Despite what people seem to think about him, Stiles isn’t actually an idiot. Sure, he sometimes does stupid shit and he speaks without thinking, like, eighty-percent of the time, but he’s not dumb. He’s actually super smart, thank you very much, he just has some eclectic interests and knows a lot of shit about things not many people care about. There’s nothing wrong with that!
So, the fact of the matter is, he isn’t dumb, and because he’s not dumb there’s totally a reason why he’s hanging out in the preserve in the middle of the night when there’s a pack of rabid alpha’s trying to murder his pack and some crazy person sacrificing people (reasoning undetermined).
But Stiles? Oh, Stiles totally has a reason.
A good reason, even! A very good, magical reason which makes it an even better reason, if you ask him. Stiles is in the woods in the middle of the night because he needs a plant for a spell and he has to get the plant at night, and since he seriously does not want to die anytime soon because some wacko is sacrificing virgins, he’s willing to risk the woods that back his house in order to find the plant he needs.
Besides, he’s pretty sure the Alpha Pack isn’t just hanging around his house waiting for the silly human to come wondering about. At least he’s hoping that’s not what they’re doing, especially since Stiles isn’t exactly a silly human, not with the whole “spark” thing he’s got going on. Not that the rest of the pack knows about the whole “spark” thing, which is good and also is kinda what he’s counting on to make sure the Alpha Pack also don’t know about the whole “spark” thing, ‘cause if his pack doesn’t know then they probably haven’t talked about it anywhere near the alphas, meaning he’s probably safe.
Oh god, he seriously hopes that the Alpha Pack doesn’t know about it. Deaton knows about it, since he's the one who critically didn’t tell Stiles about it, and Stiles doesn’t think he’d tell any of the alphas. Hopefully. He’s totally counting on them not knowing about it to keep him from, like, dying a horrible death.
And he really doesn’t want to die a horrible death.
Which, actually, is why Stiles is draped over a fallen tree and trying to figure out if the plant that’s kinda glowing is the plant that he needs. He’s pretty sure it’s the plant he needs, but since he’s only ever seen the plant in the form of a crappy little sketch in a super old notebook he’d swiped from Deaton’s, he’s not totally sure if he’s bet on it being the plant.
Just as he’s deciding that he might as well take it, even if it isn’t the right plant, a low, blood-chilling growl echoes through the night.
Stiles slowly, so slowly, pulls himself up to standing, pushing off the tree with the flower all but forgotten buried within its roots. His heart is racing so hard he can feel it slamming against his chest and his breath catches somewhere in his throat and he doesn’t breathe until his lungs are burning. He still doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t know if he can breathe. Not when he’s holding himself stock-still and his heart is racing and his lungs burn and he’s wondering if this is going to be the end.
Oh shit, he doesn’t want this to be the end.
Seconds tick by with nothing else happening, but Stiles is still terrified. Eventually he breathes, light-headed as he takes in short, shallow breaths while trying to be as quiet as possible. His hand slowly, so, so slowly, rises to his chest, where his scent-blocking charm is still hanging around his throat and sitting in the centre of his chest, tucked under his shirt. There’s no way that an alpha—and that growl sure as hell came from an alpha—should have been able to smell to him.
Which means that he was found by sheer, dumb luck which... yeah, that sounds about right actually.
When another minute passes with nothing happening and the forest remaining decidedly silent around him, Stiles slowly turns around, his hand slipping into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out the glass vial of wolfsbane he’s kept on him ever since the day he first put his belief into something and felt his spark flicker. He doesn’t want to use it. Using it is definitely going to mean that something is trying to kill him.
Even if he knows it’s futile, he keeps his eyes scrunched shut as he turns around, hoping against hope that he’s not going to see anything.
Once again, his luck runs out. Well. It kind of runs out. Because while there is someone standing in front of him and it is one of the alphas probably about to kill him, the Alpha is...
Oh my god.
Stiles’ eyes jump all over the place, trying to take in everything at once—he’s a teenage boy, after all, and there’s a big naked man in front of him—,skipping from the top of the Alpha’s bald head to the crazy-thick breadth of his shoulders, trailing in to drool over his thick, fur-covered pecs and down to a very strong looking stomach, and then, of course, he follows the thickening trail of dark hair swirling around his belly button down to a big bush that does nothing to diminish the heavy weight of the Alpha’s dick hanging down between his legs and—
Oh my god.
The Alpha growls again, and this time Stiles whimpers. Whimpers.
A smile curls across the Alpha’s handsome face, making his jaw look even sharper than it already does. “What are you doing all alone in the woods, pretty boy?”
“Hm... what?” Stiles asks blankly, trying to figure out what the Alpha—he’s pretty sure this one is Ennis—just said since his mind is stuck on the “pretty boy” and nothing else to the point where he’s not even sure what the big Alpha said.
Which is probably why he asks, “You think I’m pretty?”
Ennis laughs but it... it doesn’t sound cruel. Stiles has been laughed at meanly enough times in his life to know what that sounds like, and this isn’t it. He has no idea what to do with the realization, so instead, he says nothing.
“Very pretty,” Ennis tells him, which, huh. Okay. That’s... a thing that’s happening.
The Alpha is huge—so huge everywhere, oh my god— and Stiles wonders why he isn’t just. Killing him. Surely that would be easier than trying to seduce Stiles for... well, for whatever the hell he’s trying to seduce Stiles for. There’s gotta be a reason, right? Wait... is he trying to seduce Stiles? Maybe that isn’t the plan. Maybe “pretty boy” is just an acceptable nickname wherever the Alpha’s from.
Yeah, okay, he doesn’t believe that one either.
“I...” Stiles trails off and doesn’t say anything else, his mouth opening and closing without a word because he doesn’t know what to say. Which admittedly isn’t an issue he has very often, seeing as he’s usually saying everything at all times and. In fact, he normally has an issue with shutting up.
Stupid giant, hulking alphas with big muscles and dark body hair and a handsome face.
Ennis chuckles, and Stiles notices that the light of the moon catches on his bald head. Huh. “Not gonna answer my question, little one?”
“Wait... what was your question?”
Ennis raises an eyebrow which Stiles doesn’t immediately notice since his right pec also flexes. Oh god, Stiles whimpers again.
He... should do something. He should totally do something. There’re lots of somethings he should be doing and instead of doing anything of them he’s. Staring.
“I asked what you were doing out in the woods all alone. Don’t you know a big bad wolf might just eat you up?”
It’s ridiculous. It’s so ridiculous. But all Stiles’ horny teenage brain can focus on is this big, mountain of a man standing there naked saying he’s going to eat him up and—
“You can totally do that to me,” he breathes, realizes what he just said, flushes, and then says, “Oh my god that was so inappropriate. You totally didn’t mean eat like sexy-eat, did you? You meant eat-eat? Like murder-eat? Oh my god please don’t murder-eat me? I probably don’t even taste good to be murder-eaten! Look! I’m all skin and bones!”
Stiles waves his arms around himself to show off just how skin and bones they are, and he sucks in a sharp breath when the giant, hulking Alpha starts laughing in a way that gentles his face and wrinkles the skin around his eyes handsomely. Stiles stares. Oh my god. He’s so hot this isn’t even fair.
“I’ve smelt you around town, pretty boy, and I gotta say I think you’d taste delicious if I were to get my mouth on you,” Ennis tells him with a grin that looks freaking wolfish, but also, super freaking hot.
Stiles drops his vial of mountain ash into the grass. Stiles also has a fear-boner. Oh my god.
“Ugh... that didn’t sound like you wanted to murder eat me?” Stiles asks a little breathlessly, which is ridiculous— he should not be breathless just because this man said he wanted to get his mouth on him. No. No way.
Ennis steps forward. His dick sways between his thighs. Stiles may or not may not whimper again (he totally does. His fear-boner also totally gets harder. Ngh.)
“Never said I wanted to murder -at you, did I, pretty boy?”
Stiles shakes his head, ‘cause the Alpha’s got a point. He didn’t say he wanted to murder-eat him. He just said he wanted to eat him. Maybe it wasn’t wishful thinking that it was sexy-eating. Maybe he did mean sexy-eating. Oh god, Stiles hopes he meant sexy-eating.
Wait... does he? Is he supposed to want the enemy to sexy-eat him? He eyes Ennis’ hulking form and realizes that yes, in fact, he does.
“Does this make me little red riding hood in this big bad wolf analogy?”
“Well you are wearing a red hood,” Ennis points out, gesturing forward in a way that draws Stiles’ focus to his bicep and his lovely shoulder and the lines of muscle lining his belly. So. Hot.
Stiles looks down at his sweater and—yep. He is in fact wearing his red hoodie. “Hm, alright. I’ll excuse the big bad wolf comment since I set that one up.”
Ennis’ smile turns into something even more attractive. “That’s very nice of you, pretty boy.”
“I’m a nice boy,” Stiles says in response, feels like an idiot, and then asks, “Uh... why aren’t you going to murder-eat me, though? Isn’t that kinda what you guys are here for?”
Stiles makes a clawing gesture through the air and mock growls, clearly to imitate what the alphas are planning to do, and it makes Ennis laugh. That... probably shouldn't make Stiles’ heart flutter, but it totally does. Ennis probably hears it, so he also knows that his laugh made Ennis’ heart flutter. That’s not an appropriate reaction to the enemy!
“Do you know what mates are, little spark?” Ennis asks him and—
“Absolutely not,” Stiles says on reflex, his mouth taking over before his brain can even properly process what is going on. “No. No. Are you serious? That’s not just a bomb you drop on someone, oh my god!”
“I take it that's a yes?”
Stiles nods at Ennis’ raised eyebrow and doesn’t say anything. Again, he doesn’t know what to say, not with the giant, earth-shattering news that Ennis just dropped. It can’t be true. Right? There is no way that can be true. His mind starts racing a mile a freaking minute as he mentally goes over everything he’s ever read about mates, faster than he can make sense of, thoughts spinning out of control as his eyes take in the big, imposing man in front of him and feels a wild laugh climb up his throat.
First: no way this is happening.
Second: there’s no fucking way he’s this lucky.
Nope. No siree. There is no way that the universe gave him a mate that’s literally his best wet dream personified.
Which is why, after another second of silence, he asks, “Uhm... are you going to prove that?”
He might want it to be true but he’s not just gonna take the Alpha’s word for it.
“Come here,” Ennis tells him and he holds out his hand.
Stiles, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, does.
Ennis hasn’t killed him yet, which Stiles figures is a pretty good sign. Seeing as Ennis could have killed him before Stiles even knew he was there, he hopes it’s a really good sign. The idea that Ennis might just like playing with his food definitely crosses Stiles’ mind, but... this would be pretty excessive.
Eh. He’s probably gonna live.
It’s only a few steps across the grassy forest floor before he’s standing right in front of Ennis and looking up—and up, god he’s freaking tall—to his face, where he’s smiling an even softer smile than the one he’d worn earlier. He’s even more handsome, smiling like this, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat.
Also. His eyes are pretty.
“This is not fair,” Stiles says, looking at the strong cut of his jaw and his sharp cheeks and the faint, barely-there shadow of stubble Stiles can just make out in the dull light his eyes have mostly adjusted to. “How are you allowed to look like that?”
“Look like what, little spark?” Ennis asks, and this time the name makes him flush, his cheeks heating up when he realizes that he is little because Ennis is a freaking giant, what the hell.
“So... ngh,” Stiles tells him, gesturing to his everything empathetically.
He’s totally not trying to stall or push anything off, that’s for sure. He’s just... not sure if he’s ready for Ennis to prove it, if he’s able to. Maybe he can just have a few more minutes of everything being normal. Stiles doesn’t have any idea what the hell he’s going to do with a mate to behind with seeing as he barely knows what to do with himself!
Before he can keep putting off what seems like an inevitability at this point, Ennis raises his hand, palm up, and holds it out in the space between them. Stiles’ eyes track down his neck and across his shoulder, before taking a break to watch his bicep flex appealingly, before his eyes slowly move down his very nice forearm to finally rest on his, frankly, humongous hand.
Jeez. His fingers could probably touch if he grabbed Stiles’ waist.
His eyes shoot back up to the Alpha’s face to find him watching Stiles steadily. There’s a soft, gentle-looking smile spread across his face that’s far more disarming than a man his size should be able to pull off. He looks back down—but not too far down—and Ennis’ hand is still hanging in the air. Waiting for him. To see if they’re really mates.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles raises a shaking hand and tells himself that it’s going to be okay. It has to be okay. Hell, Stiles realizes that even if it isn’t okay, Ennis is just going to kill him and he’ll be too dead to be worried. It doesn’t even matter if this goes well. Either Ennis is telling the truth, and their mates, or Ennis is going to murder him , so Stiles shrugs his shoulders and slides his fingers across Ennis’ palm, wraps them around his handful of a wrist and—
Something flares to light in his chest, brighter than anything he’s ever felt.
He’s always known what pack bonds are, but he’s never felt one. Not like this. God, he’s never felt anything like this. The warmth that Stiles knows to be his spark twines around the bright, shining speck of potential that’s sitting in his chest. He feels it pulse and looks up to find Ennis’ eyes glowing red, a stark point of light that breaks up the darkness of the forest sprawled around them and draws him in and in and in and—
“Oh, you’re a powerful little thing, aren’t you?” Ennis asks, cutting off his spiralling thoughts with a wolfish looking smile that trips up Stiles’ heart and gets it racing as something warm unfurls in his belly.
“I-I don’t know,” he admits, caught up in the way he can feel Ennis inside his chest, like there’s suddenly a part of him that’s always been empty but is suddenly, rightfully, filled.
It’s... fuck, it’s like he’s complete.
He’s finally found something he didn’t even know what it was missing, and Ennis slots into his chest perfectly. He’s always meant to be there, Stiles realizes, because the universe has given him a mate that’s his best wet dream personified, and that realization almost causes him to stagger back in shock. It’s only Ennis’ hand holding his wrist back that keeps him steady—or, maybe, it’s Ennis’ steady pleasure that’s thrumming along their bond and echoing through Stiles’ head in a way that he barely believes.
He has a mate.
Take that, fifth-grade-Jackson Whittemore, he was totally gonna find someone to marry!
Oh my god, he’s werewolf married.
Before Stiles can start freaking out over the whole marriage thing—they’re going to have to have a ceremony or else his dad is gonna kill him—Ennis reaches for his neck and Stiles doesn’t even think to move away, not with the way his heart is beating alongside Ennis’, not with the bond singing inside his chest and the heavy weight of Ennis’ eyes on him or the gentle way he’s still holding his hand. He doesn’t do anything, not even when Ennis’ thumb settles on his pulse point; Stiles does nothing other than bare his throat to his Alpha in a way that feels heady.
Ennis’ thumb slips under the leather chain he’s wearing and pulls the charm from under Stiles’ shirt to glare at it. Stiles snorts at the ire in Ennis’ eyes, and he isn’t surprised when the big man growls, “I don’t like this.”
“You can take it off,” Stiles says, in for a penny in for a pound, and Ennis growls again, but... gentler, warmer, with a note of something appreciative to the noise that steals Stiles’ breath away.
Okay, it’s totally because of the mate bond that he can understand Ennis’ growling, but he figures it’ll come in hand sooner or later.
Ennis pulls his hand from where Stiles had still been holding onto it to lift the necklace carefully over Stiles’ neck, and then he dangles the charm out to him. Stiles grabs it without looking, eyes too focused on Ennis’ face and the way his nostrils flare widely while he takes a deep breath that expands his shoulders and fills his chest, before he makes a similar rumbling noise that, this time, goes right to Stiles not-so-fearful-anymore boner.
“Oh, pretty boy, you smell fucking delicious,” Ennis tells him in a deep purr of a voice that makes him shiver and steals his breath, and Stiles sways forward before he can think any better of it.
It’s okay, ‘cause his mate his right there.
Ennis’ hands reach out and grab onto his hips, tugging him forward until Stiles is in his space. He reaches out instinctively, hands laying flat against Ennis’ very warm chest. The hair under his palm tickles, a bit, and Stiles slides his hands across his skin totally innocently. He’s not scent-marking his bate. Not at all.
Stiles can feel Ennis’ heart racing heart against his hand and sense it racing through their bond, and it really is beating alongside his own. Ennis’ nostrils flare again, and Stiles trails his hands up till he can hook his fingers behind Ennis’ shoulders and hold on tightly when his needs feel a little weak.
Ennis squeezes his hips and Stiles is pretty sure his earlier suspicions were correct: his fingers are definitely long enough to touch.
As Stiles stands in the middle of the preserve in the middle of the night held in his mate's arms, it’s almost impossible to believe that this is real and not some sort of magic-induced fever dream. He’s had those, and they suck, and this feels like one because there is no way he’d actually end up with someone who looks like Ennis in real life. Unless, of course, Ennis was a werewolf and the universe had just so happened to decide that they were destined to be together. Actually, now that Stiles is thinking about it, that seems even more unbelievable.
The universe usually hates him!
Actually, maybe it’s just been balancing the scales, seeing as this is pretty fucking spectacular.
Even though it feels unbelievable enough to be a dream, Ennis is warm and solid under his hands. Stiles can feel the way he’s vibrating through a soft, rumbling growl that he can barely hear. Stiles tucks himself even closer, wanting to feel more of it, and Ennis welcomes him readily, folding around him to keep him in his arms and hug him tighter.
Stiles, once again, whimpers. “It’s okay, my little spark,” Ennis whispers into his hair, holding him tightly enough that he can believe him.
Maybe Ennis needs some reassurance too?
No one has hugged Stiles like this in... too long. The world of the supernatural and everything that comes along with it is an impossible-to-cross chasm between him and his dad. They both know he’s lying. They both know he’s always lying, but Stiles... doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to tell him or if he should tell him or what would be safer. Is him knowing safer? It’s his dad, so if he did know he’d probably involve himself. That doesn’t sound safer to him.
But... now that Stiles has a mate. Well. Dad should probably know. Marriage and all.
“Can I tell my dad?” Stiles asks quietly, already prepared for the ”No” Derek has given him countless times in the past.
“Of course, little one,” Ennis tells him immediately, a bead of surprise followed closely by confusion rushing through their bond. “I would love to meet him.”
“Oh,” Stiles says with a nod, but he doesn’t say anything else. Not now. Not when Ennis is holding him under the glow of the moon and Stiles is trying to keep himself together and not start freaking out seeing as he’s, suddenly, bound to this hulking man for the rest of eternity. Or something similar, anyway. None of the books he’s read have been super clear, but they’ve all come to a reasonable conclusion that mate bonds aren’t something you can just back away from.
Hence, the whole marriage comparison. Just… minus the possibility of divorce.
Oh god, Dad’s gonna kill him.
“I never believed I’d find my mate,” Ennis says quietly. There’s a gentle sort of disbelief wrapped around his bond, and Stiles knows he’s telling the truth the second the words leave his mouth.
Ennis must be at least thirty. Stiles should probably care about that more, but werewolves tend to live well into their hundreds, so at least he doesn’t have to worry about his mate dying decades before him. As for the whole age difference, well. Stiles wouldn’t say he has a daddy kink, but he wouldn’t say he doesn’t have a daddy kink either.
Maybe that’s ‘cause of Ennis. Have Stiles’ sexual preferences always been big and hairy because his mate is big and hairy?
Huh. He’ll have to ask when it’s not such an emotional moment.
Speaking of: “I’m glad you did,” Stiles whispers against his chest, adding, “I don’t really believe this isn’t a dream, honestly.”
Ennis makes an agreeing noise, which checks out with the feeling Stiles is picking up. That’s gonna take some getting used to, he figures, as he feels what Ennis is feeling.
They stay that way for a while. Ennis runs a hand up and down Stiles’ back and Stiles stays happily tucked up against all of his warm, hairy body. His arousal has burned down a slow, simmering sort of heat that flares a little hotter every now and again. Each time it does, Ennis clutches him a little tighter and growls, and Stiles giggles, just a bit. He’s totally not thinking about the fact that they’re going to have sex. Ennis is huge. And older.
It’s probably going to be amazing.
He realizes with a start he has no idea what’s going to happen now Ennis’ hand ghosts over the swell of his ass.
“Are you still going to kill my friends?” Stiles asks with a frown, even as he slips his hand across the back of Ennis’ shoulders so he can start petting over the smooth expanse of his scalp. It’s kinda weird that he doesn’t have any hair on his head when he has so much everywhere else.
Stiles didn’t even know werewolves could go bald.
Ennis lifts an eyebrow and snorts out something like a laugh. “Depends. You sure you don’t want me to?”
Which... what? “Uh... yes?”
Ennis shrugs, and Stiles comes to the slightly frightening realization that Stiles could ask Ennis to kill someone and they’d... well, they’d end up dead. Super face. A face flashes to the forefront of his mind but he pushes that thought away to examine how exactly that makes him feel at a much later date. Right now is not the time to think about murder.
With that said, however, it actually makes him feel safe, knowing that Ennis is ready to kill anyone Stiles wants. Which is. Something else he should probably think about later. With a therapist.
“Then probably not,” he tells him, and Stiles lets out a breathless sort of laugh that feels wildly overwhelmed.
Wow. Okay. “Probably not” isn’t as reassuring as he’d like, but... he can see Scott messing up so badly he ends up dead, honestly. He’ll just have to try not to make that happen.
Stiles doesn’t say anything else, though, not even totally sure what he could say in response to that. Instead, he wonders what he’s doing. Why he’s letting this happen. The bond is really strong, but shouldn’t Stiles still technically be afraid of the man currently nuzzling his throat and digging his stubble into his neck? Should Stiles be caressing his head and holding him just as close?
Probably not. Actually, he’s still a little surprised that Ennis never killed him, though all he needs to do is focus on the bond sitting in his chest to realize why. He can’t even think about hurting Ennis, because each time he does, his entire body starts to ache.
He wonders if it’s the same for Ennis. Maybe it’s worse, since he’s a pack creature. Stiles is just a spark, after all, which according to all his research means a lot and very little all at once. What he has been able to piece together is that he probably won’t ever feel a bond to the same extent as a pack creature which is... well, considering how strong his bond is with Ennis, seems insane.
Is it stronger for him?
Stiles can’t even imagine what that might be like, and as a yawn cracks his jaw, he realizes he’s too tired to even try.
“So... I should probably get home,” Stiles says slowly, since he’s probably been in the woods close to two hours—he’d been searching for a while before Ennis found him—and his dad might wake up to check on him and realize he isn’t home and then have a heart attack and die. Then, Stiles realizes he can’t just bring Ennis home, and he asks, “Wait... why are you naked?”
Ennis laughs, tossing his head back as the joyful sound seems to burst from his chest. Stiles’ hand moves a little lower, and before he can think it through, Stiles is resting his palm against the throat of an Alpha werewolf, his thumb rubbing across his Adam’s apple to feel the laugh against his fingers.
Ennis, for his part, makes a rumbling noise that sends a shiver down Stiles’ back.
Good to know.
“I had been on a run,” Ennis says, as if that answers literally anything at all.
“Well I wasn’t gonna wear clothes when I had a fur coat,” Ennis tells him simply. As if that’s a totally reasonable answer that makes any sense whatsoever. What?
“A fur coat?”
“Yes, little one. Have you never seen an Alpha’s full shift before?” Ennis asks him with a cute little tilt to his head that sort of makes him look like a... very big and dangerous puppy.
Stiles leans back into the cradle of his arms and knows that Ennis isn’t going to let him fall the same way he knew Ennis was telling the truth and that he’d literally murder someone if Stiles asked. Full shift?
His mind flashes back to the monstrous figure Peter had haunted them as, and goes with, “No?”
Ennis’ smile gets even wider, and his eyes glow red even as his chest puffs out. “Do you want to?”
“Oh hell yeah,” Stiles breathes, and then Ennis... becomes a wolf.
Well, first he winks, but then he steps back and, before Stiles’ eyes, starts growing the aforementioned fur coat as his legs shiver and change, his back thickens, and his face elongates. Seconds later Ennis is... holy shit, Ennis is a five-foot-something wolf, breathing heavily through an open mouth with glowing red eyes trained on Stiles’ face.
He’s... beautiful. His fur looks black, but a few strands catch the light of the moon and look lighter, like maybe in the sun he’d be a dark brown. He’s also humongous, and Stiles wonders just how much of that is because of Ennis’ human size and how much of that is just because he’s a stupidly powerful Alpha.
“Holy shit!” Stiles exclaims, taking a step forward and laughing when Ennis’ big muzzle pushes into his space and playfully nips at his fingers before licking the palm of his hand. Stiles doesn’t even need to crouch down to be on eye level, he just has to lean forward. “This is amazing!”
Ennis barks at him, and he bumps his nose against Stiles’ check. He snickers at the shock of cold, and then carefully reaches forward to lay his hand against the crazy soft fur on Ennis’ neck. Oh, wow. Wow.
“You are incredible,” Stiles breathes, and doesn’t even feel embarrassed when something like agreement rushes into his chest as Ennis licks at his wrist.
“Okay... let’s get you home,” Stiles says, and Ennis barks again, pleased agreement shining along their bond.
As Stiles walks through the preserve with a hulking wolf slowly trotting beside him, he realizes he never got the plant he needed. He spares a glance at his mate and figures he probably doesn’t even need it anymore, but worst-case scenario, he can get it tomorrow night.
‘Cause with everything that’s happened, Stiles is seriously ready for bed. And cuddles. Oh, he’s gonna get lots of cuddles.