Domestic & arguing over the remote #prompt :D
Also available on ao3.
Thank you so much for your patience!
Monday Nights are for The Bachelor
Stiles knew from experience that Derek could be stubborn. He knew that mostly because Stiles held himself to a pretty high standard of stubbornness that was, on occasion, met with an even higher amount of stubbornness in the six feet that built up Derek Hale. In every instance, Stiles always found himself surprised and, if he was being honest with himself, impressed.
This was not one of those occasions.
Monday nights were dedicated to The Bachelor. Derek thought it was a fair request since it was only two hours, one night, each week, for six weeks out of the year, that he required the television in his own loft. The pack had other thoughts on the matter – the use of Derek’s television, not on The Bachelor – the pack had no clue about Derek’s secret love affair with the reality show. Derek did decide to turn four teenagers into his betas, but he was not an idiot. Okay, ignore that last example.
The point still stood that Derek had every right to lock himself in his apartment on Monday nights with a box of red wine and bowl of movie theater butter popcorn to watch a reality show that may or may not contain the use of tears, wildly concocted fights, and artfully chiseled men. The pack was settled and there hadn’t been any supernatural issues in months. Well, unless you counted the time Scott contracted a were-flu and all the werewolves in the pack were reduced to sniffling blanket piles. Stiles had shouldered the brunt of mothering everyone as they regained their strength and while he complained profusely, Derek had suspected the whole ordeal had been an ego boost for the kid.
A ding sounded from the kitchen and Derek took the popcorn out of the microwave, taking care not to burn his fingertips as he grasped it by the corners and tried in vain not to rip the bag in half. The effort was futile, as it always was, and Derek inevitably had a steaming cloud of popcorn explode in his face before falling to the floor. You would think that growing up with werewolf strength would give Derek the time and opportunity to figure out how to do something as mundane as opening a bag of popcorn without it staging a coup, but this was one skill he could not grasp. He stood there, dumbfounded, when he heard a key turn the tumblers in the apartment’s lock and Stiles walked in. He looked at Derek and blinked.
“I have so many questions,” started Stiles.