Changing Patterns

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"Talking" 'Thinking...
Important
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Stiles gasped as he felt Derek's hands slide over his shoulders and down his chest. The human had moved to the library in attempts to clean up his knowledge a little more, though here he is getting distracted, two days from their talk. Well, two know seeing as it's five in the morning after another all nighter with the books. Stiles freezes as Derek's hands raise higher towards his neck. They're softer then normal, and Derek wouldn't do this somewhere he could be caught. Damn emotionally constipated werewolf who hates pda. Stiles shot up from his seat to be met with a chuckling Peter, he caught the falling chair and leaned it back up.

"Sorry, did I scare you stiles." He cooed to the younger, a glare settling in his skin. "What? I thought if Derek is allowed, then," Peter trailed off his words as Stiles's eyes widened.

"Don't start. Shut up, and leave me alone." Stiles snaps, his hand raising to point at the door. Peter glances at it before peering at stiles with a sky smirk.

"Oh~. Come on." The older whines before stiles again snaps at him.

"Know Peter, leave." Stiles jutts his hand toward the door, Peter blinking and stepping back besides the shit eating grin on his face.

"Let me know if things get a little heated, between you and the nephew." Again he coos to stiles. The boys cheeks heating and reddening.

"Fuck you peter. There, there's nothing going on just leave, right there, like a good doggy, just that way." Stiles speaks as though to a puppy as he directs Peter to the door with a glare.

This time the werewolf's smirk falters as he steps back again. He looks to his feet as the continue to move, back two more steps, turn around, and leave. Once directly outside of the doorframe he stops. Completely frozen to look up and stare down the vacant hall at the large dark wood door. He blinks in confusion as he'd not actually meant to leave, or wanted too, he had games to play, things to set up. Instead he left, his body moved without permission. Peter heard nothing but again his body moved, splitting the hall and moving to the side as stiles rushed out with the intention of shouldering Peter.

Both stared at one another for a moment before stiles snaps his head away and drops his bag and two books onto the steps loudly. The human then turns away and starting into the dining room for breakfast, as per usual. Peter sighed and nearly growled at the little control he had over his body in that moment. Stepping forward to join stiles in the left side of the home where he'd sit at the table and do pretty much nothing while the younger bustled around the kitchen making some extravagant American dream breakfast for the pack. Stiles pulls out a large oatmeal container and placed it next to a pot, then moving from the pantry to the cabinets and pulling out bowels. He takes out 14 bowels, minus himself and Liam then moves to the spoons and retrieves the correct amount. Next to the fridge where he pulls out the box of individual yogurt cups and places those with the rest of his collected items.

By 7:30 in the morning everyone seems to be up and gathering their bowels of oatmeal or yogurt. Each specialized to be what someone likes and each paired with either water, orange juices, or apple juice. The extra jugs on the table for those who would like a second cup. Each bowel had fruit; varying from strawberry, blueberries, pineapple, apple, and raspberries, and oats, weather it be oatmeal or oat chunks as a topping. Stiles sighed as he rinsed the pot he used to cook the oatmeal. Isaac, being the last down the stairs, trotted his way into the kitchen and slows once he reaches stiles.