This Is Us
Who cooks normally?
Stiles likes cooking, he knows it’s not particularly masculine but he likes it. Plus he had to do it after his mom died to make sure his dad actually ate something that was dripping in grease every now and then. But he likes it, is the point, and he’s pretty darn good at it too, if the noises that the pack makes whenever he pulls out a tray of cookies or another lasagne are anything to go by. Of course Derek tries to hide the fact he appreciates a home cooked meal, but Stiles knows him well enough by now that the slight twitch in his lips is him trying not to smile.
How often do they fight?
“I guess it’s kinda like foreplay,” Erica pipes up from the couch and Stiles pauses in his tirade aimed at Derek, his finger poking Derek in the chest as he calls him a controlling bastard.
“What?” They both ask at the same time.
“Foreplay,” Erica reiterates, and then she’s slinking off through the door way, hauling Boyd with her and Stiles forgets what he’s angry about. They do argue all the time, fight and bicker and fling angry words. Derek likes to protect Stiles until Stiles feels like he’s suffocating and Stiles has a habit of ignoring everything Derek says and getting himself hurt.
“I think she has a point,” Stiles mutters right before Derek crowds him into the hard wood of the door frame and kisses him hard.
Yup, she definitely has a point.
What do they do when they’re away from each other?
“He’s been pining,” Isaac whispers to Stiles as he gives him a hug hello. Stiles has been gone for a week and has missed Derek like a limb. Derek’s scowling at him from across the kitchen but the scowl is more of a ‘I’m not letting you out of my bedroom for three days’ scowl rather than a ‘I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth’ scowl. He growls at Isaac and Isaac grins, pats Stiles on the shoulder and slinks out of the kitchen. Derek’s on him in a second.
“Missed you too,” Stiles mutters as Derek’s thumbs press into the skin just above his hip bones and his tongue licks at his favourite spot behind Stiles’s ear.
“Upstairs,” Derek growls and Stiles wants to hit him with a witty come back but he’s been miserable without Derek.
True to his scowl, Derek doesn’t let him out of his sight for three days.
Nicknames for each other?
“How come you don’t call me nicknames?” Stiles asks, his fingers tracing spirals over Derek’s chest. It rumbles under his fingers and Derek’s hand curls around Stiles’s.
“Because Stiles is your name,” he mutters, bringing Stiles’s hand up to his mouth and nipping at pad of his thumb.
“Yeah but…” Stiles trails off as Derek pulls his whole thumb into the warm wet heat of his mouth, “I call you all sorts of things.” Derek raises an eyebrow and how he manages to look superior with Stiles’s thumb in his mouth, Stiles will never know. He releases it with a pop.
“Controlling Bastard has to be my favourite,” he mutters, closing his eyes again and Stiles pokes him hard between the ribs.
“I called you that once, and you were controlling…and a bastard,” Stiles protests as Derek lets a growl rumble through his chest and manages to spin them both as Stiles lets out a strangled cry of surprise.
“What would you like me to call you?” Derek asks, nudging Stiles’s thighs open with his knee and settling between them, driving his hips down, Stiles arches, drags his nails down Derek’s back. “Stiles,” he breathes out next to Stiles’s ear.
“That works,” Stiles gasps and Derek chuckles as he pulls Stiles’s ear lobe between his teeth.
“How about this?” Derek asks, and wriggles a hand between them and wraps it around Stiles’s dick. “Mine.”
“Even better.”
Who is more likely to pay for dinner?
Derek doesn’t like to talk about it, hates using it, but the life insurance pay outs from his family is more than enough to keep him comfortable, him and his pack, for the rest of their lives.
Stiles has just left school, talking a mile a minute about what college to go to and Derek may not want him to leave, but he’s going to help him celebrate when he gets into the one he wants by taking him out.
It’s their first proper date, they’ve been together for a while but they’ve never really been out on their own like this and Stiles is nervous. Derek can smell it on him and he reaches across the table and covers Stiles’s hand with his own.
“Stop fidgeting,” he growls and Stiles stills immediately, grins at Derek and Derek feels Stiles's thumb rub across the pad of Derek’s before Stiles slides his hand out from underneath. “So which one did you get into?” Derek asks and Stiles’s grin gets bigger.
“Pacifica,” he flicks a piece of bread stick across the table at Derek.
“That’s…”
“An hour away,” Stiles agrees and nudges at Derek’s shin with his foot. Derek feels his lips curling at the corner.
“Stop grinning like a fool and order,” Derek mutters.
“You stop grinning,” Stiles counters and runs his foot up Derek’s thigh. Derek rolls his eyes but curls his fingers around Stiles’s ankle and squeezes gently and Stiles’s grin turns from pleased to loving in a second.
Who steals the covers at night?
“Urgh,” Stiles flops over on to his back and kicks the duvet off. Derek mumbles something into his pillow. “It’s too hot.”
“God do you ever stop talking?” Stiles looks across at Derek to find one eye open and glaring at Stiles.
“You’re hot,” Stiles complains, “and not in the ‘oh my god your so hot I’m gonna rip your clothes off’ kinda way…although that to, but the ‘are you sure you’re not dying of a fever’ hot.” Derek’s one eye manages to roll on its own and he reaches out and snags Stiles closer, burrowing his nose into the crook of Stiles’s neck. Stiles groans. “Did you not just hear what I said?”
“Hot,” Derek mumbles, like the highly attractive caveman that he is and Stiles snorts, and it turns into a strangled choking noise as Derek licks at his sticky skin. Stiles wriggles. “Lie still.”
“I can’t…” Stiles squeaks as he finds himself flat on his back with Derek looming over him and his arms trapped over his head.
“Lie. Still.”
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to cool me down,” Stiles mutters as Derek drives his hips down and tightens his grip on Stiles’s wrist.
“Who said anything about cooling you down?” Derek asks, reaching across to the bedside table and fumbling in the drawer. Stiles shivers. “This is to get you to shut up.”
What would they get each other for gifts?
“God…you are impossible to buy for,” Stiles groans, flinging himself down onto the couch and Derek looks up from his book and raises an eyebrow.
“What are you trying to buy me?” He asks and Stiles makes a face like he’s talking to an idiot.
“A birthday gift…duh,” he rolls his eyes and Derek just flicks his gaze back to his book.
“No need,” He mutters, then slams the book shut and walks into the kitchen.
“No need?” Stiles asks following him, and pays no attention to the hard line of his shoulders as Derek braces his hands against the counter. “What do you mean no need? It’s your birthday and unless I remember incorrectly, you bought me a gift for mine…”
“Stiles,” Derek sounds tired, like its an age old argument.
“What?” Stiles crowds in behind him and rubs his cheek against Derek’s shoulder.
“I don’t need anything,” Derek’s voice rumbles through his cheek and Stiles lets his fingers play against the skin of Derek’s stomach.
“I’m not talking about need, I talking about want,” Stiles says as Derek turns in Stiles’s arms and leans back against the counter.
“I don’t want anything…” he says, bringing his hands up to Stiles’s face, “else.”
“Smooth talker,” Stiles mutters against Derek’s lips as he brings their faces close together.
“No gifts,” Derek mutters, the tips of his fingers rubbing against the back of Stiles’s neck.
“Today is a gift, that’s why it’s call the pres…unf,” Stiles’s words are cut off as Derek kisses him.
Who kiss who first?
“I kissed you first,” Stiles grins at Derek who just rolls his eyes.
“I think you’ll find that is incorrect,” he replies.
“No, because…”
“Wrong,” Derek says and Stiles sighs.
“Does it matter?” Erica asks and the look on her face says she’s regretting ever asking the question in the first place. Stiles looks at Derek, remembers the feels of his lips against Derek’s for the first time, the feel of his hands on Stiles’s skin, the buzz of adrenaline in his veins as Derek pushed him against the nearest hard surface and proceeded to lick every inch of Stiles’s mouth.
“I guess not.”
Who made the first move?
“You may have kissed me first, but I made the first move?” Stiles mutters and Derek raises an eyebrow again.
“What are you talking about?” Stiles drops himself into Derek’s lap and Derek runs a hand across Stiles’s head, down the back of his neck and squeezes.
“I made the first move,” Stiles reiterates and Erica sighs heavily and flounces out of the room muttering things about not needing to see mom and dad make out.
“And you worked that out how?”
“Well…I’m pretty sure I first thought about…us,” Stiles says and Derek raises his eyebrow again.
“Really? We’re playing that game are we?” Stiles grins and presses a kiss to the tip of Derek’s nose.
“You’re just mad because I realised how awesome we could be together first,” Stiles says and Derek kisses him briefly.
“Idiot.”
Who remembers things?
On the anniversary of his mothers death, Derek wakes Stiles up with a slow kiss, presses him into the mattress and fucks him hard, breathing ‘it wasn’t your fault’ into his mouth till Stiles can’t remember his own name. Later he makes a blanket fort and pulls Stiles inside and listens to Stiles talk about how she would teach him to bake while he sat cross legged on the kitchen counter.
On the anniversary of the fire, Stiles bakes Derek cookies, makes him watch crappy comedies with Stiles lying on top of him, pushing his toes into the top of Derek’s socks.
On the anniversary of the first time Derek kissed Stiles, Derek wakes Stiles up with a hand around his dick, and ‘a whole year Stiles’ muttered into his mouth as his thumb swipes over the tip.
Who started the relationship?
The problem about the pack is that not one of them can cook, so when Stiles is there, he’s made chef of the house. Derek usually hangs around, crowding behind Stiles and trying to sneak bits. Derek’s got his chin resting on Stiles’s shoulder as Stiles chops carrots.
“Dad says he wants to meet my boyfriend,” Stiles pauses his cutting the vegetables as Derek freezes in his peripheral vision. The tension in the room kicks up a notch until Derek leans forward, snags a slice of carrot off the board and presses his lips to Stiles’s cheek. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Want me to freak out?” Derek asks around a mouthful of chewed carrot.
“Ok gross, but no,” Stiles admits and Derek swallows, tweaks the end of Stiles’s nose and kisses him quickly.
“Then, fine.”
Who cusses more?
“Fuck,” Stiles hops on one leg and clutches at his toe.
“Language,” Derek shouts from the living room.
“Fuck you,” Stiles shouts back and sits on a chair, inspects his toe and heaves a sigh of relief when he sees its still attached to his foot.
“You ok?” Derek’s leaning against the door frame looking highly amused with just a hint of concern and Stiles sticks his tongue out.
“Fine thank you,” he mutters, gingerly pressing the rapidly forming bruise on his little toe.
“Did the big bad cupboard attack your toe?” Derek asks, pushing himself off the door frame and kneeling down at Stiles’s feet. Stiles sticks his tongue out again. “Come here,” Derek sighs and curls his hand around Stiles’s foot and tugs it forward, presses a kiss to Stiles’s little toe. “All better…you cuss too much,” Derek mutters, his lips still against Stiles’s toe and it shouldn’t be such a turn on.
“You don’t cuss enough,” Stiles says, tugging his foot out of Derek’s grasp. Derek grins, wolfishly and hauls Stiles to his feet, a hand on his lower back pressing him close.
“Going to fuck you until you can’t move,” he mutters and Stiles nearly looses control of his knees.
“See?” He breathes, “you need to cuss more often.”
What would they do it the other one was hurt?
“God dammit Stiles,” Derek growls, shifting Stiles closer, “you fucking idiot.”
“Language,” Stiles mutters and buries his head into Derek’s shoulder, because Derek is warm, and smells nice, and safe. Derek growls again.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” he warns and Stiles nods, his head pounding.
“Ok…sour wolf,” Derek’s worried face is the last thing he sees before he passes out.
…
“I would kill for you,” it’s the first thing Stiles hears when he wakes up, well apart from the beeping of machines and the background noise of the hospital and suddenly Derek is there, glass of water in his hand and he helps Stiles take a sip.
“What?” Stiles croaks out and Derek’s face is a mixture of anger, worry and dread.
“I would kill for you…don’t make me,” Derek’s fingers hover over the cut on Stiles’s head and his jaw muscles twitch.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles holds his arms out and Derek’s forehead creases before he crawls into the tiny bed next to Stiles. Stiles runs his hand through Derek’s hair. “I’m sorry.”
Stiles likes cooking, he knows it’s not particularly masculine but he likes it. Plus he had to do it after his mom died to make sure his dad actually ate something that was dripping in grease every now and then. But he likes it, is the point, and he’s pretty darn good at it too, if the noises that the pack makes whenever he pulls out a tray of cookies or another lasagne are anything to go by. Of course Derek tries to hide the fact he appreciates a home cooked meal, but Stiles knows him well enough by now that the slight twitch in his lips is him trying not to smile.
How often do they fight?
“I guess it’s kinda like foreplay,” Erica pipes up from the couch and Stiles pauses in his tirade aimed at Derek, his finger poking Derek in the chest as he calls him a controlling bastard.
“What?” They both ask at the same time.
“Foreplay,” Erica reiterates, and then she’s slinking off through the door way, hauling Boyd with her and Stiles forgets what he’s angry about. They do argue all the time, fight and bicker and fling angry words. Derek likes to protect Stiles until Stiles feels like he’s suffocating and Stiles has a habit of ignoring everything Derek says and getting himself hurt.
“I think she has a point,” Stiles mutters right before Derek crowds him into the hard wood of the door frame and kisses him hard.
Yup, she definitely has a point.
What do they do when they’re away from each other?
“He’s been pining,” Isaac whispers to Stiles as he gives him a hug hello. Stiles has been gone for a week and has missed Derek like a limb. Derek’s scowling at him from across the kitchen but the scowl is more of a ‘I’m not letting you out of my bedroom for three days’ scowl rather than a ‘I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth’ scowl. He growls at Isaac and Isaac grins, pats Stiles on the shoulder and slinks out of the kitchen. Derek’s on him in a second.
“Missed you too,” Stiles mutters as Derek’s thumbs press into the skin just above his hip bones and his tongue licks at his favourite spot behind Stiles’s ear.
“Upstairs,” Derek growls and Stiles wants to hit him with a witty come back but he’s been miserable without Derek.
True to his scowl, Derek doesn’t let him out of his sight for three days.
Nicknames for each other?
“How come you don’t call me nicknames?” Stiles asks, his fingers tracing spirals over Derek’s chest. It rumbles under his fingers and Derek’s hand curls around Stiles’s.
“Because Stiles is your name,” he mutters, bringing Stiles’s hand up to his mouth and nipping at pad of his thumb.
“Yeah but…” Stiles trails off as Derek pulls his whole thumb into the warm wet heat of his mouth, “I call you all sorts of things.” Derek raises an eyebrow and how he manages to look superior with Stiles’s thumb in his mouth, Stiles will never know. He releases it with a pop.
“Controlling Bastard has to be my favourite,” he mutters, closing his eyes again and Stiles pokes him hard between the ribs.
“I called you that once, and you were controlling…and a bastard,” Stiles protests as Derek lets a growl rumble through his chest and manages to spin them both as Stiles lets out a strangled cry of surprise.
“What would you like me to call you?” Derek asks, nudging Stiles’s thighs open with his knee and settling between them, driving his hips down, Stiles arches, drags his nails down Derek’s back. “Stiles,” he breathes out next to Stiles’s ear.
“That works,” Stiles gasps and Derek chuckles as he pulls Stiles’s ear lobe between his teeth.
“How about this?” Derek asks, and wriggles a hand between them and wraps it around Stiles’s dick. “Mine.”
“Even better.”
Who is more likely to pay for dinner?
Derek doesn’t like to talk about it, hates using it, but the life insurance pay outs from his family is more than enough to keep him comfortable, him and his pack, for the rest of their lives.
Stiles has just left school, talking a mile a minute about what college to go to and Derek may not want him to leave, but he’s going to help him celebrate when he gets into the one he wants by taking him out.
It’s their first proper date, they’ve been together for a while but they’ve never really been out on their own like this and Stiles is nervous. Derek can smell it on him and he reaches across the table and covers Stiles’s hand with his own.
“Stop fidgeting,” he growls and Stiles stills immediately, grins at Derek and Derek feels Stiles's thumb rub across the pad of Derek’s before Stiles slides his hand out from underneath. “So which one did you get into?” Derek asks and Stiles’s grin gets bigger.
“Pacifica,” he flicks a piece of bread stick across the table at Derek.
“That’s…”
“An hour away,” Stiles agrees and nudges at Derek’s shin with his foot. Derek feels his lips curling at the corner.
“Stop grinning like a fool and order,” Derek mutters.
“You stop grinning,” Stiles counters and runs his foot up Derek’s thigh. Derek rolls his eyes but curls his fingers around Stiles’s ankle and squeezes gently and Stiles’s grin turns from pleased to loving in a second.
Who steals the covers at night?
“Urgh,” Stiles flops over on to his back and kicks the duvet off. Derek mumbles something into his pillow. “It’s too hot.”
“God do you ever stop talking?” Stiles looks across at Derek to find one eye open and glaring at Stiles.
“You’re hot,” Stiles complains, “and not in the ‘oh my god your so hot I’m gonna rip your clothes off’ kinda way…although that to, but the ‘are you sure you’re not dying of a fever’ hot.” Derek’s one eye manages to roll on its own and he reaches out and snags Stiles closer, burrowing his nose into the crook of Stiles’s neck. Stiles groans. “Did you not just hear what I said?”
“Hot,” Derek mumbles, like the highly attractive caveman that he is and Stiles snorts, and it turns into a strangled choking noise as Derek licks at his sticky skin. Stiles wriggles. “Lie still.”
“I can’t…” Stiles squeaks as he finds himself flat on his back with Derek looming over him and his arms trapped over his head.
“Lie. Still.”
“I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to cool me down,” Stiles mutters as Derek drives his hips down and tightens his grip on Stiles’s wrist.
“Who said anything about cooling you down?” Derek asks, reaching across to the bedside table and fumbling in the drawer. Stiles shivers. “This is to get you to shut up.”
What would they get each other for gifts?
“God…you are impossible to buy for,” Stiles groans, flinging himself down onto the couch and Derek looks up from his book and raises an eyebrow.
“What are you trying to buy me?” He asks and Stiles makes a face like he’s talking to an idiot.
“A birthday gift…duh,” he rolls his eyes and Derek just flicks his gaze back to his book.
“No need,” He mutters, then slams the book shut and walks into the kitchen.
“No need?” Stiles asks following him, and pays no attention to the hard line of his shoulders as Derek braces his hands against the counter. “What do you mean no need? It’s your birthday and unless I remember incorrectly, you bought me a gift for mine…”
“Stiles,” Derek sounds tired, like its an age old argument.
“What?” Stiles crowds in behind him and rubs his cheek against Derek’s shoulder.
“I don’t need anything,” Derek’s voice rumbles through his cheek and Stiles lets his fingers play against the skin of Derek’s stomach.
“I’m not talking about need, I talking about want,” Stiles says as Derek turns in Stiles’s arms and leans back against the counter.
“I don’t want anything…” he says, bringing his hands up to Stiles’s face, “else.”
“Smooth talker,” Stiles mutters against Derek’s lips as he brings their faces close together.
“No gifts,” Derek mutters, the tips of his fingers rubbing against the back of Stiles’s neck.
“Today is a gift, that’s why it’s call the pres…unf,” Stiles’s words are cut off as Derek kisses him.
Who kiss who first?
“I kissed you first,” Stiles grins at Derek who just rolls his eyes.
“I think you’ll find that is incorrect,” he replies.
“No, because…”
“Wrong,” Derek says and Stiles sighs.
“Does it matter?” Erica asks and the look on her face says she’s regretting ever asking the question in the first place. Stiles looks at Derek, remembers the feels of his lips against Derek’s for the first time, the feel of his hands on Stiles’s skin, the buzz of adrenaline in his veins as Derek pushed him against the nearest hard surface and proceeded to lick every inch of Stiles’s mouth.
“I guess not.”
Who made the first move?
“You may have kissed me first, but I made the first move?” Stiles mutters and Derek raises an eyebrow again.
“What are you talking about?” Stiles drops himself into Derek’s lap and Derek runs a hand across Stiles’s head, down the back of his neck and squeezes.
“I made the first move,” Stiles reiterates and Erica sighs heavily and flounces out of the room muttering things about not needing to see mom and dad make out.
“And you worked that out how?”
“Well…I’m pretty sure I first thought about…us,” Stiles says and Derek raises his eyebrow again.
“Really? We’re playing that game are we?” Stiles grins and presses a kiss to the tip of Derek’s nose.
“You’re just mad because I realised how awesome we could be together first,” Stiles says and Derek kisses him briefly.
“Idiot.”
Who remembers things?
On the anniversary of his mothers death, Derek wakes Stiles up with a slow kiss, presses him into the mattress and fucks him hard, breathing ‘it wasn’t your fault’ into his mouth till Stiles can’t remember his own name. Later he makes a blanket fort and pulls Stiles inside and listens to Stiles talk about how she would teach him to bake while he sat cross legged on the kitchen counter.
On the anniversary of the fire, Stiles bakes Derek cookies, makes him watch crappy comedies with Stiles lying on top of him, pushing his toes into the top of Derek’s socks.
On the anniversary of the first time Derek kissed Stiles, Derek wakes Stiles up with a hand around his dick, and ‘a whole year Stiles’ muttered into his mouth as his thumb swipes over the tip.
Who started the relationship?
The problem about the pack is that not one of them can cook, so when Stiles is there, he’s made chef of the house. Derek usually hangs around, crowding behind Stiles and trying to sneak bits. Derek’s got his chin resting on Stiles’s shoulder as Stiles chops carrots.
“Dad says he wants to meet my boyfriend,” Stiles pauses his cutting the vegetables as Derek freezes in his peripheral vision. The tension in the room kicks up a notch until Derek leans forward, snags a slice of carrot off the board and presses his lips to Stiles’s cheek. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Want me to freak out?” Derek asks around a mouthful of chewed carrot.
“Ok gross, but no,” Stiles admits and Derek swallows, tweaks the end of Stiles’s nose and kisses him quickly.
“Then, fine.”
Who cusses more?
“Fuck,” Stiles hops on one leg and clutches at his toe.
“Language,” Derek shouts from the living room.
“Fuck you,” Stiles shouts back and sits on a chair, inspects his toe and heaves a sigh of relief when he sees its still attached to his foot.
“You ok?” Derek’s leaning against the door frame looking highly amused with just a hint of concern and Stiles sticks his tongue out.
“Fine thank you,” he mutters, gingerly pressing the rapidly forming bruise on his little toe.
“Did the big bad cupboard attack your toe?” Derek asks, pushing himself off the door frame and kneeling down at Stiles’s feet. Stiles sticks his tongue out again. “Come here,” Derek sighs and curls his hand around Stiles’s foot and tugs it forward, presses a kiss to Stiles’s little toe. “All better…you cuss too much,” Derek mutters, his lips still against Stiles’s toe and it shouldn’t be such a turn on.
“You don’t cuss enough,” Stiles says, tugging his foot out of Derek’s grasp. Derek grins, wolfishly and hauls Stiles to his feet, a hand on his lower back pressing him close.
“Going to fuck you until you can’t move,” he mutters and Stiles nearly looses control of his knees.
“See?” He breathes, “you need to cuss more often.”
What would they do it the other one was hurt?
“God dammit Stiles,” Derek growls, shifting Stiles closer, “you fucking idiot.”
“Language,” Stiles mutters and buries his head into Derek’s shoulder, because Derek is warm, and smells nice, and safe. Derek growls again.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” he warns and Stiles nods, his head pounding.
“Ok…sour wolf,” Derek’s worried face is the last thing he sees before he passes out.
…
“I would kill for you,” it’s the first thing Stiles hears when he wakes up, well apart from the beeping of machines and the background noise of the hospital and suddenly Derek is there, glass of water in his hand and he helps Stiles take a sip.
“What?” Stiles croaks out and Derek’s face is a mixture of anger, worry and dread.
“I would kill for you…don’t make me,” Derek’s fingers hover over the cut on Stiles’s head and his jaw muscles twitch.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles holds his arms out and Derek’s forehead creases before he crawls into the tiny bed next to Stiles. Stiles runs his hand through Derek’s hair. “I’m sorry.”