How They'd Tell Their Girlfriend About the Supernatural (Teen Wolf Preference)
Requested by Anonymous
Characters: Scott, Stiles, Derek, Isaac, Liam, Peter
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Derek Hale
You know something is wrong long before he tells you.
Derek disappears for hours with no explanation. Sometimes he appears at your window at 2 a.m., bruised and exhausted, insisting he’s “fine” when he’s clearly not. He flinches when you ask too many questions and keeps part of himself locked away, leaving you to wonder if he’ll ever let you in. The distance he puts between you isn't just confusing, it's a mix of worry that knots in your chest and a longing that grows every time you catch a glimpse of the walls he builds. Sometimes, you find yourself scanning your messages repeatedly, searching for his name, even though you know he won't text. You replay your last conversation in your mind while trying to guess if you pushed him too far with a single question. It gets inside your head, making you wonder if something is wrong with you, if you're not enough to make him stay, if you're easy to leave behind. When he finally shows up again, relief and resentment clash inside you, and you have to remind yourself that caring about him means living with this constant ache for closeness you can't quite reach.
The truth comes out after you accidentally see it. Maybe it’s glowing red eyes in the dark. Maybe claws sliding from his fingertips after someone threatens you. Maybe you catch him healing from a wound that should’ve put him in the hospital.
After you see it, Derek freezes, a shock in his tense posture as if caught between protecting himself and preparing for hurt. The silence feels heavy. Dangerous.
You stare at him while your heart pounds in your chest, and Derek looks at you like he’s already preparing for you to leave.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
His voice is low and rough, almost emotionless, but you hear tension underneath. He won’t look at you. His jaw clenches, hands flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to leave before you can reject him. When you ask him what he is, he hesitates for a long time before finally answering.
“A werewolf.”
He answers tiredly, resignation curling through his words as a weary truth settles between you.
Then everything comes out slowly: hunters, packs, alphas, and the constant danger in Beacon Hills. Derek explains it like he’s confessing a crime, every sentence a warning. His words falter once, and something flickers in his eyes before he shares a memory: the scent of burning pine needles catching in his throat, the distant echo of crossbows snapping in the midnight woods. He describes the night the Argent hunters set their trap, how the air had been cold and sharp against his skin, how he could hear his sister's breath hitch as they hid, and how, after the shouting and gunfire stopped, silence felt like another kind of wound. Or he tells you about losing friends to things that don't leave marks you can see: shuffling into a half-empty den, the metallic tang of blood lingering where laughter used to be. These aren't just legends or distant threats; they're memories that have shaped every choice he's made.
Because to him, loving someone means eventually losing them. The hardest part isn’t telling you he’s supernatural. It’s waiting to see if you’ll still touch him afterwards. But when you move closer, Derek's guarded expression shifts from shock to a brief, disbelieving relief that breaks through his fear.
But Derek still tries to push you away.
“You don’t understand what happens to people around me.”
He says it as a fact, not to manipulate you. He genuinely believes caring about you puts you in danger.
After that night, he gets even more protective. You notice him standing closer in crowds, walking you home, watching every doorway. Sometimes you catch him quietly staring like he still can’t believe you stayed. He’ll never say outright that telling you terrified him. But you’ll know. Because the first time you kiss him after learning the truth, Derek kisses you back like he expected it to be the last chance he’d ever get.
Stiles Stilinski
You find out because Stiles can no longer keep a secret from you.
At first, he tries. Really tries. He’s terrible at lying to you because he tells you everything else. Dodging questions and making excuses turns him into a nervous mess. He rambles, checks his phone too much, and goes quiet at certain names.
You start noticing weird things. Police scanners in his Jeep. Scratch marks on his arms. Conversations that abruptly stop when you enter the room. The fact that he looks terrified every full moon.
Eventually, you corner him. And Stiles panics.
“Okay, so this is gonna sound deeply illegal and medically concerning-”
“Stiles.”
“Right. Yeah. Okay. Cool. Awesome.”
He starts pacing immediately. His hands fly as he talks, words tumbling faster the more anxious he gets. He tries to ease you in with talk of “weird stuff” in Beacon Hills, but seeing your confusion, he blurts it out.
“Werewolves are real.”
Silence. Stiles freezes.
For the first time, real fear flashes across his face, open and raw. His expression shifts from panic to actual vulnerability, dreading what you’ll say next.
“Say something,” he says quietly.
When you stare at him in shock, he immediately starts overexplaining.
“Okay, technically not just werewolves. There are banshees, kitsune, and kanimas. By the way, that is a horrifying experience, zero out of ten.”
He keeps talking because if he stops, he has to face the possibility that you’re scared of him now.
He stares, nerves giving way to concern as your expression shifts, and you notice his voice soften, hopeful and trying to read your mood. For a brief moment, you see the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide—like he's holding his breath, waiting for your reaction to decide what happens next.
Suddenly, as you look at him, Stiles drops his humour, and a heaviness pulls at his words. It’s a clear switch from deflection to honesty. He admits he was trying to protect you. That he didn’t want you dragged into the violence surrounding the pack. That every time his phone rang late at night, he worried it’d somehow involve you next.
The moment becomes painfully real when he finally says:
“People get hurt around us.”
Not around him. Around us. Though Stiles is human, this world has consumed his life. You reach for him, and he exhales shakily like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. Then he presses his forehead against yours and laughs once under his breath.
“You’re taking this… weirdly well.”
After that, he tells you everything. Every story. Every creature. Every scar. And once you know the truth, Stiles never shuts up about the supernatural again. He has a way of making the bizarre seem almost funny, like the time he chased a gremlin through the school vents with nothing but a lacrosse stick and a bag of Cheetos, or how he accidentally summoned a poltergeist in the library because he was trying to impress Lydia with his Latin pronunciation. He grins when he tells you which pack member is most likely to trip over their own feet in a werewolf fight, and insists Scott's secret superpower is still losing his keys at the worst possible moment. Somehow, the supernatural feels a little less scary with Stiles narrating it all, weaving the horror into inside jokes that only the two of you share.
Theo Raeken
Theo doesn’t plan on telling you. At least not at first.
He prefers control over situations, over people, over himself. Secrets are useful. Vulnerability isn’t.
So for a long time, he controls what you see: impossible reflexes, injuries healing too quickly, and the cold way dangerous people recognise him at a glance. But Theo always smiles and redirects your attention before you can question it too closely. Until one night, something goes wrong.
Maybe someone attacks you. Maybe you witness him losing control. Maybe you see the sharp shift in his face when his eyes flash unnaturally gold. And Theo immediately goes still. Not scared. Calculating.
He watches your reaction carefully, almost too calmly, while blood drips from his knuckles.
“Well,” he says quietly, “that’s one way to find out.”
What unsettles you most is his unnerving composure. The abrupt stillness and cool detachment replace the chaos of the moment, as if he's braced for rejection. While you process what just happened, Theo studies whether you’ll run, cry, scream, or stay. His walls go up, sarcasm hiding his emotions.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Call me a monster. Wouldn’t be original, but it’d be fair.”
But underneath the smugness is something uglier. Resignation. Because Theo expects people to leave once they see the worst parts of him.
When you demand the truth, he gives it to you in pieces. Cold facts first. Chimera experiments. The Dread Doctors. Everything has been done to him, and everything he’s done to survive. Even as he talks, you can see the battle in his eyes: pain flickering over old scars, a tightness in his jaw when mentioning the worst parts. His fingers twitch restlessly, knuckles whitening where he grips the edge of the table, and once, when he says too much, he looks away, jaw clenched and gaze fixed on some invisible point in the corner. Admitting any of this seems to cost him, like each detail chips away at whatever defences he's built to hide anger, shame, and the fear of your judgment.
Some of the things he tells you are hard to hear. And Theo watches your face through all of it like he’s bracing for impact.
The first genuine crack in his composure happens when you ask:
“Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”
His features freeze, then flicker with pain. Hurt floods his composure for a heartbeat before he schools his face. Because it was never about trust. It was about fear. Fear that if you knew everything, you’d finally see him the way he sees himself.
When you don’t leave, Theo grows quieter. He’s softer in a small way that only you notice, but he still smirks, still teases, and still pretends nothing affects him. But late at night, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll hold you a little tighter than before. Like some part of him still expects you to disappear by morning.
Scott McCall
You realise Scott is hiding something because he starts looking at you with guilt in his eyes. Not distance. Not rejection. Guilt. He hesitates before answering questions. Cancels plans at the last second for unexplained “pack stuff.” Sometimes you catch him quietly debating whether to tell you something important and deciding not to.
The worst part is that Scott hates lying to you. You can see it every single time he does.
When the truth comes out, it’s after weeks of pressure. Maybe you get hurt supernaturally, see him shift in a fight, or find him healing from something no human could survive.
Whatever happens, Scott’s first reaction isn’t anger that you found out. It’s panic for you.
“Are you okay?”
Even after you just watched his eyes glow red. Even after you saw claws rip from his hands. His entire focus is on whether you’re scared or hurt. When you finally demand answers, Scott goes quiet. He looks down at the floor for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“I’m a werewolf.”
The admission lands heavily. Relief and fear pull at his voice, as if letting go of a secret he’s held close for too long. He explains everything: alphas, betas, hunters, and the constant danger in Beacon Hills. He’s careful not to overwhelm you but refuses to lie again. And the longer he talks, the more emotional he gets.
“I wanted to tell you sooner.”
You can hear how much he means it. Scott admits he kept the secret because he wanted to protect you from the violence surrounding his life. He tells you he was terrified that once you knew the truth, you’d look at him differently. Like a monster. That word visibly hurts him to say.
You stay, Scott's panic slipping away in an instant. His posture relaxes, and his sharp concern softens to an honest, almost joyful relief. Then he pulls you into his arms carefully, almost hesitantly. Because, despite everything Scott’s survived, your opinion of him still matters enough to break his heart.
Afterwards, he becomes even more honest with you than before. He tells you where he’s going. Warns you when things are dangerous. Includes you in his life instead of shutting you out. And sometimes, when the two of you are alone, he rests his forehead against yours and quietly admits:
“I really thought I was going to lose you.”
Isaac Lahey
Isaac tells you late at night. Not because he planned some perfect moment, but because nighttime feels safer. It’s quieter and less exposed.
You’re sitting together when he suddenly goes silent mid-conversation. His fingers fidget nervously against his sleeve while he avoids your eyes. You immediately know something’s wrong. When you ask him what’s going on, he gives you this small, conflicted look before saying:
“There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
His voice is soft enough that you almost miss it. Isaac doesn’t know how to tell you the truth without expecting rejection afterwards. His entire life has taught him that people hurt him once they see weakness, so vulnerability feels dangerous even with you. Especially with you. He explains it carefully at first, testing your reactions at every step.
“Do you believe in supernatural things?”
You laugh nervously because you think he’s joking. Isaac doesn’t laugh back. And suddenly the room feels different. When he finally shows you: glowing eyes, claws slowly extending from trembling fingers. He looks more afraid than threatening. He hates that you have to see this side of him. You stare at him in shock while he immediately starts apologising.
“I know it’s a lot.”
“Isaac-”
“You don’t have to stay if this freaks you out.”
That part slips out before he can stop it. Because underneath everything else, Isaac expects abandonment. When you move closer to him instead of pulling away, his expression changes instantly. Genuine surprise flashes across his face, followed by something painfully hopeful. Then he tells you the rest.
About Derek. About Scott. About the abuse he survived before becoming a werewolf. About how being supernatural saved his life and ruined it at the same time. He tells you about the nightmares that still wake him up and the old instincts that never fully go away. Even now, Isaac is learning how to manage his fear and let people in without always expecting them to hurt him. Some days the past feels closer than he wishes, but with you, he tries to build something safer, finding comfort in late-night talks and the trust you show him when he feels uncertain. Healing hasn't been easy, but Isaac is slowly teaching himself that he's allowed to be more than what happened to him. One night, he falls asleep on your shoulder during one of those quiet conversations, and when he wakes up in the morning with the sunrise in his hair and your hand still holding his, there's a rare, quiet smile on his face. It isn't everything, but for him, it's the beginning of believing things can get better.
At one point, his voice shakes slightly when he admits:
“I didn’t want you to think I was dangerous.”
And honestly, that confession hurts more than the claws.
After that night, Isaac becomes deeply attached to you in a way that’s hard to hide. He checks on you constantly, memorises your routines, and sleeps better when you’re nearby. But there’s still fear lingering underneath it all. Because now that you know everything, losing you would destroy him.
Liam Dunbar
You find out because Liam loses control. Not at you. Near you.
One moment, he’s arguing with someone, angry in that intense, explosive way he sometimes gets, and the next, his eyes flash bright gold. The air changes instantly. You freeze. And Liam realises exactly what just happened.
“Oh, my God.”
He steps backwards immediately, horrified. Not because he thinks he’ll hurt you, though that fear is definitely there, but because he never wanted you to find out like this. You’re staring at him while his breathing turns uneven. He looks cornered, panicked, like every worst-case scenario just came true at once.
“Please don’t freak out.”
Which obviously does not help. When you demand an explanation, Liam starts rambling at full speed. Words crash into each other while he paces back and forth through the room.
“Okay, technically I’m still me, I’m just also a werewolf, which sounds insane now that I’m saying it out loud.”
He’s nervous enough that his control slips again briefly. His eyes glow. Claws flick out accidentally. Liam notices right away and jerks his hands behind his back like he’s ashamed of them. That’s the moment your fear disappears. Because he looks terrified of your reaction.
Eventually, he stops pacing long enough to actually explain. Scott is biting him. The pack. Full moons. Anger issues are becoming a million times worse after the bite. Then quieter, he admits:
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of monster.”
There’s something painfully young about the way he says it. Like he genuinely needs your reassurance. You reach for him, and Liam melts instantly. Relief floods his face so openly that it almost hurts to see. He grabs onto you tightly, grounding himself. Afterwards, he asks constantly if you’re okay with everything. Too constantly.
“You’re sure this doesn’t scare you?”
“Liam-”
“Because if it scares you, I’d understand.”
Even once you accept him, part of Liam keeps waiting for you to change your mind. Which means every single time you choose him afterwards matters more than you realise.
Peter Hale
Peter tells you the truth as if he’s sharing an interesting secret, not something life-changing. You’re already suspicious by the time it happens. Peter disappears too easily. Knows things he shouldn’t know. Watches people with this unnervingly sharp awareness that makes him seem dangerous even standing still.
And Peter notices your suspicion long before you say anything. Of course he does.
One evening, after catching you staring at him for a little too long, he smirks slightly and asks:
“Would you like to know what I really am?”
The question sends a chill down your spine. But before you can answer, his eyes flash bright blue. Just like that. No buildup. No apology. You inhale sharply while Peter watches your reaction with unsettling calm, leaning back as if this conversation genuinely entertains him.“There it is,” he says softly. “That moment where you decide whether to run.”
Unlike the others, Peter doesn’t look afraid of your fear. He looks curious about it. Still, there’s something carefully controlled beneath his confidence. He tests you while pretending not to care about the outcome. When you ask him if he’s a monster, Peter smiles faintly.
“That depends on who you ask.”
And honestly? That answer is somehow worse. He explains the supernatural world with smooth confidence, speaking as if he’s lived with secrets for so long they stopped feeling heavy years ago. Werewolves. Hunters. Alphas. Packs. Rituals. Chimeras.
But Peter leaves out emotional details at first. He tells you facts instead of feelings. Only later, much later, do you begin hearing the darker parts of the story. The fire. The loss of his family. The rage that consumed him afterwards. And when he finally tells you those things, it happens quietly. No manipulation. No performance. Just honesty.
“Pain changes people.”
For the first time since meeting him, Peter sounds tired instead of amused. After you stay, knowing everything, Peter’s behaviour toward you changes in subtle but important ways. He becomes possessive without trying to hide it and protective in a dangerous, almost predatory way. And every now and then, when he looks at you, you catch brief flashes of disbelief. Like, he still doesn’t entirely understand why you chose to stay beside someone like him.
But one night, sitting together in the quiet after a long silence, you see something shift in his eyes. He hesitates, words catching in his throat, and then admits quietly, "You surprise me." The confession is weightless and raw, the closest Peter ever comes to gratitude. He doesn't say thank you, but the look he gives you: confused, hopeful, almost vulnerable, is enough. For a moment, the walls drop, and you realise he isn’t just curious about your loyalty; he can’t quite believe it. Then, as always, he smooths his expression back into cool confidence. Still, you know you’ve seen a part of him almost no one else ever will.
