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kid stiles who has a wolf plushie his mom gave him. he carries it around everywhere and talks to it nonstop. he plays imaginary games where it comes to life as a big wolf and protects him from the bullies at school, curls around him when his mom dies.
in his head the wolf talks back to him and stiles convinces himself he's real. they play hide and seek in the backyard and stiles pets him at night and reads him his own favorite story before snuggling up to him.
one day stiles is walking home from school and some guy starts following him. stiles is scared but he has his plush wolf in his backpack. he goes to take it out to hold it but it's not there. before he can panic, a large black wolf suddenly appears in front of him on the sidewalk, baring its teeth and growling at the stalker.
stiles isn't afraid. instantly he knows, that's his sourwolf come to life.
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His hand was warm, fingers trailing through his hair. Then again, it was always warm.
“It’s getting long again,” Derek murmured softly.
“Is that a problem?”
“An observation.”
There was a comfort in his voice, soft and relaxed. It made Stiles’ heart lighter every time he thought of how much it took to get here. How many nights were filled with pain and struggle and nightmares.
“Will you shave it for me?” asked Stiles as he tapped his fingers against his chest.
“If you want, but not right now.”
Stiles smiled in agreement, barely moving at all. “Not right now.”
Ficlet by the incredible @renmackree ❤︎❤︎
Thinking about these two getting married as less of a belief in the institution of marriage and more a chance to put a visible stake on each other in every single way that they can 💭💭
Which got me thinking about other ways to mark each other - particularly bites and tattoos (and tattoos of bites, in derek's case 😌)
Stiles' tattoo is inspired by mare.blk whose work was also the inspiration in this one (:
I had this littlr prompt idea, it could be where the hale family lives and so does Claudia. Stiles being either thr same age as Derek or a year or two younger. The idea of Derek telling others about how Stiles was so clingy when they were kids and stiles doesn't remember correctly and just agrees but mama's Hale And Stilinskis hear them as they talk to thr pack and bring out a photo album about how Derek was the clingy one and very territorial with Stiles.
Heyo! Hope this is okay ❣️❣️❣️
~~~~~~
The story always gets told the same way.
Derek leans back like he’s been waiting for the moment, one arm slung over the back of the couch, voice low and dry as he tells it - like it’s just another piece of history everyone should already know. The pack listens because it’s Derek, because he doesn’t usually offer pieces of himself so easily, and because Stiles is right there beside him, already narrowing his eyes like he knows he’s about to be betrayed.
“He used to follow me everywhere,” Derek says, glancing sideways at him, mouth twitching at the corner. “Wouldn’t leave me alone. Couldn’t go five minutes without asking where I was going or what I was doing.”
There’s a ripple of laughter immediately. Isaac snorts, Boyd grins, even Cora raises an eyebrow like she’s filing that away for future use.
Stiles, traitor that he is to his own memory, just shrugs. “I mean… yeah, that tracks. I was an adorable menace as a child. Very attached. Probably cried if you looked at me wrong.”
Derek hums like that confirms everything.
“He cried if I left the room,” Derek adds.
“Okay, wow, we’re embellishing now,” Stiles shoots back, but there’s no real heat to it, just easy familiarity, the kind that’s been built over years of shared space and quiet understanding.
Across the room, though, something shifts.
It’s subtle at first - the kind of stillness that only people who know each other too well can feel. Claudia Stilinski pauses mid sip of her tea. Talia Hale’s lips press together in a way that looks suspiciously like she’s holding back a smile.
Stiles doesn’t notice.
Derek definitely doesn’t notice.
Which is why neither of them are prepared when Talia stands, smoothing her hands over her skirt with a kind of calm, deliberate grace that always means something is about to happen.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she says warmly, voice carrying just enough to pull attention. “Is that how you remember it?”
Derek blinks.
Stiles tilts his head. “I mean… I don’t really remember it that well, honestly. I was like, what, five? Six? I was probably annoying.”
Claudia lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh from her seat. “Annoying, yes. Clingy?” She exchanges a look with Talia that says entire conversations without a word. “That’s not quite the word I’d use.”
Now the pack is interested.
Isaac leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Wait, so he wasn’t?”
“Oh, he was attached,” Talia says, eyes sparkling now, the kind of amusement that only comes from years of knowing exactly how wrong someone is. “Just… not in the way Derek is describing.”
Derek straightens slightly. “Mom-”
But it’s too late.
Because Claudia is already standing, already moving toward the hallway with purpose. “Hold on,” she says over her shoulder. “I think I still have something.”
Stiles groans immediately. “Oh no. No, no, no. what are you getting? Why are you getting something?”
“Evidence,” Cora mutters under her breath, grinning.
Derek’s jaw tightens just a fraction. “We don’t need-”
“Yes, we do,” Boyd says, entirely too pleased.
A minute later, Claudia comes back with it.
It’s exactly what it looks like - an old, slightly worn photo album, the kind with thick pages and plastic sleeves, edges softened from years of being flipped through. She holds it like it’s precious, like it holds something important, which, judging by the way Talia’s smile widens, means it absolutely does.
Stiles sinks lower into the couch. “I regret everything already.”
“You probably should,” Cora says brightly.
Claudia settles beside him and flips it open with practiced ease, turning a few pages before stopping. Talia leans in, pointing lightly.
“Ah, there it is.”
And then she turns it so everyone can see.
The reaction is immediate.
There’s a beat of silence and then the room erupts.
Because the picture is… not what Derek described.
At all.
Stiles is there, yes - small, probably five or six, all skinny limbs and wild hair, wearing a t-shirt that’s too big for him. He’s sitting cross legged on the grass, looking perfectly content, attention focused on something just out of frame.
But Derek… seven year old Derek is practically on top of him.
He’s wrapped around Stiles like he’s trying to fuse them into a single being, arms looped tightly around his middle, chin tucked against his shoulder. His face is buried in Stiles’ neck, and even in the still image, there’s something unmistakably possessive in the way he’s holding him, like he belongs there and nowhere else.
Like he’s making sure everyone knows it.
“Oh my god,” Isaac wheezes.
Boyd actually doubles over, laughing.
Cora just loses it completely. “Oh my god, Derek. You look like you’re guarding him.”
“I am not-” Derek starts, but there’s another page being turned.
Another photo.
This one’s worse.
They’re inside now, sitting on the couch. Stiles is holding a book, clearly trying to read, while Derek is half in his lap, one arm hooked around his waist, the other gripping the fabric of his shirt like he’s afraid someone might try to take him away.
His expression is serious. Focused.
“He wouldn’t let anyone else sit next to him,” Talia adds mildly, like she’s just offering context. “Not even Laura. If someone got too close, he’d growl.”
“You growled?” Jackson chokes out.
“He snapped at me once,” Cora adds helpfully. “I still remember it. Mom had to physically pull him off. I couldn't remember the context for a long time, but now I remember why..”
Derek looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Stiles, meanwhile, is staring at the pictures like his entire understanding of reality has just been flipped on its head.
“I-” he starts, then stops. “I don’t remember this.”
“Oh, you were oblivious,” Claudia says fondly, flipping another page. “You thought he just liked hanging out.”
The next picture shows Derek trailing behind Stiles in the backyard, fingers curled into the back of his shirt, literally holding onto him as he walks.
“Wouldn’t let him out of his sight,” Talia says. “If Stiles left a room, Derek followed. If someone else tried to take him somewhere, Derek went too.”
“That’s…” Isaac gestures helplessly at the album. “That’s the opposite of what you said.”
Derek drags a hand over his face. “I was a kid.”
“So was I!” Stiles shoots back, finally finding his voice. “And apparently I had a shadow I didn’t even know about.”
“A very aggressive shadow,” Boyd adds.
Cora grins. “A possessive one.”
Stiles leans closer to the album, squinting at another picture where Derek is glaring directly at the camera while clutching onto him like a lifeline.
“…You look like you’d fight someone,” he says slowly.
“He probably would have,” Talia says before Derek can respond.
There’s another round of laughter, softer this time, warmer.
And Derek - who’s been trying very hard not to react - finally exhales, shoulders dropping just a little.
Because yeah.
Maybe he remembers it differently.
Maybe it’s easier to say Stiles was the clingy one, easier to pretend it wasn’t him who needed something so fiercely he didn’t even understand it yet.
But the proof is right there.
In every picture.
In every moment frozen in time where he’s holding on just a little too tight, standing just a little too close, watching Stiles like he’s the center of his entire world.
Stiles nudges him lightly with his shoulder, grin crooked but softer now, something fond threading through it.
“So,” he says, voice quieter. “You were obsessed with me.”
Derek huffs, but there’s no real denial left in it. “You were small. Annoying.”
“Mmhm.”
“Got into trouble.”
“Obviously.”
Derek glances at him then, something old and familiar flickering in his eyes, something that’s never really gone away.
“…Still do.”
Stiles’ grin widens.
And this time, when their shoulders press together, Derek doesn’t move away.
"Sweetheart, you have to help me out here," he says as gently as he can, scratching Derek's scalp and the skin around his ears.
Finally, Derek mumbles something into the pillow.
"Didn't catch that, sorry," Stiles says regretfully as he strains to hear.
"I said, I hate. My fucking. Life." Derek enunciates clearly now, lifting his face out of the pillow and meeting Stiles' eyes.
_
Or, a couple days spent with Derek and his worsening depression. Wolfy Derek makes an appearance, as does a cat, some soup, and lots of cuddles.
8k, depression, chronic pain, established relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
"Mmm, morning, baby." Stiles' voice is soft, croaky with the tinges of sleep and morning warmth where his hot breath falls on the back of Derek's neck.
Derek doesn't move, but Stiles can feel his heart beating with the beginnings of consciousness where his broad palm rests over Derek's chest. Derek's breaths are still slow, even, almost purposefully so.
They woke up a few minutes before their alarm today, but they still have to be at work in an hour. The books can't sell themselves. Well, they probably could, with Void the cat looking cute in the doorway like she always does. Stiles smiles at the thought of their semi-adopted cat and shuffles closer to Derek, slipping a leg in between his.
"Come on, up," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to Derek's nape. Stiles is no werewolf but the smell of them in the sheets and on Derek's skin still makes its way to his nose, and he nuzzles a little, his lips meeting Derek's skin a couple more times.
When Derek still doesn't stir, not even to grind his hips back against Stiles' like he likes to do first thing in the morning, Stiles nips his shoulder gently, licking it afterwards, knowing the action never fails to capture Derek's attention.
This morning, though, all Derek lets out is a sigh. At the sound of it, the deep heaviness betraying the distress that's clearly underneath, Stiles pulls back a little, startled. Derek hasn't had one of these days in a while. It's been a few weeks, at least. Things have been — well, not better, Derek's stomach still betrays him constantly and hurts nonstop in some sort of way, but maybe — shit, maybe Stiles just hasn't been paying attention. Maybe Derek's hiding it too well. Maybe he's been in worse pain and not told Stiles, didn't want to bother him, maybe it's all catching up to him now—
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
It’s interesting to me the entire first season Stiles who was trying to support new werewolf Scott, and was worried Derek was truly evil because of superstitious beliefs. But in the back of his mind he was trying to also figure out Derek. The scene between him and Argent where this 16 year old son of a sheriff tells the hunter to his face that his sister killed an entire family of werewolves for no reason took a lot of balls. And Derek was so grateful that someone believed him. That scene where Stiles and him are at the nursing home and Derek is in disbelief that this kid just continues to believe in him. Stiles misses the first game he would be able to play at for the first time for Derek is very emotional. It’s also emotional that Derek went head to head with his uncle to defend Stiles. Just as he defended Stiles from the Kenima and Isaac. Or stopping Stiles from using electrode pads. Stiles always believed in him. And Derek never stopped protecting Stiles.
@puppyloveandpredators requested a drabble based on the word bald. I literally have no idea wtf this is but I laughed writing it! Hope you enjoy!
~~~~~~
Derek Hale had been called many things in his life.
Monster.
Alpha.
Grumpy.
Emotionally constipated.
Stiles had a list that was somehow still growing.
But he had never been called bald.
Until today.
“Derek.”
"Please don't.”
Stiles blinked. “I haven’t even said anything.”
“You’re looking at me like you’re about to say something annoying.”
“That’s because I am.”
Derek sighed and continued chopping vegetables. “What is it?”
Stiles walked around the kitchen island, studying him carefully.
“You know, I never noticed before.”
Derek slowly lowered the knife.
“Noticed what?”
“That you’re basically one bad haircut away from being bald.”
The kitchen went silent.
Peter, sitting at the table drinking coffee, immediately looked interested.
“Oh, this should be good.”
Derek stared at Stiles.
“I’m sorry?”
Stiles waved his hands. “No, no, hear me out. I’m not saying you’re bald. I’m saying you have the energy of someone who could be bald.”
Peter nodded thoughtfully. “He does.”
Derek looked between them. “Why are you both like this?”
“Because,” Stiles explained, “you have the whole intimidating, brooding, emotionally unavailable thing going on. Bald men in movies always have that vibe.”
“I have hair.”
“Currently.” Stiles laughs.
Derek’s eyes narrowed.
Peter leaned forward. “I have to admit, I’m curious. What would Derek look like bald?”
“Peter.”
“I’m just asking.”
“You’re imagining it.” Derek accuses.
“I absolutely am.”
Stiles grinned. “I think he’d still look terrifying.”
“Thank you,” Derek said.
“Like a villain who owns a very expensive car and tells everyone he doesn’t care about anyone.”
Derek stared.
“That’s literally just me now.”
“Exactly. You’d just have less hair.”
Peter laughed so hard he nearly choked on his coffee.
Derek looked betrayed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Stiles walked over and wrapped his arms around Derek from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“For the record,” he said, suddenly softer, “I would still love you if you were bald.”
Derek relaxed slightly.
Then Stiles added, “I’d just buy you a bunch of tiny hats.”
The relaxation disappeared.
“Stiles.”
“Little ones. Ones that make your head look huge.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You live here.”
“Then I’m emotionally checking the fuck out.”
Peter smiled into his coffee.
After years of knowing Derek, after watching him lose everything and rebuild himself piece by piece, Peter never thought he’d see the day someone could make Derek look genuinely defeated.
Not by claws.
Not by hunters.
Not by enemies.
By the terrifying power of Stiles Stilinski and a hypothetical lack of hair.
“Honestly,” Peter said, shaking his head, “I think the bald jokes might be the most dangerous thing you’ve ever survived.”
Derek looked at him.
“Whose side are you on?”
Peter considered.
“Stiles’.”
“Traitor.” Derek mumbled.
And Derek, despite everything, smiled.
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