Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Stiles hops over a tree root, his tiny rabbit lungs burning as he sprint-hops over the forest floor. He makes a mental note to lay off the curly fries.
Not that he’ll probably be able to do that.
Because he’s going to die.
His hind paw catches on a rock and he goes down, crashing onto his stomach, the wind abruptly forced from his lungs. He tries to scramble to his feet – paws, whatever – but he can already sense a large figure hovering over him, trapping him in. He makes a break for it anyway, though, desperately trying to escape, but a large muzzle with rows of sharp teeth is already descending on him and –
– and Derek Hale is going to eat him to death. And not even in a sexy way. Then Derek finally will become a murderer, and his dad will have to identify his body by scraping bits of his rabbit intestines off of Derek’s wolf-y canines.
All because he didn’t warn his werewolf friends off from their usual late night hunts, because then he’d have to admit that he’s a fucking wererabbit.
Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the kiss – or in this case, the painful, agonizing bite – of death.
Only it never comes.
It never comes, because for some reason, instead of swallowing him whole like a normal wolf, Derek’s decided to rub his face all over him. Gah, Stiles doesn’t even know where that muzzle’s been. Derek’s probably getting rabbit-guts from his previous victim all over Stiles’ carefully maintained coat.
Stiles freezes, though, staying completely still as Derek continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. However, instead of doing anything logical (like just continuing on his way), Derek flops down and corrals Stiles in between his front paws, continuing to nuzzle and – and cuddle him while making low, happy growling noises in the back of his throat.
Fuck, does Derek seduce his prey before eating them? Lure them into a false sense of security and then bam! Rabbit stew for dinner!
(Not that Derek probably cooks his food while in wolf form. He probably won’t stop to cook Stiles in some little werewolf oven.)
Stiles is broken out of his thoughts by the feeling of something wet sliding over the back of his neck. He tenses again, and oh god, is that Derek’s tongue?Please don’t let him be checking to see if he needs to add extra seasoning.
Wolf-Derek lets out another happy rumble and then – then –
He rests his entire freaking chin on Stiles, practically crushing him. Fuck his life.
Stiles stays as he is, stiff and still, and waits for Derek’s next move. Only, Derek doesn’t do much else. In fact, it seems like he’s perfectly content to take a little nap right there on the forest floor with a fluffy Stiles-pillow to cushion his head. Stiles waits a while longer for the other shoe to drop – to get eaten alive – but it… doesn’t.
Derek lets out a noise which Stiles suspects is the wolf equivalent of a snore. What a weirdo.
It’s hard to tell how long they stay like that, Derek dozing lightly while Stiles crouches stiffer than a statue, but it can’t be more than fifteen minutes or so before Stiles finally tries to escape. It takes quite a bit of gentle wiggling, and at one point Stiles accidentally kicks Derek in the nose, but he doesn’t do much more than snuffle and let out another low rumble. Stiles really shouldn’t find it endearing.
When he finally manages to pry himself free of Derek’s death grip, he stands there for a moment and just watches Derek, curled up and content in his full shift. Stiles frowns (as much as a rabbit can frown) as he realizes that it’s probably the happiest he’s ever seen Derek. He feels like a bit of an asshole for ruining that, even if Derek forcibly cuddle attacked him and was probably saving him for a midnight snack.
Stiles stares at him for another brief moment before hopping away and trying to push the whole ordeal from his mind.
Unfortunately, he’s not terribly successful.
Still, he resolves to stay away from the woods from now on. He’ll just have to make like a normal rabbit and hang out on the front lawn. Mr. Donaldson, next door, has an amazing patch of tulips this year, too, which have his name written all over them.
He figures he deserves a treat after all he’s been through today.
As per his usual luck, there’s a pack meeting the next afternoon. Stiles calms his pre-meeting jitters by eating a good half of Mr. Donaldson’s tulip plot before feeling guilty and switching to the clover weeds growing in the yard. His dad always jokes about how he’ll never need to invest in a lawnmower, but he’ll never be able to invest in any pretty flowers either, so ha! Joke’s on him.
He has to shift back and make his way to Derek’s loft eventually, though, but he makes sure to take a very thorough shower before, paranoid that Derek will somehow be able to smell that he’s the fluffy snack that got away from him the previous night. While he doesn’t think Derek’s quite desperate enough for food to attack him in human form, you never know. Being overly cautious can’t hurt.
“Yo, Derek,” he says as he walks into the loft, plopping himself casually down onto the couch. Derek gives him a slightly odd look, though, which probably means his heartbeat is going whack as it follows the mantra of I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead echoing through his mind.
“Stiles,” Derek finally replies, nodding ever so slightly.
From the overstuffed armchair which the betas probably bullied Derek into buying, Erica catches his eye and gives him a suspicious, questioning look. Honestly, at this point, Stiles is half-tempted to shift and make a break for it. There’s nothing worse than being rabbit stew in the middle of a wolf den.
“Hey, you doin’ okay, bro?” Scott asks, frowning at him. “Your heartbeat’s going crazy.”
“It’s March,” Stiles grumbles, and Scott has to bite his lip to hold in a laugh. Scott’s the only one (besides his dad and relevant medical personnel) who knows about his fluffy condition, and ‘March’ has been their go to code-word for anything wererabbit related.
Because, you know, March is when rabbit mating season starts. It seemed like a good idea to his immature, pre-teen self.
“What’s wrong with March?” Erica asks innocently, but her eyes are sharp.
“Stiles has allergies,” Scott answers easily. Stiles could almost kiss him. Instead, he forces himself to sniffle, but by the look Derek shoots him, it’s not terribly convincing.
“Sure,” Boyd says, verbalizing Derek’s expression almost perfectly. Stiles has got to figure out how they do that.
“Aren’t we supposed to be having a super important pack meeting right now?” Stiles asks, changing the conversation as subtly as he knows how. As in, not at all. He should be a wereelephant or something. “How’s that pixie problem coming along?”
“We’re… in negotiations,” Derek grunts, his expression turning even sourer. Stiles didn’t even realize that was possible.
“So basically they’re still tying your shoelaces together and putting flowers in your hair?” Stiles snorts, earning himself another glare from Derek. It’s not terribly effective, though – after all, Stiles has seen him napping in a pile of leaves like an overgrown puppy.
“Derek’s gone to negotiate with them twice this week,” Erica protests, which makes Derek’s glare lessen for a moment, but it returns full force when Stiles lets out a small sort of laughter.
“Please, I bet he’s just running through the woods, chasing poor, unsuspecting rabbits,” Stiles quips, making Derek look at him sharply, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Rabbits are an overpopulated menace,” Derek replies, crossing his arms over his chest. Stiles almost zones out for a moment as he watches those glorious biceps bulge.
“Hey! Rabbits aren’t that oversexed! They just have a really short gestation period,” Stiles protests, earning him strange looks from everyone except for Scott, who’s probably just about bitten through his tongue trying not to laugh.
“Gestation period?” Isaac asks, frowning.
“Pregnancy term,” Stiles clarifies, his cheeks flushing red. He’s pretty sure he hears Erica mutter something about needing to get him laid. It’s not his fault he knows so much about rabbit sex! Mostly.
The meeting pretty much devolves from there, but Scott torments him by picking Monty Python and the Holy Grail for movie night afterwards.
Stiles could totally be a killer rabbit if he wanted, thank you very much.
Stiles tries to stay away from the woods – he really does.
…okay, maybe that’s a lie. He just can’t help it, though! After seeing Derek all content and cuddly, Stiles can’t help but be curious about that side of Derek. Maybe it’s just a wolf thing, or maybe it’s just a when-he’s-alone thing, but Stiles wants to see more of it.
And hey, it’s not like Derek actually ate him last time. Maybe they can even cuddle again.
Not that Stiles is actually interested in cuddling with Derek. Because that would be weird. Nope, no badly hidden crushes here at all!
Only, Stiles forgets that wolves aren’t the only thing he should be worried about in these woods, which he’s abruptly reminded of when a small, fairy-like creature pops up in front of him. The pixie – because that’s the only thing they could be – stares at him for a moment, their nose wrinkling up as they give him an odd look, but then their eyes go wide and they cackle.
Before Stiles can make a break for it, he gets a face-full of shimmery powder.
Stiles has a brief minute to hope the concoction isn’t toxic before he passes out.
When Stiles comes to, he’s still curled up on the forest floor in rabbit form. Well, at least he’s not dead. That would have been bad. He pushes himself to his feet – paws, whatever – and does a short check, just to make sure everything’s still there.
Then, he tries to shift.
He’s just starting to panic when he encounters another problem, though. Or, rather, another problem encounters him.
And by ‘a problem,’ he means ‘Derek Hale.’
The large black wolf lopes over to him casually, poking and prodding him with his large snout when he finally gets close enough. Stiles narrows his little rabbit eyes and boxes him away, earning him the closest thing to a startled expression he’s ever seen from Derek. Derek, the Big Bad Werewolf, lets out what can only be classified as a whine and tries to scent him again. Stiles is surprised enough that he lets him.
Then, Derek opens his jaws and carefully picks Stiles up by the nape of his neck.
Again, for a moment Stiles is too shocked to do anything, but then he’s kicking and squirming, trying to free himself from Derek’s grasp. Derek just growls, though, and holds tight, trotting on and taking Stiles god knows where.
One rabbit stew, coming right up!
Derek doesn’t let him down until they’re right at the door of his loft, which is actually making rabbit pot pie a much more viable option. This is where Derek keeps his little werewolf oven, after all.
Stiles can’t help but let out a high pitched squeak-honk noise when Derek shifts, though, leaving him fully naked in the building hallway as he rummages around for a spare key to unlock the door. Stiles kind of hates himself for starting, but he doesn’t have enough willpower to look away from such a glorious example of the male figure. And anyway, he’s a rabbit. He can be excused some things.
Belatedly, Stiles realizes that he probably should have used the moment to escape. It’s not until Derek’s picking him up and holding him to his (firm, sculpted) chest that this occurs to Stiles, though.
Derek sets him down on the couch and wanders off in the direction of his bedroom, eventually reemerging clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Stiles doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.
He doesn’t try hopping away when Derek sits down on the couch with him, though. Sure, he’s not a big fan of kidnapping, but Derek hasn’t pulled out the pots and pans yet, so he figures he’s safe for the time being. Maybe Derek just needs something fuzzy to cuddle.
Ha! Yeah, right. Big alpha werewolf needing cuddles. Good one, Stiles.
But, against all odds, Derek pulls rabbit Stiles into his lap and… starts petting him. Stiles is tense for a moment, unsure what to do, but then Derek runs his fingers over the top of his ears and Stiles melts. It looks like Derek doesn’t actually need a pot to make rabbit soup. It takes him a moment to realize that the soft purring noise is, in fact, coming from him. Derek lets out a little snort of laughter at it, though, so Stiles just kind of goes with it.
If someone had told him petting felt this good, he’d have followed Derek homeages ago.
He kind of loses track of time from there. When he eventually comes to, Derek’s gone, but there’s a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen. All of his body parts are intact, so Stiles is now fairly confident that rabbit is not on the menu. Thank god. As much as he likes Derek, that would be a deal-breaker.
Eventually he makes his way from the couch to the kitchen, capturing Derek’s attention by head-butting his leg. Derek looks down at him and lets out a huff, but he’s smiling slightly as he reaches down to pick up Stiles and place him on the counter. Stiles does his best to give Derek a judging look, because putting wild animals on your kitchen counter can’t be hygienic.
Not that Stiles is a wild animal.
… not that Derek knows that.
Derek, meanwhile, reaches over into a bowl set out on the opposite side of the sink and grabs something out of it. Stiles blinks as he presented with a neatly peeled carrot. He opens his mouth to say something about stereotypes, but then closes it again when he realizes that Derek won’t understand.
And, you know, it’s not like he doesn’t like carrots. Carrots are awesome.
He leans forward and takes a bite.
The rest of the evening passes in a similar fashion. Derek doesn’t exactly say much, but he feeds Stiles carrots, and food is a surefire way to his heart, so Stiles lets it slide. In fact, he lets pretty much everything slide, the petting, cuddling, and so forth.
Until it gets to bedtime, that is.
“Get back up here,” Derek mutters as Stiles attempts to jump down off the bed and onto the floor.
Because apparently Derek wants to cuddle with his new pet bunny in bed. But he’s only wearing boxers. And Stiles is not, in fact, a rabbit. Really, the only saving grace here is that Derek doesn’t sleep in the nude. Apparently the world isn’t completely trying to screw him over.
“Fine, sleep on the floor,” Derek finally huffs, flopping back down on the bed and drawing the covers over his body.
Stiles feels suddenly guilty, which has absolutely nothing to do with the resigned note in Derek’s tone. Nothing at all.
He sits on the floor for a moment, staring at Derek’s hunched shoulders. Then, he tries to jump back up onto the bed.
“Oh, so now you want up,” Derek grumbles, but he leans over and scoops Stiles into his arms anyway. Stiles rubs up against his cheek apologetically, his heart skipping a beat as Derek’s expression softens slightly.
“Go to sleep,” Derek mutters, stroking Stiles’ ears one last time.
Stiles curls up and prays to god that he doesn’t change back in his sleep.
By some miracle, he doesn’t. Derek isn’t in the bed when he wakes up, but the sheets are still warm, so he can’t have been gone for too long. Stiles’ nose twitches and he perks up as he detects the familiar smell of bacon wafting through the loft.
He makes short work of leaping off the bed this time, contemplating how to get Derek to feed a rabbit bacon as he hops on over to the kitchen.
Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he’s disappointed or grateful when he finally makes it into the kitchen to find that Derek is not, in fact, still clad only in his boxers. His worn t-shirt is sinfully tight, though. Small victories.
The next thing Stiles notices, is that Erica, Isaac, and Boyd are sitting at the kitchen table.
Unfortunately, Erica’s werewolf reflexes are faster than his wererabbit ones.
“Hey, since when do you have a pet?” Erica asks, picking him up and setting him down on the kitchen table. Stiles stares down at the ground dubiously, unsure if he could make the landing safely.
“Yesterday,” Derek grunts. “He wouldn’t leave me alone.”
Stiles gapes at him. Who was the kidnapping victim here? Not Derek, that’s for sure.
Boyd lets out a snort at Derek’s answer. Stiles knew he liked Boyd.
“Is that were all the carrots went?” Isaac asks, eyeing Stiles dubiously, who puffs out his chest. He may be relatively small, but no amount of carrots is a proper match for him, thank you very much.
(Okay, so maybe he threw up after trying to eat an entire carrot cake once, but that was cake, not actual carrots.)
“Well, he has pretty fur, with all the spots,” Erica says, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “You know, he almost looks like a rabbit version of Stiles – ”
As soon as his name leaves her mouth, Stiles feels something shift.
He blinks, a little dazed, as he takes in the shocked expressions of the four werewolves in the kitchen.
It takes him a moment to realize that he’s buck naked on top of Derek’s kitchen table.
Stiles considers shifting back, but he’s kind of worried he’ll get stuck again. So he just sits there, naked, wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do.
“Surprise?” he finally croaks, his voice a little scratchy from the period of disuse.
Derek’s still staring and Stiles is pretty sure he’s burning the bacon.
“Not bad, Stilinski,” Erica says, leering at him. Stiles sputters and blushes, looking around for anything to cover himself up with.
Derek’s t-shirt hits him in the face.
“Go get some clothes,” Derek growls, looking back at the bacon and carefully avoiding Stiles’ eyes.
Stiles flees the scene, using Derek’s generously provided t-shirt to cover what he can. When he finally reemerges, still blushing fiercely, everyone’s sitting around the table like nothing happened. He tries to make his escape, but Boyd pulls out the chair next to him, looking at Stiles pointedly.
Stiles sinks down into the seat and tries to disappear.
“So,” Erica says once he sits down. “Are you Derek’s personal playboy bunny, or something?”
“Erica!” Derek snaps, and Stiles blinks as he notices a faint hint of pink spread over Derek’s cheeks.
“Is your partial shift just the ears and the fluffy tail?” Erica asks, waggling her eyebrows and making Stiles’ face go hot in embarrassment.
“You’re a werebunny, right?” Isaac butts in, and Stiles is almost relieved.
“I prefer the term wererabbit,” Stiles replies. “Werebunny is an outdated, offensive – ”
“But it’s cute – ” Erica starts, only to be cut off.
“Enough,” Derek snaps, finally halting the conversation. “You – ” He looks towards the betas. “ – leave.”
Erica, Boyd, and Isaac look disgruntled, but they shove the last of their bacon and toast into their mouths before making their exit.
Leaving Stiles alone with Derek. Fuck.
“I – ”
“So – ”
They both pause.
“You first,” Derek says, his eyes dropping back down to his food.
“Uh. Right. So, I’m a wererabbit,” Stiles says awkwardly.
“I think I got that much,” Derek snorts, making Stiles’ cheeks go pink again.
“Well, one of those pixies blew some kind of dust on me, so I couldn’t shift back,” Stiles continues, his fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. “So I wasn’t, like, trying to trick you or anything – ”
“I’m sorry,” Derek interrupts, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “I shouldn’t have…”
“Kidnapped me?” Stiles snorts, filling in for Derek as he searches for the right word.
“I didn’t kidnap you,” Derek protests, making Stiles let out a short laugh.
“Please, you dragged me by the scruff of my neck to your apartment and then locked me inside,” Stiles replies, and he’s pleased to note that Derek looks a little guilty. “Why did you even do that, anyway?”
Derek grumbles something under his breath.
“What?” Stiles asks, frowning.
“I said, you smelled good,” Derek grits out, a light dusting of pink over his cheekbones again.
“Oh my god, you were totally going to eat me! I knew it!” Stiles exclaims, making Derek look up at him sharply.
“God – I wasn’t going to eat you, Stiles!” Derek protests, scowling.
“But you said I smelled good!” Stiles retorts, which only seems to make Derek’s cheeks go pinker.
“Things can smell good without you wanting to eat them,” Derek mutters, glaring back down at his breakfast.
“So I’m like, what, a bouquet of flowers or something?” Stiles asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“No,” Derek replies, stabbing a bit of scrambled eggs far more aggressively than necessary.
Stiles blinks at him for a moment before understanding dawns on him.
“Oh my god, you wanted to fuck a rabbit,” he blurts out. Across the table, Derek chokes on his eggs. Stiles is starting to consider the Heimlich maneuver when Derek finally croaks out an answer.
“No, I do not want to have sex with a rabbit,” Derek manages, his voice rough from coughing. “Your full shift didn’t even smell as good as – ”
Stiles waits for him to finish expectantly.
“As good as what?” Stiles asks, frowning again.
“Nothing,” Derek retorts, glaring.
“Oh, c’mon, please? I promise I won’t tell anybody,” Stiles whines, leaning across the table towards him. “Not even Scott, and – ”
He blinks as he realizes that now the he’s in Derek’s personal space, Derek’s holding his breath.
“Holy shit, it’s me!” he exclaims, a wide grin spreading over his face. “You wanna fu – ”
“Shut up,” Derek grits out, but his face has turned even redder now. “Your scent has become… comforting.”
“Oh, just come over here and kiss me already,” Stiles replies, making Derek look over at him with wide, surprised eyes.
Stiles lets out a little huff and leans forward. Looks like he has to do everything himself.
Derek’s mouth is still against his for a moment, and Stiles begins to worry if he’d somehow misread this, but then Derek surges up against him, pulling him into his lap and kissing him hungrily. Stiles moans into the kiss, letting his eyes slide shut as their lips slide together. He curls his fingers in Derek’s hair and nips at his bottom lip, smirking slightly when Derek opens up for him easily. He delves into Derek’s mouth, rocking down on Derek lap and making him groan.
“So,” Stiles says as they break apart to catch some air. “Wanna fuck like bunnies?”
“Only if you let me take you out to dinner afterwards,” Derek replies, his eyes dark and pupils blown.
“Fuck yes,” Stiles agrees, before diving back in for another kiss.
For his birthday, Erica gets him a playboy bunny costume. Stiles wishes he was surprised.
(But yes, it does fit.)