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rippersz · 1 year

Note

Miranda Priestly and f Reader. Reader gets in between an altercation between Miranda and Stephen. She later tells Miranda "I'll never let anyone talk to you like that again"

𝙰 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

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(Fem!Reader x Miranda Priestly) (Pining) (TW: Abusive language)

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“Oh give me a break! You don’t have to make up excuses to try and salvage my ego, Miranda!”

The minute you walked in, you knew something was wrong.

The townhouse air in the evening was usually still and quiet, but the stomping footsteps on the second floor provided a tension that made you pause in the foyer. Stephen was home, you realized. His weird manly cologne filled your lungs, nearly bringing tears to your eyes with how strong it was. Almost a year as Miranda’s assistant, spending time around her husband at least once or twice, and you still couldn’t get used to his smell. Probably because every little thing about Stephen was either utterly boring or terribly annoying. Emily said it was both, but she only expressed that when he called so frequently that Miranda told her to instantly send them to voicemail. ‘If he has something important to say, he’ll leave a message’ but every time he did, it was just a stream of complaints.

If you were in his shoes, something you didn’t think about often because why would you, then you knew you wouldn’t take her attention for granted. She gave it when she could and a loving partner would understand that, and such understanding would lead to a lack of tension, and a lack of tension would result in more of her recognition. Or that’s what you thought. Again- not that you thought about it frequently of course - cuz that would just be silly and unrealistic and strange because she was your boss and she was the most emotionally unavailable woman you knew and even though she loved her daughters, her love for her partners was different and-

“I can’t go one day without them shooting looks at me- like- like I’m some dog! Probably wondering where my keeper is!” His voice echoed upon every floor, making you wince as you slid the Book into its assigned place.

Evidently, they hadn’t heard you come in. They should have been expecting you; at least Miranda should have, but it was easy to lose track of time during the winter months. It seemed to move so quickly, with a prime example being that it was 11:20 on the dot once you got there. Miranda had to attend a small dinner party at 9, so she eventually returned home at 10:30. Not the worst timing for a Friday night, but if Stephen had been ranting from the very moment she stepped in, well then you had no doubt she was tired. Too tired to argue perhaps as you barely heard her murmured response.

“We can discuss this in the morning. It’s late.” She sounded worn. It made your heart ache as you looked up at the ceiling, momentarily debating if you should stay or leave.

“Oh yeah? Just so you can escape back into your job to try and distract yourself from the real issues? Stop acting like a child, Miranda. We’ll talk about this now like adults.” The way Stephen ‘put his foot down’ was nothing in comparison to Miranda’s method. He was too loud about it - too demanding. It wasn’t very effective, even though it did make up your mind for you.

Staying was risky, of course. You could get caught, of course. You could get fired, of course. But honestly? You didn’t trust your boss’s husband. You didn’t trust his demeanor or his drinking or any other little thing about him. And although you didn’t think he would really hurt her, the worry that planted itself in the back of your brain grew swiftly; festering like a disease as you inched yourself toward the stairs and placed your hand on the cold bannister. Worrying for your boss was not your place, but above that, worrying for Miranda Priestly was not your right. You weren’t hers and she wasn’t yours - so there was really no need to stick around. She was entirely capable of taking care of herself.

…And yet?

And yet, something in your gut told you to stay. It was quiet but present - and it murmured softly, convincing you that the second you stepped out of the door and got into the car with Roy and drove off into the night, something would happen. Something bad. Something that you could have avoided if only you were there.

So no, you couldn’t leave. Not yet. Even though Miranda was most likely prepared to tear Stephen a new one.

“I am acting like a child? Calling your wife at 9:45 PM to complain about her absence at a dinner you didn’t confirm is far more childish than me doing my job. What did you expect me to do when you called? Run out of an important business dinner to dash over and wipe your tears before drowning my embarrassment in an overpriced ‘welcome bread basket’? Don’t be absurd, Stephen. You knew I was busy.” And she proved you right - speaking in a low edgy hiss that you suspected was only reserved for her husband. Interestingly enough though, even alone in her house, arguing with this person or the other, Miranda never raised her voice.

No one else thought it was noteworthy enough to mention in quiet conversation, but you were often tempted to bring it up to Nigel. You figured it was because of her childhood - whatever that had been like - and that she vowed to keep her vocal cords safe. It was a small little detail, but when one conversed with Miranda, sometimes it seemed like the only thing to focus on. Her words are always important, yes, but watching her lips move… and seeing the way her teeth formed each syllable… well it was mesmerizing in a way you’d never be able to properly explain. And Stephen, who was pacing the floor above you, was far too daft to understand that.

“What, so if I want to have dinner with my wife, I have to confirm through her assistant? You barely pick up, Miranda!” The sudden growl in his voice had you placing one foot on the stair next to you.

‘This is just a precautionary measure’ you told yourself, knowing that was far from the truth.

“And you pick up too often.” Her quip was breathy and sharp - a clear end to the conversation as you heard her soft footsteps trailing off into another room.

“What does that even mean?! I’m trying to be a good husband, but you are ruining my reputatio-”

“Your reputation?” The venom in Miranda’s voice silenced her husband immediately. “Your reputation…,” you pictured her shaking her head before letting out a little mocking laugh; “…I have no effect on how much you succeed in your career. If you can’t separate work and life, that’s not my problem.”

Their voices were drifting away, lost to the floorplan of their home as you slowly skirted your way up the stairs. It seemed that Miranda had taken your common sense with her when she walked off, leaving Stephen (and you) to follow like lost puppies. Although, she still didn’t know you were there. And you still weren’t going to leave - not until he stopped raising his voice and waking the entire neighborhood.

“God you know- you always treat me like shit, Miranda.” You winced, knowing very well how much she hated cursing. “I am your HUSBAND. You should be speaking to me with respect - not like I’m another worthless magazine you can get rid of. I’ve given you EVERYTHING I have and what have you given me? A few hours of your time? Nothing? Just enlighten me, because I’m really at a loss right now!”

There was a bang then. It was strong and hard and it sounded like he hit something- maybe a side table or a wall- but it didn’t matter to you. He had hit something and if he could hit something- an inanimate object- he could hit his wife and if he hit his wife, he could hurt her and you couldn’t just stand there- you couldn’t just listen to his slander when his wife was giving him everything!; when she was providing and taking care of the children and doing her job all at the same time. You gulped, noticed that you had gravitated up to the second floor, and decided in a split second that if Miranda had anything to say, you’d simply come up with an excuse.

Then, as you listened for where they had gone, you heard hurried footsteps coming back toward the stairs.

“Don’t ignore me, Miranda! Stop hiding behind your job and just admit that you don’t give a fuck about us! I try so hard every day and every night and all you can do is- is- is whore yourself out to those fucking businessmen!”

The gasp that bubbled up in your throat escaped without hesitation. You had never heard anyone talk about Miranda like that - and especially not to her face. If anyone else had spoken so wickedly, you were almost certain that they’d be blacklisted from every bloody establishment in New York City, whether it had to do with fashion or not. But Stephen… well you knew that she had her own reputation to protect - and an escaping husband was not ideal.

But still…

Still…

She didn’t deserve that. And the injustice that had sparked earlier welled up like water boiling over the lip of a full pot. How dare he? How dare he speak to her like that? Your hands balled into fists at your sides; painted nails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Still nothing to say? Huh?!”

A split second later, followed by the sound of Stephen’s yelling, Miranda walked around the corner.

And there your eyes met.

She looked tired at that moment… and small… and utterly incensed at the idea of you being there and witnessing that. The shock played out on her face in the span of a millisecond; with a wide blue gaze and perfect lips parted and sculpted eyebrows raised onto her forehead - which was half covered by a swooping waterfall of messy white hair. It was beyond clear that she was ready for bed and that Stephen was just prolonging her suffering, but you sent a silent prayer to the gods asking to keep your job just before her husband showed up. His hands were on his hips, his face was screwed up into a tired and angry frown, and upon seeing you- he let out a loud scoff.

“Are you kidding me?!” His yell was right in Miranda’s ear but she didn’t seem to care. She didn’t even flinch.

Instead, she was staring right at you. At you. With some sort of fury- some sort of strange deep emotion- swirling around in pearlescent eyes. You felt your knees grow weak but held your ground. If she was going to yell, let her yell. If she was going to coldly dismiss you, let her coldly dismiss you. But at the end of the day, the longer you stared, the more you knew that she knew. That she understood. In the strange telekinetic way that most women shared - the concern that compelled you to stay was reflected in her gaze. And there, in the lull of irritation and tension, was a conversation that only the two of you shared.

It was spoken softly, slowly, and through your eyes alone.

‘I stayed because I was scared for you.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you mad at me?’

‘I don’t know. This wasn’t your place.’

‘I understand. I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’

‘I can handle myself.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘…I know.’

“Did you plan this? Is that why she’s here?! What- did- did you call her? To witness us fight? See I knew you were fucking crazy! From day one I told myself ‘Stephen don’t get involved with her�� and now look where I am!”

Your silent conversation was snapped in half as he ranted; all while shoving past Miranda to walk further into the hall and throw his hands up in the air like a kid. You felt your body jolt at the sight of her being pushed, but like the impenetrable wall she could be, your boss stood her ground and allowed her husband to brush past her shoulder. As if there wasn’t force in the way he walked. As if you weren’t this close to throwing a punch.

And Miranda could see it in you. She could see the irritation- the sense of injustice and everything that came with it- but she also knew you wouldn’t do anything. You were too kind. Too understanding.

Well… unless someone like Stephen said what he said next.

“You know what? No. I’m done. You listen to me right now,” and then he rounded on your boss, walking right up into her space so quickly that you couldn’t help but push yourself to get closer. And from where you stood then, you saw the way he pushed his finger into her chest and seethed with an unnecessary amount of rage.

“You listen and you learn. I have had it up to here with your bullshit. The cold shoulder, the missed dinners, the terrible schedules, the fact that you don’t even care if the twins like me or not - I’m sick of it. You treat me like an accessory. Another bag for the queen of fashion to throw out but guess what. Guess what, Miranda! I don’t care anymore. We’re separating - and you’re gonna end up like all of the other sad washed up celebrities: Pathetic and- and- weak and alone. Because no one- no one- could possibly love you like this,” and you watched with disgust as he shook his head and let out a cruel laugh. “No one could possibly look at you, with your stuck-up bitchy behavior, and see something worth loving. And-”

Before he could continue, you heard yourself speaking.

“You are absolutely pathetic.”

Two sets of eyes turned on you - one of them confused and the other severe, silently telling you to just shut your mouth. Normally, you would. Normally, you’d listen to your boss and obey her commands- silent or not- because you appreciated her authority and you were halfway in love with her. But it was for that last reason, the very reason why your ribcage felt like a zoo butterfly exhibit, that you decided not to listen. Sure, Miranda would hear your angry love-sick quips, but that didn’t matter. You were going to spill your heart out onto the floor, take a page out of your boss’s book…

…and kick Stephen’s ego into the dust.

“What did you just say?” His eyes were disbelieving as he turned to you; and though a twinge of fear dug at your heart, you pushed on.

“You heard me. You’re pathetic. Pathetic and weak and honestly? Really really embarrassing. It’s no wonder she doesn’t wanna spend time with you. Aside from being the busiest person on Earth and providing you with a roof over your head, she has kids and a job to maintain. But it’s fine- it’s fine!, because you get to complain and she doesn’t. Because you think she owes you everything, but she doesn’t. And she never did. And she never will.” You weren’t sure when you had gotten so close to him, but the backwards step he took gave you enough confidence to continue. “And if you think you mean anything to her, above her children, above her passion, then you are so sorely mistaken that it’s almost funny. Because me, and so many others, have seen how much Miranda cares about those closest to her - and if she’s not making you better, then you’re clearly not worth her time. But maybe if you exercised some more respect, maybe if you showed you cared, she’d bother to call you back and she’d bother to act like your wife. But you don’t do that. So why should she show you what you don’t show her? Huh? Why should she love you when there’s other people out there- when- when there’s people like- like Nigel, like Emily, like me,” you took a deep breath, nearly choking on your words because you were talking so fast, “who would give her the world if she asked for it. Who would do anything to have her attention. So- so why should she love you when you take it for granted? When you, who gets it for free, don’t have to bend over backwards for her affection? When- when- you- you attend events with her, you have dinner with her, she calls you darling! And you take it all for GRANTED - BECAUSE YOU JUST DON’T CARE!”

Your eyes were most likely bloodshot. Your body was shaking. Your head was pounding and your heart was in your throat.

But Stephen looked shocked, having taken more steps backward toward the stairs as you approached him like a blood-thirsty lioness. And at that, watching the way his hand scrambled for the banister, you felt a strange twist of pride creep throughout your heart.

…But it wasn’t enough. You wanted him gone. So you cleared your throat, straightened your spine, and sniffed.

“That’s enough.”

Of course. Miranda cut in, her cool voice dousing your rage like a bucket of water over burning coals; dragging you back into yourself from where you had gotten lost in the clouds; reminding you that you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. That you were just an assistant. Just a young woman who had stepped out of line to try and protect a woman who didn’t really need it. And instinctively, as though you had been slapped in the face or tugged by a leash, you backpedaled until Miranda’s soft footsteps came over and her back faced you. Stephen’s expression was hidden.

“…I’ll contact Leslie in the morning,” her voice was soft… introspective… distant in a way that made you nervous. “Until then… find somewhere else to spend the night.”

And things grew very quiet.

The only sounds you heard were the bustle of the city and the individual breathing of the three of you. Everything else was silent. The rest of the house, empty without Patricia and the twins (all of which were visiting their grandparents), felt like a movie set with a hidden audience. As though, at about any minute, the credits for the end of the episode would roll and you, Miranda, and Stephen would let out sighs of relief and walk off set and go get cups of water and coffee. But even as you stood there, trying hard not to tilt to the left to watch Stephen walk downstairs and out of the house, you knew what had happened was no fun and games. No, you’d definitely be facing consequences once he was gone.

And finally, after a few more moments of prolonged silence, his footsteps were going down the stairs and into the foyer. Your eyes traced the contours of Miranda’s silk shirt, watching the way it flowed over her shoulders as she walked closer to the staircase to watch Stephen go. One minute- two minutes- and then the front door was opening and closing behind him…

…and silence fell again.

You swallowed, feeling as though you had suddenly been thrown into the center of the sun. The heat of your embarrassment was excruciating - and if Miranda turned around, she’d spot the blush on your cheeks instantaneously. But that was a strong if, because she hadn’t just yet. Nope, instead, she stood staring at the door, letting the air settle. And you weren’t going to interrupt that, so you kept your mouth shut and tried to rationalize mentally.

If she asked, you’d just tell her the truth. That the world got crueler each day and it was in your nature to worry and that no wife should ever come face to face with a furious partner - at least not without the chance to talk civilly at first. And then you’d tell her that it was okay if she wanted to fire you and that you were sorry for being so open and that if you had fucked things up, you’d do whatever you could to fix them.

…

The silence eventually became deafening. And there was an itch in your legs that was getting to you. And your hands were slowly untensing, left with an ache from the pressing of your fingernails. And the exhaustion from the long day was getting to you - so you cleared your throat and prepared yourself.

“Miranda, I’m so sor-”

“That was unnecessary.” You couldn’t hear an ounce of emotion in her tone.

And all you could do was nod and look down at your feet.

“I- I know. I know. But I just… I just couldn’t leave, Miranda.”

“You couldn’t or you didn’t want to?”

Well that was a brilliant question. One you wished you could answer without crying. One you wished you could answer without feeling like a complete loser.

“…Both, I guess.” You settled on the best option you could think of and began shaking your head when the only response you got was a low hum of acknowledgment.

And Miranda still hadn’t moved. She was probably compartmentalizing - or disappearing into her fashionable mind palace - all while you stood there looking at her like she had just smacked your ice cream onto the floor.

Well… if there was one thing you knew, it was that the tension-filled silence couldn’t continue. She could either fire you quickly or make it slow and painful, but either way you weren’t going down without a fight.

“Look, I’m sorry. I am. I know it was out of line and it was too much and I should’ve just kept my mouth shut but I promise I did it with good intentions. And I promise I wouldn’t have stayed if I wasn’t worried and I wouldn’t have said anything if I weren’t genuinely upset. And… and I don’t know if you want to fire me because of that, but if you’re gonna do it - please just get it over with. I know I’m a good assistant, I- I know I’ve learned quickly and I’m sorry that I just completely ruined that right now but if you somehow just gave me another chance, I wouldn’t make another mistake. I promise. And I wouldn’t- I- I-,” you stumbled over your words, feeling the intense pounding of your heart press up against your chest, like it was begging to bounce onto the floor and tumble down the stairs. And the feeling felt so sickening that you had to take a deep breath and shake your head and push down the angry, anxious, terrified tears that yearned to spill into your eyes. “And I- I’ll- I’ll never let anyone talk to you like that again… I promise.”

Your voice was frail. The fire from earlier was gone - as though it had never existed at all. And Miranda still just stood there, with her phone in one hand and her face turned away from you…. Like you weren’t good enough to see her. Like you didn’t deserve to know what she was thinki-”

“You talk too much.” It was the only thing she said before she turned around and walked right past you - faster than lightning.

And you blinked just in time, turning on your heel and staring after her.

“Wh-what? That’s it?” You called. No firing? No scolding?

The room she was heading into looked like a study - but that swiftly became unimportant when she paused at the door and turned to you.

Her face, lit up by the hall light, looked tired in the same way it was earlier. But her eyes… well there was something in them that you couldn’t place. It looked like amusement… and something softer. Something- dare you say- grateful. But it was probably just a trick of the light - and you were probably just hallucinating because of your own exhaustion - and she was most likely just itching to get her duty done and go to bed.

And you suspected that was the case until she took a second to look you up and down in that way that she did- with her blue eyes searching and her gaze laser-sharp- and eventually, eventually, she made it back up to your face. Her expression was blank.

“…On Monday morning, tell Emily that the clothing department has a new opening. Then tell everybody else.” There was a pause. “…And be prepared to start interviews on Tuesday.”

And the last you saw of her then- of the sweet poison you called Miranda Priestly- was the statuesque shape of her body’s side profile as she softly closed the study door.

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Thank you for the request, anon! I understand this isn't terribly fluffy, but I wanted to make it as realistic as I could. I hope you enjoyed! - Ripley

(P.S. DWP is my favorite movie!)

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whenyourlipstouchedmine · 1 year

Text

Somewhere after the movie

There were many things Lydia got from her little trip back to Beacon Hills, but the most important of them all was a lesson.

A lesson in holding on to the things and the people we love because it might be too late if we don’t.

It was hard to be back, especially after the past year. To go back on those streets, the same places and with the same people she grew up with… well, almost.

The most important person wasn’t there.

She knew that she was to blame for that, that maybe he didn’t want to go knowing that she’ll be there. She also knew how hard he worked, so maybe he just got caught up with a case and couldn’t find the time to drive down.

Either way, Stiles wasn’t there. And it felt wrong.

It felt wrong to be detectives without him, to tie a red string on a board and not have him fussing over it, tying it around his fingers anxiously as he tried to figure it out.

But that was her fault, too. It was she who left, her who put a stop to what they had because she was scared. Scared of a nightmare that felt too real not to pay it any mind. And, after her record, she didn’t want to risk it. Not when it came to Stiles. She lost him so many times already.

“Are you okay, Lyd?” Jackson asks. It’s been nice to have him around. The whole bringing-Allison-back thing was hard enough, she needed a support system if her usual one was gone.

She’s glad at least that worked out, and maybe it was seeing Scott and her best friend get back together as if no time had passed, or maybe it was the fact that she had to catch Allison up with everything she missed the past fifteen years, and the memory lane wasn’t a fun ride to go down.

“You don’t look surprised,” Lydia asked her best friend after she finished the re-cap of her story.

“About Stiles? How could I?” Allison laughed. “Lyds, you kept denying it but I could see it from a mile away. Besides, I do remember that kiss. Even with everything that was going on, you two… you were meant to be.”

The words still play in her head now as Jackson waves his hand in front of her.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Lydia asks, turning to face him. He just rolls his eyes in annoyance. He really became a totally different person after he left Beacon Hills, but Lydia thinks he likes it better like this, funnily enough.

“You need to talk to him,” Jackson blurts out.

“Talk to who?” She frowns.

“Oh, come on, you’re the smartest woman in the world, I’m pretty sure you can figure that one out.”

“I—I can’t, Jackson. I can’t go back. I don’t even know if he still—“

“This is Stiles we’re talking about. The guy’s been in love since… what, eighth grade?”

“Third, actually—“

“Even better! Trust me, he’s not… he’s still in love with you. It would be stupid of him not to.”

“I just don’t think it’s fair. After all, it was me who left without a warning,” she sighs.

“Fine, then wait until the next supernatural crisis hits and we can all come back here and make it awkward like Malia and Scott! What the fuck happened between those two, anyway?”

“Beats me…” Lydia says.

“I’m just saying, I think you should call him. Or show up at his doorstep and tell him what happened. He’d do that for you.”

And Jackson is right about that, Stiles would do that for her. He’d do anything for her. Once, after they moved to San Francisco, her bosses were being dicks and not giving her enough credit and he actually conducted an investigation that got them in trouble for neglecting their workers.

“I’ll see what I do, but thanks for coming and… for everything else,” she hugs him. It’s time for him to catch his plane back to London.

“Of course, but remember—“

“No word of this to Ethan. Got it,” she chuckles. “Have a safe flight!”

“Call him!” Is the last thing he says before he closes the door and heads inside the airport. Lydia sighs and holds the steering wheel harder, thinking.

When she closes her eyes, he sees the dream again, so clearly, so vividly, Stiles on the floor, glass shattered all around him, and the car on fire. He’s not breathing, and all Lydia can do is scream, but nobody hears her.

She shakes her head and starts driving back to San Francisco. It’s gonna be a long ride, but she hopes that she’s made a decision by the end of it.

(…)

There are few things Lydia missed about using her powers again, but the random blackouts weren’t one of them.

That’s the only possible reason she can think of as to why she’s parked her car in front of Stiles’ apartment. Or maybe it was just muscle memory.

Or both.

Call him.

“Fuck it.” She says and she gets out of the car, trying to make herself look presentable as if Stiles hadn’t seen her at her worst. As if he hadn’t loved her even when she was locked up in an asylum, with her head drilled open.

As she heads to the door, her heart starts to beat way too quickly for comfort.

Maybe this is a horrible idea. Perhaps she should’ve called. What if he’s not home? What if he’s got someone over? She probably should’ve texted first to make sure he didn’t hate her.

“Lydia?”

She doesn’t even get to ring the doorbell.

But, of course, he must’ve felt the red string of fate pulling as she got closer.

“Hi,” her voice barely comes out, which is funny for a Banshee. “I—“

“Oh, my God,” he drops the bags he was carrying and walks to her to hug her so tightly she can barely breathe. “You’re okay, thank God.”

She doesn’t know what to say, how to act. It takes her a few seconds to hug him back, too startled. But this is the place she belongs in: his arms.

“Scott texted and… I didn’t know you’d be going back, too. Beacon Hills was—“

“It was Allison, of course, I went back,” Lydia says. “It was… weird being there without you, you know? We all missed you, I missed you.”

“Did you?” He asks, and Lydia knows that he has every right to be defensive, but she doesn’t want him to be.

“Of course, I did. I—“ she sighs. “Listen, can we talk? Upstairs, maybe? Or if you don’t want to, I can come back another day or we can meet up somewhere else that doesn’t feel so personal, or you can tell me to get the fuck out and—“

“I would never do that,” he says, and it hurts that Lydia knows. Even when she’s hurt him so many times, he still wouldn’t. “Let me—I was on my way to take out the trash, so let me do that and then you can come up, sure.”

“Cool, yeah, sure, do you need any help with that?” She asks, pointing at the bags, but he shakes his head, smiling slightly.

“Wouldn’t want you to stain those boots. They’re your favorite, aren’t they? Or maybe you got a new favorite pair now.”

“I don’t,” she says, maybe a bit too quickly. The fact that he remembers makes something warm burn inside her. The same fire that’s been burning for over fifteen years and didn’t die even when they were apart.

She watches him go down the stairs to the bins down the street and come back with his checkered pajama bottoms and a plain white t-shirt that Lydia knows he loves to sleep in.

It feels like nothing has changed except it has. Many things have changed. Dead people aren’t dead anymore and people who weren’t dead before, are.

“Alright, let’s go?” He asks once he gets back to her, and she just shyly nods before she follows him inside.

She knows the way to his apartment by heart, and could probably get there with her eyes closed if she wanted to, but she enjoys the sight of him. His hair is a bit longer, much like it was when they were in high school.

She feels like she just jumped on a time machine and they’re back to the days when discovering dead bodies around their town was the norm. Well, he still kind of does, but he always said it wasn’t as fun without the rest of the pack.

“Welcome. I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really… expecting anyone,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck as he moves to the side to allow Lydia to walk in.

The fact that it still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here gives her a bit of whiplash. Only the pictures of them two are gone, but Lydia doesn’t blame him for that.

At least the ones of the whole pack are still there.

“It’s okay, I’m used to your mess,” she smiles a bit, hoping it wasn’t too much for her to say.

“Yeah, after hanging out in my teenage bedroom, I’d say you’re good,” he chuckles as well and closes the door behind her.

It’s a bit awkward as they sit on the couch in silence, and Lydia is starting to second-guess coming here in the first place.

“What did you want to talk about?” He eventually asks, and Lydia is surprised that she founds herself at a loss for words. That’s never happened before.

“I… These few days have been very intense. Going back there, seeing all the people from our past… Allison coming back and losing Derek was very hard. It showed me the importance of not holding anything back because it might be too late.” She looks down at her hands as she starts fidgeting with her fingers nervously. She always does that.

“Hey, Lyd? It’s alright,” he reaches over and holds her hand the same way he always did. The same way he used to unwrap the colored strings they used for their detective maps, the same way he did when he put a ring on her finger. A ring she left behind when she left.

“Is it, though? Don’t you hate me even a little bit?” She asks, now turning to look at him. “Because, trust me, I do. I hate myself. I hate myself for leaving you like that, but I didn’t have a choice,” she says. “I— I’m sorry that I left like that, so suddenly and without explaining. I couldn’t—“

“Do you want to explain it now?” He asks, as gentle as usual, just as patient.

“I had a nightmare one night… we were driving somewhere and suddenly, it all turned black, there was a crack on the window, and you… you were on the floor, surrounded by glass and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t reach you, but you weren’t breathing.” She gulps. “And I know that I’ve had nightmares before, we both have, but—It kept happening, every night I dreamed the same thing until the point where I didn’t know if it was a dream or if it was a premonition.”

“Well, I’m not dead, am I?” He asks.

“You’re not, because I left. I was there in the dream, so I thought that… if I left, then—“

“You have to be kidding me,” he says, standing up. “Lydia Martin, you—“

“I couldn’t lose you, okay? Not like that! I—I couldn’t face you dying, Stiles. I’m sorry, I know it was selfish, but I just—I couldn’t be the reason why you died.”

“So losing me anyway was the best idea you had? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I was scared! I was terrified of triggering it, so I just—“ she sighs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I had no business stirring up the past like that, you—you never deserved it.” She stands up and starts to head for the door.

“Hey, hey, hold on, I never said that,” he reaches out to stop her, grabbing her arm. “I’m just saying… Lydia, I’ve been in love with you since the third grade. Even when you barely acknowledged my existence, I loved you. Did you really think that I stopped?”

“You should have,” Lydia says with a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, well, I also should have stayed home that night that Scott got bitten, I should have studied more for my exams instead of going around the woods every night, and I should have made sure to keep my Jeep in top-tier condition so it wouldn’t keep breaking, I should have done many things, but we all know I never was too good at doing what I should, was I?” He says, a smile on his face. “So, tell me, Lydia, why did you actually come here? Just to tell me that? So that I could… find closure and move on?”

“I came because I missed you. Because being back in Beacon Hills without you felt wrong and made me realize how much I wished that I’d stayed. How much I regretted letting that nightmare drive me away from the only thing that I’ve ever had. You—You’re the love of my life, Stiles. And every second I’ve spent without you has been torture.”

“I’d say we’ve both been tortured enough in the past, haven’t we?” And with a swift pull, Lydia finds herself colliding against his chest. “Let’s stop that,” he says before he presses their lips together.

And even though she’s been back in Beacon Hills, this is her true Homecoming. She wraps her arms around Stiles’ neck and deepens the kiss, making up for all the time they lost.

“I love you so much,” she whispers against his lips, feeling her own tears rolling down her face.

“And I love you,” Stiles says back with a smile. “Next time you have a nightmare, tell me about it instead of taking off in the middle of the night, yeah?”

“I’ll try. If I don’t, come find me.”

“Alright, deal.” And he kisses her again, and again, and again, for all the times he couldn’t, for all the nights he wished she was still in her arms, for all the minutes of the day he’s spent thinking about her since he left.

And, when they find their way back to bed, Stiles gets a box out of his bedside table and hands it to her.

“You kept it?” Lydia’s eyes open wide when she sees the ring.

“Always kept hoping you’d come back,” he admits, sliding the ring on her finger and kissing it after. “I’m glad I was right.”

“I am, too.”

And the world might still be a freaky place with werewolves, banshees, kitsunes, nogitsunes, dark druids, and people coming back from the dead, but in their little bubble, it’s just them.

It’s always been just them.

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twaufest · 1 year

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Teen Wolf AU Fest

Link to the Screen-reader friendly version.

#twaufest #teen wolf fanfiction #tw fanfic #tw fanart #sterek #steter #scallison #stydia #scissac #petopher #allydia #fanfic fest #teen wolf au

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nellyharrison · 7 months

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“The first time I met Boyd was in middle school,” Erica muttered, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as Scott and Stiles stood by her side. The rest of the pack looked at each other before glancing over at Erica to find tears welling in her eyes. “It, um, it was the first class I’d ever had without Scott or Stiles in it, and I didn’t know where to sit. Boyd was sitting in the back, and he saw me, and he just smiled and nodded to the desk next to him. He didn’t say a word to me for months, but he’d smile at me every day, and with that smile, he’d make me feel comfortable and safe. All he’d ever have to do is smile, and everything would be okay.” “I loved his smile,” Cora added, her jaw clenched as she blinked back tears, refusing to cry. “Didn’t get to see it a lot in the vault, but sometimes, I’d start ranting about all the things I’d want to do to the alphas, and he’d just smile. It should have made me angrier, but it helped, somehow.” “He was good at that,” Isaac recalled. “He always seemed to know how to help. He could explain things in a way that you could understand without feeling smaller, or he could point out a solution that is so obvious you couldn’t believe you never thought of it.” “That’s because he was one of the smartest guys in our class,” Lydia said with a small smile. “He gave me a run for my money most of the time, but he didn’t like to brag. Once, he even scored better than me on a test, and instead of teasing me about it, he just offered to share his notes and study materials for the next test.” “He was a good guy,” Jackson stated, clearing his throat as he wrapped his arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna miss him.” That was what broke Erica, a sharp sob escaping her before she covered her face with her hands. She wasn’t sure who turned her towards them, but suddenly she was in someone’s arms as another person wrapped around her from behind. More arms and hands seemed to enter the mix, and when she looked up again, she found her entire pack surrounding her. They were all crying, their heads leaning forward and against each other as they tried to find comfort in the embrace. They had tried to heal apart, in their own ways, but they needed one another to get through this. They were a pack, and even though they had lost one of their members, they could and should depend on each other.

Chapter 9 of "Come Along", Part 5 of Super Friends for Life! by NellyHarrison

#vernon boyd #erica reyes #cora hale #isaac lahey #lydia martin #jackson whittemore #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #tw fanfic

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lostinbooks14 · 4 months

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Fic Recs?

Ya'll have any NON-STEREK fics where the pack treats Stiles roughly (physically)? But in a fond way. Like too-hard playful nudges or punches.

Non-sterek fics where they hurt him seriously on accident are also really sweet.

Major bonus points if it has loads of Scott and Stiles bromance

#ive found a few #but not enough #maybe theres a tag on ao3 but i hvnt found it #most are sterek #anti sterek #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #tw fanfic #stiles stilinski #scott and stiles

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fullmoans · 1 year

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Home is a Fire | Part 6 & 7 - The End

They left Stiles out because they knew the nogitsune would tear him apart, but now the nogitsune is gone and Stiles can feel the nemeton telling him it isn’t over — not for him. And maybe not for Derek either.

Read the entire, completely fic now on AO3!

Part 6

Everything that happens next is fast and confusing. Stiles can’t help but be drawn back into the adrenaline rush of preparing for this ancient ritual that they don’t really understand. It’s just like old times. Lydia is sitting alone in his room, trying to come up with more information or more directions. Scott is on the phone with Deaton talking about the nemeton and sacrifices and if Deaton thinks it’s really possible that the nemeton is sending Stiles this message. From the hopeful tone of Scott’s voice, Stiles decides that Deaton thinks it is possible.

Allison is on the porch with her father and Stiles’s. Stiles can’t hear what they’re talking about but even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to focus on another conversation while he’s trying to talk to Cora and the quiet voice of Peter coming through Cora’s phone.

Cora has decided she’s going to be the Hale member. Peter did not fight this decision because he’s not convinced that this isn’t a trap. Still, he agrees to go and wait by the cars with Chris and Noah. He also agrees to keep all of this from Eli which hasn’t been difficult given that Eli’s been in the woods with Malia. Stiles can only assume that has to do with some kind of transforming into a wolf business. He’s never really understood the traits of the Hale wolves.

“Do you think we need to have ice baths? Wolfsbane? Robes?” Peter, though he’s been on his best behavior, is, of course, making fun of them.

“Right now all that we know is that the 5 of us need to be at the nemeton,” Stiles says.

“On the next full moon,” Cora adds.

“That’s two weeks away. For once, we’re not running out of time.”

Xxx

That night passed quickly. Lydia commanded the attention of the room as the sun set. She was talking about the similarities between this nemeton ritual and the one that brought Allison back. Apparently, they brought with them items relating to her death. A sword, some dirt – you know, Stiles thought, normal things.

“I could have Jordan light up and then scrape off any ashes on his skin afterwards?” Scott suggested. He was met with nods as well as a barely choked off laugh from Cora.

“Besides Jordan, the nemeton is the only other connection to Derek’s death so I get this feeling,” Lydia said, gesturing her hands towards her heart, “that we need to bring things that will connect Derek to his life.”

Stiles tuned out of the conversation at that point, thinking about his own connections to Derek. What did he have to offer? He thought about how Derek had kept and worked on his Jeep for so many years. How he’d let, though “let” was not the word Derek would’ve used according to Stiles’s father, Eli drive it. It was the best connection Stiles still had to Derek.

After a few hours, everyone had settled on what they were going to bring and when they were going to meet. Scott would bring Allison back home with him for the time before the full moon. Lydia would leave, too. Cora and Stiles decided to stay and catch up.

They decided to meet back at Stiles’s Dad’s for breakfast so make sure no one was missing anything. Scott, Allison, and Chris left for Melissa’s. Cora went to Derek’s. Noah offered the very comfortable couch to Lydia who was too exhausted to decline. Stiles was alone again in his room with the kind of quiet that he’d grown unaccustomed to in Portland.

Xxx

Stiles awoke to a scream. It was the blood curdling kind of scream from Lydia that he hadn’t heard since the first few weeks after they’d moved. He struggled into a pair of sweatpants that he’d left on the floor by his bed before he went to sleep, then rushed down the stairs.

Lydia had stopped screaming but she was curled into a ball on the middle of the floor in the Sheriff’s living room. Stiles’s father was already beside her, trying to wake her up. Weirder still, she was surrounded by black ink. At some point in the night, or early this morning, she drew black over full pages and spread them on the floor around herself in a full circle.

Stiles walked around the circle of her drawings while he heard his father calling Melissa McCall who promised her and Scott would be there in a few minutes. The drawings were too neat. The more Stiles looked at them, the more he knew that they weren’t just blacked out pages. On the corner, there were white pages and pages only half blackened in lengthy curved shapes. He closed his eyes for a moment to get the pages out of his mind before going into the kitchen, grabbing a step ladder, and returning to view the pages from a higher angle.

At this angle, he could see that they formed a giant black circle around Lydia, still curled up in the fetal position but now with her head in Noah’s hands and he tried to get her to wake up.

“Stiles, would you get down here and help me wake her up?”

As soon as Stiles got off of the step ladder, crossed the pages to Lydia, and took hold of her hand, her eyes shot open.

“It’s the new moon, Stiles. It’s not the full moon. It’s the new moon,” Lydia said. Stiles heard the door open. Lydia continued to repeat “the new moon” while she sat up and got a sense of her surroundings.

“Stiles.” It was Scott, Stiles thought, he must’ve come through the door first. “Stiles,” Scott repeated, “the new moon is tonight.”

Part 7

Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Allison, and Cora Hale stood in a large, loose circle around the nemeton. In the darkness of the new moon, Stiles’s eyes gave nothing away. This was mainly because they were wide open, struggling to adjust at all to the pitch black darkness of the woods with no moon.

In his hands, Stiles held his original copy of the keys to his Jeep – Eli’s set of keys, his fathers’, and the Jeep itself were safely out of the woods. Cora held her necklace which one of Talia Hale’s claws dangling from a golden setting. Scott had an old tupperware container which contained the ashes he scraped off Jordan after a transformation. Allison’s fingers were wrapped around a few fresh blooms of the Nordic Blue Monkshood buried above Laura Hale that had incidentally brought all of them together, though these petals weren’t from that specific plant and rather from the plant about the now Hale Library. If Derek were to later tell him that the plant above the library was indeed from the same plant which had once marked Laura’s grave, Stiles wouldn’t have been surprised.

Lydia was the only one of them who held nothing. In many ways, her connection to Derek was the weakest. Her connection to the nemeton was stronger and that’s what brought her with them, less than an hour before midnight, underneath the new moon.

Keeping their formation, each member of the circle stepped forwards. When they finally got close enough to touch the nemeton, they each placed their items on its top. Cora used Talia’s claw to slice across her hand enough to leave a small pool of blood on the nemeton’s surface. Lydia placed her palm down on the nemeton instead and looked up at the moon. “What’s taken is returned,” she whispered. The rest of the circle repeated after her. She lifted her hand and took a few steps back, looking now at the nemeton. Again, she repeated the words. Again, they chorused after her.

After the third repetition, tendrils of silver light began creeping outwards from the center of the tree. The tendrils curled around the ankles of the pack and flowed out past them, into the woods. Some tendrils began to climb up trees. Slowly, the clearing began to grow brighter and brighter. While his eyes readjusted, Stiles looked to Lydia and swallowed down a noise that threatened to come up from his throat.

A few of the tendrils had wrapped their way up Lydia’s body. One seemed to creep right into her mouth. Suddenly, her eyes shifted to the same glowing silver of the tendrils and she spoke. “Derek Hale,” said a voice through Lydia’s mouth that was not her own. “You sacrificed virgin blood to us in our time of death. This new life we took and we have prospered.” The light in the clearing was becoming too bright. Stiles tried to see the others but could only see the faintest shape of Scott’s hand covering his eyes. Stiles lifted his own hands up to shield his eyes. “Derek Hale,” Not Lydia said once more, “what’s taken is returned.”

Behind the pink glow of his eyelids, it became dark again all at once. Stiles lowered his hand.

Xxx

“If any one of you discusses, considers, or even thinks about following an eerie dream, performing a crazy banshee ancient druid ritual, or anything of the supernatural sort without consulting every single member of this pack first, I will personally drown you in a bathtub full of ice and you can live out your days in a perpetual blank space. Do you understand?!” The voice was loud, commanding, and most importantly, it was the voice of Derek Hale. He was facing Scott, his back completely turned to Stiles.

“If you would just stay safe and out of harm’s way, I wouldn’t have to,” Stiles said, his voice shaking and much as his knees were before he had grown unsteady on them and fallen forward. Now, kneeling on the other side of the nemeton, Stiles watched Derek Hale, completely nude with salt-and-pepper hair and bright red eyes, turn around to face him. In normal circumstances, Stiles would’ve fought to keep his eyes up and on Derek’s. Today, he couldn’t have looked away from Derek’s eyes if he’d tried.

“You came?” Gone was Derek’s booming voice from before and replaced with a much softer tone.

“I had an eerie dream of fire and hope,” Stiles whispered.

Derek was moving. He was so much faster than Stiles remembered. He had barely blinked before Derek was in front of him, grabbing him under his arms and lifting him to stand. Stiles' knees were still not ready to carry his weight but Derek knew. Derek always knew. He kept one arm wrapped underneath Stiles’ arm and around his back, holding him steady. As Stiles looked up, Derek’s red eyes faded back to normal. Normal, Stiles thought, what a stupid way to describe the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

“You never came back,” Derek whispered, keeping his other hand awkwardly by his side.

“I like to think I came back when it mattered the most,” Stiles retorted, trying to lighten the heavy air between them.

“Are you going to stay?”

“Are you going to stop sacrificing yourself when you have so many people to live for?”

“Who else will do the self-sacrificing if I stop?” They were joking back and forth now, albeit in hushed tones. The awkwardness was turning into tension, like it used to when Derek would press him up against the nearest wall.

“I think it’s high time for that responsibility to fall on Peter,” Stiles said, sounding as serious as he possibly could.

Between them, there was a single beat of silence. Then Derek started laughing. Derek Hale’s laugh was so happy and contagious that soon their forgotten family and friends began to laugh behind them, though they didn’t notice. “Can I?” Derek asked, trailing off into an unspoken question.

“I just brought you back from the dead, I think I deserve one–” and Stiles was cut off by Derek’s lips on his own. His eyes dropped shut as Derek’s unoccupied hand settled on the side of his neck, his thumb resting underneath Stiles’ jaw. Stiles’ own awkward arms reached up and settled on Derek’s shoulder and collarbone. If time was passing while they kissed, neither of them noticed. They didn’t know if the rest of the pack had scattered or remained to comment on what Stiles thought must be surprising at least to Allison.

They kissed until, “Dad!” broke through the perceived silence. Stiles dropped his head to lay on Derek’s shoulder and give him an unobstructed field of vision over him as Eli ran from the woods, into the clearing, and straight up to the two of them. The arm that held Stiles up remained but the one holding his neck was stretched out just in time to accommodate the sudden teenager who joined their embrace. “How?” Stiles heard Eli whisper.

“Eli, I’d like to properly introduce you to Stiles Stilinski,” Derek said. “Impossible things happen around Stiles Stilinski.”

“I’ve had my share of impossible things. I’d be content to just have this forever,” Stiles whispered, not completely realizing he’d spoken out loud.

“Then let’s have this,” Derek said in return. “The three of us. Let’s have this forever.”

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ceruleanmusings · 1 year

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The Game is Mine

Can also be found on Ao3.

Teen Wolf movie Fix-It rewrite fic.

SPOILERS AHEAD!

IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE TEEN WOLF MOVIE YET, YOU WILL BE SPOILED! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Summary: Well. This is it then. This is the only move he can make. The only way to take all the pieces off the board. The only way to make sure everyone is safe. No one said all the right choices was easy. And yet, somehow, it was the easiest decision Scott ever made.

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Well. This is it then. This is the only move he can make. The only way to take all the pieces off the board. The only way to make sure everyone is safe. No one said all the right choices was easy. And yet, somehow, it was the easiest decision Scott ever made.

“Take me,” he stated. Let the others go.” God, was that his voice? Wavery and unsure? His hands curled into his palms. He had to steady it. Get a grip. He had to save Eli. It was all about saving Eli. Saving everyone. If everyone was safe…it would all be worth it. He’d done everything he needed to do.

“All the lives here belong to me.” The Nogitsune’s voice scraped down Scott’s spine, sending the hairs up on his arms. But still he pressed on, moved forward. That was all there was to life, wasn’t it? Moving forward? It’d been so difficult before but now…now, nothing else in the world was easier.

“All you need is me,” Scott said, his words with borrowed confidence.

“Scott don’t do this.” Ah, Derek. Still trying to find a way to take all the pain and punishment. Habits die hard, huh? Or maybe that was his parental instincts kicking in. If anyone was going to trade themselves for Eli, it would be his father, wouldn’t it? Derek had lost so much… Scott hoped he’d understand his choice one day. Maybe.

Scott rolled his shoulders back, strengthened his stance, steeled his bones. They needed to remember him like this. Strong, sure, stable. Their Alpha. Their friend. “Allison kills me, I die in her arms, the same way that she died in mine.” He didn’t mean to think of Stiles at this moment but he did. Because he’d be proud Scott figured it out, if only for a second, before his anger would come roaring to life. And he’d come up with another plan. Because Stiles was quick like that, finding the patterns and the loopholes. But that’s not how it’s supposed to work. This was a two-person game. And Scott had to keep it that way. “That’s the move that wins the game, isn’t it?”

“I’ve already won.”

“You lose!” It burst out of him in an angry snarl. Tiny pinpricks of pain pulse in his palms as his claws flickered and flashed beneath his surging anger. He strained to keep his fangs from ripping through his gums, elongating in his jaws. He couldn’t give the Nogitsune more power, more strength. “Until I’m off the board! And I’m still standing.” He swallowed and shifted his weight, grounding himself. “And I’m still the alpha.”

“An arrow to the heart to save everyone else?” A strange lilt floated his growling, gravely question along. Amusement? Amazement? Skepticism? Were trickster spirits able to feel anything other than its own satisfied glee? Scott’s heart thudded as the Nogitsune’s bandaged head whipped around to Eli. A whisper of a breath and—“All the other players go free.”

His stomach pitched and his hands trembled, and he pushed down the thick, sour threatening to rush up his throat. I can do this. I have to do this. Counting to three, Scott turned, and his heart broke all over again. The jagged splinters poked between his ribs and rubbed and irritated his lungs, aching his chest with every pull of his breath. The way her face cracked open, her mouth dropped in a silent refusal, the tears carving tracks down her cheeks as her eyes flitted back and forth from the bow in her hand to his face, over and over again. As if daring herself to wake up from a dream. Or a nightmare. Or this reality.

“No.” The word squeezed out between her trembling lips, riding the wafting smoke surrounding them. Scott didn’t dare take his eyes off her. If this was all he had left, seeing this look on her face, seeing her, he’d see it through the end. He had to. “No I can’t. I c—I can’t—I cannot…. No.”

Scott’s ears twitched at Eli’s groan behind him. Any longer and al this wouldn’t be worth it. Derek would lose someone else, again. He couldn’t let Derek go through that. Couldn’t let anyone else he cared about go through more pain and suffering because of him. It had to be done this way. It had to. And he locked eyes with Allison, holding her, telling her this. Because she had to know. She had to do it. She had to.

“Kill him, Allison,” the Nogitsune growled, “and I win the game.”

Kill me. And this will all be over. All of it.

“Allison please.” Her eyes snapped back to him and he saw her as she once was, the fresh faced girl on the first day of the new semester, smiling that shy smile when she took the pen he held out to her. The girl full of possibilities. The girl with hope. The girl with a future. The girl who still had one. “Don’t make me watch my friends and my family die.” He couldn’t live with that. But this…this he could live with. Or not. That was the point, after all.

If you ever loved me…

She shook her head, a motion so small he probably wouldn’t have caught it if he didn’t have such a strong focus on her. And he nodded. This had to be done. He did everything he could do. Everything he needed to do. It would be okay. He would be okay. It was okay.

She breathed.

He breathed.

Her arrow slid out of its quiver in a smooth, graceful motion, unsheathing with a metallic hum.

She breathed.

He breathed.

He squared his shoulders. The lapels of his jacket inched open, just a little, clearing the expanse of his chest.

She breathed.

He breathed.

The leather of her gloves creaked as she drew back the bow in one, powerful pull, and held it. Held him. Held them both still. So still.

“Game…is…mine. Kill him!” The Nogitsune roared.

Scott’s breath shook. His body shook. His world trembled. He lifted his chin. Fear spiked in the put of his stomach.

This is the only way.

He looked at her.

Allison—

The moonlight bounced off the arrowhead, glittering and gleaming as if dipped in precious diamonds. They hit their mark, sinking deep into his chest, ripping past skin, and muscle, and bone and landed tried and true. He bent forward, fear and uncertainty shooting out of him in one pained grunt. His heart beat hard, lurched, once, and spasmed painfully in his chest. Volume dropped, leaving behind only a high pitched ring.

She breathed.

He tried.

She drew another arrow and let this one fly. His teeth clenched. He jerked backwards, muscles fluttering, recoiling against the new spike of pain in his chest. He stood straight again. Looked at her. Held her. Took a step forward.

She breathed.

He held his breath.

Another arrow in. A perfect three-fold shot. Red dotted and bloomed on his shirt, spreading and unfurling its petals. He staggered backwards, legs giving out as all his blood and strength rushed upwards.

The woods tilted and the ground rushed up to meet him. Some sort of perseverance kicked in as he had the strength to throw out his arm and cushion his fall, the other going up to his chest to…what? Check if the arrows did land? Check if his heart still beat? Check to see if he still belonged to this earthly plane? Yes, yes, and yes.

He smelled her before he felt her. That overwhelming yet satiating scent of her: sweet and floral, as if flowers grew around her bones and budded between her teeth. Her fingers gripped him, held him, steadied him, even as his head rocked in the waves and his body floated. His skin stretched and fluttered, stitched and ripped working to heal him and expel the arrows, resisting the foreign bodies lodged inside.

“The wolves howl to signal their position the rest of the pack.” Her cheek brushed against his and her hair tickled his face and he leaned against her, resting upon his shield. “Tell me, Scott McCall,” the Nogitsune all but coughed out, “what is the sound of the wolf who is ready to die?”

“I’d tell you,” he said, chest heaving, arrows creaking and groaning, “but I’m not ready to die.

Flashing in dancing reds and twirling golds, fire erupted on the fletching of the arrows sticking out of him. As they burned and lowered, dripping sparks and embers, the red blossom on his chest shrank. Warmth spread across the surface of the once-stained, white fabric, licking and brushing against his skin. And only when the flame died out did he get to his feet, shaky but solid, and stared the Nogitsune down, its gaping maw showcasing a shiny row of jagged teeth and disbelief.

“Fox Fire,” the Nogitsune growled.

Fire burst around him, crackling and spinning in the air. Scott closed his eyes, sensitive to the light, and allowed the flames to lick up his legs, wrap around his waist, curl up his arms and torso, and leap off his head, pulling upwards into a tight rope, the large fox form rising above him. It stretched upwards, crawling higher, and spun off. And when the light died down, Scott turned to Hikari who stared back at him with wide eyes. She turned her head one way and then to the other, lower lip trembling.

“It…it wasn’t me,” she managed a whisper.

A small shift let his eyes land on Liam, whose gaze had moved off him and to the side. Somewhere behind him. He turned. Allison looked pat him too, her hand gripped his shoulder holding him tight. He turned the other way and all his breath sucked in his throat.

Walking with a strong stride, head held high, the kitsune shrouding her with a regal elegance, Kira stepped through the thick smoke, one hand on the large belt buckle wrapped around her waist, moonlight caught in its teeth.

“I learned some new tricks,” Kira said, her steely-eyed gaze on the Nogitsune. It huffed and grunted up on the altar, teeth gnashing. With a flourish, Kira drew her sword. It sliced through the air, thrumming and whistling with every twist and turn until she rested in a stance, muscles tense, two fingers extended out towards the Nogitsune. “…Still want to play?”

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note: I can't be the only one who saw Hikari giving Scott her fox fire for protection and thinking it would've been an awesome full circle moment to have Kira do it. So I decided to write it to fix my craving. Enjoy! Come scream in my inbox your thoughts on the movie because I have SO MANY!

#teen wolf movie spoilers #teen wolf movie #teen wolf #fix it fic #scott mccall #allison argent #kira yukimura #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fix it fic #tw fic #tw fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction

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