The Hell You Came From [Derek/FemStiles]

Note To Self

While the wolf focuses on healing his wound, Stiles gently dabbing over his shoulder with the dry towel is slowly starting to make him sleepy. He closes his eyes, but keeps his head held high, tenses his neck muscles to keep himself awake.

If he focuses just right, he will be able to heal the wound just up under its ugly surface. He leaves that just for show, of course, just to keep her from suspecting...or completely realising what he is before he has time to explain himself. (Whatever. Both reasons work.)

And if Stiles notices him not reacting as much to the pain as he did before, she doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t think she notices–every time he cracks eyes open, she simply blindsides him with that dangerously soothing soft smile of hers. Her eyes are so light, open and warm. Her expression kind, yet, slightly mischievous.

His eyes crack open a little more as he gets lost in just taking in her every detail.

She catches him staring–not that he’s being inconspicuous in the slightest. Her smile widens, eyes crinkling softly, and the wolf’s heart leaps towards her own (that’s what it feels like anyway.) He then, finds himself finally leaning a little further into her touch.

Stiles chuckles quietly, softly ruffles the patch of fur under his chin. The wolf’s tail wags a couple of times, his tongue loosely hanging out of his mouth as he pants softly. Stiles grins inwardly, because she knows he isn’t hot, and she’s also that read dogs and wolves pant to relax one another.

She doesn’t even know why it matters so much to her...only, she does...she’s just too pathetic to admit how pathetic she actually is by feeling validated by this wild beast. He’s majestic and beautiful and everything, yes...

But she can never truly know if he’ll ever belong to her.

Again, her mind strays towards thoughts of someone, just like her, waiting for his return, wondering what happened to him, thinking that he could be–

The wolf’s soft whine snaps Stiles free of her thoughts.

The wolf can see the soft frown of doubt on her face, and his heart aches for whatever reason put it there (marring her perfect face.)

Stiles, meanwhile, stares at him with open shock before breaking out into another soft grin.

“So, you can talk then.” Stiles gives the side of his face a soft couple of strokes. He leans into her touch, even turns his head to give her palm an affectionate lick.

“That’s good to know, Maxie, boy, I was starting to feel like I was hogging the microphone.” Stiles wrinkles her nose as her lame joke. But he seems to like it as he leans in to give her cheek a lick.

She chuckles, the sound as soft as her touch.

The wolf knows he’s getting too familiar too fast. But...well, the only word that keeps springing persuasively to his mind is; mate.

All he wants to do is be near her (forever...)

To bury his nose in her scent and lose himself forever.

To look into those whiskey doe orbs forever.

To maybe go back to her bed with her and stay there with her like they were just this morning...forever.

Stiles sighs tiredly, fighting off the sad tinge to her smile when the wolf lowers his head a fraction and stares up at her. He literally looks like he’s about to ask her if she’s had a rough day.

Stiles chuckles faintly. “You really are the prettiest creature I’ve ever seen.” Her words come out in a whisper, her eyes glued to his now. She doesn’t know why the heck she’s blushing, but that piercing green gaze of his might have something to do with it.

(Stiles almost feels like if she were to look close enough, she just might find that intelligence she’s...hoping for?)

The wolf doesn’t mean to give her a slow blink, this time, he’s simply lost again in her kind eyes cast back at him. Though, when she leans in to give the top of his head a sweet kiss, he’s more than happy to wag his tail (like a love-struck moron), flatten his ears against his head and lean into give her face a few eager licks.

She asked for this...

Stiles kissed him first.

That’s consent...

Fuck, that bitch has messed me up...

But, oh, how much he already loves this woman knelt right in front of him. This woman that ran him over with her Jeep, and hasn’t stopped looking after him ever since.

And no, it’s not even because of any of that...

It’s because of what she does next...

Stiles frowns softly–the wolf hears the change in her heart, it picks up a little before slowing again; he smells the change in her scent, from happy to concerned. After she dabs away the last remains of water and rubbing alcohol, Stiles places the towel down and asks him, “You OK, Max? Your heart was going like a little motor for a couple of seconds there.”

She...she notices. She’s human. She barely knows him. But she still notices...every little thing about him.

He can’t explain how safe it makes him feel. How real freedom feels...

“Maybe I should call Scott.” Stiles mumbles to herself, eyeing the wolf with more concern on her face.

The wolf takes action then, because the man agrees with the wolf; alone, keep her safe, keep fox boy safe, keep everyone safe.

That has been the plan all along. Even before he ever met Stiles last night. It’s the fucking sole reason he’s knee deep in this shit in the first place.

Well, that...and his pig-headedness...

The wolf pushes himself up onto his feet just to show her he’s OK. And just to show off, he even adds a little skip on all fours and an enthused little huff.

Stiles blinks. “Maybe the bullet just grazed you...” Being a Sheriff’s kid (of course she blames her old man for her genetics–well, half, anyway) has always made Stiles all too curious. But making sure the wolf is OK is top priority to her.

(And no! Not just because of the guilt!)

The wolf manages to keep from stiffening as she leans a little closer to get a better look at his wound. Though, he stops his bouncing, lets her have her look as he takes another moment to simply look at her.

“Huh...” Stiles chirps, the wolf is pleased to hear how relieved and pleased she sounds. “Can I...?”

The wolf sits himself down, tilts his head, continues to stare at her.

Stiles takes that as a good sign. Stiles then, takes a deep breath before slowly reaching out and softly brushing her fingertips over the small round wound. When he doesn’t flinch, only leans into her touch, Stiles smiles gleefully, using her free hand to pet the side of his neck.

“Well...it looks like it’s already starting to heal up, and you have no exit wound to match, so, I’m guessing it did graze you...thankfully.” Stiles comes to her conclusion after she’s thoroughly used her eyes to inspect–not wanting to potentially infect her best boy. (She grins giddily at the silly thought.)

The wolf simply responds by leaning out to give her nose a brushing lick.

Stiles giggles, playfully swatting his snout away from her. “Dude, I see you licking your ass just once, and you are neverrrr giving me kisses everrrr again.”

She might sound sweet a chirpy, but something tells the wolf his little Bambi is also secretly a little minx.

Note to self: no licking my own ass...just maybe hers...