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Epilogue

Since it’s been so highly requested, I’ll be writing an epilogue for my latest fic ‘Intended effects’. 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? 

I can’t guarantee I’ll get everyone’s requests in but by golly, I’ll try.  

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Intended effects chapter 9!!

Eventually, Derek sinks down to his knees. Settling for sitting cross-legged on the floor, he stays hunched low over Stiles, who’s still being cuddled close to the wolf’s chest. Stiles chitters, licking Derek’s neck before Derek’s 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.

Derek’s mouth turns down, but even Stiles can tell he’s one catastrophe away from tears. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Stiles sighs, relaxing into the causal stroking of Derek’s 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 wolf’s 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 “MAGIC RIVER” or “SECRET CAVERN”. If he rears back onto his hind legs, Derek screams “WALKING MAN”. If it weren’t so frustrating, Stiles’d 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 they’d be.

Stiles flings himself around the room in a vain attempt to act out –as simply as possible- what happened until his legs start to shake and he simply can’t handle the flares in Derek’s 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. “How the hell am I….” His eyes spark open with a sudden idea. Reaching forward he grabs Stiles. “we’ll take you straight to Deaton. I bet he’ll know what to do.” Stiles squawks, twisting out of strong arms once they’re outside the cabin doors. Derek lets him go, barking in frustration “What’re you doing? We can’t waste anymore time, who the hell knows how long this is gonna last!” He gestures wildly to the mass of fur before him, something he must’ve 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.

“What is it? Is there someone at Deaton’s who did this to you?” He’s growling under his breath again, eyes glowing brightly before settling back onto a pool of unruly colours. Stiles nods, grabbing at Derek’s sleeve when the wolf goes to stomp away angrily. To do irreplaceable damage to a particular vet clinic, no doubt.

Derek huffs, turning angrily. “What now?” he barks.

Stiles noses at Derek’s jumper, eventually finding his way into a large pocket and pulls out Derek’s old phone. Stiles watches as it clatters to the floor, dumbfounded at how old the thing is. ‘how the hell does this man function…with this?’ 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 Stiles’ wet-nose goop begins to stick to his ear. A panicked voice filters through the speaker on the second ring.

“Derek? Is that you? I’m with Allison and Lydia. They’ve 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-”

“I’ve got him”

“-ld put some… wait. What did you just say?” If the speaker weren’t so shitty, Stiles’d be confident he could hear Scott’s heart stop through the tinny line. “Did you just… you’ve found him?”

Derek sounds a little choked. “yeah.” He looks down at the ground, where Stiles is scratching behind his ear with a narrow paw. “He’s with me. But –uh-. It’s complicated.”

-

“You can’t be serious.”

Scott’s point-blank staring Derek in the face, without a single trace of self-preservation, one finger thrown out at Stiles like he’s pointing out the bane of his existence. “You can’t seriously believe that for even one second, I’d actually believe this… thing, is Stiles. My best friend. You’re fucking sick.” He sneers at Derek, but it’s all just water off a duck’s back. He stands back, placing some space between himself and Scott.

“Scott. I don’t know what else to tell you. This fox is Stiles.”

“And I’m guessing he what? Told you that himself?” Scott growls, turning to Stiles abruptly. “And you. You’re no better. Taking advantage of a wolf’s mate like that? That’s sad. Even a pest should know better.”

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 Derek’s personal space. Derek stops him though, growling low in his throat. Stiles can feel tight muscles coil beneath him, ready to attack. “Scott. Calm down.” Scott shakes his head. Frowns at Derek’s cold demeanour. “Think about it. Use your senses. What’re your ears telling you?”  

Scott scrunches his face, instantly disliking any idea of Derek’s, but does what he says anyway.

Derek repeats himself slowly. “This fox, wrapped around my neck, is Stiles Stillinski.”

Scott’s brow furrows as he dips his head closer to Derek’s 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 Scott’s mouth for him. Wouldn’t want him catching flies.

Read the whole story here

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‘Intended Effects’ Chapter 8

He plummets into the forest headfirst. He runs blindly, panic clouding his vision black, Derek’s 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. There’s a cracking in the distance, two voices yelling, but he can’t 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 he’s 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 doesn’t 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 cop’s kid, but a sheriff’s. He knows it’s 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.  

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.

He’s about to break through the foliage when he senses, more than sees Derek’s emotions flare suddenly. Derek’s emotions have been overly indifferent, calm, so this influx catches Stiles off-guard.  

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 he’d been up for days. Which Stiles knows is partly true. He doubts Derek got much rest last night.

The wolf’s chest shudders and Stiles whines high in his throat, but Derek doesn’t 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. “I’m so sorry. Stiles, I’m so sorry.” He hiccups, tears falling freely to the ground. “If I stayed with you instead of hidden away, run away from the pack, what you all meant to me you –oh god- you would’ve still been here.” He looks up, into the canopy of tall trees above him, tears gleaming in the dappled light. “You would’ve been with me. I. I can’t do this without you. I need- I. I need your laughter, sarcasm…” Derek looks down at his hands again, wiping at his eyes. “I need you, Stiles. Please don’t leave me.”

He lurches forwards before he fully knows what he’s doing, running into Derek’s hands that’re stained with tears. He’s whimpering, chattering and yipping – Anything to let Derek know that he’s here. Has been the whole time. That he will. Not. Leave. Him.

Harsh sobs wrack the wolf’s body as he picks the fox up, pressing his face into the thick scruff. He strokes coarse fur harshly, desperate. He’s mumbling, and Stiles really has to focus to hear it. It’s almost like a mantra – and a sad one at that, of “ImsorrysosorryImsorrypleasepleasepleasejustdontleaveme” and it breaks Stiles’ little fox heart to hear.

He squirms around, but Derek’s arms just tighten around him, not ever letting him go. He whines, craning his neck to lick fresh tears from Derek’s hazel eyes, letting the wolf hold him as close as he needs to.

It takes Derek a while to come down, after that.

It’s almost sundown when Derek removes his head from Stiles’ 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 he’s 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, he’s telepathic.

Derek just looks at him like he’s gone crazy(er).

Sighing, he tries to move off the chair, rolling his eyes when Derek doesn’t get the memo and blocks his path. “no more leaving.” And although Stiles is pretty sure Derek wouldn’t hold him against his will, there’s still an odd authoritarian tone that rings strong. He shakes his head, nocking at the nape of the wolf’s 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 Stiles’ back, squinting as he reads the shaky words. “Stiles?” At first it sounds like a question, but then the wolf sobers up. “Stiles! You know where he is?” 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 Derek’s doing this weird whining/growling thing in his ear.

It’s nice.

Make sure to read the first part of this fic here!

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Fox_Pauses awful Sterek joke masterlist

1. research

2. Favourite city

3. meditation

4. showering

5. absolute trash

6. touched by an angel

7. with great power

8. Hershey’s 

9. are you religious?

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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, you’ll have to make a claim next time you go to the dentist. Seriously though, I hope you enjoy it. 

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.  

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.  

He watches as one, almost timidly, dances its way towards Derek.  

Lazy eyes track the flake, stopping only when it’s hidden amongst the coarse hairs of Derek’s beard. He takes the opportunity to study his wolf’s face.  

Only during sleep is the wolf’s expression completely slack. His thick eyebrows sit perched above stubby, inky lashes that flutter alongside his dream. (whether he’s chasing rabbits or having normal human dreams, Stiles’ll never know. He’s hoping it’s the former) Stiles’ 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.  

Stiles can’t resist touching the Adonis-like creature laying before him. This slice of heaven he’s 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 Derek’s fine stubble. Stiles smiles softly to himself,  slowly bringing his head closer to Derek’s.

When his lips are inches from Derek’s, he stops. He can feel Derek’s small, warm puffs of air gliding over is bony digits as they gently scratch the wolf’s beard.

His tongue darts out quickly, skating over his own plump skin. Smiling fondly to himself, he whispers, “I love you, sour wolf.”  

The werewolf scrunches his face in sleep, but does not wake up. So Stiles continues.

“And I know you love me too.” He closes his eyes, thinking to himself. He thinks about all the times Derek’s protected him, whether be wanted to be protected or not. About all the times Derek’s taken care of him, when he was sick or just plain stubborn, never letting any real danger near the teen. “you just have a funny way of showing it.”  

He lightly presses his forehead to Derek’s, 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.  

And he loves it too.