Dylan O'Brien Imagines

Home // Stiles Stilinski

"You know, when you said you had a surprise for me you actually were able to trick me into thinking that it was something good. Well done, dad."

"Oh, but dear, this is good! I had never seen you happier than you were here last year! You know I love when my girl is happy!" Your father explained, wrapping a sweater-clad arm around you. He quickly ushered you into your new house that you had mentally been throwing grenades into previously.

"Well, that was before some assbag decided that they should kill the few friends I had here." You grumbled, crossing your arms across your chest as you leaned against the door.

"You can make some new memories here, darling." He walked back up to me, holding me at arm's length. With a grin, spoke again. "I know I will."

Chills ran down your spine as those words escaped his lips and hung in the air like a pungent smell. You were left to your imagination as he pecked your forehead and ascended up the stairs. You watched his retreating figure curiously, wondering what hidden meaning lay behind his words. Running a hand through your hair, you slid down to the ground, your knees tucking into your chest.

The reason as to why your father, better-known as ex-alpha Deucalion, had thought that moving back to the lowly town of Beacon Hills befuddled you in ways that you couldn't explain. If he really wanted his little girl happy, then he would have kept you as far away from this town as possible. This place brought you nothing but painful memories, especially now that all of the friends you had made were now apparently dead. You remember sobbing into your father's arms after he had explained that the McCall pack had been defeated.

Those people were like a family to you, and the thought of all of them perishing from this world left a sour taste on your tongue and in your heart. Although your father had hated them all with a burning passion—hence, why he had tried to destroy them about a year ago—he had decided to allow them to live because you liked them all so much. He had never really seen you happy other when you were with them. Instead, he had fled, pulling you along with him and prohibiting you from saying goodbye. Although you certainly knew that you would miss them, you were glad that they were all safe for now.

You were positive that your father had ulterior motives, and you were going to find out what they were.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Your feet carried you through your new neighborhood, your eyes surveying their surroundings. You sent each house or landmark the harshest of glares, the desire to go home growing more and more with each step you took. The mysterious plans that were brewing in your father's head had kept you up all night. Therefore, you had decided to go on a walk early the next morning. It was also an excuse to get away from your father. Of course you still loved him—he was really all you had left, as were you to him—but you always had known that he had never fully released the darkness nipping at his soul. He had claimed that he had found a way to reverse his powers a while back, that he was no longer a blood-thirsty, murderous werewolf.

Although you had said you believed him and forgave him for his mistakes, you knew that, deep down, the only thing you believed was that he was lying to you. You knew for a fact that there wasn't a way to reverse werewolf powers; if there were, you had used that tactic years ago when he had turned you into one himself in order to cure your cancer you had had when you were little.

Your ears perked up at the whirring of a vehicle of sorts. Looking around you, a green motorbike speeding your way grabbed your attention. A jolt of panic settled through you, wondering what your better option would be; to run away or stand your ground. You reluctantly went for the latter. You slowly continued to walk at a calm pace, ready to bring out your claws in case if things got messy.

"Y/N?"

The guy on the motorbike knew your name?

Slowly, you turned to look at the biker. A jean jacket and brown pants with a pair of black shoes were covering the man. His face was hidden behind a white helmet with a black visor. You continued to stare, wondering if he would take that helmet off. The voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Yeah," You drawled out, suddenly regretting telling him your name. He could be a killer for all you know. "You are?"

"Oh, right." The fact that his face was hidden finally seemed to have dawned on him. His gloved hands reached up to tug off the helmet, and your jaw had dropped to the ground as you were finally able to see his face. Those friendly brown eyes met your own, and you felt painfully close to having a panic attack. He smiled at you, surprise and happiness in his eyes. "Hi."

"Scott?"