[teen wolf imagines & headcanons]
disclaimer: i do not own teen wolf, it's character or it's plot. all credit goes to jeff davis and the rest of the creators of this god blessed show. the imagines, fics & headcanons are mine, however, so please do n...
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THE SOLES OF your shoes tapped rapidly against the concrete steps leading up to Scott's front door as you expeditiously scaled them one by one - knowing without having to glance at the time on your phone that you were already late for the pack meeting. You clasped the handle in your grip, grimacing at the chilled metal against your skin, and twisted.
Your breath was uneven as you practically collapsed into the busy living room. Your friends stood around the table, dire determination etched into every crevice of their features; their words (most likely already going through a plan to defeat Gerard and Monroe) fell to an abrupt, deafening silence upon your late entrance.
Visibly wincing with guilt as they all pivoted on their heels to face you, you raised your hands in a surrender motion. The dim light above cast your apologetic features aglow as you stumbled toward them, your chest heaving, "I'm so sorry I'm late, I missed the bus and had to run all the wa-"
"Who told her about the pack meeting?" Malia's not so hushed words interrupted the rambled mess tumbling from your lips. The gripe in her tone was marred with malice and you found your words trailing into a demise as a subsequent - your eyebrows tugging inwards in confusion and your wide eyes dancing to and from the other pack members who eyed your figure wearily.
"It wasn't me," Lydia spoke, as if she were excusing herself from a crime, her eyebrow quirked as she looked over at you.
"What? What's going on?" You couldn't help but ask, convinced that what you heard seethe from Malia's lips was a misunderstanding on your part, or a cruel figment of your imagination. However, when you watched her glare sharpen in hatred and her heavy boots take an intimidating step towards you - a deep, fiery growl erupting in her chest as she did so - you shrunk back, and concluded that it definitely wasn't a figment of your imagination. She was actually beyond infuriated.
Scott gripped her forearm in one swift movement, her name falling from his lips in a dangerous warning and sending her march to an abrupt halt, "Malia. Don't."
"Mal?" Your voice shook, not understanding why one of your best friends had turned against you so quickly. You didn't want to get on the bad side of any supernatural creatures, especially Malia Tate. Being one of the people who helped her through her first full moon as a human, you knew what she was capable of if she let go full throttle and allowed her rage to take control.
You'd just assumed that you'd never be the one the True Alpha was having to hold her back from; you didn't know what you had done for her to scrutinise you so harshly.
She let out a scoff as her nickname fell from your lips and upon her enhanced hearing, "Go back to your boyfriend, (Y/N). You weren't invited here."
The slap of her sharp words brought the prick of stinging tears to the corners of your eyes and your shoulders slumped, dejected. You let out a shaky breath, silently willing for the tears to dissipate. No tears. You took another breath, "That's what this is about? Mal, I told you, Nolan didn't want to do any of that. Monroe-"
