#tattoo!stiles

[imagine-sterek]

Tattoo artist werewolf!Derek with lots of tattoos and tattoo enthusiast spark!Stiles with a lot of tattoos despite his fear of needles AU

[batwynn]

A commission for 9timesoutoften  for the fic The (un)Usual by @rhysiana

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Imagine Stiles getting a wolf tattoo.

[x]

[xxjinchuurikixx]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

A Tender Touch

Stiles is terrified of getting a tattoo, but he needs this. Luckily for him, the new tattoo artist at the local tattoo shop is rather gentle and reassuring. But what's more, there's something about him--his hands, his touch--that just sets Stiles at ease.

Stiles stood out the front of the tattoo parlour, staring at the neon OPEN sign.

He let out a heavy breath and reminded himself he had to do this; the FBI wouldn't let him carry around his father's old sheriff's badge and he couldn't part with it. He needed this.

He tightened his fist around the old badge and pushed open the door. 

A small bell chimed and a man stepped around the corner.

"Can I help you?" the man asked.

"I'm Stiles, I have an appointment for two o'clock," he managed to say around the lump in his throat.

The man nodded and stepped over to the small counter, his sharp eyes rolling over the page of a appointment book that sat atop a pile of books; portfolios, each labeled with the artist's name.

"You're in with Derek," the man announced. "He does fine line-art and realism better than the rest of us. He should just be finishing his lunch break, follow me."

The man nodded towards the small fleet of stairs beside the desk that led up to a large open space, separated into work stations by dividers. He guided stiles over to one by the window that overlooked the park on the opposite street.

"Derek," he called. "Your two o'clock is here."

There was a mumbled reply and the man nodded towards the work station. 

"Thank you," Stiles said as the man turned and left.

He stepped into the booth, looking at his tattoo artist. 

He was a young man, a few years older than Stiles, with thick black hair and bright aveturine eyes that lit up brilliantly when he smiled and said, "Hi, I'm Derek."

"I'm Stiles," the teen stammered in response.

"Why don't you take a seat and we'll get started?"

Stiles sat down on the bench Derek gestured to.

"Why don't we start with you telling me a bit about this tattoo?" Derek prompted. "You know, where do you want it? How big do you want it? Are there any minor details that you'd like added or things you'd like covered up?"

"Well, uh, it's my dad's badge--his old one," Stiles started, pulling the badge out of his pocket to show Derek the real thing. "I have to head to Washington for training and with all the security checks, I wanted a way to carry it with me always. I was thinking of putting it on my chest, over my heart. As for size, the size of the original thing is preferable. I'd like to keep the bullet hole in it, but maybe move it up a little more so that the badge number is readable?"

"Sure," Derek replied. He turned on his stool and quickly made a few alterations to the sketch. After a minute, he showed it to Stiles. "Like this?"

"Perfect," Stiles replied, unable to hide his smile.

"Okay, give me a minute to trace the stencil and we can get to it," Derek said, smiling reassuringly. "While I do this, why don't you take off your shirt?"

Stiles did as he was told, watching as Derek went to work. 

After a minute, he pushed away from his desk, his stool rolling across the space as he brought the stencil over to Stiles.

"How are you with needles?" Derek asked as he cleaned Stiles' chest and positioned the stencil. 

"Honestly? Horrible," Stiles confessed. "But this is something I want; something I need."

"I promise I'll be extra gentle with you," Derek said with a soft smile. He pressed the stencil to Stiles' skin and pulled it back, leaving the outline from which he was going to work. "How's that?"

Stiles looked up at the mirror above Derek's desk. "Yeah, that's perfect."

"Alright, if you lie down on the bench we can get this started. I'll just tell you now that a lot of people over exaggerate the needle thing; some people don't feel any pain at all. I've got several tattoos and none of them hurt more than pushing a pen against your skin, but my sister is another story. And, honestly, the sound is the most unsettling part. But if you can ignore that, you'll be fine."

Stiles nodded as he laid back in the bench.

There was something about this man--something about his glittering eyes and his sweet smile--that just made Stiles feel calm.

Derek got the inks sorted and started up the machine.

Stiles tensed for a moment, exhaling heavily and relaxing. He shut his eyes and felt something press against his skin, then nothing.

"How was that?" Derek asked.

"Was that it?" Stiles replied, stunned. "That didn't hurt at all."

Derek chuckled. "Good."

He set to work and Stiles relaxed, his eyes slowly drifting shut as he felt Derek's fingers brush across his skin.

Time passed quickly as Stiles drifted into a peaceful oblivion, still somehow remaining completely aware of Derek's tender touch, of the warmth of his hands and of his glittering eyes that were focused solely on his work.

"You still with me?" Derek asked, his husky voice full of concern.

"Yeah," Stiles replied. "Never thought I'd be this calm."

"Tell me about this tattoo," Derek prompted. "Why are you getting your dad's sheriff's badge?"

"Because my dad is my idol and my hero. I've always looked up to him, ever since I was a little kid. About three years ago, he took a bullet to the chest and the badge took enough of the force that he walked away from it, but I keep the badge as a reminder of him, of how I should treasure every moment with him because there might not be another one. He's my hero."

Derek hummed, prompting Stiles to continue.

"Like I said earlier; I'm heading to Washington for training and with all the security checks and metal detectors I'll have to go through on a daily basis, carrying around my dad's old sheriff badge might become difficult."

"I can see what you mean," Derek said. "What sort of training?" 

"FBI," Stiles answered.

Derek's brow shot up. "Wow. Got your heart set on a division?"

"Homicide," Stiles replied. "Or the Behavioural Analyst Unit."

"Nice," Derek said, sounding rather impressed. He sat back, reaching for a paper towel and a bottle of fluid. He cleaned away the excess ink and said, "All done. You can take a look and then we'll get it wrapped up."

Stiles sat up and stepped over to the mirror above Derek's desk, admiring the tattoo on his chest. 

It was perfect, the brass dulled with age but gleaming as it caught the light, the engraved numbers of his fathers badge darkened enough to be visible but so much that they seemed fake, and the shadows dwelling in the groves of the writing and in the rippling metal of the bullet hole.

"It's perfect," Stiles said breathlessly. He turned to look at Derek, fighting the tears in his eyes as he rasped, "Thank you."

Derek cleaned up the rest of the tattoo, spread gel over it and wrapped it up, giving Stiles instructions on how to care for his tattoo before taking him back downstairs where Stiles paid.

"I mean it, Derek," Stiles said as he was about to leave. "Thank you. I don't know if I'd have ever been able to do this if I didn't have you as my artist.

Derek bowed his head to hide his blush. After a second, he looked back up at Stiles and smiled. "I'm actually heading up to Washington next week; my placement here is up. I might see you around."

Stiles' heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah," he said, smiling back. "I'd like that."

AO3

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Marked

Based on the prompt sent in to me by Z. 

Derek woke to the smell of coffee, rolling over in bed to find himself alone among the mess of blankets. He let out a weak groan as he got up, his feet hitting the floorboards with an ungraceful thud as he hoisted himself upright and dragged himself downstairs.

He crept into the kitchen where he found Stiles by the percolator, dressed in nothing more than his boxers and one of Derek’s old shirts. He reached up for the cupboard above him, picking up two mugs and setting them down on the benchtop.

Derek couldn’t resist.

He stepped forward, his footsteps quiet and predatory as he crept over to Stiles’ side. He set his hands on Stiles’ hips, his soft lips brushing across the exposed patch of pale skin on his shoulder and littering kisses across his skin as he slowly worked his way up to his neck.

His hands trailed across to the boy’s hips, his fingers brushing against the skin of his abs as they slowly trailed up beneath his shirt.

He felt Stiles flinch and pull away, ducking under Derek’s arms and quickly pouring his coffee before retreating to the table, where a stack of police files were laid out; unsolved cases and ongoing investigations that his dad had asked him to consult on.

Derek let out a heavy sigh, his heart sinking into his stomach as he watched Stiles pull away from him and leave.

Derek poured his coffee and made his way over to Stiles’ side. They chatted quietly like they did every morning, but their conversation died away as Stiles went to work, his dark eyes focused on his work—Derek knew that as soon as Stiles started work, there was no stopping him.

“Why don’t you at least get dressed first,” Derek whispered. He rose from his seat and stepped over to Stiles’ side. He pressed tender kisses to the nape of his neck, trailing them up to his jaw and gently gnawing on Stiles’ earlobe until the teen let out a soft moan. “Why don’t we go have a nice warm shower?”

Stiles flinched in his hold, leaning forward and pulling away from Derek as he said, “I’ll have one later. You go ahead.”

Derek let out a heavy sigh. He pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head before walking away. He clambered upstairs and picked up his phone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for.

She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

Derek didn’t bother with the pleasantries, he got straight to the point: “How do you know when a relationship’s dead?”

“What’s going on?” Lydia sked, her voice full of worry. “Has something happened between you and Stiles?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “He’s kind of… pulling away from me. Morning cuddles, kisses, sexual advances, everything. He just keeps pulling away.”

“Maybe he’s not feeling well and doesn’t want to get you sick?” Lydia offered.

“I’m a werewolf, Lydia, I don’t get sick.”

“Maybe he’s just stressed out with work,” Lydia said. “You know how he can get sometimes. Maybe he wants to get that over and done with so then he can give you all of his attention, not just some of it.”

“Maybe,” Derek muttered.

“Der, sweetheart, don’t let it get you down,” Lydia said softly. “I might not know why he’s acting weird, but if there’s one thing I do know it’s that Stiles loves you more than the air he breathes. Just give him a little time to work through whatever it is that has him emotionally constipated.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile at the last remark.

“If he keeps it up then give me another call and I’ll slap some sense into him, okay?”

Derek chuckled. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but thank you.”

“Keep your chin up, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, Lydia,” Derek replied before hanging up.

She had a point; Stiles tended to get ‘emotionally constipated’ over a lot of things. But that didn’t stop Derek from feeling isolated and touch starved.

Derek let out a heavy sigh and stripped off his shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket by the door before trudging into the bathroom for his shower.

  “Derek?” Stiles called from downstairs.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here a minute please?”

Derek made his way downstairs, eyeing Stiles suspiciously.

It had been five days now and this was the first time Stiles had addressed him.

“Is something up?” Derek asked, his brow quirked.

Stiles drew in a deep breath and Derek could hear his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. His lips quivered for a moment before he finally said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting the past couple of days. It was rude and… I’m sorry. But I promise, the torture went both ways, I just really wanted this to be a surprise.”

“Wanted what to be a surprise?” Derek asked.

He raised his brow higher in surprise as Stiles reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it over his head.

He stood—shirtless—before Derek, his chest rising and falling with anxious breaths as his chocolate brown eyes sparkled.

Derek’s eyes fell to his chest, the pale patch of skin that sat over his racing heart. On his skin was a swirl of black ink: three spirals radiating out into a triskelion.

“What do you think?” Stiles asked timidly.

Derek was lost for words. He let a short breath fall past his lips as he stepped over to Stiles’ side, cupping his cheeks and crushing their mouths together.

He pulled back slightly and trailed the kisses down along Stiles’ jaw, across his neck and down his chest, lingering on every tender kiss while his hands travelled up Stiles’ side and explored every inch of skin.

He felt Stiles’ chest rise and fall with baited breaths, stilling as Derek’s lips brushed over the tattoo.

His eyes flicked up to meet Stiles’, the beta blue glow overwhelming his senses as he whispered, “Mine.”

Stiles smiled down at him. “Always.”

[imagine-sterek]

Imagine Stiles wanting to get a tattoo but he’s too scared of the needles, so Derek buys a tattoo kit, takes art lessons and practices for months before tattooing Stiles. 

There’s something comforting about being in the arms of his mate and having Derek take any pain that makes the whole thing a pleasant experience for Stiles.

[imagine-sterek]

Imagine Stiles desperately wants to get a tattoo but he can’t face the needles, so Derek goes with him to the shop and sits with him, holding his hand, as the artist does their work. He’s perfectly fine that way and it’s over sooner than he thought.