willow | d. hale [on hold]

33 | nogitsune

you're the nogitsune.

[ 3.17 ]

There wasn't much time for sleeping in between school and the party that ended in chaos. But Willow still managed to get a little. Derek, who wouldn't be letting her out of his sight after the way those shadow warriors looked at her, had her stay at the loft.

Willow had been completely silent as Derek set her on a counter and wiped the paint from her body with a wet rag, neither mentioning how it got there. Then he pulled one of his shirts over her shoulders, giving her something to sleep in. Despite how worried she was about this new threat, it didn't take long at all for her to fall asleep in his arms.

Derek didn't get any sleep. He couldn't. He didn't want to shut his eyes and let his guard down, allowing those things a window of opportunity to come after Willow. He silently stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought as Willow curled up against his chest.

Whatever those things were, they wanted Willow and Scott now. And Derek wouldn't let them get to her, having gone through the painful process of — well, whatever it was they did to the rest of them. A backward five-looking symbol was burned into his skin behind his left ear, and not even his werewolf healing could get it to disappear.

Derek's head was swimming with worry and plans to follow Willow and Scott around all day, but the thoughts slowed when Willow shifted against him, letting out a sigh. He glanced down at her, thinking that she might have been waking up. It wouldn't be long before he'd need to wake her for school anyway. No matter how exhausted she was, he knew Willow wouldn't let herself miss a day of school willingly.

But Willow wasn't waking up. She was dreaming.

Another sigh escaped her lips which was followed by a needy whimper. Willow squirmed in her sleep, back arching as she pressed herself closer to him. Derek couldn't help the smug smile that made its way onto his face, having a rather good idea as to what kind of dream she was having.

But then Derek felt as if a bucket of freezing water had been poured over him, his veins turning to ice as a breathy "Stiles" traveled past her parted lips. Derek pulled himself away from her, letting Willow's body rest on the mattress as hurt washed over him, hearing her call out another man's name.

With narrowed eyes, Derek watched Willow, who kept on dreaming. His eyes traveled from her face to her shifting body, catching sight of a patch of paint he had missed when cleaning her off. It was on the back of her upper thigh, a sign that someone's fingers had gone under her skirt in order to get paint that high.

A horrible, angry feeling in Derek's chest told him those fingers belonged to Stiles. His heart ached at the thought, wishing for him to be overreacting — that he was just paranoid. But his head knew better. It was obvious back when he met them all that Stiles had a thing for her, but never did he entertain the thought that Willow felt the same. But something was different between Willow and Stiles. Derek just had to see it with his own eyes to prove it to himself.