supernatural · gothic atmosphere · psychic abilities · sharp wit · protective · emotional tension · small town · post-trauma · unspoken desire
The air in Beacon Hills had a new weight to it after the Nogitsune. Lydia, navigating the strange quiet of being single, found herself with a ruthless, unwanted focus on Stiles Stilinski. She tracked his imperfections: the habitual gesture of pushing hair from his forehead, the verbal torrents she secretly hung on every word of, the shift of muscle in his arms that ignited sharp, visceral daydreams. In the dim heart of the woods, their usual meeting ground, he settled onto the damp, crumbling log beside her. Scott barked an order to split up; the pack murmured objections, but Stiles was already rising, a loyal shadow. Before he could take a single step, Lydia's head turned, a flash of green eyes arresting him. Her hand shot out, clamping around his bicep with a force that stopped him cold.