[fic] devil in a girl's dress; teen wolf, derek/stiles, lydia
devil in a girl's dress. teen wolf. derek/stiles, lydia. pg-13. 1154.
they're called 'terrible twos' because 'fucking awful' doesn't start with a t.
for card_writing
Derek stepped through the threshold into the house, immediately accosted by a glaring Cora. "You owe me," she hissed, walking out the door with a threatening hair flip in his direction.
"Lydia?" Derek called, toeing off his shoes at the designated spot by the door. It never failed to make him smile, the sight of his size tens next to his daughters tiny flats. When Lydia was younger, she would constantly take off her own shoes and place them inside Derek's.
"Daddy?" came Lydia's voice, followed shortly by Lydia herself at a speed between skipping and not quite running.
"There's my girl," he said as she barrelled full force into his legs. "I missed you." He said, softly, as he lifted into his arms.
"Daddy," she replied, putting her hands on each of his cheeks. "You were only gone for three hours."
Derek raised an eyebrow, a trait Lydia could not mimic, no matter how hard she tried. She frowned with disapproval at him doing it now. "Oh yeah? What, I can't miss you if I'm gone only three hours?"
"You can," she said, rolling her eyes, a habit Derek and Stiles could never agree on which one of them exactly she picked it up from. "But it would be i-i-illogi-" She trailed off, huffing as she couldn't recall the correct pronunciation of the word.
"Illogical," Derek said, gently, smiling when she parroted it back to him. "Well," he said, sighing, and shifting her to his hip as he strode towards the kitchen. "Love isn't very logical, now is it?"
Lydia tilted her head. "I guess not," she stated, patting his shoulder for him to put her down as they entered the kitchen. She sat down at the table, reading a book she'd seemingly pulled out of thin air. There were books strewn throughout the house, the three of them all being avid readers. Lydia's were always stacked neatly in piles with books of a similar subject, Derek's always properly marked with a bookmark, Stiles left open on random pages or with his place held by an open highlighter.
Derek set about preparing dinner, pulling the tub of butter out of the fridge, a box of pasta from the pantry. He then went to collect the salt from the cabinet, having to stand on the tips of his toes slightly in order to reach it. They'd had to reorganize the entire kitchen once Lydia had started conducting her own science experiments. A flash of orange caught his eye as his feet landed softly on the floor. There on the coffee maker rested a fluorescent, orange sticky note, hurting Derek's eyes and mocking him with it's hideous color. On the note, scribbled in rather atrocious writing, were the words "They're called the 'terrible twos' because 'fucking awful' doesn't start with a T." Derek laughed, stopping when Lydia looked over at him curiously.
He held up the offending note. "Do you know about this?"
Lydia's face darkened. "Aunt Cora," she said, face murderous. No matter what Stiles said, she'd definitely based that expression off of him.
"Oh?" Derek questioned, biting back a grin.
Lydia turned back to her book. "I don't want to talk about it."
Derek snickered into his hand as he turned around, peeling the sticky off the coffee maker. A bottle of Advil sat next to the coffee maker, making Derek frown at it being out of its designated place. A second later his phone dinged with a new text message. He extracted it from his pocket, rolling his eyes as read the message from Cora.
Btw you're out of Advil
Derek had just began typing out a response when another message popped up.
And coffee
Derek gave up on the message he'd been drafting and pressed the call button instead.
"First of all," Derek said as Cora answered, "she's four."
"Four and 210 days," Lydia interjected, not taking her eyes off her book.
"Going on five," Derek said, smiling as he watched Lydia read.
"Well, then she should act like it," Cora snarled. Derek placed the ear between his ear and shoulder, halfway listening to Cora's complaints as he took out a pot and filled it with water, setting it on the stove and adding a sprinkle of salt only after he took a moment to explain to Lydia why he was doing that.
He turned on the burner and then turned himself around, leaning back against the counter next to the stove.
"Mmhmm," Derek said, diplomatically, having long since stopped listening.
"Ugh," Cora responded, then promptly hung up. Derek snapped a picture of the note on the coffee pot before pocketing his phone. He walked up behind Lydia.
"Want me to do your hair while I watch the news?" He asked, playing with a strand as he spoke.
"Please," she said, placing her book on a pile of similar ones sitting on the China cabinet.
They walked hand in hand to the living room, Derek sinking into the couch while she stood between his legs. He began braiding his hair as Scott Pelley relayed the most recent happenings in the world. He paused after finishing Lydia's left braid to send the picture he took to Stiles. He was on duty, so Derek wasn't expecting a reply right away but his phone dinged a few minutes later, alerting him he had a new text.
Cora ? Stiles' text read. Derek finished up Lydia's other braid before replying.
You guessed it.
He changed the channel to Discovery for Lydia. It relaxed her. He made his way back to the kitchen, pouring in the pasta and stirring it slightly before pulling out his phone again.
"Hello?" Stiles mumbled around what sounded like a mouthful of food, and Derek smiled, imagining him stealing the fries out of his Dad's takeout bag.
"Your daughter is terrorising people."
"How come she's only my daughter when she terrorising people?"
"Because," Derek started, shifting the phone to rest between his ear and shoulder blade as he stirred the pasta again. "She obviously learned it from you."
"Obviously," Stiles repeated, deadpan.
"Mmhmm. I'm making your favorite."
He could hear Stiles light up through the phone. "Meatloaf?"
"Pasta." And could hear him deflate as soon as Derek uttered the word.
"That's your favourite."
"I know." Derek stirred, poking at the pasta to see if it had softened any.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"You're the worst."
"I know. "
Stiles sighed. "Save me some?"
"'Already got a plate with your name on it."
"I sincerely hope you aren't teaching our daughter to deface valuable property."
"There isn't a single valuable plate in this house and you know it."
Stiles sighed. "Gotta get back to work.See you soon?" Derek swallowed the lump in his throat. They'd stopped saying goodbye years ago, after too many close calls, decided to always end their conversations with something less - final.
"Yeah," Derek replied, softly. "See you soon."
they're called 'terrible twos' because 'fucking awful' doesn't start with a t.
for card_writing
Derek stepped through the threshold into the house, immediately accosted by a glaring Cora. "You owe me," she hissed, walking out the door with a threatening hair flip in his direction.
"Lydia?" Derek called, toeing off his shoes at the designated spot by the door. It never failed to make him smile, the sight of his size tens next to his daughters tiny flats. When Lydia was younger, she would constantly take off her own shoes and place them inside Derek's.
"Daddy?" came Lydia's voice, followed shortly by Lydia herself at a speed between skipping and not quite running.
"There's my girl," he said as she barrelled full force into his legs. "I missed you." He said, softly, as he lifted into his arms.
"Daddy," she replied, putting her hands on each of his cheeks. "You were only gone for three hours."
Derek raised an eyebrow, a trait Lydia could not mimic, no matter how hard she tried. She frowned with disapproval at him doing it now. "Oh yeah? What, I can't miss you if I'm gone only three hours?"
"You can," she said, rolling her eyes, a habit Derek and Stiles could never agree on which one of them exactly she picked it up from. "But it would be i-i-illogi-" She trailed off, huffing as she couldn't recall the correct pronunciation of the word.
"Illogical," Derek said, gently, smiling when she parroted it back to him. "Well," he said, sighing, and shifting her to his hip as he strode towards the kitchen. "Love isn't very logical, now is it?"
Lydia tilted her head. "I guess not," she stated, patting his shoulder for him to put her down as they entered the kitchen. She sat down at the table, reading a book she'd seemingly pulled out of thin air. There were books strewn throughout the house, the three of them all being avid readers. Lydia's were always stacked neatly in piles with books of a similar subject, Derek's always properly marked with a bookmark, Stiles left open on random pages or with his place held by an open highlighter.
Derek set about preparing dinner, pulling the tub of butter out of the fridge, a box of pasta from the pantry. He then went to collect the salt from the cabinet, having to stand on the tips of his toes slightly in order to reach it. They'd had to reorganize the entire kitchen once Lydia had started conducting her own science experiments. A flash of orange caught his eye as his feet landed softly on the floor. There on the coffee maker rested a fluorescent, orange sticky note, hurting Derek's eyes and mocking him with it's hideous color. On the note, scribbled in rather atrocious writing, were the words "They're called the 'terrible twos' because 'fucking awful' doesn't start with a T." Derek laughed, stopping when Lydia looked over at him curiously.
He held up the offending note. "Do you know about this?"
Lydia's face darkened. "Aunt Cora," she said, face murderous. No matter what Stiles said, she'd definitely based that expression off of him.
"Oh?" Derek questioned, biting back a grin.
Lydia turned back to her book. "I don't want to talk about it."
Derek snickered into his hand as he turned around, peeling the sticky off the coffee maker. A bottle of Advil sat next to the coffee maker, making Derek frown at it being out of its designated place. A second later his phone dinged with a new text message. He extracted it from his pocket, rolling his eyes as read the message from Cora.
Btw you're out of Advil
Derek had just began typing out a response when another message popped up.
And coffee
Derek gave up on the message he'd been drafting and pressed the call button instead.
"First of all," Derek said as Cora answered, "she's four."
"Four and 210 days," Lydia interjected, not taking her eyes off her book.
"Going on five," Derek said, smiling as he watched Lydia read.
"Well, then she should act like it," Cora snarled. Derek placed the ear between his ear and shoulder, halfway listening to Cora's complaints as he took out a pot and filled it with water, setting it on the stove and adding a sprinkle of salt only after he took a moment to explain to Lydia why he was doing that.
He turned on the burner and then turned himself around, leaning back against the counter next to the stove.
"Mmhmm," Derek said, diplomatically, having long since stopped listening.
"Ugh," Cora responded, then promptly hung up. Derek snapped a picture of the note on the coffee pot before pocketing his phone. He walked up behind Lydia.
"Want me to do your hair while I watch the news?" He asked, playing with a strand as he spoke.
"Please," she said, placing her book on a pile of similar ones sitting on the China cabinet.
They walked hand in hand to the living room, Derek sinking into the couch while she stood between his legs. He began braiding his hair as Scott Pelley relayed the most recent happenings in the world. He paused after finishing Lydia's left braid to send the picture he took to Stiles. He was on duty, so Derek wasn't expecting a reply right away but his phone dinged a few minutes later, alerting him he had a new text.
Cora ? Stiles' text read. Derek finished up Lydia's other braid before replying.
You guessed it.
He changed the channel to Discovery for Lydia. It relaxed her. He made his way back to the kitchen, pouring in the pasta and stirring it slightly before pulling out his phone again.
"Hello?" Stiles mumbled around what sounded like a mouthful of food, and Derek smiled, imagining him stealing the fries out of his Dad's takeout bag.
"Your daughter is terrorising people."
"How come she's only my daughter when she terrorising people?"
"Because," Derek started, shifting the phone to rest between his ear and shoulder blade as he stirred the pasta again. "She obviously learned it from you."
"Obviously," Stiles repeated, deadpan.
"Mmhmm. I'm making your favorite."
He could hear Stiles light up through the phone. "Meatloaf?"
"Pasta." And could hear him deflate as soon as Derek uttered the word.
"That's your favourite."
"I know." Derek stirred, poking at the pasta to see if it had softened any.
"I hate you."
"I know."
"You're the worst."
"I know. "
Stiles sighed. "Save me some?"
"'Already got a plate with your name on it."
"I sincerely hope you aren't teaching our daughter to deface valuable property."
"There isn't a single valuable plate in this house and you know it."
Stiles sighed. "Gotta get back to work.See you soon?" Derek swallowed the lump in his throat. They'd stopped saying goodbye years ago, after too many close calls, decided to always end their conversations with something less - final.
"Yeah," Derek replied, softly. "See you soon."