Since itās been so highly requested, Iāll be writing an epilogue for my latest ficĀ āIntended effectsā. But I was thinking, you know, since you guys really enjoyed it, why not answer the questions you wanted answered? Why not include that specific fluffy scene you always wanted them to have? How about some more angst?Ā
I canāt guarantee Iāll get everyoneās requests in but by golly, Iāll try.Ā Ā
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Eventually, Derek sinks down to his knees. Settling for sitting cross-legged on the floor, he stays hunched low over Stiles, whoās still being cuddled close to the wolfās chest. Stiles chitters, licking Derekās neck before Derekās arms finally clench one more time around the smaller body before relaxing their otherwise constricting grasp, settling Stiles in his lap.
Stiles curls his tail around himself, gaze locking with glistening, swirling Hazel eyes.
Derekās mouth turns down, but even Stiles can tell heās one catastrophe away from tears. āWhy didnāt you tell me sooner?ā Stiles sighs, relaxing into the causal stroking of Derekās fingers along his flank. He opens his mouth, willing some recognisable noise to come out. He chitters uselessly, cringing at the pained expression adorning the wolfās face. They watch each other for a long minute, each trying to work out a way to communicate so that Stiles can finally, finally tell Derek the truth.
They find themselves playing a game of charades.
Stiles dances around the cabin as Derek shouts guess after guess after him, flinging them from his mouth like a slot machine and having just as much luck as he follows.
Whenever Stiles dips and dives, Derek calls out āMAGIC RIVERā or āSECRET CAVERNā. If he rears back onto his hind legs, Derek screams āWALKING MANā. If it werenāt so frustrating, Stilesād be doubled over in laughter at just how wrong the wolf could be. Who knew that with all their extra senses or whatever, wolves would suck bigtime at guessing games. Thank god he does the researching. Who knows where theyād be.
Stiles flings himself around the room in a vain attempt to act out āas simply as possible- what happened until his legs start to shake and he simply canāt handle the flares in Derekās hope anymore.
He falls to the floor in a tired heap of limbs while Derek lounges in their chair, head tilted back with his eyes tightly closed. He groans in frustration before sitting up, looking to Stiles with a lost look. āHow the hell am Iā¦.ā His eyes spark open with a sudden idea. Reaching forward he grabs Stiles. āweāll take you straight to Deaton. I bet heāll know what to do.ā Stiles squawks, twisting out of strong arms once theyāre outside the cabin doors. Derek lets him go, barking in frustration āWhatāre you doing? We canāt waste anymore time, who the hell knows how long this is gonna last!ā He gestures wildly to the mass of fur before him, something he mustāve picked up from Stiles while he was human. Derek steps forward, looking to Stiles with a pleading gesture, but he simply shakes his head. Derek sighs, fixing Stiles with a stern gaze until he catches a clue.
āWhat is it? Is there someone at Deatonās who did this to you?ā Heās growling under his breath again, eyes glowing brightly before settling back onto a pool of unruly colours. Stiles nods, grabbing at Derekās sleeve when the wolf goes to stomp away angrily. To do irreplaceable damage to a particular vet clinic, no doubt.
Derek huffs, turning angrily. āWhat now?ā he barks.
Stiles noses at Derekās jumper, eventually finding his way into a large pocket and pulls out Derekās old phone. Stiles watches as it clatters to the floor, dumbfounded at how old the thing is. āhow the hell does this man functionā¦with this?ā his gaze flickers between the relic and the wolf before shaking himself. More important things to be done. Ask about it later.
Derek watches on as Stiles uses the tip of his nose to punch out a number, picking it up once it starts to ring, wincing as Stilesā wet-nose goop begins to stick to his ear. A panicked voice filters through the speaker on the second ring.
āDerek? Is that you? Iām with Allison and Lydia. Theyāve come up with some way to track Stiles, at least I think so, but we need some help setting up the sensors throughout town so if you could actually help us for once we cou-ā
āIāve got himā
ā-ld put some⦠wait. What did you just say?ā If the speaker werenāt so shitty, Stilesād be confident he could hear Scottās heart stop through the tinny line. āDid you just⦠youāve found him?ā
Derek sounds a little choked. āyeah.ā He looks down at the ground, where Stiles is scratching behind his ear with a narrow paw. āHeās with me. But āuh-. Itās complicated.ā
-
āYou canāt be serious.ā
Scottās point-blank staring Derek in the face, without a single trace of self-preservation, one finger thrown out at Stiles like heās pointing out the bane of his existence. āYou canāt seriously believe that for even one second, Iād actually believe this⦠thing, is Stiles. My best friend. Youāre fucking sick.ā He sneers at Derek, but itās all just water off a duckās back. He stands back, placing some space between himself and Scott.
āScott. I donāt know what else to tell you. This fox is Stiles.ā
āAnd Iām guessing he what? Told you that himself?ā Scott growls, turning to Stiles abruptly. āAnd you. Youāre no better. Taking advantage of a wolfās mate like that? Thatās sad. Even a pest should know better.ā
Stiles reels, hurt surging through this system like a virus. He screeches angrily at Scott, barely restraining the need to bite some sense into him until Derek scoops him into his arms, winding him around his neck once where Stiles sits, seething.
Scott moves forward quickly, right back into Derekās personal space. Derek stops him though, growling low in his throat. Stiles can feel tight muscles coil beneath him, ready to attack. āScott. Calm down.ā Scott shakes his head. Frowns at Derekās cold demeanour. āThink about it. Use your senses. Whatāre your ears telling you?ā Ā
Scott scrunches his face, instantly disliking any idea of Derekās, but does what he says anyway.
Derek repeats himself slowly. āThis fox, wrapped around my neck, is Stiles Stillinski.ā
Scottās brow furrows as he dips his head closer to Derekās chest. He takes a second, eyes fluttering closed as he concentrates on the steady beat before his eyes split wide open, sharp gasp escaping his opened mouth.
Stiles reaches forward, and, ever so gently, closes Scottās mouth for him. Wouldnāt want him catching flies.
He plummets into the forest headfirst. He runs blindly, panic clouding his vision black, Derekās worried yells drowned out by his quickening heartbeat drumming in his ears. He only stops when his feet suddenly slip out from beneath him, sending him sliding down a steep hillside. Sticks, rocks and hard clumps of clay batter his little body as he falls, leaving him bleeding and caked in mud. He lays there wheezing for some time, the pain of open wounds distracting him from his panic.
He stays there, listening to the rasping of his chest as his breaths come and go. Thereās a cracking in the distance, two voices yelling, but he canāt bring himself to care. He just wants to sleep, just for a little while. So, after a brief struggle with himself, he closes his eyes and lets a different type of darkness overcome him, painting his vision a bright gold.
Breathing hurts. Everything, hurts.
He gets up slowly, legs shaking with the effort. Looking down at himself he sees heās caked in mud, dried blood hidden beneath its surface. He looks around and recognises where he is. How the hell did he run so far? He doesnāt even remember passing the fallen tree, never mind the stream. He shakes his head, hating how his brain shakes inside his skull.
Turning around slowly, he begins the long trek back to the cabin where hopefully, Derek will be waiting for him.
As he walks, he notices the woods are very quiet. Ominously so. In fact, the only noise to be heard for miles around is the soft pitter-patter of his feet against well-worn paths. Now, Stiles is not only a copās kid, but a sheriffās. He knows itās most likely the calm before the storm. He stops in place and scents the air, checking for trouble. He catches the faint scent of a deer, long gone and... something else. Ā
Derek.
He lets the familiar scent wash over him in waves, unknowingly relaxing tired muscles. Shifting his muzzle into the breeze he tracks the scent back to the fallen log, where he first met Derek. Its hidden by a round of small bushes, but he can clearly smell Derek, wallowing again.
Heās about to break through the foliage when he senses, more than sees Derekās emotions flare suddenly. Derekās emotions have been overly indifferent, calm, so this influx catches Stiles off-guard. Ā
Peering through the shrubbery, he spots Derek. The wolf is sitting on the log, hunched over with his head in his hands. He smells slightly salty and overly exhausted, like heād been up for days. Which Stiles knows is partly true. He doubts Derek got much rest last night.
The wolfās chest shudders and Stiles whines high in his throat, but Derek doesnāt seem to hear him.
Derek takes a few more breathes that come a bit quicker than the last before he speaks, nothing more than a tired whisper. āIām so sorry. Stiles, Iām so sorry.ā He hiccups, tears falling freely to the ground. āIf I stayed with you instead of hidden away, run away from the pack, what you all meant to me you āoh god- you wouldāve still been here.ā He looks up, into the canopy of tall trees above him, tears gleaming in the dappled light. āYou wouldāve been with me. I. I canāt do this without you. I need- I. I need your laughter, sarcasmā¦ā Derek looks down at his hands again, wiping at his eyes. āI need you, Stiles. Please donāt leave me.ā
He lurches forwards before he fully knows what heās doing, running into Derekās hands thatāre stained with tears. Heās whimpering, chattering and yipping ā Anything to let Derek know that heās here. Has been the whole time. That he will. Not. Leave. Him.
Harsh sobs wrack the wolfās body as he picks the fox up, pressing his face into the thick scruff. He strokes coarse fur harshly, desperate. Heās mumbling, and Stiles really has to focus to hear it. Itās almost like a mantra ā and a sad one at that, of āImsorrysosorryImsorrypleasepleasepleasejustdontleavemeā and it breaks Stilesā little fox heart to hear.
He squirms around, but Derekās arms just tighten around him, not ever letting him go. He whines, craning his neck to lick fresh tears from Derekās hazel eyes, letting the wolf hold him as close as he needs to.
It takes Derek a while to come down, after that.
Itās almost sundown when Derek removes his head from Stilesā neck, soggy fur stuck to his face. He sighs, cradling the fox gently and carries him silently into the cabin. He kneels in front of their spot and lowers Stiles into the chair, reeking of sadness. But before Derek can stand up straight, Stiles places a single paw on a broad shoulder. He stares at Stiles, confused, but Stiles just shakes his head.
Taking a deep breath, using the back of the chair he shakily manages to stand back on his hind legs, although heās sure he must look absolutely ridiculous. Using his free paw, he points to himself before gesturing widely to the room. Me Stiles. The thinks, hoping, somehow, heās telepathic.
Derek just looks at him like heās gone crazy(er).
Sighing, he tries to move off the chair, rolling his eyes when Derek doesnāt get the memo and blocks his path. āno more leaving.ā And although Stiles is pretty sure Derek wouldnāt hold him against his will, thereās still an odd authoritarian tone that rings strong. He shakes his head, nocking at the nape of the wolfās neck, a clear, no. never leaving.
The wolf straightens, letting Stiles off the chair. He walks to the fireplace and paws at the charcoal, breaking it into a fine dust. Carefully, he unsheathes a claw and drags it through the ash.
Derek comes around him then, legs brushing against Stilesā back, squinting as he reads the shaky words. āStiles?ā At first it sounds like a question, but then the wolf sobers up. āStiles! You know where he is?ā Stiles nods, wincing at how hopeful Derek looks. He rolls his eyes, and lays belly-down in the ash. Derek looks perplexed. The fox rolls his eyes, and that, that must be the deciding factor because suddenly Stiles is being wrapped up tighter than before, and Derekās doing this weird whining/growling thing in his ear.
Itās nice.
Make sure to read the first part of this fic here!
RHIO! It's me again! remember that Prompt we were talking about the other day? hurry the fuck up woman. I need the fluff. Thanks babe ;) -jess
IM SO SORRY I MISSED YOURS JESS. I made it so fluffy, youāll have to make a claim next time you go to the dentist. Seriously though, I hope you enjoy it.Ā
Gentle rays of light caress his face, slowly warming pale skin, making him smile dopily. Slowly, he turns his face towards the light, shifting as far forwards as the bed will allow him. Light washes gently over the rest of his body, bathing him in a strange sense of euphoria.
Blinking slowly, he clears the crusted sleep from the corners of his eyes -the kind you only get after a good nights sleep- humming contently to himself as he turns back, towards the wolf holding him still, even in his deepest slumber. Ā
He looks around their room with half-lidded eyes. A strange sense of awe washes over him as he watches the small particles of dust dance together in a stream of morning light. He watches as they glimmer, waltzing around each other to the gentle beat of the Sunday morning breeze that somehow weaves itself between the window pane and the glass. Ā
He watches as one, almost timidly, dances its way towards Derek. Ā
Lazy eyes track the flake, stopping only when itās hidden amongst the coarse hairs of Derekās beard. He takes the opportunity to study his wolfās face. Ā
Only during sleep is the wolfās expression completely slack. His thick eyebrows sit perched above stubby, inky lashes that flutter alongside his dream. (whether heās chasing rabbits or having normal human dreams, Stilesāll never know. Heās hoping itās the former) Stilesā eyes glide to his lips, skating over tan skin, noting how dewy and moist the two pink swells of skin are this early in the morning.
Absolute perfection. Ā
Stiles canāt resist touching the Adonis-like creature laying before him. This slice of heaven heās allowed to call his. Never has been able to stop, ever since they got together well over 3 years ago. Slowly, careful not to startle the wolf, Stiles allows his hands to steadily inch themselves higher, emerging from under the blankets with a small amount of effort, only just ghosting over Derekās fine stubble. Stiles smiles softly to himself, Ā slowly bringing his head closer to Derekās.
When his lips are inches from Derekās, he stops. He can feel Derekās small, warm puffs of air gliding over is bony digits as they gently scratch the wolfās beard.
His tongue darts out quickly, skating over his own plump skin. Smiling fondly to himself, he whispers, āI love you, sour wolf.ā Ā
The werewolf scrunches his face in sleep, but does not wake up. So Stiles continues.
āAnd I know you love me too.ā He closes his eyes, thinking to himself. He thinks about all the times Derekās protected him, whether be wanted to be protected or not. About all the times Derekās taken care of him, when he was sick or just plain stubborn, never letting any real danger near the teen. āyou just have a funny way of showing it.ā Ā
He lightly presses his forehead to Derekās, sighing deeply as the wolf adjusts his grip on his human, bringing him closer with a deep, satisfied, rumble. Before the both of them drift back off to sleep.
-
Stiles knows this is how his wolf, his mate, tells him he loves him too. Ā
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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