ANOMALY | CHAPTER THREE
Stiles Stilinski x Original Male Reader | M.O
Warnings : Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT, Gore.
Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Woman with curly hair is Scott’s mother. Woman with straight hair and a killer gaze is y/n’s mother - inspired by Addison Shepherd {Grey’s Anatomy} Played by Kate Walsh. Thank you for the support ! Please request for part 4 ! Also doesn’t Jackson look so hot like HELLO ?? Not proof read yet!
A loud bang woke him up; the sunlight coming through his window blinded him as he opened his eyes; it took a few seconds for him to realise.
The morning arrived slowly, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains. Your shoulder throbbed, pulling you out of sleep like an anchor. The dream—no, nightmare—lingered at the edges of your mind: the cold air clinging to your skin, the scent of wet earth and leaves, those yellow, slitted eyes watching from the dark.
You groaned, shifting onto your side, but the movement sent a sharp pulse of pain shooting through your arm, travelling all the way down to your fingertips. The ache was relentless, like something festering beneath your skin.
Dragging yourself to the mirror, you peeled off your shirt. The bruise had spread overnight—dark veins curling outward from the centre, spidering across your shoulder like cracks in the glass. It looked swollen and angry, almost as if it were growing, spreading with every heartbeat.
You brushed your fingers along the edge, hissing as pain jolted through you. The skin was feverish—hot to the touch, like it didn't belong to you anymore. There was something wrong with it, something alive.
You grabbed your shirt from the floor and tugged it back on, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise. It felt like the weight of the bruise had sunk into your bones, dragging you down.
Your phone buzzed from the nightstand, Maria's name flashing across the screen.
"Still alive? Or has Creepyville swallowed you whole?"
A slight, tired grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. "Barely. Already having nightmares."
Her reply was instant: "Werewolf nightmares? Please say yes."
"Just weird pain. No claws yet."
"Lame. If you grow claws, send pics immediately," she wrote.
Her humour cut through some of the weight pressing on your chest, though the ache in your shoulder refused to ease. You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door.
The drive to school was uneventful. Beacon Hills stretched out in front of you, all quiet streets and thick woods, the kind of place that looked normal on the surface but felt... off. The bruise on your shoulder throbbed with every turn of the steering wheel, and by the time you pulled into the parking lot, you were ready to crawl back into bed.
The school building loomed ahead, old bricks and rusted metal, students milling around in clumps. You slipped through the crowd, blending in with the chaos, your hood pulled low over your face.
When you slid into your seat in AP Biology, Stiles grinned at you from across the table, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"You look like death," he whispered. "Let me guess—rough night, or did you finally meet our resident monster?"
You rolled your eyes. "Something like that."
Stiles leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Careful. Beacon Hills has a way of... finding people."
You shot him a sceptical look. "And you're, what? The local monster expert?"
He grinned. "Something like that. Stick with me—I'll keep you safe."
You snorted despite yourself. "Safe from what, exactly?"
"From everything," Stiles said, as if that explained anything. "Besides, you seem like the brooding, mysterious type. You and I? We're going to get along just fine."
Before you could respond, Mr. Harris began the lecture, pacing in front of the whiteboard.
"Today, we're discussing genetic mutations—small changes that can significantly impact an organism's structure," he announced.
The words settled uncomfortably in your chest. The bruise on your shoulder pulsed, almost like it was trying to remind you of something.
"Some mutations are beneficial," Harris continued, "but others..." He trailed off, glancing around the room. "Well, not every change is for the better."
Stiles leaned over again, whispering, "Feeling mutated yet?"
"Not yet," you muttered, rubbing absently at your shoulder. "Give it time."
Class dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. By the time the bell rang, the ache in your shoulder had spread, wrapping around your muscles like a vice. You followed the stream of students out into the hallway, your steps slower, heavier.
The locker room was warm and humid, the scent of sweat and damp tile hanging in the air. You pulled off your hoodie with a sigh, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise.
The door swung open, and Jackson Whittemore walked in, shirt already gone, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.
Every movement was deliberate and controlled, his muscles shifting beneath smooth, tanned skin. His scent—woodsy, with just a hint of spice—wrapped around you, clinging to the steam-filled air.
He glanced at your shoulder, and for a moment, the smirk slipped from his face. Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe concern—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"That looks bad," Jackson murmured, stepping closer.
"It's fine," you muttered, though the words felt empty.
Jackson didn't move away. He stood close, too close, his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence was heavy, magnetic like gravity pulling you in.
Without a word, his hand rose, his fingers grazing the edge of the bruise. The light and deliberate touch sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain.
"You should get that checked out," Jackson whispered, his thumb tracing slow circles along the bruise.
"I'll live," you whispered back, though your pulse hammered in your chest.
For a moment, the air between you buzzed with unspoken tension, thick and electric.
Jackson's thumb pressed harder, dragging across your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, lingering long enough to make your heart stutter - even if only for a second.
"You should stay away from people like me," Jackson murmured, though the way his thumb lingered told a different story.
His breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind. For a second, it felt like he might close the distance between you, his gaze dark and intent.
"Like I said," Jackson whispered, "it would be safer for you if you stayed away."
"Well past safe and saving," you murmured.
Jackson chuckled, the sound vibrating in your bones. "Is that so." He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.
But neither of you moved, and the air crackled with anticipation.
It was dangerous, reckless, and utterly stupid. You knew it would end badly, but Jackson was magnetic, irresistible, like gravity pulling you closer and closer, and you would do anything to get your mind off the pain.
Your bodies were almost touching, just a hair's breadth away, the tension between you thick and electric. Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed his hand on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.
The hot water blasting from the showers onto you was the only sound you could hear; the warmth was comforting, making you feel less alone, like someone else was there with you, protecting you from whatever was outside.
The water dripped off your skin, the warmth enveloping your body.
You couldn't help but wonder how this boy did what everyone else had failed, making you want him - even if just in the moment.
"What are you doing?" You whispered, though you already knew the answer.
"Whatever I want," Jackson murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.
Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed closer, his skin burning hot against yours. His hand trailed lower, his thumb grazing your v-line.
"Are you going to stop me?" Jackson asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"No," you whispered.
Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed itself on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.
You were trapped between the wall and his body, his hands roaming freely over your bare skin.
"Good," Jackson growled, his voice vibrating against your neck.
His lips brushed against your ear, his breath on your neck as he began to gently kiss your neck, his hands slowly moving downwards.
Your hands wandered down his muscular torso, exploring his body.
"I didn't think you'd actually want this," Jackson whispered, his voice thick with desire.
Jackson let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down your neck.
"Who said I did?" you replied. However, you couldn't stop your body from responding, your arms instinctively snaking over his neck, drawing him closer.
"I know you do," Jackson murmured. "I can smell it on you."
The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his hand slid lower, hands squeezing your ass, pulling you flush against him.
A cough interrupted the moment. Both of you turned to see Stiles standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
"Sorry," Stiles said, though his tone didn't match his words.
Jackson stepped back, leaving you buzzing from the ghost of his touch, glancing before leaving you alone with the buzz-cut boy.
"Stiles, It's not what it looks like."
"Yeah, right. Whatever, man," Stiles muttered, though his tone didn't match his words.
Stiles couldn't help but wonder why all the hot guys were attracted to Y/N; he didn't mean that he had a crush; hell no, he's not that desperate; he's not gonna be the 4th wheel. But something about Y/N did intrigue him.
"Stiles, wait," Y/N called, running after the buzz-cut.
"What?" Stiles snapped, though he instantly regretted his harsh tone.
Y/N looked taken aback, his eyes wide and confused.
"Nothing," Y/N mumbled, looking away. Stiles was only just starting to notice the massive bruise on his shoulder, feeling a bit bad for snapping.
"No, I didn't mean—sorry, I just meant...look, I get it, okay? You and Jackson. And whatever. It's fine," Stiles said, his voice softer now, but you REALLY should stay away from him.
As Stiles completed that sentence, he noticed something else: Y/N was very … naked; a blush crept up his face as he turned around to leave - still upset by what he saw - he wanted to ask about the bruise…he wanted to worry, but it was just not the moment.
The ache in your shoulder followed you out of the locker room, heavier now, as if the memory of Jackson's touch had settled beneath your skin.
Later that evening, you made your way to the hospital; it felt colder than usual, the sterile scent of antiseptic cutting through the warmth that still clung to you from the locker room - Y/N would never admit it. Still, that little random thing greatly distracted him from his shoulder - and y/n was grateful.
Y/N mentally prepared himself to speak to his mother and "explain" the 2-foot bruise spanning his body as he walked to the reception.
Y/N: Hello, I'm looking for Addison Shepherd, I was wondering if you knew where I could find her
Nurse: Hi. Are you sure you have an appointment with her?
Y/N: No, I'm her son, Y/N. I was hoping to speak to her if she's free
One thing Y/N never hated about himself was that his formal, polite social self could kick in no matter the situation…or the pain - while really, somewhere deep down, he wondered what made him such an excellent liar.
Nurse: She's in surgery; she'll be done in about 40 minutes; maybe you can wait? Oh, and also Y/N? You're Scott's new friend, right? I had no idea Dr.Shepherd was your mother! We're all so happy to have a woman of her calibre working with us.
Y/N Forced a smile instinctively.
Y/N: Haha, I'm so glad to hear that! She was a bit nervous about her first day here… oh, how do you know Scott?
Nurse: Oh well, he's my so—
Person: That's Scott's Mom
… the sudden answer caught both the nurse and Y/N off guard as Y/n turned towards the exceedingly familiar annoying voice.
Nurse: Jesus, when did you get here? You need to stop sneaking up like that.
Stiles: Awww … but it's my signature move.
The buzz-cut boy said, grinning and making a pouty face, to which Y/N just shot a weirded-out look that said… "Ew… grow up."
(Author's Note: Scott McCall's mother's name is Melissa McCall)
Nurse: Anyway, I'm Melissa, Scott's mom. I'm glad to see that you're running about making friends so soon already
The lady said, smiling politely, a smile which racked Y/N with guilt as he didn't really consider the odd duo his friends… it's not that Scott and Stiles weren't great. It's just that, in Y/N's life, he grew to associate the term friendship with a relatively close and protective personal bond…Scott and Stiles…?….they were just… classmates.
Stiles: Well, of course, he's making friends already. Look at the great crowd he hangs out with!
Stiles said excitedly, pointing to himself, a gesture that simply made Y/N feel worse for not considering him a friend…
Y/N tried, but despite being an excellent liar, he couldn't match Stiles' enthusiastic tone when he replied to the boy, which was something Melissa was quick to catch.
Y/N knew Melissa noticed it and quickly changed the topic of conversation.
"Oh, by the way, how come you're at the hospital ?" Y/N asked Stiles while shooting him a questioning look.
Internally dreading that he was stuck in this conversation after a highly awkward morning with Stiles.
Stiles: My dad is the sheriff; Scott and I are waiting for him here.
Melissa: Scott's here?
Stiles: Yep, he's in the cafeteria
Melissa: Oh, I should say hi, I'll see you two boys later. Stay safe!
Stiles and Y/N waved her goodbye.
After she left, stiles turned around.
"So are we gonna talk about what happened, or— Am I Pretending that I never saw you naked in the locker room with Jackson Whittemore?" Stiles asked you sarcastically.
Y/N couldn't quite figure out why Stiles would bring it up? After he already made it clear, nothing really happened. Was he upset? Was he mocking him? Either way, Y/N was not in the mood.
Stiles: Uh, Too soon to joke about it?
Y/N: …
Stiles: Got it. So what happened with the, you know…bruise the size of Texas.
Y/N: Why the hell are you so nosy?
Stiles: Because it's the size of Texas?
Y/N: …
Stiles: okay! Wow, you are not in the mood
Y/N: It's been a day.
Stiles: Right.
The two boys fell silent, the air between them heavy and awkward. Y/N shifted his weight, and the bruise on his shoulder ached with every movement.
Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing at it. As if he could see the bruise through your clothes.
"It's fine," you murmured.
"Really? Because it looks—"
"Fine," you interrupted.
Stiles frowned. "If you say so."
Y/N didn't answer, and the air between you crackled with tension.
Stiles shuffled awkwardly; not knowing what to say, he decided to 'wing it.'
"Okay," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "Then tell me about you.
"What?" you asked, justifiably confused by his statement.
"Because that's what people do. They talk about themselves," Stiles replied, grinning.
"I don't."
"Why?"
"Why are you asking me all these questions?" Y/N shot back.
Stiles shrugged. "I'm bored."
You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide the slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
"So. You moved from LA. What was that like?" Stiles asked.
"Hot," you replied, deadpan.
Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Must've been a big change, though."
"Not really," you said, though the words felt empty.
Stiles cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't press. "Okay. What did you do there?"
"Stuff."
"Omg, no shit, really? Fascinating… ." Stiles shot a look at you.
"I'm not much of a social bee personally."
—silence—
When Y/N said "he's not a talker", he did it to try and justify why he said the word "stuff" so vaguely; since he isn't used to talking so much personally in informal social settings, it didn't come easy to him to always respond in the most appropriate ways in personal conversations - But unfortunately what it came off as to Stiles was…I really, really don't wanna be talking to you."
Stiles looked a little taken aback by what Y/N said - essentially misunderstanding the meaning as "stop talking to me" - when the truth was actually quite the opposite, and the truth is that Y/N was Just slowly actually getting used to the sarcasm and constant state of "joking-need" enjoying the little conversation, he found himself wanting to get annoyed by Stiles stupid quips - it was a new feeling for Y/N, one that scared him a bit.
With a hint of sadness, giving up on speaking to you, Stiles got up from the creaky waiting room couch, "Uhm, anyway, I think I go," he said, almost coldly, turning and leaving, giving a small wave.
Y/N couldn't help but watch the boy walk away, a strange emptiness filling his chest.
(Author's note: SOS GUYS SEND HELP. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING; I'M JUST WRITING AS IT COMES TO ME LIKE I'M POSSESSED BY THE FANFIC GHOST)
An arm rested on his shoulder before Y/N could spiral into his thoughts and emotions.
He looked up, his mother standing before him, a soft expression on her face.
"Mom," you murmured.
"You know, it's never good when you come to see me at work," she said, her voice gentle.
"I'm sorry."
Addison sighed. "Don't apologise. Come, I'll show you my new office."
Y/N followed her through the labyrinthine halls, past doctors, nurses and patients.
As Y/N walked through the cafeteria, he saw a familiar buzz-cut, accompanied by his taller, athletic, crooked-jaw friend and Melissa.
They were having a light and carefree conversation, smiling and laughing, and the air between them was calm and comfortable. That was until Stiles' eyes met y/n's.
Suddenly, everything froze as if time itself had stopped. For a second, all Y/N could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. All he could see was the look on Stiles' face—that mixture of surprise and hurt, his mouth open slightly, as if he was going to say something, say hi.
But y/n didn't give him a chance. He didn't like how Stiles made him feel so on edge and overly concerned for someone he hadn't considered a friend; he wasn't used to feeling so...restless.
Without a word, y/n turned and walked away, the ache in your shoulder heavier than before, his gaze lingering like a ghost on your skin.
— Stiles — POV—
I think he really hates me, Stiles thought to himself as Y/N coldly walked by.
"Oh, there's Y/N and his mom, too, Scott. Why don't you go invite Y/N over for dinner tonight ?" Melissa chimed in, noticing both the boys look towards y/n.
Scott: I mean, sure, but what if he says no?
Melissa: he seems like a nice guy, and his mother is right there; I doubt you'll get a no.
Stiles: Oh, I'm so coming too. Where's my invite?
Melissa: Coming? Coming where you already basically live in my house
Stiles: Are you asking me to move in? <3
Scott: NO, NO, SHE IS NOT, AND you can come. I'll go ask Y/N.
Stiles watched Scott follow Y/N out of the cafeteria as they turned the hallway, wondering what the boy would do. Would he casually approach the man and ask him, or would he just stand awkwardly?
Scott saw Y/N enter an office and start stalking; not wanting to interrupt, he decided to wait outside the room; though he felt like he was eavesdropping because of his werewolf super hearing, it just couldn't be helped; he couldn't really "turn it off" on a whim.
Y/N's POV —
After walking out of the cafeteria, I sighed deeply, which made my mother shoot me a questioning look.
"I'm just tired, the packing, the moving, the having no social battery left, nothing out of the ordinary." I quickly said, hoping my mom wouldn't press too hard about it because I didn't have the energy to deal with it.
"So this is the new office, not as big or fancy, but it's warm, isn't it."
The walls were a bright white, a large desk and chair sat at the far end, and a large bookshelf full of textbooks and medical journals sat behind it.
Despite the cold air conditioning, the room had a comforting and warm vibe.
Addison: Apparently, the hospital has been kind to me. Apparently, I have a reputation.
Y/N: HA That you do. And kind? I could fit two cars into your previous office.
Addison: You, young sir, must learn to be grateful for the little things.
Y/N: Yes, yes, WE KNOW.
y/n chuckled, pulling his T-shirt off abruptly; unbeknown to him, a curious Scott could see and hear everything from outside.
Addison: oh wow. What is THAT, a bruise? And a big one.
Y/N: Umm, yeah, it kinda appeared, no big deal.
Addison: No big deal? It's quite literally a 'BIG' deal. And how did you manage to get yourself into this?
Y/N: Well, I kinda don't know… I just got home and went to bed, I had a horrible nightmare, and I woke up, and this colossal mark was here, so I think maybe I was sleepwalking or something? I don't know, really, but yeah…
Addison: Are you sure it was sleepwalking? Tell me more about the nightmare.
Y/N: I - I-Don— I don't know. It felt real, like I was awake or something. I was in bed, but then I wasn't... I was in the woods. I know it's not real, or I think it isn't because I remember the pain and getting caught in a bear trap, but I'm fine. However, there was something there when I was caught in the bear trap. It was, I don't know, this sounds crazy, it was … I don't know … it was a monster? It looked almost human, reptilian, kinda like the lizard man from Spider-Man. I KNOW, I KNOW, IT SOUNDS CRAZY, but it attacked me. My whole body couldn't move or breathe, and this is where it gets weird when I supposedly "died"/or rather "woke up" from the nightmare I was in the room, but where that ..thing… attacked me … I had this huge bruise. And I know this sounds like a cock and bull-bullshit story, but I swear I'm not lying.
Addison: Well, you are right about it. It sounds crazy, but I trust you. You know there's a thing called Phantom pain.
Y/N: MOM, I didn't imagine the pain. It's real! I have a bruise!
Addison: Oh honey, it stemming from something in your head doesn't mean it's any less real, or painful. Sometimes, when our body goes through a traumatic experience, it can leave this sort of "lasting pain." When someone gets their leg amputated, they feel a lot of extremely real pain in their "leg", the leg that's not even attached - despite this, their body produces actual pain and chemicals biologically, so the pain is very real. I'm no expert on Sleep studies, I'll have you shown to someone in a week or so, but my best guess is that the nightmare, which could have been caused by a thousand reasons like stress from moving and this and that probably inherently was traumatic enough for your body to "read it/ experience it as real pain" so even if it happened in your dream, it was damaging enough to your psyche for it to physically manifest as an actual bruise.
Y/N: So what I'm hearing is I need a shrink.
Addison: Honey, you'll realise this when you grow up, everybody needs a fucking shrink…Now I have to get back to work. I'll write you some meds for the pain, and to help it heal, don't physically exert yourself. That includes, you know, things with other people.
Y/N: Trust me, girls aren't exactly lining up for dates right now, so you don't need to worry about it.
Addison: Aww, I love you, baby.
Y/N: Love you too.
When Y/N was done with his mother, a tall boy stood there waiting for him. It was Scott McCall.
Y/N: Uhh, Hello, Scott...
Scott: Hey, sorry, I was just waiting for you.
Addison: Who's this?
Scott: I'm Scott McCall, I am in a couple classes with your son and we were talking earlier I was just wondering if y/n wanted to come over for dinner?
Y/N: oh, umm, yeah, that sounds nice, but I wouldn't want to impose.
Addison: Oh, nonsense! He would love to come over for dinner, and it's always lovely for Y/N to make friends, isn't that right?
Y/N: MOTHER: I have friends.
Addison: Sure, baby, and that reminds me, when was the last time you called them
Y/N: Why does everyone in this world have it out for me
Addison: Mhm.
Scott: Well, that sounds great! We're leaving in 10 minutes. Can I drive you?
Y/N internally sighed. There was no winning today. Maybe Destiny just really wants Y/N to hang out with these two boys…FUCK.
THANK YOU FOR READING ! Please Like for Next Part ! Lots of Love - Nino
