Disclaimer: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Rating: T
Word Count: 701
Author's Note/Warnings: un-betaed.
Stiles tore through the forest, branches reaching out to snag his clothing and skin whenever possible. It was like the whole damn forest was after him, not just the three wolves behind him. He wasn't looking back—no, he was not going to look back. If he did that he'd trip, just like people do in the movies. He couldn't help it, he had to look back. His feet kept taking him through the leaves and sticks, patches of mud where the trees above were too thick to let the sun through and dry the ground out. He glanced over his shoulder, his heart racing in his chest. He collided with a sapling—it whipped his chest and face, leaving red marks over his skin and catching his shirt up in it. He tried desperately to stay upright and keep going. Derek had said—Derek said.
His shirt ripped, but he didn't take any time to mourn the loss of a good piece of clothing. He kept going, kept sprinting even though his breath was coming in ragged gasps and his lungs felt like they'd been torn to shreds. To be fair, his chest was starting to become numb, so it likely wasn't going to bother him until after he stopped and started coughing up disgusting amounts of mucus. He wasn't going to chance looking back again. He was almost to the road!
He was about to put on more speed to make it to the road (not that the road was used altogether too often, so what were the chances that he'd be safe on the road?) when a flash of something dark caught his eye. It had been off to his right, but it hadn't been a part of the forest. Oh shit. He nearly tripped over his own feet trying to pull up and stop himself from running directly into what was most likely a trap. He veered left after he had searched the forest with his eyes, but his legs felt heavy. A snap of a twig behind him and a new shot of adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He took off through the autumn forest. He was sure that he was leaving a marvelous trail for the wolves to follow anyway, but he was so damn close to the road. If he could only make it.
He looked to his right, where the pavement was running parallel and he decided that the shortest route to it was easiest. His muscles ached, his chest was numb, his shirt was ripped. A flying ball of muscles and black fur rammed into him. He lay, sprawled in the leaves and stunned for a moment before he was trying valiantly to scramble back up to his feet. A clawed hand caught his ankle and brought him face first into the leaves. Stiles sputtered and tried to crawl his way out of this mess. He didn't want to die—he didn't want to dammit! The weight of the wolf settled on his back and pressed him heavily into the damp soil and colorful leaves. A tongue lapped at the back of his neck.
He groaned and gave up, flinging the fistfuls of leaves out in front of him. Two more wolves joined the first, the one pinning him down happily backing off and letting Stiles flop over onto his back, still breathing hard. Stiles propped himself up on his elbows, eying the three with an amused glint in his eyes and a sort of lazy, tired smile on his lips. The two betas shifted back, reverting back to their more human features while Stiles caught his breath. Derek remained in his wolf form, sitting down next to the younger man sprawled on the ground. Stiles reached over and buried his fingers in his fur, flopping back with his head on the ground. Jackson and Scott sat with their backs to nearby trees.
"Looks like you guys got me again." He didn't seem disturbed by this, rather he was kind of happy about it. He didn't react to the nose pushing at his chest to sniff at the welt left by the earlier sapling, he just kept carding his fingers through the black fur.