smirk crept onto your face.

You entered the grand dining hall with a subtle smirk, pretending as though nothing was amiss as your eyes scanned the room.

As if on cue, Anthony suddenly appeared beside you, his eyes following the direction of your gaze. He cleared his throat, the sound drawing your attention instantly.

As Anthony turned to face you, he let his eyes roam over you, taking in your demeanor. He noted the subtle smirk that played at the corners of your lips and the determined glint in your eye, but did not comment on it.

“I didn’t believe I’d be seeing you at dinner tonight, I do hope you are feeling better”Anthony murmured, leaning into you slightly. Your head fell to the side slightly, your eyes flickering over to Anthony’s.

“Of course- How could I miss such an exquisite menu and an evening of delightful entertainment”you retorted back quietly, a small smile growing.

As you shot back at him, a playful smile spread across Anthony's face. He found himself getting lost for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, admiring the spark in your eyes and the subtle arch of your eyebrow.

He observed you, his gaze softened from playful to something more intense. His eyes traced the sharp line of your jaw, then darted to the curve of your lips. He didn't realize it, but his expression had shifted to one of desire, his eyes filled with an undeniable longing.

After a few more moments of admiring you, Anthony suddenly snapped back to reality. His gaze refocused, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

Your sudden reappearance at dinner, your playful banter, and the subtle smirk on your face were all unusual for someone who had experienced a severe reaction only a few hours earlier. He could sense that something was wrong.

Just as he was about to question you Violet entered the room, announcing that everyone should take their seats at the table

“I do hope that you enjoy your meal Anthony”you chirped, as you peered up at the Viscount. A grin spreading across your face.

Anthony's eyes widened slightly. A pang of fear and dread rose in his chest as he caught the knowing look in your eyes.

With that one subtle expression, you had confirmed Anthony's suspicion that you knew about the flowers. And now, with your parting words and the smirk on your face, Anthony could only deduce that you had retaliated in some way.

Your relief was palpable as you settled into your seat beside Eloise who greeted you with a knowing smile. It was as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, having Eloise's witty banter and playful demeanor beside you.

“So," Eloise spoke up, raising her eyebrows as she leaned in closer to you, "Any progress with our dear Duke?”she teased.

“Not you aswell El”you rolled your eyes.

As you responded to Eloise, you could feel Anthony's gaze boring into you from across the table. The intensity of his stare made your skin tingle, the back of your neck prickling with the knowledge that his full attention was fixed on you.

Anthony's focus was torn away from you as the guests began talking about a business proposal that required his input. Inwardly, he cursed the interruption, his eyes flickering back to you only to see the first course being laid out in front of everyone.

As he tried to concentrate on the conversation, his thoughts kept drifting back to you, wondering what you could have possibly done to get revenge. His thoughts being consumed by anxiety. You could strike at any moment.

He almost mentally applauded you, he had to give credit where it was due you were smart. This was physiological torture. This was a step up from your usual tactics and he was impressed.

As the conversation continued around him, Anthony found himself struggling to concentrate on the specifics of the proposal. He nodded and made the necessary noises of agreement. His eyes drifting back to you every so often.

Anthony's eyes flickered up towards you at the same time he took a mouthful of food. He noticed that you weren't eating anything, your plate remaining untouched in front of you, and he could see the subtle smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

His gaze narrowed slightly as he chewed, his tongue immediately assaulted by the overwhelming taste of chilli. He tried to maintain his composure, but the shock of the unexpected flavor betrayed his surprise. A small noise escaped him, a cross between a gasp and a grunt, causing everyone to turn and look at him in surprise. An awkward silence falling over the room.

He quickly attempted to cover it up, coughing lightly to disguise the sound. He cleared his throat and forced a nonchalant expression, trying to act like the spice wasn't affecting him at all.

As Anthony struggled to maintain his composure, the spice continued to work its magic. His face grew increasingly red, his eyes starting to water. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the burning sensation, but it only seemed to intensify.

As the guests continued to address him, he tried his best to focus. However, each new burst of heat from the food made it increasingly difficult for him to respond without his voice cracking.

Eloise, noticing Anthony's struggle, couldn't help but ask loudly across the table, her voice tinged with amusement, "Would you like some water Anthony you look like you are burning up”

His head fell into his hands in annoyance at Eloise's lack of subtlety. The guests at the table were still regarding him curiously, and he nodded quickly, the flush on his face deepening in embarrassment.

“Perhaps we should resume this dinner another time, is seems as though the Viscount is in no state to negotiate”The eldest investor impatiently rose out of his seat.

They were obviously trying to be polite, but the implication behind their words was clear.

Embarrassment, frustration, and a hint of anger welled up inside him as Anthony glanced up at you, still dealing with the intense burn in his mouth, he couldn't help but feel a pang of understanding. He recalled earlier that day when you had suffered a similar embarrassment in front of everyone.

But his anger still lingered. How could you have done this to him?

The dinner ended in a deafening silence as the investors bid their farewells. Violet, ever the gracious hostess, led them to the door, promising to discuss further business matters.

The whole family was noticeably on edge, watching nervously as Anthony pushed himself up from the table and stormed towards the door leaving as fast as he could, his face still noticeably red.

Once the guests were out the door, Violet turned back to the table, her expression one of concern and slight disappointment. Excusing you all from the table.

You attempted to make a hasty exit, eager to avoid Anthony. But before you could reach safety, a firm hand wrapped around your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

In an instant, you were being pulled into the library just off the hallway. The sound of the door slamming shut behind you echoed in the silence of the room. You spun to face Anthony, his expression a mixture of frustration and hurt.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he tried to keep his tone steady. "I take it this was your doing?"

“I do not know what you are referring to My Lord?”you uttered out.

Anthony's jaw clenched tighter as his patience wore thin. Your feigned innocence infuriated him even further.

"That was an important deal, you silly little girl! How could you be so-"

Anthony's tone was sharp and biting as he lashed out, his frustration boiling over.

But before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off, your voice rising in anger. "I am not a little girl!".

[imagineseclipse]

Hi! Do you have a masterlist?

I don’t at the moment, I did have one but I have deleted quite a few posts from it so I just thought I’d make a whole new one🫶🏽

[imagineseclipse]

A Pack Of Hearts- Stiles Stilinski x Reader PT2

part one - part three

-a/n this is the slowest of burns

-warning of strong language

The next morning, you woke up in a haze, the events of last night feeling like a distant dream. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your room. For a brief moment, you almost forgot about the not so wild adventure in the woods.

The memories slowly come back to you as you got ready for school. Pacing around your room, growing increasingly frustrated as you searched for your missing phone. It's nowhere to be found, and the longer you couldn’t find it, the more irritated you became.

You opened drawers and rummaged through your belongings, muttering to yourself as the minutes passed by. "Where did I put it? I swear I had it last night...”

Just as you're about to toss aside one last pile of clothes, there's a gentle knock on your door. You look up as the door creaks open, revealing your mother on the other side.

“Y/N?”she says, her voice gentle but firm. "Are you okay in there? You've been making quite a racket”her mouth falling open as she noticed the mess you had made.

“Uh- yeah I’m fine, Goodmorning mom”you flashed her a quick convincing smile before returning to your empty pockets. A brief silence fell over you both as she watched you scan your room.

“S-so, I spoke to Noah Stilinski this m-“

“Mom, please don’t”you felt your cheeks heat up slightly as you avoided eye contact.

“I think it’s brilliant darling, it’s nice that you are making friends- I think that this will be good for you”she perked up, trying to reassure you.

“Mom I don’t need friends, I know you just want the best for me but I’m honestly fine being just… on my own”you shook your head.

“Everyone needs a friend”she uttered out softly, making you hesitate for a moment.

Your mother's words hit a nerve. You paused your frantic searching for a moment, her statement echoing in your mind.

She always meant well, wanting nothing more than for you to be happy. But you'd grown accustomed to being alone, and you'd always been content in your own company.

You let out a small gasp, realizing the time as you caught sight of your watch. You’d spent too much time searching for your phone, school would be starting soon, and you were going to be late if you didn’t hurry up.

"I love you mom, I have to go to school I’m going to be late”you spoke aloud as you quickly shoved the clothes back into your drawers, no longer caring about the mess. You bounced towards her placing a small kiss on her cheek before disappearing down the hall and away from that conversation. You DID NOT need any friends.

Fifteen minutes later and you were pulling into the school parking lot, your heart racing. The lot was already nearly full, and you cursed under your breath as you scanned for any available spaces. Every minute counted and finding a spot seemed almost impossible at this point.

Finally, you spotted a small opening near the front of the school. It was a tight squeeze, but there's just enough space for your car. With a quick prayer, you try to maneuver into the spot.

“Dude, watch the paint job?!”you heard Jackson Whittemore shout across at you, jumping out of his car to give you the nastiest look known to man. Dickhead.

“Fuck all the way off Jackson?!”You shot back, flipping him off before nearly bumping into Scott who had just pulled into the spot on the other side of Jackson’s flashy car.

“Seriously, are you guys that incapable?”He motioned over to where you stood with Scott as he checked the other side of his car for scratches. Jackson sent you one last warning scowl before disappearing into the crowd.

You and Scott shared a brief silent stare before you turned on your heel, quite intent on not starting a conversation.

As you walked away, Scott called out your name, causing you to stop slowly. You let out a frustrated sigh and turn around.

"Yeah, what is it?" you reply, barely trying to hide your annoyance. You just wanted to get through the day without any additional problems or distractions.

Scott held up your airpods, a sympathetic look on his face. "You dropped these last night in the woods”he says, offering them back to you.

You let out a deep breath as you realized you'd once again forgotten something important. As you approach him, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

"Thanks Scott”you mutter, your eyes briefly meeting his. You quickly swipe the airpods from his hand and avoid his gaze.

“You don’t happen to have my phone? I think i dropped it aswell”you asked curiously.

Scott gave you a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I didn't find anything else, sorry," he replies apologetically.

You let out a soft sigh, disappointment settling in the pit of your stomach. "Damn it," you mutter under your breath. The silence between you and Scott grows uncomfortable as neither of you know what to say. Every passing second making the silence more pronounced.

Finally, you cleared your throat, breaking the awkward silence. "W-what happened to you last night, you kind of just disappeared?”

Stiles parked his jeep a few rows away from your car and steps out, scanning the packed parking lot for any sign of Scott. As his eyes finally landed on his best friend a wave of surprise washes over him. To his surprise, you were talking to Scott, the two of you deep in conversation about last nights events.

A mixture of emotions swirls within him - surprise, hope and a twinge of jealousy. Why wouldn’t you approach him this easy?

Without a second thought, he starts walking towards you both, his pace quickening as he gets closer. Stiles pops up in front of you and Scott, his eyes darting between you both as he tries to gauge the situation.

As Stiles had gotten closer, he had the opportunity to observe you more closely in the daylight. The sunlight that glistened through the trees casted a warm shine over your face. He couldn’t help but notice how your eyes glistened, and the small freckles spaced out perfectly on your face.

“You’re staring”you uttered out blankly side eyeing him, adjusting the bag strap on your shoulder.

Stiles is broken out of his thoughts by your sudden words. He blinks rapidly, realizing he's been caught. A blush creeping up his cheeks as he tries to look nonchalant.

“Okay, let’s see this thing”Stiles changed the subject, leaning towards Scott.

Despite every voice in your mind telling you to just leave, you found yourself superglued to the spot that you were stood in. Your curious mind is piqued, and you wanted to know what it is that Stiles and Scott were talking about. You try to act uninterested as they talk, but you can't help but steal glances at the two boys, wondering what they're discussing.

“Let’s see what?”you sighed out in defeat.

Stiles looked down at you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He could sense your growing confidence despite your initial attempts to appear disinterested.

Scott lifted up his shirt, pulling it taut to reveal a bite wound covered with a gauze dressing. Stiles leans in for a closer look, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. Noticing the small amount of blood leaking through.

"Ooh-Jesus, Scott," Stiles mutters, eyeing the injury with unease.

“That is just horrific”you muttered out, covering your mouth as Stiles poked the bandage making Scott flinch backwards.

“It was too dark to see much, but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf”Scott pulled his shirt back down as the two began their walk into the school, you trailing behind slowly.

“A wolf bit you?”Stiles looked at Scott with disbelief.

“Uh-huh”

“No, not a chance”Stiles shook his head violently, giving Scott a determined look.

“I heard a wolf howling?”Scott replied confused.

As Stiles and Scott continued going back and forth their conversation blended into a faint buzz in your ears. You become immersed in your own thoughts. Your mind replays the events of last night, focusing on the movement you had spotted in the woods. It's as if you're back in that moment, reliving every detail and trying to make sense of it.

The two boys notice that your mind is wandering, and they exchange a glance before deciding to snap you out of your thoughts. Stiles gently taps your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

"Y/n?”Stiles says, raising an eyebrow at your distant expression.

Startled, you snap out of your thoughts and look up to find Stiles and Scott stood in front of you staring at you expectantly. They seem to be waiting for a response from you, their curious expressions making it clear that they want an answer to something.

"Why are you both looking at me like that?" you mutter, shaking your head to clear the fog.

“California doesn’t have wolves right? Not for like sixty years?”Stiles repeated, his eyes locked onto your face studying for any hint of recognition. Like you were the smartest person in the world. Like you had all of the answers.

“Uh, R-right, well no California doesn’t have wolves n-not that i have read anyway, I read somewhere that there have been a growing number of animal attacks in Beacon hills so maybe Scott just got attacked by a sc-

Stiles' eyes widened in surprise as you suddenly launched into an explanation that no one asked for. A knowing and amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he listened to your voice get quieter.

You catch yourself as you realize you've been rambling on for a little too long. Feeling embarrassed, you abruptly stop and deadpan, attempting to regain some composure.

“No, no wolves in California," you state matter-of factly, a bit of an edge to your voice. You feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over you as you become more aware of Stiles and Scott's gazes on you.

“Really?”Scott asked intrigued, the three of you stopping on the staircase. Stiles rolled his eyes as if he was going to burst if he had to explain it again.

“All right, well if you guys don’t believe me about the wolf, then you’re definitely not gonna believe me when i tell you that i found the body” Scott’s words sent a chill down your spine as you pictured the gruesome sight of a lifeless corpse - half of one lying in the woods. It was a disturbing thought, and you couldn’t help but grimace at the image grateful that you weren’t the one to stumble across it.

“You- You are kidding me?”You noticed Stiles’ demeanor instantly change.

“No, man, I wish. I’m gonna have nightmares for a month”Scott’s expression changed to one similar to yours, shaking the picture of it out of his mind.

“Oh, god that is freakin’ awesome. I mean, this is seriously going to be the best thing that’s happened to this town since-“Stiles hopped from one foot to the other.

His expression faltered as he suddenly lost his train of thought. His eyes dart to the side, and you follow his gaze to find Lydia Martin walking up the stairs in the distance.

Stiles tries to regain his composure, his eagerness to impress Lydia evident in how he immediately tries to catch her attention. He straightens up taller, running a hand through his hair he has a buzz cut?? Attempting to look nonchalant as she passes by.

“-since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey, Lydia! You look-

You watch as Lydia walks past Stiles without even a glance in his direction.

“-like you’re going to ignore me” Stiles' grin drops for a moment but he quickly schools his features into a fake smile, trying to hide his disappointment.

A moment passed by before you turned to Stiles, sucking your bottom lip under your teeth. His eyes immediately flickered over to yours.

“That was really painful…to watch”you offered lightly, visibly cringing

“Neo-Yeah, Thanks Y/n”he breathed out, frowning down at you. Giving you a look, telling you that your comment wasn’t asked for.

“You’re welcome”you uttered out.

“You’re the cause of this, you know”Stiles changed his attention to Scott who stood confused.

Stiles and Scott got into their usual bickering and you took that as your cue to leave. You didnt want to get dragged into their squabble, so you quietly slipped away, heading towards English class.

Stiles’ eyes flickered in your direction as soon as he felt your movement, lingering on your retreating form. You puzzled him. He thought that he had you all figured out over the years, but you kept throwing him off with your unexpected reactions and your quick retorts.

“Impossible girl”Stiles muttered out furrowing his eyebrows, causing Scott to stop complaining for a minute, clocking onto his friends words. Stiles had zoned out, his stare fixed on the place you stood last.

“Lydia?”Scott questioned.

“Y-Yeah…Lydia”Stiles rubbed the back of his neck.

Scott and Stiles entered their first period English class, where the teacher, Mr. Curtis, immediately began the lecture without introduction.

Your head fell onto the desk in dismay. How could you have forgotten that they were in the same class as you? They were in most of your classes. It seems like you were destined to be stuck with them all day. You really had been living in your own world.

Stiles caught a glimpse of you sinking into your seat at the back of the classroom motioning over at Scott, who seemed equally pleased, they both made their way to the two empty seats on either side of you.

Stiles quickly takes the seat to your left, while Scott sat on your right, the two boys settling in their seats with a smirk, feeling very chuffed with themselves.

“As you all know, there indeed was a body found in the woods last night”Mr Curtis announced to the class.

Scott leant forward in his seat, his eyes flickering between you and Stiles for a moment. He flashed a quick wink, clearly enjoying the fact that you were all in the know about the mysterious body in the woods.

Stiles couldn’t help but notice Scott's playful gesture. He grinned at you, knowing that you were trying to ignore them.

“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”His words travelled around the room, leaving the sounds of disgruntled students.

You couldn’t help but watch as Scott suddenly jolts in his seat, looking around bewildered. His eyes widen as if he's heard something incredibly loud right next to him, beside you Stiles also looks surprised for a moment before realizing that the source of the sound is not nearby. He glanced over at you with the same expression he’d given you earlier. Like you could explain this.

You shrugged, before trying to turn your attention back to the class as Scott shuffled around in his seat uncomfortably. Your attempts at zoning in on the class work failed as your curiosity got the better of you yet again. Your eyes following Scott’s, wondering what he was looking at.

Scott's remained fixed on the window, an unfamiliar girl as she's being led towards the school by the vice principal. His alarm hadn’t faded, and he seems particularly focused on her presence.

Stiles, who had been observing Scott's behavior, leaned in closer to you, swinging on his chair as he tried to figure out where both of your line of vision was centered. With a roll of your eyes you found yourself shoving him back to his own desk, sending his chair legs crashing to the ground.

He let out a playful huff as he is forced back to his own side. The classroom fell silent as the vice principal escorted the same brown haired girl into the room. Scott perked up at the sight of her, his eyes locked on her every move.

“Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome”he introduced her, you noticed her nerves as she began to fumble around with the tassels on her bag. Offering a small wave to the class.

She smiles weakly before finding the only open seat in the class, which just happens to be the seat in front of Scott.

Scott, having heard her conversation with her mother earlier How?? knows that she forgot a pen and taps the new girls shoulder, offering her one of his own. Allison looks surprised by the gesture, but smiles at him gratefully.

“Thanks”she nodded. Scott smiling back at her in a way that strongly indicated that he is already besotted by this girl.

Stiles and you find yourselves completely captivated by the interaction between Scott and Allison. The two of you had been watching their conversation intently. Eavesdroppers tut tut tut.

A silent understanding seems to pass between you two unexpectedly meeting eyes, Stiles could tell that you were just as intrigued as him by the whole situation, and the intensity of his gaze confirms it.

“We'll begin with Kafka's Metamorphosis on page one-thirty-three”The English teacher then picks up where he left off.

An hour later the bell rings, you stayed settled in your seat watching the students file out and go to their lockers, knowing that you had to speak to the teacher about one of your assignment.

Once that was taken care of, you exited the classroom and start walking down the corridor towards your own locker.

As you arrived you noticed Stiles, Scott, and another girl named Harley gathered around. They were engaged in a deep conversation, casting occasional glances around them as if they were talking about someone.

You sighed inwardly, the annoyance and resignation evident. It's like they were everywhere you went, always managing to show up unannounced.

The group turns to you as you appear next to them- their conversation coming to a halt.

“It seems that fate wants us to be friends y/n, look at us ending up in the same place at the same time”Stiles hummed out happily.

“You’re leaning on my locker”you blinked once, an awkward silence falling over the four of you as you ignored his comment.

Stiles let out an inaudible noise before sighing, the three of them shuffling over a fraction so that you could access your belongings.

As you’re rummaging through your locker you notice the new girl down the hall, Scott also catches her onto her at the same time. Allison sent a warm smile in you directions. Your lips uncontrollably twitching up into a small smile.

Queen bee-Lydia Martin and her idiot boyfriend Jackson are not far behind approaching Allison and striking up a conversation making you turn back towards your open locker. Scott however continues to watch them from afar and eavesdrop on them with his newly-enhanced hearing??

Meanwhile, across the hall, Harley, who was also watching the scene go down in front of them, looks at Scott and Stiles incredulously, though Scott was too busy listening in on Allison, Lydia, and Jackson's conversation to hear her.

“Can someone tell me how New Girl is here all of five minutes, and she's already hanging out with Lydia's clique?”she asked loudly, catching your attention from the other side of your locker door.

“Because she's hot-“ Harley gives him a look, but Stiles still doesn't get it and shrugs before finishing his thought.

“Beautiful people herd together” Scott is so distracted by listening to Allison talk that he doesn't even react to Harley and Stiles' argument. Suddenly, you inadvertently slam your locker shut, causing all three of them to jump in surprise.

You grab your belongings, tucking your book underneath your arm and walk away without a word. They all exchanged puzzled glances as you walk away towards the bleachers where you would sit and read for some peace and quiet.

"Are you joining us for lunch?" Stiles, still feeling a bit miffed about your earlier behavior, calls out after you as you walk away. He wasn’t going to give up.

“Nope”

You found yourself a quiet spot at the top of the bleachers, enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the warm rays of the sun. There's a pleasant breeze that caresses your skin, and the sky is blue even thought autumn and winter were around the corner.

With no one around to bother you, you focus on your book immersing yourself in the story, finding comfort in the silence that surrounds you.

The lacrosse team spilled out onto the field, where the players started warming up by passing the ball back and forth as other students congregate in the bleachers further down to watch the team play.

You peered up from your book and unfortunately your eyes betray you, noticing Scott and Stiles amongst the crowd. They are in the middle of a conversation as they quickly jog toward the field. In a change in dynamics from the previous night, it is now Stiles who was out of severely breath and trying to keep up with Scott, who seems unfazed. Seeming to have boundless energy. Hmm.

They seem as though they are talking about something deep when Scott’s attention is diverted by the sight of Allison and Lydia walking along the bleachers so they can watch the team play.

You continued to watch as Allison and Lydia approach, your heart sinking as it becomes increasingly clear that they are heading in your direction. Your hope for a quiet and calm afternoon is quickly fading.

You resign yourself to the fact that they're about to sit right next to you, effectively crashing your peaceful spot on the bleachers as the seats filled up with students.

Allison plops down on the bleacher next to you, flashing a friendly smile. She seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she and Lydia were intruding on your private time. Lydia, on the other hand, takes the seat on the opposite side of you, her expression remaining cool and aloof as she settles in. Your eyes widened when you realised that you were sandwiched in between the two. You felt like you were being ambushed.

She turns to you, as if she is about to say something but pauses, seeing Scott down on the field. Allison smiles at him, but before he can smile back, Coach Bobby Finstock appears in front of him and yells his name.

“McCall”his voice echoes around the pitch somehow.

“Yeah?”Scott calls out running towards the Coach.

You and Allison observe as Coach roughly tosses a lacrosse stick with a much bigger net and a bigger helmet to Scott, who catches them after they smack him on the chest. Scott's eyes narrowed in confusion.

You do your best to block out the feeling of being trapped between Allison and Lydia on the bleachers. You focus on the words on the page in front of you, trying to lose yourself in the story to distract you from the uncomfortable situation.

Stiles, who has been running drills with the rest of the lacrosse team, couldn’t help but notice your unusual predicament on the bleachers. He’d known that to be your favourite spot to sit and you were usually alone. His eyes widened when he saw you sitting there, bobbing your leg up and down with nerves between Allison and Lydia.

He shook his head in disbelief, wondering how you ended up in such an awkward position. Part of him wanted to laugh, while the other part was concerned because you looked so anxious.

“Hey” A small voice made your head snap up out of your book, your eyes darting around until they landed on Allison who was smiling gently next to you, her eyes flickering from you to the book you were holding.

You hesitated for a moment, turning your head to the seat next to you to see Lydia in her own world, adjusting her makeup in her little pocket mirror. So Allison was talking to you.

“H-hey?”you offered, closing your book. You struggled to make eye contact.

“The names Allison, Allison Ar-

“Argent, you’re uh- in my English class” You accidentally interrupted quickly your mouth taking over, kicking yourself seconds later for cutting her short.

“You’re Y/n right?”she grinned, holding out her hand. You feel both surprise and disbelief that Allison not only knew your name, but was also being friendly with you. It was rare for anyone other than Stiles or Scott to pay you much attention at school, so this unexpected interaction catches you off guard.

“Y/n Y/l/n”you slowly took her hand, shaking it gently.

Scott, who has been practicing on the lacrosse field, can't help but tune in on your conversation with Allison. He secretly listened with a small smile on his face as he witnessed the interaction unfold.

He was glad to see that Allison was being friendly and trying to connect with you. It was nice to see someone other than himself and Stiles try to bring you out of the shell you had hidden yourself in, even if it was just for a brief moment.

His smile dropped slightly as someone else finally chimed into your conversation.

Lydia, who had been preoccupied with her makeup, swivelled around directing the question towards you.Her fluttering eyelashes and tone conveyed a false innocence, which was typical of her behavior.

“I’ve never seen you around before, are you new?”she asked seriously.

You struggled to respond, feeling embarrassed by Lydia's question.

“Lydia, we've been in the same class for six years?”you manage to choke out, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion and frustration. The strawberry blonde letting out a high pitched ‘Hm’ as the three of you sat in silence.

Before the uncomfortable silence can linger for too long, the sound of Coach Finstock's voice rings out across the field, signaling the start of the game.

Suddenly, all eyes shift towards the field as the game begins, effectively diverting everyone's attention away from you. You glance over once more at Allison and see a sympathetic smile on her face, perhaps signaling her understanding.

You watched as the lacrosse game got underway, your eyes scanning the field. To your surprise, Scott is playing and not sitting on the bench as usual. You found it weird, considering he rarely got playing time, if any at all.

In the stands, Lydia peered at Scott curiously, as though she had never noticed him before, Allison watching aswell as you quietly tried to recover.

Scott reluctantly took his place in the goal and prepared for the practice game to start. As if on queue, his superhuman hearing kicks in once again, allowing him to listen in on Allison and Lydia's conversation.

“Who is that?”Allison’s head followed Scott as he saved goal after goal. Lydia leaning forwards to get a closer look.

“Him? I'm not sure who he is. Why?” She eventually muttered. Surprise, Surprise.

Scott cocked his head in confusion as he stared at them, but they didn’t seem to notice. You did though. Could Scott hear you from all the way over there?! Allison smiled in response to Lydia's question as you rolled your eyes at her ignorance.

“He's in my English class”Allison noted loudly.

With curiosity piqued by Scott's attentive behavior, you decide to test an intriguing theory. Seizing the chance to conduct a little experiment,

“His name is Scott McCall”you informed her, her eyes widening noting that she had seen you around school with him a number of times. Your pupils fixed on Scott’s position across the field. As soon as you mentioned his name he seized up slightly. What the fuck.

Allison snapped you out of the shock you were experiencing at this recent development.

“You’re friends?”she questioned.

“Oh uh- no not friends”you responded quickly, absentmindedly packing up your belongings. Referring back to the times you had bumped into Scott and Stiles over the past day unwillingly.

Feeling somewhat bewildered by the revelation that Scott had somehow gained superhuman senses overnight, you quickly stood up from your position, sliding past Allison as your brain focused on leaving.

“Nice to meet you…”Allison’s voice trailed away along with her wave as you started to feel your ears ring, the beating of your own heart drowning out all of the noise. Your two feet began moving faster beneath you as you brushed past everyone sitting in the bleachers hearing Lydia and Allison resume their conversation regarding Scott.

You were mentally and physically panicking, your mind racing. Thinking about all the normal possible explanations. Maybe Scott hit his head or something and it’s making him act weird? Maybe the bite he got is infected and it’s making him act delirious. Maybe he just had a really good set of senses?

You spluttered around trying not to drop the contents of your bag as you practically sprinted down the stairs towards the exit.

Stiles, who had been keeping the bench warm watching the game, noticed a body out of the corner of his eye speeding down the stairs. You were finding it difficult to keep your belongings from falling all over the place.

He found himself uncontrollably rising from his seat when he caught sight of your state, your hair flying out behind you as you continued to run down towards the field.

The Coach blew the whistle loudly, causing everything to come to a halt including yourself, your eyes immediately darting over to Scott- a part of you knowing that if what you thought was correct. He’d be suffering due to the noise.

Stiles’ lips parted as he followed your line of sight, the two of you watching as Scott flinched over and covered his ears in pain. Letting out an audible groan. You took in a sharp breath, Stilinski once again turning back to you just in time to see you walking briskly out of the exit towards the car park.

Once you reached the safety of your car, you hurry to get in and quickly close the door behind you. Stopping to take a few deep breaths, you tried to calm your racing heart and gather your thoughts. The enclosed space of the car offered a moment of respite from the chaos around the lacrosse field.

In the quiet confines of your car, you struggled with conflicting thoughts. Part of you wanted to dismiss the strange incident as a coincidence or a fluke, but the curiosity within you was too strong to ignore as. Despite trying to resist the temptation, you found yourself unable to let go of the mystery that had unfolded before you.

You didn’t want to get involved with anyone, but there was something wrong. Scott had gone from wheezing and being unable to function during sports, to really fucking good with superhero type hearing abilities.

“I’m so going to need my phone for this”your head fell against your steering wheel, a destination set in your mind.

[imagineseclipse]

A Pack Of Hearts- Stiles Stilinski x Reader PT1

part two

a/n-this is kind of a rewrite of something I have done before if you know then you know x

-warning this is the slowest of burns.

-also warning x2 strong language

You lay peacefully and undisturbed in your bed, your room was still and silent just how you preferred it. The silence was only broken by the occasional rustle of the curtains, gently swaying with the soft breeze that drifted in from the open window.

The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft silver glow across the room, creating a peaceful and soothing atmosphere.

You relaxed back on your bed, allowing the music to wash over you. You closed your eyes, letting the melodies and lyrics transport you to another place in your mind. You took a deep, steadying breath, letting the music completely surround you and quiet you inner thoughts, if only for a little while.

You were content with your solitary lifestyle. You didn’t mind not having many friends; you preferred it that way. You had learned to be self-sufficient and independent from a young age, and had developed a strong sense of self-reliance. You never felt the need to be constantly surrounded by people, and in fact, you found comfort in the solitude that your lack of social circle provided you.

Your peaceful evening was suddenly shattered by the sound of a sharp, persistent knocking at your front door. The unexpected sound caused you to sit up abruptly, breaking your focus on the music and bringing you back to reality. You frowned, annoyed by the interruption to your quiet night.

You tried to ignore the persistent knocking, hoping that whoever was at her door would eventually give up and go away. But as the knocking persisted, you realized that they weren’t going to stop anytime soon. With a frustrated huff, you swung your legs off the bed and stood up abruptly, irritation etched across your features.

“What the hell could you possibly want?”you almost yelled as you fiercely opened your door revealing one very awkward teenage boy. Immediately you recognised him.

Stiles Stilinski stood on your doorstep fumbling around with the zip on his jacket. His clumsy smile falling from his face when he saw how irritated you were. Before he could open his mouth to say anything you interrupted.

“Whatever it is, it’s a big fat no”you rolled your eyes as you began to shut the heavy door in his face.

“Y/n stop, you can’t ignore me forever I just wanted to see if you were busy”Stiles called out, placing his shoe in between the door and the door frame, whining quietly as it got stuck.

“Well I am busy, so go away”you hissed, attempting to shut the door again.

Stiles looked at you with a pleading expression, his foot trapped between the door and the doorframe. He winced as you attempted to slam the door shut, but he didn’t give up. He knew you well enough to know that your stubbornness was just one of the many things he found fascinating about you.

You would deny it but you and Stiles had known each other since you were both in the same class in nursery school. Even then, Stiles had been eager to be your friend, always bringing you his toys that you would throw on the floor in response. As you both grew up, he continued to try to be friends with you, but your aversion to social interaction always seemed to keep him at bay. Despite this, Stiles never gave up on you, always trying to find ways to break through your protective barrier, learning about you from afar.

“Really? You’re busy… I’ve heard one that before”Stiles raised his eyebrows as he folded his arms, daring to question you.

“No im not actually busy, I just want you to leave- maybe take the hint Stilinski”you finally told the truth, sending him a sarcastic smile.

Stiles stared at you for a moment, hesitating for a moment before responding, choosing his next words carefully.

“If you aren’t busy then come and hang out with us I will dri- Stiles ‘too stubborn for his own good’ Stilinski.

“Listen, just because I hung out with you idiots once doesn’t mean that we are friends, My mom met your dad at one parents evening and decided to be friends- it was completely against my will”you explained growing more frustrated.

“You really want to stay in and listen to your music all night?”Stilinski frowned, pointing up at your dimly lit bedroom window. First of all how did he know that. Second of all- Staying in and listening to music all night sounded like a brilliant idea.

“I bet it’s a thousand times better than what you are about to offer”you folded your arms as you leant on the door frame.

“There’s a dead body, in the woods”He breathed out, attempting to mirror your actions and lean on your wooden pole. Missing it entirely.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would try to entice you with something so morbid. He had always been into those kind of things, solving mysteries, crimes. He took after his father.

“Oh yeah, because finding a dead body is so at the top of my To-Do list tonight”you scoffed out sarcastically, giving him a pointed stare.

“Y/n, no one knows the woods like you do, I’ll be able to find it much quicker with your help and you know that”Stiles groaned, not yet admitting defeat.

Your lips were set in a firm line, of course you knew the woods like the back of your hand. Stiles was desperate to get you to help him search for the dead body, not only did he believe that you were the smartest person he knew, he genuinely wanted you to get out of the house.

Growing up you had spent countless hours alone, exploring the woods and memorizing every nook and cranny of the small town you lived in. You were the best person to help him navigate the vast expanse of woods.

“If I come for an hour at most, will you leave me alone?”you sighed, letting your tense shoulders fall at his words. Stiles nodded quickly, not wanting you to change your mind.

“Two hours?-

“Do not push your luck”you mumbled back before slamming the door in his face. Confused, Stiles lingered outside stepping from one foot to the other awkwardly wondering if he should knock again.

Minutes later and your front door swung open once more, this time your hair was tied up and you had slipped on your favourite sweatshirt.

Stiles's eyes widened as he watched you tie up your shoelaces. He was surprised by how fast you had changed, and a wave of relief washed over him as he realized that he had finally succeeded in his 13 year old plan to befriend you. Well, he had nearly succeeded.

His heart skipped a beat as he took you in, noticing how the familiar sweatshirt hugged your form and how your hair was tied up loosely. Your rogue hairs falling around your face , framing it perfectly. Seeing you prepared to go into the woods with him sent a thrill of excitement and energy up his spine, and he couldn't help but grin at you.

Your vision aligned with his and the feeling that had briefly flickered in your chest was something you weren't used to. It was a foreign sensation, like a small flutter of a bird's wings against your chest. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared, leaving you confused and slightly annoyed.

“What are you smiling at, you’re wasting time because your hour of Y/n time started as soon as I crossed the front door”you uttered out as you began to walk towards his jeep.

As soon as you both entered Stiles's jeep, an awkward silence filled the air. You could feel Stiles's excitement radiating off of him, but you did your best to keep your emotions in check. You could sense that Stiles wanted to say something, and you wished so deeply against it.

“We just have one more stop to make”Stiles hummed out, turning the key to start the engine that drowned out your groan.

The car ride was silent, every time Stiles would turn and try to speak to you, you would reach forwards to turn up the music. Trying to avoid painful conversation. Not long after the jeep came to a halt, Stiles couldn’t help but glance over at you.

He took in your focused expression as you nonchalantly scanned the area out of the window, he almost couldn’t believe it, Sitting in the same car as you. Despite the fact that he'd known you his entire life, being in close quarters with you like this was still new.

Stiles quickly glanced away from you, realizing he'd zoned out. His heart rate increased, as if he'd caught himself doing something he shouldn't. He had always known that he found you intriguing, like you were another mystery that needed to be solved but this was something different entirely. Something more profound.

“I-uh-I-sh-”Stiles tried to compose himself as he broke the silence.

“I’m waiting in the Jeep”you spoke out finally, reading his mind.

“I will be five minutes okay?”He leapt out of the car, stumbling and tripping his way around to your side of the vehicle whilst holding up five fingers. A lopsided smile plastered on his face.

He tapped your window, gaining your attention for the what felt like the hundredth time that night. You rolled your eyes, winding down the window.

“And uh- Y/n- don’t leave”his voice came out raspy, your glance flickering over his face.

“You’re my ride home”you deadpanned as you wound the window back up. Pulling out your phone so that you could mindlessly scroll through it whilst you waited.

Almost ten minutes passed before you realised that Stiles hadn’t returned. You glanced out of the window towards Scott's house, feeling a pang of confusion and annoyance when you didn’t see Stiles stood at the front door.

You couldn't wait any longer. The nagging feeling in your gut was growing too strong to ignore. You pushed open the passenger door of the Jeep mumbling profanities under your breath.

Your eyes darting around the dark neighborhood, searching for any signs of movement. Mentally cursing Stiles for his disappearing act.

As you reach Scott's front door, the silence of the night surrounding you was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door abruptly swinging open. Scott stood in the doorway, gripping a bat tightly in his hands. A look of surprise and confusion crossed his face as he saw you standing there, clearly looking for someone. You exchange a glance with Scott, and for a moment, neither of you knew what to say.

Scott Mccall blinked twice, as if trying to clear his vision and make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. It wasn’t every day that you showed up unannounced at his doorstep, especially so late at night. Yet, there you were, standing before him, looking slightly out of breath and evidently pissed off.

“Were you the noise that I heard from inside?”Scott walked around you, neither of you asking the relevant questions as he inspected each section of his porch. Clutching the bat close to his chest. Did he even play baseball?

“Clearly”you sighed, wanting to know where Stiles had gotten to. Once Scott was certain that there was no one else nearby he finally turned to you, noticing the disapproving frown playing on your lips.

“How can I help- Scott turns to speak to you, but his words are cut off by a sudden noise that drew both of your attention. You both spun around, only to see Stiles suddenly falling from the roof and hanging upside down from the ceiling. In your synchronized shock, you both let out screams of terror. The teenager next to you clinging onto his weapon for dear life.

You huffed out in frustration as you adjusted your hoodie, Scott lowering his bat as you calmed down. Why and how was he up there?!

“Stiles what the hell are you doing?!” Scott exclaimed, his voice getting louder.

“You weren’t answering your phone, why do you have a bat?”Stiles choked out slightly exasperated.

“I thought you were a predator?!”Scott shot back protesting.

“A pre…What?”Stiles scoffed out, clearly appalled by the implication before turning to you.

“I thought you said you were going to wait in the jeep?”Stiles’ eyes softened whilst yours hardened immensely.

“I thought you said you were going to be five minutes?”you retorted back, folding your arms.

Scott’s eyes flickered back and forth between the two of you before settling on his best friend who was still very much hanging from the ceiling. Realisation dawning upon him.

“Wait, you two came together?”Scott asked aloud, sending Stiles a knowing look, luckily you didn’t see the small smirk dancing on his lips and Stiles nodding proudly to himself.

“I’m starting to wish I hadn’t”you grumbled out, shaking your head.

“Look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave fourty-five minutes ago. Dispatch called- they’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even state police”Stiles changed the subject quickly ignoring your comment.

“For what?”Scott frowned.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods, honestly I’m pretty disappointed in you y/n for not finding it first since you’re always out there doing- whatever it is you do, in the woods…alone”Stiles accused you without actually accusing you.

You responded by lifting your hand, your middle finger standing tall. You were running out of the will to live. Was Stiles Stilinski really going to Out-Sarcasm you?

Stiles reached up to pull himself free of the trellis, landing on his feet in front of you and Scott who still looked extremely confused.

“A dead body?”McCall repeated.

“No, a body of water…Yes dumbass, a dead body?!”Stilinski leant on the railings to look up at Scott with an expression that read ‘what do you think?!’.

You stood in between the two, your mouth falling open as you witnessed the stupidity in front of you, reminiscing about your warm bed that you left behind.

“You mean like murdered?”Scott questioned further, becoming unnerved.

“Nobody knows yet. Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties”Stiles informed you both, climbing over the railings so that he was stood next to you.

“Hold on, If they found the body, then what are they looking for”Scott continued, asking all the right questions.

You watched as Stiles became overwhelmed with happiness as the plot thickened.

“That’s the best part-they only found half”his voice trailed away as he finished the story.

“That’s really quite gross”you grimaced.

“That’s really quite gross and we are really totally going”Stiles’ tone changed patting Scott’s shoulder as he glanced at you making it clear that neither of you had a say in what happens next.

You tried to brush off the sleep that was slowly consuming you as the three of you pulled into the Beacon Hills preserve. The illuminated warning sign in front almost blinding you.

Stiles peered back at you, dropping a flashlight into your lap, noticing your tired eyes and stifled yawns. The motion lit up your phone screen, the time staring you straight in the face.

“Well would you look at that, your hour is up Stilinski it’s home time for me”you perked up, a small smirk growing as you climbed out of the jeep. Stiles holding the door open for you.

“I’m your ride home”Stiles deadpanned mocking the words you had used earlier that evening. Oh, he had gotten you so good.

“We’re seriously doing this?”Scott interrupted the argument that was about to start between the two of you. Tapping his flashlight as it blinked on.

“You’re the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town”Stiles called back at him, his friend following close by trying to catch up with you.

“I was trying to get a good night’s sleep before practice tomorrow”you heard Scott answer as your thoughts drifted off, shining your light into the deepest, darkest corners of the woods.

The boys and their conversation drifted out of ear shot. Frozen in place as a sudden noise from the bushes nearby catches your attention. Your heart pounding in your chest, your body tensing as if preparing for something dangerous. Preparing for anything. The soft rustling of leaves and the snap of a twig send a chill down your spine. You scanned the darkness, trying to discern any shapes or movement, but the woods remain eerily still.

You snap out of your frozen state as Stiles's gentle voice breaks the silence. He lightly touches your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly in surprise. You turn to face him, your heart still beating furiously in your chest.

"Hey, it's okay just me”Stiles says, his voice soft and reassuring. "Don’t fall behind, gotta get you home in one piece” he mumbled out, receiving a silent nod in response.

“Stiles, speaking of pieces just out of curiosity-which half of the body are we looking for?”A third voice spoke up.

The walking buzz cut paused for a brief moment before scoffing quietly. “Huh! I didn’t even think about that”

“And uh…what if whoever killed the body is still out there?”Scott added.

“Also something I didn’t think about”Stiles raised his eyebrow, his flashlight flying around in the air erratically settling on you.

“Could you knock it off?!”you breathed out, bringing your hands up to shield your eyes from the overwhelming light.

“I-eugh, Sorry- just checking”his arms dropping to his sides. You had been very quiet.

The three of you begin to hike up a hill, the incline slowly steepening as you progress. The ground became more uneven, and you had to take care with each step to avoid slipping on the loose rocks and roots beneath your feet.

Stiles leading the way, his flashlight illuminating the trail ahead. Occasionally, the beam of light briefly passed over you and Scott, who climbed closely behind.

“It’s comforting to know you’ve planned this out with your usual attention to detail”The boy next to you rolled his eyes.

You began noticing Scott’s breathlessness as you listen to Stiles grumble out a “I know”. His breathing became wheezy and rapid, making you slow down slightly to let him catch up with you.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be holding the flashlight”Scott joked, leaning back against a tree as he pulled out his inhaler.

You silently waited a moment for Scott to compose himself your line of sight switching in between him and Stiles who was further in front.

As you continue hiking, you start to see the beams of flashlights through the trees ahead. A handful of police officers were conducting a search, their flashlights creating bobbing, dancing lights in the darkness.

Stiles whispers urgently to you and Scott, and before you know it you are being dragged to the ground with a surprised yelp, Stilinski sandwiching you in between the two of them.

You all switched off your flashlights in seconds, the three of you bickering in a quiet whisper as you tried to figure out what your next move would be.

Unfortunately for you and Scott, Stiles’ patience eventually wore down, muttering out a ‘fuck it’ before jumping up to his feet. Scott’s eyes widened and it all flashed before your eyes.

“Wait-

“Come on, both of you”Stiles chirped out, grabbing your hand tightly, his fingers wrapping around yours. The touch sends a jolt of surprise through you, he begins to run through the woods, pulling you along behind him.

“Stiles! Y/n! Wait up”you hear Scott cough out from behind you, Stiles more focused on getting as far away as possible.

Your head snapped back, seeing Scott’s shadow get further away. “Stiles maybe we should-“

“Guys!?”

Stiles finally stops running after hearing his best friends pleas. He failed to alert you, sending you crashing into his back with a thud, the split second of distraction caught the attention of a nearby K9 officer.

The loud and aggressive barks startled you, along with the flashlights shining over the two of you. You were in so much trouble.

“Hold it right there”a familiar voice boomed out through the trees. Stiles raised his hands into the air immediately earning himself a lengthy eye roll from yourself.

Sheriff Stilinski appeared close by, shaking his head as he caught sight of his son.

“Hang on, hang on…this little delinquent belongs to me”Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. Stiles sending you a nervous smile before greeting his father.

“Dad, how are you doing?”He offered, getting an answer filled with frustration and exhaustion, the sheriff’s flashlight panned over to you. Your cheeks growing red as you lifted your hand to say hello to your neighbour.

“And this little delinquent doesn’t belong to me, in fact…she isn’t a delinquent at all”Noah narrowed his eyes over at his son, knowing that you being there was Stiles’ doing.

“How are you Mr.Stilinski?”you asked sheepishly, feeling Stiles’ eyes burning into the side of your face.

“I’m doing just fine sweetie, how is your mom?”Noah’s anger faded away for a moment as you began to catch up like no time had passed. Stiles’ mouth falling open at the interaction.

“So, do you, uh, listen in to all of my phone calls?”The sheriff turned his attention back to Stiles who let out an uncertain laugh.

“Not the boring ones”He answered lightly attempting to lessen his father’s anger as you both watched Noah scan the area with his flashlight.

“Now, where’s your usual partner in crime?” Scott. He had been left behind.

“Who, Scott? Scott’s home. He said he wanted to get a good night’s sleep for first day back at school tomorrow”Stiles tried to play it dumb as you felt raindrops fall on your forehead.

The sheriff stared at you both in disbelief as Stiles continued to lie.

“It’s just us…in the woods…alone”He sighed out, both of you turning your heads to face one another, giving him a stern look that told him to dig you out of the hole he was currently digging very deep.

It was obvious that his dad didn’t believe him because he lifted his flashlight once more.

“Scott, you out there? Scott?!”His voice echoed around the trees. Stilinski reluctantly gives up on his search after Scott doesn’t appear in front of him. He then took a deep sigh- one that you completely understood.

“Well Stiles, I’m going to walk you back to your car…and then you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called ‘invasion of privacy’ right after you have taken this tired young lady home”He ordered, grabbing Stiles roughly by the back of the neck, his other hand gently settling on your shoulder as he guided you both back to the entrance.

You took one last deep glance into the woods, wondering if Scott managed to make it out.

The car ride back was unusually quiet. Stiles occasionally glances sideways at you, stealing nervous glances from the corner of his eye. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension, his attention span wanting to reach out to you but choosing to tap against the wheel instead.

Stiles could sense that you were tired. Your eyes kept drooping, and you let out a few soft yawns as you tried to stay awake. You clearly just wanted to get home and rest after a long night.

He took another look at you, guilt gnawing at him as he saw how exhausted you looked. He felt somewhat terrible for dragging you into this, but a part of him wasn’t sorry at all.

As the silence in the car continued, Stiles became lost in his thoughts- causing him to blurt out the question that had been nagging at his mind.

“Are you mad at me?" he asks suddenly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He glances over at you again, searching your weary face for any signs of anger or disappointment, the same signs that had been present all night.

“I wouldn’t say I’m mad, I would just say that I am severely annoyed”he could hear your muffled complaints followed by a yawn.

The vehicle finally pulls up outside your house, the headlights lighting up the familiar facade. Stiles let out a small sigh that he didn’t know he’d been holding in, relieved that you're finally home safely.

He turned off the engine peering over at you, noticing the evident exhaustion on your face. He wanted to say something, anything.

“Thanks for the ride Stilinski”you grumbled out, opening the door and slipping out from the passengers side.

As you shut the door, turning to make your way to your house Stiles began to fumble with his seatbelt. He struggled with the buckle, his fingers feeling clumsy and shaky. He could feel a sense of urgency to catch up to you, but his body just wasn’t cooperating.

Finally, the seatbelt comes loose, and Stiles practically leapt out of the car, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste. He took a deep breath, mentally berating himself for his nervousness.

“Y/n”he called out confidently, making you stop in your tracks. You threw your head backwards, turning to face Stiles for the last time that night.

He observed you as you asked him a million questions with your eyes. Confused as to what he could possibly want now.

“Friends?”he asked, almost as if he were offering it to you. A small smile appeared on your face at his determination.

“Absolutely fucking not, I’m never doing dumb shit like that ever again”your lips formed a frown as you disappeared into your house leaving Stiles stood dumbfounded in your driveway.

Challenge Accepted.

[imagineseclipse]

I know you- Anthony Bridgerton x Y/N:Part two

Part one - Part three

You tried to compose yourself, feeling the weight of everyone stares and whispers on your shoulder as the carriage you had just arrived in disappeared, you watched it get further away, hoping that somehow it would come back and take you back to the Bridgerton house.

In the moments you were dreaming of escaping your footing became unstable, almost falling to your knees in front of everyone. Anthony quickly wrapped his arm around your waist to steady you, trying to ignore the way your body against his made his heart race, and the urge he had to hold you close.

Violet caught a glimpse, concerned at the sight of you. She immediately noticed the way Anthony was holding you so closely, his knuckles white as he grips your waist.

"What happened?" She demands, her eyes flickering between the two of you. You both stuttered around, slighty nervous. Like absolute fools.

“I lost my footing”you finally mumbled out, adjusting your dress.

“Not to worry mother, it’s not a surprise that lady y/l/n was to fall, she has always been clumsy”Anthony teased, a light smirk dancing on his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at the viscount, mentally scolding him. His mother’s mouth fell open, seeing the two adults bicker in front of her. Her mouth twitching up into a smile. Idiots in love. Idiots that didn’t know they were in love. But she knew. She always knew.

“Anthony you may join the rest of the party, make the most of this evening. Y/n and I will walk together now”Violet interrupted the two of you.

You nodded to Anthony as he disappeared off into the distance, a pang of confusing disappointment fluttering in your chest as you watched his frame disappear amongst the crowd. Violet, now standing next to you linked arms with you, noticing your sudden unease, a knowing look passing over her face.

"You know my dear…”Violet began, her voice carrying a hint of insight.

“When you were a child probably before your brain can remember, you and Anthony were a pair that we just couldn’t separate, before Daphne and yourself became joint at the hip, you are an important member of our family and I’m so very honoured to have watched you grow into the young lady that you are today, I think you and I can both agree that you have had to unfortunately fight your own demons at such a young age”you stopped nervously glancing around the room at how busy it was, your eyes meeting Voilet’s as she sent you a sympathetic smile.

“I guess what I’m eluding to- I think- I just want to very best for you, I want the best for all of my children. I want you to marry someone who calms the storm in your mind, a man who understands you and your being whole heartedly”she offered her advice, her tone warm and inviting.

Violet's words filled your heart with warmth and gratitude. The bond you shared with the Bridgerton family was deep, and Violet had always treated you like one of her own children. She had always hoped for her kids to find love and happiness, and seeing you settle for a marriage of convenience must have been as difficult for her as it was for you.

Your pupils flickered out into the crowd once more, drinking in Lady Bridgertons words as they settled on Anthony Bridgerton who stood in the corner across the room surrounded by other men, his hands lifting the glass of red wine to his lips, your mouth falling open as you noticed his gaze was firmly settled on you already.

He watched you with intense focus, his eyes never wavering for a second as though he was trying to memorize every inch of your face. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart rate picking up as his eyes roamed your figure in that stunning gown. His gaze slowly traveled down, following the line of your neckline, taking in every detail.

He was absolutely bewildered by what he was feeling. And it was all for you. His sister’s bestfriend, his bestfriend at heart.

“Thank you, Violet," you replied, your voice soft and sincere. "You've always been like a mother to me, and I value your guidance and support more than you know."

“I’m proud of you sweetheart”she squeezed your arm before releasing you into crowd.

As you made your rounds, greeting people and earning some curious glances from the men in the room, you couldn't help but feel Anthony's gaze boring into you. It was like an unbreakable force, constantly searching for you in the crowd, making you acutely aware of his presence even when he was across the room.

You settled next to Penelope Bridgerton, seeking the comfort of a familiar face, but the memory of Anthony's words in the carriage kept playing in your mind, his words filling your thoughts and consuming your senses.

“Pen”you turned to your red headed friend.

“Y/n, well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes-you look beautiful”Penelope turned to you smiling, content with not dancing tonight as she was with child.

“I have missed you an awful lot”you grinned, nudging her slightly.

“May I ask you something”you questioned, waiting for the go ahead.

“Of course, anything”she replies.

“How did you know the difference between love and friendship with Colin?”you uttered out.

Penelope thought of their story, how long they’d known each other. The years of friendship they shared. Her true feelings for him. “I think it hit me quite early, I know I always loved him, I just didn’t know how to articulate my own feelings and I thought that he didn’t feel the same”she confessed, her hand slowly rubbing over her bump absentmindedly

“Why do you ask?”Penelope glanced at you curiously.

“I- Your train of thought was interrupted as you felt a tap on your shoulder, and you turned to find the Duke of Sussex standing before you. A polite smile plastered on your face, you tried to conceal the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling inside you.

“Your Grace," you addressed him, your voice surprisingly steady. "How may I help you?"

He bowed his head slightly as his eyes raked over you, a smirk on his lips “I was wondering if you might permit me for a dance with one of the most Mesmerising ladies here tonight” his voice was raspy and low, surprising you.

He wasn’t awful to gaze upon, he was tall, and had messy brown that fell over his blue eyes. You could tell he was similar in age to yourself. Your head fell to the side slightly, noticing the spark in the Duke’s eyes as he offered out his hand in front of you. A blush crept onto your cheeks as you hesitantly placed your hand into the strangers. Surely one dance will not hurt.

He tugged you gently out into the middle of the dance floor, placing his right hand on your waist, your left placed delicately on his shoulder as he pulled you in close to him. A hint of a gentle smile played at the corners of his lips as he held you against him, his head tilted to look down on you.

“Before I forget”The duke mumbled out to you, lifting your arm so that he could reach your dancing card that was tied around your wrist. Repeating the name Christopher on all of the lines.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head as you both resumed your dancing positions. Christopher bowing before you.

Anthony Bridgertons head turned swiftly at the sound of your laughter close by, his friends looking in the same direction curious as to why their friend had completely zoned out of the conversation. The Viscount caught sight of you and the Duke.

Anthony couldn’t help the small scowl that formed on his lips as his eyes fixed on the way you were dancing with the Duke, the way his hand was placed on your waist, the way you were pressed so close, the fact that you were both smiling. Something about that put a bitter taste in his mouth that made all logic fly out the window.

The Duke’s reputation of being a womanizer was well known, his handsome face and charming demeanor made him a target for many woman, many have fallen at his feet, and Anthony found himself wondering if you were next.

Anthony had seen his friend -The Duke with various women over the years, but he’d never seen the look he was giving you now, his gaze was filled with a hunger that seemed different to the usual greed he had towards a woman. It seemed like Christopher was actually interested in you.

His jaw clenched tight as he tried to keep his cool, watching the Duke’s hand slowly inch closer to the small of your back as he pulled you in even closer the two of you looking as if you were deep in conversation. He could feel his temper slowly rising, if he clenched his fists any tighter he was going to draw blood. Surely you were smarter than this, surely you could see through the Duke’s charm.

“The Duke surely did not waste any time after hearing of Lady Y/L/N’s arrival at the ton”A man opposite Anthony spoke out jokingly.

“You know what Christopher is like”The other answered.

"She's stubborn" he added, his gaze locked on you in the arms of the Duke. "Opinionated, determined, always with a sharp retort on her tongue. He wouldn’t be able to keep up” he scoffed to himself. Anthony’s words fell from his mouth before he could register what he was doing or saying. His friends shared a quick look before narrowing their eyes at Anthony who coughed out before composing himself.

“Why so harsh on the girl?”one of his friends questioned. Anthony tore his gaze away from yours for a moment, looking over at his friend with a dark expression.

“She’s a handful, difficult. Confusing and sometimes wonderfully impossible”he replied shaking his head, attempting to shake off every temptation, every new feeling he felt.

“Sounds like you are speaking from experience there old friend”his friend smirked, raising his eyebrow at him. Anthony couldn’t stop his mouth from turning down in an annoyed scowl hearing the song come to an end in the background as he settled his empty glass down.

“I must excuse myself for a breath of fresh air”you smiled politely as the Duke opened his mouth to say something, a stutter leaving his throat as Christopher reluctantly let you escape, his eyes following you as you headed towards the balcony, wanting nothing more than to follow you but knowing it would look desperate.

You headed outside into the cool night air, a deep breath in to calm yourself, the feeling of his hands lingering on you still. As you slowly took a seat on one of the marble benches and shut your eyes for a moment. Letting the wind howl in your ears.

Anthony approached silently, slowly taking a seat next to you. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was there, the familiar scent of his cologne alerted you. His presence alone made your shoulders tense, the cool air suddenly making you shiver. The silence stretched on between the both of you as his eyes bore into the side of your face.

“You are staring at me Anthony, why is that?”you questioned, your eyes still closed.

“Enjoying your dance?”he questioned, his tone sharp and cold.

“If you must know yes, it was pleasant and not what I were expecting”you hummed out, turning to face the eldest Bridgerton.

“Are you enjoying your evening?”you offered out, trying to be accommodating.

Anthony let out a scoff at your words, unable to hide the venom in his voice.

“Fantastic”he mumbled, his gaze focused on the ground.

“I’m sensing that you have something to say my lord, you always have something to say”you accused him, raising your eyebrows.

Anthony’s jaw clenched as he tried to bite his tongue for a moment, unable to hold back his words before he finally spoke again “I know that the Duke has taken a sudden interest in you, and I know that having someone’s attention after all this time might make you slightly giddy and blinded but you are not the one for him, and he is not going to marry you”

You tensed at his words as your mouth fell open in disbelief at his audacity. Your eyes snapped and darted towards him, a mix of anger and frustration forming on your face.

“What is that supposed to mean?”you retorted, your voice coming out a lot harsher than you meant it to. You couldn’t deny that his words stung slightly, they felt like a slap to the face. This wasn’t the first time you and Anthony had argued, and it wouldn’t be the last time. That didn’t lessen the hurt.

“You believe I am not good enough to marry?”you tried to strengthen your tone but it cracked slightly.

“He doesn’t have your best wishes at heart, he is promiscuous and selfish, he is very much only interested in you because you are the new shiny diamond waltzing around the hall. It happens every season and it will most definitely happen again”

Your grip tightened tightly around the edge of the bench, your knuckles going white as you fought to keep your emotions under control. Pushing yourself up from next to him.

“Why is it impossible for you to even fathom that someone might see something in me, someone might actually be attracted to me, someone might not see me as an annoying little girl?”you spat, anger and hurt clear in your voice as your eyes glinted with tears.

“I truly do not understand why you have been so opinionated, meddling in my life recently Anthony, if I am not mistaken you do not even want to get married? We are not children anymore, this will not turn into one of your cruel torturous psychological games Bridgerton I forbid it”

You quickly stood from the bench, your dress flowing out around you as you turned to leave without glancing back at Anthony. Your hands clenched into tight fists as you attempted to hold yourself together until you could put more distance between the two of you.

“You asked me if I think you are good enough for him? You want to know what I think? I think that you are too incredibly good for him, he is not even half the man that you deserve”Anthony calls out from behind you.

You froze in your tracks at his words, your back still facing him. Your chest felt tight as emotions swirled inside of you, anger and confusion fighting each other, making everything worse.

Anthony stood up from the bench, crossing the space between you quickly and grabbing your arm, stopping you from walking away from him. As he forced you to turn around and face him again, his grip still on your arm.

He was so close to you now, his gaze intense as he stared down at you, his voice was low and quiet as he spoke “I am not meddling, I am concerned about you”

You scoffed in response. “You are not concerned, you are just very bored and you shouldn’t be concerned- you are just my best-friends older brother, someone I happen to have grown up with, someone who takes every opportunity to make my life more difficult than it should be just for fun”your voice trailed away as you listened to your own words ring out.

“Now we know that is just not true y/n”he argued back as he took a step closer to you, his proximity alone making you feel on edge, your stomach twisting as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Surely you have not forgotten that I know your best qualities, and I know your worst, I know that you are stubborn, and impulsive, I know that you have a sharp tongue especially when you argue with me, I know you better than anyone- even Daphne. I know when you are sad, anxious, frustrated. I know when you are truly happy. I know that you have a deep love for painting and how your face lights up when you read a new book. On those summer evenings you had spoken your deepest darkest secrets out to me. Your dreams your fears, your wants and needs. You forget how many years we have known eachother, and I don’t know how but I have unfortunately memorised everything that makes you so uniquely you”

By the time he had finished speaking you were breathless, your chest rising and falling as you tried to keep up. Your eyes darted across his face, taking in every detail as you tried to process his declaration.

His arms were still around you, his body pressed closely against yours. You were both leaning into each other, mere inches away from a disastrous choice.

The sound of the door opening abruptly startled you both, the spell he had you under broken instantly as you jumped away from eachother.

“Anthony is that you?”Daphne’s voice carried out through the open door, the light from the ballroom spilling out behind her, making her form a silhouette in the doorway. Anthony quickly composed himself, standing up straight and running a hand through his hair while you attempted to make yourself look presentable.

“There you- both are”Daphne continued, looking between the two of you with a curious expression, her eyes lingering on the fact that you were both standing awfully close together

“We are to head home soon, the carriage is waiting outside, Y/n I have been searching all night for you and it seems as though I’m not the only one”Daphne turned her attention to you, a sly smile on her face referring to Duke of Sussex.

You swallowed thickly, your mind still spinning from Anthony’s earlier monologue. You struggled to form an appropriate response as you took in the way Daphne was looking between the two of you.

[imagineseclipse]

you ok babe, i haven’t seen you active in a while- i wanna check up on you and see how you’re doing <3

I’m so incredibly sorry that I haven’t answered these yet, it has been years. I’ve missed everyone so much and I’ve missed writing so deeply. I have a lot of pieces I need to finish and I have so many new ideas scribbled down. I hope everyone can be patient with me whilst I settle back in.

To the Anon & my friends/followers- I hope life has been treating you well we all deserve it, we have all grown up very quickly. It feels so nice to take some time away and come back to work on old hobbies I adore.

Much love xx

[imagineseclipse]

Proposal- Colin Bridgerton x Y/n

Part One

The bride stood up at the altar, the sunlight spilling through the stained glass windows as her head hung to the floor, her eyes trained on the carpet beneath her. A simple vail covered her hair, draping down the back of her sleek silk wedding dress. Her slender neck adorned with a solitary strand of pearls- the only piece of jewellery she would ever wear.

She lifted her head, her vision is now fixed on her soon-to-be husband, an older man standing across from her. Her sight betraying her thoughts, a mixture of fear and nervousness swimming in their depths, her mind is elsewhere caught in a whirl of uncertainty and doubt.

As her fiancée read his vows she felt a pit of dread forming in her stomach, the thought of spending the rest of her life with this man filled her with a sense of unease.

Her turn to speak came next, but her throat suddenly became dry, her heart pounding in her chest, she turned her head to glance towards her mother who nodded towards her daughter, encouraging her to carry on. The words of the vows caught in her throat, stuck behind a lump of nerves. The officiant waited patiently for a response.

“I-I… cannot” In one swift moment the clattering of the shoes against the floor sounded like a jolt of electricity alarming everyone in the quiet church. Hastily grabbing the hem of her dress, she lifts it up just enough to free her legs. And then she’s running, her dress fluttered behind her like a whisper of silk as she dashed down the aisle the way that she had entered. Her hair blowing behind her, her veil in disarray.

The guests that remained in the church gasped in surprise as the bride sped past them, the sound of her footsteps and the frantic rustling of her dress filled the air. Those on the groom's side start shouting, calling her name, pleading for her to return. Some scrambled to their feet, trying to chase after her, but she was too fast. The wedding had turned into a scene of utter confusion and pandemonium.

The groom and his parents were in a state of shock but they quickly snapped into action. The groom, realising that his bride had just deserted him at the altar, started to run after her, followed closely by his parents and your own. They pushed through the guests, their faces a mix of anger and incomprehension, determined to catch the runaway bride and to bring her back to the ceremony.

The girl ran as fast as her legs could carry her, the material from her dress flowing out behind her in the wind, turning a corner she thought she was safe for the moment, when suddenly her body crashed into another. The force of the impact knocked her off her feet, the man who she had just crashed into began to fall back from the collision, but not before catching her in his arms.

The stranger landed on his back, his arms encircled her in a protective embrace cushioning her fall. It was unexpected and they were both left reeling for a moment, tangled together on the ground.

“My lord m-my deepest apologies”you stuttered out quickly, unraveling yourself from his grasp. You pushed yourself up off of the ground, offering your hand to the man you had just collided with, your eyes flickered around your surroundings trying to find the angry wedding goers. Terrified that they were catching up to you.

His gaze couldn’t help but linger on the woman in front of him as he slipped his hand into yours despite the chaotic situation. He was struck by your appearance, the way your stray hairs blew in the breeze, your cheeks that were tinted red from the running. The wedding dress you were wearing-

“Is this your wedding dress?”Colin Bridgerton spoke out suddenly his eyes widened, you pulled him up from the ground. Your hand still clasped his in a tight grip, as he spoke aloud your head involuntarily turned to face him, your eyes meeting for the first time.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took him in, your eyes tracing over the contours of his face, his long brown hair fell over his forehead, giving him a ruggedly handsome look that you couldn’t ignore, his clothes were slightly disheveled from the fall.

“I am so sorry my lord, I didn’t mean to knock you to the ground like that I was foolish and I wasn’t aware of my surroundings”you shook your head, nervously rambling. Before you could answer the Lord’s question regarding your wedding dress the sound of shouting and footsteps approaching got louder, this time catching the attention of the man whose hand was still intertwined with yours.

“I have to go”your words came out in nothing but a whisper as you began to pull your hand away, your mind racing with the thoughts of the wedding party growing closer. His grip on your hand was gentle but enough to keep you close. He spun you so that you were facing him again, concern evident in his expression when he glanced down at you.

“My lady are you in danger, are you okay?”he noticed the panic starting to take a hold of you-your breathing becoming erratic. His voice was serious, but somehow comforting. Again the words had gotten caught in your throat as one single tear managed to fall onto your face.

You didn’t answer, but your frightened expression told him all that he needed to know, he spoke urgently trying to calm your panic.

“I have a carriage, waiting around the corner”he nodded his grip on your hand still firm.

“You can have a ride, to wherever you are headed”Colin quickly offered. Your heart swelled at the idea of someone trying to help you, your eyes widening with surprise and thankfulness.

But you couldn’t go with him, firstly the two of you were strangers in passing, you weren’t married, to be seen together without a chaperone was shameful, and could ruin a persons reputation if someone caught sight. Not to mention you were in a wedding dress running away from your own ceremony.

Lord Bridgerton saw the hesitation on your face, and the reason behind it. However he was determined not to let you go.

“Please” he pleaded, his tone soft. “This does not feel right. You are in trouble, let me assist you. I do not care for gossip or scandal. My carriage is around the corner, you would be safe there. You do not have to return to those people” It was almost as if he was promising that to you.

You nodded slowly, realising that you had no choice. Within seconds you began following him, your hand remaining in his as he hurried you away from the area. The commotion coming from the wedding party fading into the background, replaced by the sounds of your own breaths and the clatter of your collective footsteps. You stumbled a little, falling slightly because of your heeled shoes getting caught on the bottom of your dress.

Colin was quick to adapt, noticing that your shoes were slowing you down. He stopped in his tracks and without a moment of hesitation he dropped to the ground balancing on one knee, peering up at you for permission.

You nodded, your mouth falling open slightly with shock as you watched him lift the hem of your dress, unbuckling your heels and slipping them off of your feet, holding them tight in his left hand, extending out his right hand for you to take. The gesture was a mix of practical and strangely intimate and you couldn’t help but be touched by it.

You caught a glimpse of the carriage awaiting you, it felt like freedom. He lifted you into the carriage, you let out a small gasp at the motion before he climbed in himself swinging the door shut afterwards.

The silence was heavy, only broken by the sound of your ragged breaths as you tried to regain your composure. Sitting across from him, your dress spilling out around you on the leather seats, your hair static from running. You eventually found each other’s gaze, and for a moment you sit there, simply staring at each other, the only sound the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves outside.

You were the first to break the silence entirely, your voice laced with gratitude. Stammering out a thank you.

“It wasn’t your position to help me, but you proceeded to anyway. That is admirable and so very brave and kind however I cannot let you into any more inconvenience and trouble, so you can just drop me off down the street and I will travel from there”you spoke out gently, but certain.

Colin Bridgerton leant forward in his seat the protest clear in his tone.

“I’m going to London, I’m taking you all the way to where you need to go. I’m certainly not going to drop you off in the middle of nowhere when you have nothing to support you”

You shook your head, your confusion mingling with a growing sense of wonder. Why is this stranger going so far out of his way to help you? You glanced up at his sharp profile, illuminated by the carriage lamps, his eyes serious and his mouth set in a determined line. Even with his stern expression he was infuriatingly beautiful.

“Where are you headed to?”he asked, curious as to what your answer would be.

Colin noticed the doubt on your face as you hesitated to answer his question about your destination. It was clear you did not have a plan, that you didn’t know what to do or where to go next. His expression softened a fraction, a hint of concern in his eyes.

The Bridgerton couldn’t explain exactly what it was about you, he just knew that he didn’t want to leave you, that he didn’t want you to go off on your own. Was it your innocence, the rawness of the situation? Maybe it was the way his heart beat differently whenever your eyes would meet. An insane, yet intoxicating idea began to form in his mind. A plan so unexpected and abrupt it felt so right. His thoughts were interrupted by your words.

“If we are to travel together I do not want you to think I am a con artist, I do not want you to think that I dabble in adultery of any kind. I couldn’t go through with the wedding because it wasn’t my choice to marry, my father owed a distasteful man a lot of money, and they couldn’t afford to pay it back. So they chose to pay by making me marry a man that is twice my age”Shame clung loosely onto your words, hanging your head.

He listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face as you started to explain. His expression remained solemn but curious, absorbing your words. As you mentioned the fact that your family had offered your hand in marriage to settle their debt, a flicker of anger passed through his eyes, quickly replaced by sadness.

“What are you going to do now?”he uttered out, his concern growing once again. You shrugged, your expression a sign of acceptance.

“I do not know”you answered honestly this time, your voice quiet and steady. “I suppose I will just keep on going. Find somewhere to reside, find myself some work.”You seemed to have resigned yourself to a difficult future.

He couldn’t help but feel indignant on your behalf, angered by the thought of your suffering because of your parents’ actions. He took a breath, gearing up to say something that he knew was insanity, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was right. After a moment’s hesitation he proposed his idea.

“Come to London with me?” he blurted out, his tone almost too casual to believe the intensity of the suggestion. “For the season. I’m just returning back to my family home from travelling abroad”he continued.

You couldn’t hide your astonishment at his suggestion, your eyes wide in surprise. You coughed out a question, your voice reflecting her confusion.

“Why?" you asked, shaking your head. "Why are you doing all this for me? We are strangers”

Colin could see the bewilderment in your eyes, the way your head shook slowly as you tried to make sense of his proposition. He leaned forwards slightly, his gaze meeting yours steadily.

“Because you need help," he said simply. "And I want to be the one to give it to you."

You looked at him, your confusion slowly giving way to curiosity. The biggest flaw in his plan was glaringly obvious: you were not married, and society would frown upon a woman travelling with a man who wasn’t her husband let alone living with him.

“But how would that even work?” You stammered. “We are not married, I would never want to bring shame and gossip upon your family”

You noticed a glimmer in his eye before he uttered out two words that made your head spin.

“Marry me”

“I beg your pardon”the words fell out from your mouth involuntarily like you had just regurgitated them.

“If we become engaged to marry, you may have a room in my estate house, I would be able to support you with clothes, and money. When the season ends, we do not have to marry but you will have enough to start fresh. Somewhere new-not to mention you would be helping me a great deal aswell it would keep my dearest mother and the ladies back home at bay.”

He could see the disbelief in your eyes, the way your jaw hung open as if the words were beyond your understanding. He knew he was asking a lot, proposing marriage after only just meeting and under your circumstances. He spoke calmly, attempting to reassure you.

“What is your name, My Lord”a whisper left your lips.

He chuckled slightly at your response, understanding that even with this proposal, he’d forgotten the most basic form of introduction. He held out his hand to you, waiting for you to take it. When you did, he smiled brightly, his grip gentle. “Colin Bridgerton,” he said, his voice clear and smooth.

“Lord Bridgerton, my name is Y/N Y/L/N”you offered shaking his hand.

He smiled at the sound of your name, the way the syllables rolled off your tongue. As your hands met in the handshake, he kept his grip firm, your hands lingering in the connection for a moment. “Lady Y/N Y/L/N” he repeated, testing out the feel of your name.

His grip loosened, but not completely, his fingers still holding onto yours lightly. “Please, call me Colin,” he said, his tone warm and informal.

His eyes bore into yours, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone-becoming raspy sending shivers down your spine. Without breaking the connection between your hands, he leaned forwards a fraction growing even closer together, his head tilting slightly. And then, a soft, simple word escaped his lips.

“Will you?”

A moment passed before a small smile etched itself onto your face.

“Colin Bridgerton, you are quite possibly the craziest man I have ever had the honour of being acquainted with”

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as you spoke, using his full name in that sweet tone of yours.

“You are very much dressed for the part Y/n”he teased in that same low tone that made you blush, you let out a light laugh, staring down at the wedding dress you had been wearing for hours.

“I suppose you are right”you grinned.

“Am I to consider that a yes?”You tried to ignore the glimmer of hope that glazed over his eyes. You couldn’t believe that you were considering it, but you nodded accepting his proposal.

Colin let out a sigh of relief, one that he didn’t know he had been withholding, the two of you breaking into a fit laughter as you both looked forward to the adventure ahead.