big spoon/little spoon:
that depends on what they’re doing. if they’re watching a movie (or, uh, hacked security footage of the minotaur attack that went down at macy’s last night, either way) on the couch, derek’s the big spoon, because stiles moves around too much to function in that capacity—he still elbows derek in the stomach sometimes while he reaches for the remote/popcorn/laptop/beer, but derek’s a werewolf, he’ll heal. in bed, stiles is almost always big spoon, at his own insistance; neither one of them will admit it, but they both know it’s to saves derek the embarrassment of having to re-negotiate their positions after a bad dream.
what is their favorite non-sexual activity:
well, it’s definitely not vanquishing evil, but since that’s pretty much all they ever have TIME to do, it’s hard to know. they can’t go out to movies together, because derek hates movies theaters (big dark room with no vantage points and few exits crowded full of humans and the cloying-sweet smell of soda and candy: no); they can’t do theater, because neither one of them really sees the point. they’ve tried going out to fancy dinners, but inevitably they end up arguing because it feels weird to sit across from each other with a white tablecloth between them while there’s a rogue gorgon somewhere in beacon hills. they hike, sometimes. they like baseball. every once in awhile they go on a roadtrip, just the two of them, and take turns driving.
who uses all the hot water in the morning:
derek. except on those weeks when stiles gets up early and uses all the hot water just to fuck with derek. which then results in derek getting up even earlier and using all the hot water just to fuck with stiles. one time they ran into each other in the hallway at two in the morning because of this game—derek choked on his breath, stiles laughed til he cried, and they slept until ten the next morning.
what the order from takeout:
what DON’T they order from takeout? stiles can make mac & cheese, mac without cheese, and frozen dinners; derek can’t cook anything, with or without a little werewolf oven. they eat a lot of pizza.
what is the most trivial thing they fight over:
EVERYTHING. the hot water thing; the movie theatre thing; the way stiles pronounces the word ‘establishment’; the way derek pronounces the word ‘pronounces’; derek’s leather jacket obsession; the fact that stiles is never willing to be wearing less than three shirts at any given moment; how often a werewolf can have sex in a day before he dies; the various inaccuracies in stiles’ mmorpg, which derek has taken to watching him play for mockery purposes; whose hair is in the drain; I THINK YOU MEAN WHOSE FUR IS IN THE DRAIN, DEREK; the color orange; the name miguel; seriously, it would be easier to ask for the most trivial thing that they don’t fight over. which is, for the record, the fact that both of their feelings about their respective cars are totally sane, and anyone who disagrees can suck it.
who does most of the cleaning:
derek. it’s a stress-response; when his life is chaotic (read: always) cleaning helps him feel like he’s got some order somewhere. stiles does the laundry, which is just as well, because derek never does manage to deal with the bloodstains properly when he does it.
who controls the netflix queue:
stiles. derek has terrible taste in television and movies, which is largely because (outside of horror movies, which he consumes with a passion for the sake of feeling superior when they’re wrong) he hasn’t seen very much. stiles is currently working him through arrested development; derek likes it more that he’s willing to let on.
who calls the super/landlord when the heat’s not working:
stiles. derek a) doesn’t actually care that the heat’s not working, just that stiles cares/is cold, and b) isn’t actually all that good at arguing with people who don’t respond to glares. stiles, on the other hand, has a very love/hate relationship with their landlord—sometimes derek can hear them screaming at each from ten floors up, and sometimes stiles comes back from her office with cookies. he’s stopped trying to understand it.
who steals the blankets:
stiles. derek runs hotter than he does by default, and also—not that he’ll admit it—stiles has shit circulation and gets cold CONSTANTLY AND ALWAYS. he dresses in layers to try to conceal this fact, but derek, having spent many a night in bed next to his fucking icicle hands and feet, is totally wise to it. he’s got no problem with the fact that stiles steals blankets at night, and, in fact, finds the typically resulting stiles-blanket-burrito more adorable than he’ll ever admit to anyone, but it drives him CRAZY that stiles will never admit to being cold. this is why everyone in the pack has, at some point or another, borne witness to an argument that ended with derek whipping his jacket at stiles’ head and storming away. (and, then, once he’s gone, with stiles putting the jacket on.)
who leaves their stuff around:
they both do. they’re busy! they’re battling evil! derek will end up cleaning it up the next time he freaks out anyway! they try to be careful about putting the top-secret-supernatural-crap somewhere discreet, though. better safe than sorry.
who remembers to buy the milk:
stiles. derek finds the grocery store abhorrent in concept and practice, and stiles has given up on trying to make him more normal. every once in awhile he’ll make derek go with him anyway, for the, you know, cereal and milk and frozen dinners and mac & cheese and, uh, meat that derek almost always grills that is their standard grocery purchase, and derek always spends the entire time muttering darkly about wasted produce and ridiculous human excess. it’s really not worth the trouble.
who remembers anniversaries:
derek, invariably and every single year. stiles knows it’s stupid, but it still kind of gets him where he lives, the way derek never forgets. it’s not that he ever really makes a thing about it—they’re not really the type to make a thing about it, either of them, and anyway there’s always something more important going on/threatening to level the town—but derek will grab stiles’ hand in the car, or press his face into stiles’ neck when they go to bed, or wrap an arm around stiles’ waist while they’re waiting for the phoenix to rise from the ashes and tell them what the HELL is going on. ”thanks,” he says, every year, like he thinks he has to, like he thinks that even makes sense.
he always smiles, though, when stiles says, “idiot,” and then, gruff and quiet, “you too,” so it’s maybe not such a bad tradition, as traditions go.