You hit me at exactly the right time because I was just finishing this:

Just picture Derek waking up late on a quiet Sunday morning, pulling on Stiles’ worn FBI shirt in a sleepy haze, and shuffling out to the kitchen where there’s a mug of fresh coffee waiting for him. Stiles is making breakfast and just lets him putter around in the background while he wakes up–he still finds a half-asleep Derek impossibly endearing, and if he can avoid waking him up fully, he does. Every chance he gets. It’s still something of a novelty that Derek doesn’t jerk awake at the slightest movement or creaking floorboard.

In this particular future, they’ve got a house up in the mountains overlooking Beacon Hills, and Derek likes to shuffle out onto the deck to drink his coffee and read the paper when he’s conscious enough. It usually takes a few tries to get both the sliding door and the screen unlocked and open, but he gets there eventually. Stiles just lets it happen, however long it takes.

When breakfast is ready and on the table, he follows Derek outside and hugs him from behind so he hook his chin over his shoulder and look out at the city. There’s a chilly breeze because it’s moving into fall, but with Derek in his arms blocking the wind, he’s still warm. 

He presses kisses to Derek’s neck and stubbly jaw, and runs his hands up under the front of his own shirt, and marvels at the extra space through the chest and shoulders. Derek’s eased up on his workouts over the years, the further from danger and memories they got, and he’s not soft by any means, just less obsessive with being prepared for an attack of any kind. He doesn’t feel like he has to be a physical wall against any and all threats, not anymore.

There are good days and bad, of course there are bad days with everything they’ve been through in life, but the weekends are always theirs. The weekends are for waking up late and having real breakfast that’s not a rushed piece of toast in the car on the way into the Sacramento field office, and half-asleep coffee on the deck while the city comes alive. 

They’ll probably go back to bed after they eat–maybe have some lazy and playful sex if they’re in the mood. Maybe they’ll just spoon and doze into the afternoon, because even though Stiles loves being the little spoon when he sleeps, he also loves holding Derek in his arms while the sun’s light lazily inches across their bedroom.

“Breakfast’s ready,” he murmurs quietly, and presses a kiss to Derek’s shoulder before pulling him back into the house. Derek’s eyes still aren’t open all the way, be he willingly goes where Stiles tugs him, knowing he’ll never steer him wrong.