Dylan O'Brien Imagines

You Can Control It// Stiles

"Leave, Stiles," you growled. "Please I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm not leaving," he said. "I'm not leaving because I know you're not going to hurt me."

"But I want to," you growled again. "I look at your face and I want to slash at it. I want to tear at it. I want to feel your bones crack between my hands."

"Surprisingly enough, you're not the first person to ever say something like that," he shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you. And I'm not going to let you hurt anyone."

"You're not gonna have a choice." You said as the restraints started ripping around your wrists.

"Okay, y/n, I know you can hear me. Just listen to my voice. You can control it." He says.

"Stiles you should run!" You yelled at him as you pulled the restraint almost free.

"I'm not going to run," he says. "Because I don't think you're going to hurt me. And I think maybe you're so afraid or hurting me because of what you did to your family. I know what that's like. I remember everything I did. And the worst part is I remember liking it. Because I felt powerful. I felt fearless, and most of all, in control. But when I came through it, I learned something else, control is overrated."

You snapped the restraints and lunged at him, half expecting you teeth to dig into his flesh. Your claws into his soft tissue.

But instead, you just stopped. You controlled myself. You started breathing regularly as you stared at him.

"I did it." You said.

You pulled him into a hug and wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, your face digging into his neck.

His arms hesitantly wrapped around you, sighing heavily against your shoulder.

"You did it." He whispered.