Derek destroyed casually one afternoon, when he happens to overhear a conversation while in the checkout line at Target or something. Because there are a couple of guys somewhere around electronics talking about Stiles.
Derek probably has some kind of Pavlovian response to the name. He tunes in about: “He’s so fucking obnoxious.” Which Derek agrees with. “And mouthy.”
“Yeah, but, man can he put it to good use at least.” Which Derek does not agree with. On almost every level. On a level that definitely wants to punch this person on principle.
But also, on the other level where then of course he cannot stop thinking about it. He wants to believe that it is that Stiles is a very good kisser which is still terrible for Derek, but he doesn’t really believe it.
Finally, Stiles starts noticing Derek’s recent penchant for staring at his lips. A lot. When confronted about it, Derek asks if he knows someone named ‘Jack’ and Stiles gives him a befuddled sort of look before one of dawning comprehension falls over his face.
The way Stiles blushes confirms for Derek all his worst nightmares. Except, then there would be flirting, tension, and finally, Derek naked on his couch, Stiles kneeling on the floor between his legs, deepthroating him.
Derek destroyed casually one afternoon when Stiles sucks him off, fast and hard.
I need a fic in which Derek is Superman, dating FBI agent Stiles, but hasn’t told Stiles that he’s Superman. To Stiles’ knowledge, he’s just dating some nerdy reporter who really likes science and doesn’t even bother with politics.
Except Stiles is not a fucking idiot. He’s been 82% sure Derek is Superman since, basically since he met Derek. Two weeks later Superman plucks him off a freight ship that’s about to explode and Stiles 87% sure. At the end of their second date, when they kiss and Stiles clings to Derek’s deliciously muscular arms, familiar deliciously muscular arms, he is 97% certain. And when he’s next rescued, shielded from gunfire that he’s already shielded from because “I’m a trained agent and know how to take cover, DEREK.”
Super man freezes, in a very un-Superman way, and, of all things, of all things, tries to actually say, “What- I’m not- Who’s Derek.”
Like. What the fuck.
Stiles just stares at him, flatly, and says, “I’m insulted on so many levels right now. So you better make sure you pick me up at 7:30 sharp on Thursday, have a really fucking amazing date planned out, and present me with roses, or chocolates, or some spectacularly rare rock from your planet as your grovel for thinking I’m actually this big of an idiot.”
Derek takes him to the most expensive restaurant in town and offers to make out with Stiles in his suit.
After a long silence, gazing out the window of the gigantic sushi restaurant they’re in, Stiles looks again at Derek. Derek raises his eyebrows, expectant. Stiles says, “Another question.”
“Knew it,” says Derek.
Stiles ignores him. He goes on, “Do your glasses even do anything? What do they even do?”
“If I recall your exact phrasing,” Derek drawls, nudging the glasses up the bridge of his nose, “they make you f – ”
“ – eyyy, hey hey,” Stiles cuts him off, sitting back up. “You know – shut up. You know what I meant, an – and pretending you don’t is a continuation of the exact bullshit that landed you here – ”
“Oh, like you’re really mad in the first place.”
“I am! I am mad, Derek, if that’s even your real na – ” He pauses. “Is it your real name?”
“What is ‘real’?” wonders Derek, to which Stiles rolls not only his eyes, but his entire existence. “Well? I dunno what else to tell you.”
“How about sorry for concealing my identity, Stiles?”
“I’m not, though,” says Derek. “What’s the point of having a secret identity if you don’t keep it a secret?”
“You don’t keep identities secret from somebody you love, dumbass!” Stiles hisses, a hoarse sort of projection that would be a shout if Stiles had an ounce less self control. “You total moron!” It only seems to dawn on Stiles several minutes later what he’s just said; and he goes a unique shade of red and looks angrily down at his lap. “I mean, I get it,” Stiles adds eventually. “You had to know if you could trust me.”
“I do,” says Derek. The way Stiles looks at him, Derek considers saying it again. Instead he carefully pushes the remnant husks from Stiles’ edamame to one side so he can lean in a little. “Next time I develop an alternate identity to protect myself and the people I care about,” Derek promises, “I’ll jeopardize your life and tell you immediately.” The expression on Stiles’ face is one of aggravation and affection and barely repressed impulses: one that Derek never gets tired of seeing, quite frankly. “Deal?” Stiles reaches tentatively across the table and holds Derek’s knuckles. If they were better at things, Derek might turn his hand and they could hold hands like a normal couple; instead he twists his hand up and they end up with their palms pressed together, fingers laced. Very Romeo and Juliet.
“Throw in a promise to quit carrying me bridal style,” says Stiles, leaning in toward him, “and you’ve got yourself that deal.”
“No deal,” says Derek. “You like it.”
“Do not.”
“Sure.”
“I don’t.”
“Uh huh.”
“Turns out?” says Stiles, directing his free hand into a jabbing sort of pointing motion at Derek. “You’re really shitty at groveling.” No arguments from Derek. “Also?” Stiles goes on. “Turns out I don’t like romantic dinners.”
“No?” He seems to have had a pretty good time. The noise he made when he crammed an unagi roll into his mouth was memorable enough that Derek can see himself unearthing that recall for personal use in the future.
“No,” says Stiles. “They always stick a table between us.”
Derek tells him, “I think they do that on purpose.”
“Mm,” answers Stiles. “You wanna do me on purpose?” An interesting proposition. “Ooh, wait,” gushes Stiles. “You know what I’ve always wondered? Can you, like, do it in mid-air? In the f – in the fucking sky?”
“Can or should?” Derek says. “What’re you, fourteen? No. We’re using a bed.”
“Well, I don’t even want to anymore,” sniffs Stiles; but he pounces the second they’re inside his apartment all the same.
@imagine-sterek sorry for yet another long rant but this idea is just so cute I couldn’t help myself!
Imagine Derek being a single dad with twin daughters and him going to all the dance recitals and school award ceremonies and letting them paint his nails and braid his hair and being such a pro at tea parties he might as hell have a PhD on it and the other deputies tease him for it (except the sheriff cuz he knows what its like with kids, he came dressed up as batman on take your child to work day for 4 years cuz Stiles swore up & down his dad was a superhero) but then one day Derek gets called to work on his day off due to being understaffed and he arrives at the station with two 6 year old girls, one on his shoulders and the other clinging to his leg as he walks, both of them giggling about. Derek has a million rainbow colored clips on his hair, blue nail polish (cuz blue is pretty), and the deadliest glare on earth.
He knows he’ll never live this down but if anyone dares to say one word about his attire in front of his baby girls Derek is going to fucking eat them cuz his babies worked really hard on his makeover and he isn’t going to take it off and make them sad simply because he’s afraid of being teased. They can laugh and point all they want any other day but not in front of his girls, he’ll beat them to a pulp if they so much as snicker in front his princesses. He wasn’t able to get a babysitter on time so his coworkers are just gonna have to keep their comments to themselves if they want to stay in one piece.
So there he is working on a Saturday afternoon with his two 6 year olds coloring on the other side of his desk when someone speaks.
“Love your hair, man.”
Derek is about to rip this guy to shreds when he looks up to see the most beautiful man he has ever seen staring back at him with a cheeky smile on his face.
Then the beautiful man starts talking to his princesses and asking if they can make him look as pretty as Derek and his little girls go nuts! They’re instantly on top of the gorgeous boy with their little hands working lightning fast to braid his brown locks and make him ‘prettier than than the prettiest princess’ and the guy is laughing and chatting away with the girls and Derek is sure this is what being in love feels like.
I don’t know what to say other than I’M SORRY. I’m sorry that I helped reinfect you. I managed to get clean for awhile, but then I fell off the wagon last year and now I’m causing other people to hurl themselves back into the trashpile??????? MEA VERY CULPA.
But seriously, I have long felt that every scene of Derek bleeding and/or being electrocuted and/or being made to feel guilt feelings and/or watching everything and everyone he loves die screaming should be matched with a MINIMUM of 37 new fanfics where he worries about Important Issues such as the following:
-Is he using fabric softener correctly?????? -Since he is A Millennial, is he to blame for the housing market? It is true that he does like avocado toast, and that he does not want to buy a new house, but they are unrelated, inasmuch as his feelings on the second matter are more related to the “everyone he loves dies screaming” history rather than a problem with student loans and stagnant wages -He doesn’t want the new AirBuds, he prefers having an actual cord, because he just knows that if he has an accidental backflip situation one of them will fall out -Why don’t his kale chips come out right? He is following the recipe!!! He has seen Cora make them and he is doing everything she does! What is he doing wrong???? -He feels like the chipotle mayo at his favorite deli has changed, and he isn’t sure what is different, and he kind of wants to ask about it but he’s not sure if he’s “there yet” when it comes to chatting with service employees like a normal person -why can’t he find that video of an elephant painting a painting? He watched it just a few weeks ago, and now he can’t remember how he found it the first time, and it is super frustrating -there is a cat that lives outside his building, and it looks like she is maybe pregnant, and he is worried that she won’t be able to find a nice warm and dry space to have her babies, but he isnt sure what to do about it -agribusiness practices
“I’m worried about her,” Derek says, his face twisting in concern.
Stiles is debating the best way to get his laptop to run faster, so he only half-hears what Derek is saying. “Worried about who?”
“It’s been two months,” Derek continues, “or close to it. She’s probably pretty close to giving birth and I’m not sure if she has a safe place to do it. It’s supposed to rain all week.”
Stiles has just discarded “throwing it out the window” as an option for dealing with his laptop–he cannot afford a new one–when he registers what it is that Derek’s said. He whips around from his perch on the barstool and nearly sends his water bottle careening to the ground. “Wait, what? Giving birth? Who’s pregnant? Is it Cora? Oh God, is it Lydia? Wait, no, I’d have noticed that.”
Derek finally turns to look at him–he’s been staring broodily out the window for the past ten minutes–and gives Stiles the most patently unimpressed bitch face on the planet. “I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about Cocoa.”
This is a new name. “Cocoa,” Stiles repeats, hoping Derek will take the clue and elaborate.
“The black cat who lives in the alley?” Derek says, like this is something Stiles should just know. “The one I’ve been feeding every day for the past four months?”
“I know you think I know everything about everyone, big guy, and I do appreciate that assessment of my abilities, but I have actually been more concerned with college recently,” Stiles points out.
Derek rolls his eyes, but thankfully doesn’t press the point. He turns back to the window and fixes his glare there.
“So why don’t you take her to the vet or something?” Stiles asks.
“She won’t let me get near enough,” Derek says. “She’ll eat the food I let out, but she still won’t let me pet her.”
He sounds so sad about this. Stiles tries very hard not to find it adorable, and fails utterly. “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he says, in an effort to make Derek feel better. “You can probably just put out a bucket or something for her? A makeshift shelter that’ll stay dry?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, still staring off into the alley. “Maybe.”
***
Stiles returns the next week to find a loud black cat and four tiny, mewling, equally black kittens lounging on a blanket pallet in Derek’s guest room.
“Not a word,” Derek orders him.
Stiles holds up his hands and smirks. “I didn’t say anything.”
“For once,” Derek mutters.
Stiles lets him have that one. Besides, he didn’t say anything about no pictures, and Stiles is more than happy to snap roughly 300 photos of Derek Hale and the tiny black kittens and save them all for when he needs to coo over the most adorable thing in the world.
Derek would know the sound of Stiles Stilinski’s Jeep anywhere, but it was still a surprise to see it pulling down the dirt road to the compound in Mexico where he and Cora had been living for the last year.
“Stiles,” Derek said with a smile when the Jeep stopped, “How have you been?”
“Get in loser, we have a town to help save,” Stiles said with a wide smile that Derek knew meant trouble, “again.”
“What happened this time,” Derek asked as Stiles put the car in park and hopped out. He was taller and broader than he had been the last time Derek had seen him, he looked more settled. He looked good.
“How the hell should I know, it feels like there’s some new crisis every couple months and they keep getting more and more outrageous,” Stiles said, “So you want to come help or what?”
“Sure,” Derek said, looking at Cora who shot him a knowing look, it clearly told him that she knew what was motivating him to go back, “Let me grab some clothes.”
Twenty minutes later Derek hugged Cora goodbye and got into the passenger seat of the Jeep. The gearshift whined when Stiles changed from second to third, but the car kept going.
“I can’t believe this thing is still alive and kicking,” Derek said with fondness in his voice. The Jeep (and Stiles) had saved his life more than once, he would never forget that.
Stiles flicked him on the let and said, “Roscoe has only ever been nice to you, show him some respect.”
“Of course,” Derek said with a smile, “I owe him my life after all. Both of you.”
The look Stiles gave him was appraising, like he wasn’t sure if Derek was being serious, but when he spoke he said, “I think we’re even at this point.”
“If you say so,” Derek said, flipping on the radio to fill the quiet.
“I do,” Stiles said, looking at Derek again and making his stomach flip.
After a long moment Derek said, “When this is all over, we could thank each other over dinner.”
“Or we could thank each other at the motel we’re saying at tonight,” Stiles said with a smirk, like he was expecting Derek to blush and change the subject.
“I could thank you all night long if you want,” Derek said and Stiles blushed, his mouth opening in shock, “But I think we should get some sleep when we get there, if I know Beacon Hills at all, we’re in for a long fight.”
When it was all over and the dust settled, Stiles thanked Derek and Derek thanked Stiles.
All night and well into the morning, in several different positions. When they left Beacon Hills a week later, neither of them looked back.
“My name is Sh-tiles.”He tests it out. No, not
right. “Sh-ties? Sh-ti? Stiles!” He yells and then
promptly begins laughing. It’s a funny word. “My name is funny.”
He laughs again and looks around, he’s outside, yeah, he can see the
street. And he’s – sitting down? On the ground? Why? He tries to
stand up, fails.
Nope. He giggles. Maybe he should stay here and take a nap, he’s kind
of tired. And hungry. Hmmn, pizza. “I want pizza.” He says. Where
can he get pizza?
“Stiles!” Someone screams.
Hey, it’s his name! “I’m Stiles!” He yells. “I know that!” He
laughs again when someone kneels in front of him. “I’m Stiles!”
“Yes, you are.” The guy says, mutters thank God and I told you to stay inside. He has
green eyes, Stiles likes green eyes.
“Your eyes are pretty.” He has pretty lips too, Stiles kind of
wants to kiss them. “Can I kiss you?”
The guy closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Not now. Let me take you
home first.”
“Why?” Stiles whines as the guy helps him stand up. Hmmnn, Stiles
leans his head against the guy’s shoulder, it’s warm. It’s definitely
nicer than the ground, maybe he should take a nap. “Hmmmnn.”
He sighs. “I like you.” He slurs, closing his eyes happily.
–
He startles awake when he feels someone messing with his shoes.
“Gah!” He screams, jumping back and nearly falling off a
bed. “The fuck? Who are you?” He keeps screaming, reaches for a
pillow and throws it at the guy’s head.
“Stiles –” The guy starts, raising his hands, “calm down.”
“I’m calm!” He answers. Wasn’t he calm? He’s calm! The calmest!
The most calm! The guy keeps staring at him. His eyes are green.
“Green eyes.” He says, laughs when the guy raises an eyebrow.
“Your eyes are pretty.” He reaches for the guy’s face, but it’s
too far. He whines. Why is it that far? “Eyebrows.” He slurs and
laughs.
“It’s raining,” Derek says, voice low and disappointed and almost apologetic because he’s ridiculous. Ridiculous.
“I know, isn’t it great?” Stiles says with a happy sigh.
They walk up over the gentle arch of the bridge over the little creek, arm-in-arm. The rain patters against the umbrella Derek’s holding over
their heads and makes round, musical sounds as it splashes into the
water below them.
“You hate when it rains like this,” Derek replies, frowning over at him. “I thought you’d be disappointed.”
Stiles
leans on his arm he has looped through Derek’s, brushing his lips past a
smooth-shaven cheek. It makes him smile, because Derek had insisted.
For the photos, he’d said. Just like how he’d insisted on bespoke suits,
and spending way too much money on champagne.
Champagne that’s now competing with happiness for most bubbly substance inside Stiles.
“Yeah, but you love
this weather. You love the way all the plants brighten up, the way
everything quiets down, the way the little animals huddle and cuddle in
their little bitty houses. So yeah, it’s great. You’re great. Everything
is great.”
Derek flashes him one of his rare, full-breadth
smiles, and Stiles knows, he just knows how stupidly happy he must look
in return but he doesn’t care. He gets so caught up in staring at
Derek’s face that when the bridge ends and the smooth path begins again,
he catches the edge of his dress-shoe and stumbles. If it weren’t for
the fact that his arm is looped solidly through Derek’s, he’d have gone
flying. As it is, he just ends up twisting around and stumbling into
Derek’s side.
Derek sighs heavily, casting his eyes skyward
theatrically in a move that facetiously expresses exasperation. It ends
up looking more like fondness.
“Shut up, you love me,” Stiles grumbles.
“Yep,” Derek says, looking stupid and smug and perfect.
Stiles
looks down to where Derek’s hand is wrapped around the umbrella handle.
It somehow has him smiling even wider. He wraps his hand around
Derek’s, slotting his fingers into the grooves between Derek’s knuckles
as they resume walking along the path through the serene and elegant
beauty of the Japanese gardens, stealing just a few minutes for
themselves while the others deal with… things. Scott’s frantic
explanation hadn’t made any sense, and Lydia had shoved them in the
direction of the Japanese gardens with orders not to return till
notified and Stiles couldn’t care less about whatever’s wrong because he
already has everything he needs.
“This is not the best day ever,” he announces decisively.
“No?” Derek asks, brows furrowed.
“It’s
the best day yet,” Stiles explains quickly, easing the lines starting
to form on Derek’s face. “I can’t say ever, though it feels like
nothing’s going to top this for a while, but the best part, the whole point of today is knowing someday, something
will. Maybe it’ll be something big, like when we christen our first
house. Maybe it’ll be just the most boring day ever and I’ll just be
watching you fall asleep while reading in front of our fireplace. Maybe
it’ll be every week. I don’t know. But I know it’s going to happen. So
no, I’m not going to say today is the best day of my life-“
“But it’s the best day yet,” Derek finishes for him with the softest smile, the one that makes Stiles’s heart ache
it’s so precious to him. “Better than anything I was able to imagine
for a long time. Till recently, anyway. Till you. And it’s just the
beginning.”
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, holding up his left hand so
that the light catches the smooth band around his fourth finger on his
left hand. He leans his head on his husband’s shoulder as they gaze at
it together. “Yeah.”
All I keep thinking is “THAT’S NOT HOW WE LOOK AT FRIENDS, STEVEN.”
I should probably be asleep but here, have a drabbly… thing.
-x-
Steve hasn’t had friends in a long time.
Oh, he had people he was close to. His team, and Freddy, and Nick. But he never really felt like he could let them in all the way. And well, other than Freddy, no one really tried.
Even now, he’s not even sure the rest of them noticed that he was holding back.
Maybe it’s not that they were friends but more they weren’t close friends. Not like Chin and Kono are now. Not like Danny.
Danny though, Danny is a whole different story.
Steve thinks of his life in stages. There’s Childhood, that ends with a car bomb and a plane ride and sorrow. Then there’s Navy, full of danger and adrenaline and instinct. And then there’s Five-O.
As much as he loves Chin and Kono–and he does, even if he might not ever be able to tell them–he didn’t stay for them.
He stayed for Danny. The brash, tough detective that didn’t care who Steve was, just wanted to solve his dad’s murder. Who called his daughter monkey and said he was a maniac but followed him into hell anyway. Danny, who didn’t hesitate to tell him when he was wrong or when he was being stupid, and didn’t hesitate to defend him either.
So no, Danny’s not his friend. He’s his ocean. Emotional compass, physical touchstone. The pinnacle on which Steve judges the rest of his life.
The inspiration for staying his course.
Someone took his family away once. He’ll be damned if anyone takes Danny too.
Steve doesn’t look at Danny as a friend. Danny’s always been something more than that.
Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand. Four years into this relationship and he still gets hit by all the feelings every times their hands touch. He likes how their hands fit into each other, how he melts every time he squeezes Derek’s hand and how Derek squeezes back. Sometimes he likes to put his feelings into words, wants to explain them to Derek and ask him if he gets the feelings. But he can’t? How can you put something into words, you’ve never explained before? Like explaining someone who never had Reeses before how Reeses taste or describing a blind person how magnificent the sky looks. All of these things, you feel them but mostly you can’t describe them. They’re just there.
Stiles lifts his head a little so he can glares at Derek. Derek has a little smile on his face. He looks relaxed and okay and Stiles can’t help but lean into him, squeezing his whole arm.
“Derek?” Stiles asks, voice gentle, while he stars at Derek again.
“Hmm?” Derek squeezes his hand this time and then he looks at him. The small smile still covering his lips, the tip of his nose a little red from the cold and Stiles wants to kiss it badly (because Derek has such a nice nose and it needs all the kisses)
At some point they stopped walking, just holding hands and staring at each other. Stiles likes that. When he and Derek just stop doing whatever they were doing and just look at each other. Kissing every inch of the other mans face with their eyes.
Derek’s mostly the one who breaks the moment by leaning in and kissing Stiles on the cheek. Kissing his favourite mole.
“Whatcha thinkin bout?” Stiles asks and a wild grin breaks upon his face.
Derek can’t help but laugh because this is not a sentence that should’ve left Stiles’ smart mouth.
“You. Us. Life” Derek answers after a while. He leans back against the bridge, dragging Stiles with him. Derek uses his hands to bring Stiles closer and leaves his hands on his back. Stiles is standing in front of him now, smiling like an idiot.
“Sounds like a lot of thinking. And drama” he yawns dramatically just to break into a grin again when Derek pulls him closer.
“Every drama is okay as long as you’re in there” Derek says, leaning down to kiss his favourite mole. He’s overwhelmed with his own feelings. Derek can’t believe how much the loves and appreciates Stiles. How he would do anything for him just to keep him save.
Stiles doesn’t give back any sarcastic answer, just pulls Derek into his arms and hugs the hell out of him. Stiles is a little shit, yes, but he knows when to shut his mouth. Knows when Derek really means what he says and knows when Derek needs his hugs because after years of being only friends and many years of pinning and after many many years finally getting into a relationship, Derek still needs his hugs.
Stiles knows that both of them are broken at some point and that they have wounds that will never heal (no, time doesn’t heal wounds, thank you very much to whoever invented this shit)
“You better?” Stiles asks in Derek’s ear. His voice is soft and calm. Derek just presses him closer to his chest, holding into him because at this point, Stiles is everything he needs.
“Yeah” Derek pushes Stiles’ scarf out of the way only to tuck his face into his neck. He breaths deeply, scenting the smell of a new jacket and Derek’s favourite perfume. Slowly he presses a kiss against the pale neck before he pulls away and gets hit by the cold.
Derek can see the worry in Stiles’ eyes. Sometimes Derek spends minutes just trying to explain to Stiles how he feels, how Stiles makes everything okay again and how much he needs to hold him and kiss him and just to sit next to him.
“I’m okay” Derek tells him but Stiles’ expression doesn’t change, so Derek leans in, and watches Stiles’ eyelashes flutter closed as their lips touch. It’s barely a kiss, just a ghost of their lips against each other. Derek can feel Stiles’ hands slide up his jacket only to rest on his arms and Derek’s smile grows because this? Because of all the small gestures Stiles makes? They make Derek feel… important? Sure, Stiles never stops telling Derek how important he is but Stiles also puts his words into action by leaning into Derek, letting his hands rest on Derek’s chest or shoulder. Sometimes Stiles stops whatever he’s doing only to walk to Derek and lay on top of him. Derek would always start laughing and putting his arms around Stiles.
When they break apart, Stiles stares at him, eyes shining and Derek just wants to kiss him again.
“Would that be a cliche if I tell you how much I love you right now?” Stiles asks and leans in again, grinning, just to place a kiss on the tip of Derek’s nose.
“Probably” Derek tells him and takes his hand in his again.
Stiles takes a tentative sip from his cup, surely it was cool enough to drink by now, right? The cream goes down without a hitch until–
He physically recoils from the burning sensation, tongue out as he fans it frantically. The liquid inside spatters on the table from all the failing.
A quiet chuckle makes Stiles pause, Derek the traitor, taking glee in the death of Stiles’s precious tastebuds! He was looking forward to that fruit pie…
Looking over his cup with his stupidly attractive eyebrows perked in judgement and a shit eating grin plastered to his face, Derek slides over a napkin.
Stiles presses his lips together and begins to clean his mess, a grin of his own forming as the werewolf’s begins to falter.
“Stiles, no.”
“You know, at times like these I wonder which mug is hotter? The one in my hand or your face.”
Derek’s groan is a thing of beauty.
“Come on babe, you have to know that you’re beau-tea-ful”
Head in hands, his husband’s response is an almost inaudible cry of “ You’re not even drinking tea, you have hot chocolate!”
“Aww Der, don’t be depresso drink your espresso” he quips
shealwaysreads 