▪︎𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦,
𝗜'𝗱 𝗱𝗶𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁
𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
in which an ordinary girl soon finds out that she's not as ordinary as she once thought, all while trying to hide her f...
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♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪♡ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 fifty-nine
sick, sick, sick
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
STILES STILINSKI STRUGGLED AGAINST THE TEENAGE BOY, HIS HANDS TEARING AT THE ARM THAT HAD BECAME SNUGLY PRESSED AGAINST HIS NECK AND RESTRICTING HIS HEAVY BREATHING.
The creature's hand, which had a large indent of jarring teeth and grazed skin, became inches away from his face while he clutched at its wrist.
Stiles gasped for air while he reached out for the idle wrench that sat on the broken hood of his jeep. Yet, no matter how much he thrashed, he was always dragged back into its arms.
He threw his head up in a fit of rage. Moments after, he heard the chilling click of broken bones and curdled coughing from the boy behind him. Just as blood began to leak from his lips, Stiles leapt forward and tugged at the metallic wrench. The human boy swang with unbridled rage until the Wendigo became nothing but a slump of broken bones on the gravel.
Stiles didn't stay too long. Not long enough for him to see if he had done enough damage. Just running towards the closest streetlamps and ignoring the loud thumping of his heavy heart.
However, something told him to look back. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Or the weight of his unfortunate mortality - but his eyes connected with him nonetheless.
That was something he'd grow to regret.
His sharp nails clawed the dirt and a devious look pressed against his features while his teeth frowned into a frightening low growl.
Stiles felt his feet ache underneath his thunderous steps but he couldn't dare stop. Not if he wanted to live. Instead, he used one hand to push against the school doors and the other to clutch the blood-stained wrench in his hand.
The school hallways twisted and turned into a never-ending maze and before he knew it, Stiles had reached a dead end. From the emptiness inside to the dark clouds outside, the Stilinski knew he and the creature were the only ones there.
He had no saviour.
He snapped and tore at the library doors before the locks came to a thick snap and the doors busted open, creating a gust of wind to blow in his face and echo through the halls.
With wide eyes and trembling hands, Stiles froze at the sound of footprints inching closer and closer to the library. One sounding much heavier than the last.
He threw himself behind a bookcase moments before the muddy footprints of the creature planted themselves across the floor. It was taunting. Hellish, even. Painting his heavy glare across the room and breathing in the dust like midsummer air.
