Betp can you write about sterek buying items of food that the other claims to hate but then they end up eating all of it? Does stiles do it just to spite Derek? Does Derek do it because he's too embarrassed to admit he likes junk food?
it’s not just junk food, nell. it’s pastries.
derek is dismissive in general of sweet things, so when stiles picks up a bigass plastic tub of brownie bites–the powdered sugar ones, not the granulated, thank you–he doesn’t really think much of it. it never occurs to him to be protective of his grocery store confections. and such is his downfall.
you know? it’s like he’s a tragic hero. in a tragedy.
it’s not very funny when it happens, it’s not like he walks in on derek coated in sugar and with bulged out cheeks, he just runs out of brownie bites in like three days, which is two days faster than he usually runs out of brownie bites.
ordinarily the last few are stale by the time he finishes it up, but these are fresh to the end, because they disappear too fast to go stale.
in fact, he doesn’t even get to eat the last one.
that’s derek’s downfall. is that once it’s running low, it’s very easy to keep tabs on how many there are. and stiles brings him the empty bowl, full of telltale lost sugar and crumbs and nothing else besides air. “here,” he says, solemnly holding out the bowl. “take it.”
“why are you giving me trash,” derek wonders.
“because it’s yours, my friend,” shrugs stiles. “you’ve taken all the brownie bites: it’s your duty to dispose of the brownie bite receptacle.”
derek squints. he looks like he’s trying to decide if he should lie or not. “i was hungry,” he tells stiles.
“listen to me,” stiles says. derek is listening already, but the emphasis is crucial. “you don’t get to make weird, shitty comments about how snacking is unhealthy, and then snack. on my snacks. all right? snacking is as snacking does.”
“you lost me,” derek says. “with the last part.”
“i don’t know what i meant by it either,” says stiles, still in lecture mode, “but that doesn’t bring back my brownie bites, does it? where are they, derek? have you pooped them out yet?”
“you are vile,” comments derek. “i didn’t realize we were coworkers writing our names on things. excuse me.”
“don’t get it twisted,” stiles protests, palms out. he heard that phrase on an america’s next top model rerun. “you can eat whatever you want. my pasta, your granola, my asshole–”
“but you specifically told me, with your face, that i was buying–” he makes air quotes– “sugar mush cubes, and i was a breeding ground for cavities–”
“well, you should floss better,” derek decides, returning to his magazine.
“uuungh,” says stiles. it’s not something he says, though. it’s like a guttural growl-yell, like an expulsion of frustration, one that sags his entire body. “don’t change the subject, doctor smiley! you’re a hypocrite! that’s my concern:” he puts a hand on derek’s shoulder. “you’re backsliding into hell. we’ve all witnessed it.”
“i’ll replace your brownie bites,” derek assures him. “will you stop bitching?”
stiles considers picking a fight over derek’s use of the phrase bitching, but in the end he decides he doesn’t care. he drops the empty plastic container where he’s standing and climbs into derek’s lap, partly because it’s nice there, and mostly to make it more difficult for derek to read his stupid magazine.
and what i love about that is stiles wouldn’t even be mad that derek just left the trash for stiles to clean up. he doesn’t even care. he also doesn’t really care that he missed out on two days of increasingly hard brownie bites. it’s the principle of the thing, y’know? sometimes you wanna make somebody feel bad for something, and once you’ve done that, it’s complete. or maybe that’s just stiles.
