The prompt for the last day of Sterekweek is obviously Halloween, so have 1.4k of Halloween fluff with preschool trick or treaters!
Halloween sort of loses its appeal once you know what really goes bump in the night.
Stiles used to love it - the one day of the year to be a society approved nerd, to dress up and geek out. They used to go all out; his mum knew how to sew and made all of their costumes, no flimsy store bought stuff for the Stilinskis, no sir. Stiles’ superman cape actually kept him warm, didn’t rip when Scott accidentally stepped on it, and also did the cool swishy thing.
Since his mum died, Stiles’ costumes have mostly been store bought, but he still loved Halloween. And even with the werewolf epiphany it was still fun - at least at first. Stiles thoroughly enjoyed dressing up as Little Red Riding Hood for Lydia’s first post-werewolf Halloween party. The best thing was Derek’s eyes almost falling out of his head, he was rolling them so hard. He came in his regular henley and jeans combo and claimed he was a vampire who couldn’t see himself in the mirror and thus couldn’t dress up, so Stiles definitely came out on top of that one.
But this year he just isn’t feeling it.
It’s been too many months of terror and death to enjoy a night of fake terror and death. And he doesn’t want to face happy little werewolves and vampires who’ll make him feel like the the grouchiest grouch of Halloween. So he hides in the one Halloween safe place he can think of: Derek’s loft. No kid is ever going to go trick or treating at Derek’s loft.
*LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD! STILES STILINSKI IS 100% CANON*
Please excuse my poor attempt at writing in the style of a children’s fairytale. It just happened that way.
Stiles was always having to come up with excuses to explain why he never made it to Grandma’s house. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his Grandma, it’s just that, well, he was always getting lost in his head, getting distracted by the world around him, and unfortunately it always resulted in him losing his way.
Today though, today, he had promised his dad that he would not stray from the road that ran through the woods. He even made himself two extra sandwiches for the long trip, setting out with the best of intentions. That’s what he would have to remind his dad of anyway, because along the way Stiles ran into a wolf.
A wolf who needed a hug.
The wolf tried to run away when Stiles first approached him, because he didn’t deserve hugs, but Stiles knew a wolf in need of a hug when he saw one, and after a little coaxing the wolf let Stiles hug him. Hug him until the wolf fell asleep in his arms.
Stiles ate the sandwiches he had packed while the wolf slept, carding his fingers absently through it’s long shaggy hair, wondering what happened to this beautiful creature to make him tremble so much in his dreams.
Stiles too fell asleep after a while, but when he woke up the next morning it was not to a wolf, but a man, lying naked in his arms.
Stiles didn’t panic, like he expected himself to; rather, he was entranced by the rise and fall of the man’s chest; the slight, anxious twitch of his nose in his sleep, the gentle furrow of his brow that Stiles had the sudden urge to smooth out with his own lips.
He was beautiful. Tragically so.
Reaching into his basket, Stiles pulled out a blanket, covering the man with it, and waited.
When the man finally awoke, he looked down at himself, seeming surprised, if not a little scared. Stiles told him it’s okay, but the man shook his head. “I’ve not let myself shift in two years,” he whispered. “I wasn’t sure if I even could anymore.”
Green eyes, lovely, met Stiles’ then and Stiles allowed himself a moment, only a moment of surprise, but no more than that. He had heard of shifters; they were rare, and most people feared them, but Stiles had always been kind of fascinated by them. He had several books at home.
“What made you turn back?” he asked, suddenly afraid he had done something wrong.
The man blushed and Stiles tried not to smile. “You,” he answered, eventually, blush spreading. “You smell like-” he paused, biting his lip, not looking Stiles in the eye as he finished “-home.”
Stiles couldn’t help it, his smile widened, heart thudding in his chest in a way it never had before. “If I invite you to my Grandma’s house, you’re not going to eat her, are you?” The man glared at him and Stiles laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m only messing with you. I trust you.”
The man froze, eyes widening. “It’s not good to trust strangers,” he whispered, looking down, as though conflicted about his own words, perhaps even saddened by them. Stiles didn’t understand why it affected him so much; why he had the sudden urge to-
“Derek,” the man said, thankfully interrupting his thoughts. “My name is Derek.”
“Stiles,” Stiles replied, his skin suddenly tingling at the introduction; tingling with the need to keep Derek safe from everything bad in the world, to give him a home, to love him.
Stiles ignored the last one, because it’s silly. Right? No-one could fall in love with someone at first sight (unless you’re called Scott McCall). This wasn’t some fairy tale, and yet-
And yet, here he was, holding out his hand, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world when Derek reached out to take it, letting himself be pulled close. “Thank you,” Derek whispered. “I- I don’t know how to-”
“Shhh,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “It’s okay now, you’re safe.” Stiles didn’t know where the words came from, but they seemed to be the right thing to say, because Derek went pliant in his arms the moment they left his lips, burying his face in his beck and nodding; crying, Stiles realised a moment later.
Where’s your pack? he thought. Wolves always travel in packs.
“Shhh,“ he said again. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” I’ll protect you.