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goodlucktai · 1 year ago

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keep your brittle heart warm

one piece pairing: chopper & luffy word count: 2k title borrowed from peace by taylor swift smile again au

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A year after the funeral, there are mostly good days.

Brook’s initially interrupted tour has finally been rescheduled, so he’s out of state. Everyone else has shifted their work or class schedules from reduced hours back to full-time. Their lives are returning to what Usopp calls a degree of separation from normal. The old normal.

Because Luffy smiles like he used to, and sleeps through the night. He’s re-enrolling in his classes next term and keeps busy in the meantime. They all help him keep busy. He has mostly good days.

Chopper knew from the moment he came downstairs that today was going to be a bad one.

In the usual morning crush of breakfast and rushed showers and last-minute carpool arrangements, Luffy perches on a stool in front of the kitchen island and tears his egg and sausage sandwich in half and then in half again. He lets the noise cover him like a blanket, familiar and precious, but he doesn’t add to it.

When Sanji’s ride arrives, he says, “Luffy, move it.” Because Luffy is supposed to go to the Baratie with him today.

Luffy licks egg yolk off his thumb and doesn’t look up from the deconstructed English muffin on his plate.

“Sanji can go without me,” he says.

If a train crashed through the front of the house, it probably would have startled Sanji less than that statement did. His phone chimes, reminding him of the car waiting for him outside, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

“Okay,” the chef says, doing a decent job of sounding normal. “Are you coming by later?”

“Dunno,” Luffy replies. He has on a blank expression that all of his friends know better than to take at face value.

When Chopper first met them, the Portgas brothers lived in a cramped two-bedroom apartment that he remembers as bigger than it actually was. Ace was always a warm, laughing presence there, and never minded making room for yet another rowdy teenager in his busy life.

That was where it began. Those long summer afternoons crammed onto the sofa together, the late nights making a mess of the kitchen because someone couldn’t sleep. The apartment itself is long-gone, the whole building having been gutted and renovated a few years ago, but it’s where they started cultivating the idea of forever together.

It’s where Chopper first realized that home has nothing to do with walls and a roof.

Ace is present in this house, too. There are dog-eared books stacked on the shelf that he never finished before starting a new one, and a burnt-orange leather coat in the front closet that he found in a thrift store and shared custody of with Usopp and Nami, and fiery spices in the cupboard that Sanji only started experimenting with in his cooking as a teenager because their big brother preferred his food hot.

Sometimes it feels like he could just be in the next room; like they’d only have to walk down the hall to see him again.

It’s not good to stay cooped up here alone.

Zoro slides his phone out of his pocket and starts texting someone. Probably the director of the museum where he works. His coworker once said that Mihawk was more of an out-of-touch, weirdly overbearing dad than he was a boss.

At the time Zoro had disagreed out of principle, because he and Perona have fun getting on each other’s last nerve. But Chopper thinks she was right. Anyone else would have been fired by now with how many times Zoro has called in over the last horrible year.

Robin used to gently lecture him about work ethic, but she gave up on that ages ago. There isn’t a force on earth that could drag Zoro away from Luffy’s side on the bad days. Or even on the good ones, really. Zoro has never been confused about what his real job is.

Sanji’s phone chimes again. He seems to be frozen in the entryway. He looks like he doesn’t want to leave. He’s two years older than Luffy and Zoro, a year older than Nami and Usopp—which means that sometimes he gets all protective of them, the way everyone in their family sometimes gets protective of Chopper.

Zoro doesn’t always appreciate it. In fact, he rarely does. Chopper understands. There are times when he doesn’t appreciate it, either.

“Old man Zeff will be annoyed if you’re late,” Luffy says, finally looking up from his plate. “Take Zoro, too, okay? The museum is getting an important shipment today. Zoro needs to be there.”

It makes Chopper’s heart hurt, how bewildered Zoro looks. “I don’t care about that,” he says.

“Yes, you do,” Luffy replies frankly. “You and Robin talked about it for ages. Three swords from the sixteenth century, that’s what you said. They belonged to a famous warrior, and now they’re on loan from some super special martial arts museum in Japan, and you get to be the one to unpack them. So you’re gonna go do that.”

Chopper, who isn’t allowed to take more than three courses at a time, because Dr. Kureha is very protective of him in her own way and yells things like “you’re sixteen years old!” during their weekly phone calls when he timidly asks if he can take an extra biology class next term, pipes up, “I don’t have any lectures or labs today! I’ll be here!”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but instead Zoro and Sanji both look more troubled. When Sanji’s phone chimes one last time, he strides to the front door, yanks it open, and bellows, “Give me a fucking minute! God damn, just let the meter run, asshole!”

Luffy smiles, because he thinks everything his friends do is funny and charming, even when they’re being rude and inconveniencing complete strangers.

“Bring us something good to eat when you come home,” he says. It sounds like a casual thing to say, but it’s clearly his final word on the matter.

Their friends finally leave, with obvious reluctance, and Luffy sighs when they’re gone. It’s not a sigh of relief or exasperation, it's just a breath he was holding that he doesn’t have to hold anymore.

Down to the blood and bone and marrow of him, Luffy is a free spirit. There’s nothing he values more than independence and autonomy. He wants his loved ones to do exactly what they want to do at all times and nothing else.

So Chopper knows it’s been killing him to hold them back. Zoro doesn’t have a problem with skipping work, because he could get a million different jobs but there’s only one Luffy in the whole world. For him, that’s the simplest math there is.

The Luffy from a year and a month ago would have understood. He would have laughed at his friends’ transparent attempts to stay home with him and let them do whatever they wanted. He would have known that it was as much for their sake as it was his.

The Luffy from a year and a month ago hadn’t had this big awful hole carved into his life. He’s still learning his way around it. The map his mind knows to follow is still outdated in a few areas, still wired to take him places he can’t go anymore.

Grief upsets the chemistry of the brain. It alters neural pathways. Healing from that is complicated and backwards and sometimes it can be a lifelong process.

Luffy is the most perceptive person that Chopper has ever known, but he’s anxious now in a way he didn’t used to be. Doubts can creep up on him even here in their sunny kitchen.

Chopper won’t have his medical degree for years, but Luffy is good friends with somebody who already does. Which means that Chopper is good friends with that person, too. Which means he can pull out his phone while Luffy picks his way through the rest of his food and send a text that only says, Bad day. :(

Six minutes later, the reply comes back: Omw.

They’re piled on the sofa together, watching cartoon reruns, when the doorbell rings. Luffy tilts his head curiously, knowing very well that no one is supposed to be back home until lunch.

“Do you think Zoro skipped after all?” he asks blithely. “I’ll beat him up if he did.”

Chopper shakes his head without lifting it, cheek pressed against Luffy’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to spoil the surprise, which he definitely will do if he opens his mouth or makes eye contact.

The doorbell is just a formality; the person Chopper texted has a key.

When the door opens, muffled voices from outside become clearer, and the good-natured one-sided chatter that fills the entryway makes Chopper smile automatically at the same time that Luffy perks up and flings himself halfway over the back of the sofa in bald delight.

“Rosi!” he yells by way of hello.

“Luffy!” Rosinante yells back with equal enthusiasm. A second later he manages to trip over his own two feet, and his entire body slams into the entryway floor face-first. Everything standing on the console table by the door wobbles precariously and then falls on top of him.

The resounding silence that follows is broken by Luffy’s surprised laughter.

“Oh my god, Cora,” Law mutters, stooping to help him up.

“Are you okay?!” Chopper only just manages not to shriek. He’ll never get used to the way Rosinante can brush himself off and walk away from accidents that should have at the very least left him with a broken bone.

Sure enough, he says, “Ah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” followed by, “Oops, sorry,” when he sits up and nearly knocks the console table over with his shoulder.

Law’s dad is big and intimidating, ex-military with the build to prove it. But he’s very kind. Nami says too kind for his own good, whatever that means. And even though no one would ever assume he and Law were related, with the differences in their complexion and coloring and bone structure, it’s obvious they’re family. They think the world of each other.

Actually, Rosinante brags about Law so much that even Chopper gets tired of hearing about his medical accomplishments.

Luffy stretches his arms as far towards Law as they’ll go.

“Traffy, you came to visit! Who told you to? Was it Sanji?”

Law ignores him outright until Rosinante is back on his feet and steered safely into the living room, and only then does he drift casually into Luffy’s reach. He submits to the one-sided hug without enthusiasm, but if he really didn’t want it, he would have gone around the couch on the other side.

In a smoother lie by omission than Chopper would ever be capable of, Law says, “You think Sanji can tell me what to do?”

Luffy squeezes his friend one last time and then lets him go abruptly to round on Rosinante instead. The two of them lift their hands automatically to sign along as they talk. Luffy’s ASL is awkward and clumsy, still learning, while Rosinante’s hands only seem to move with any grace when he’s using them to speak with.

The white scars that wrap around Rosinante’s wrists are visible once he rolls his cuffs back to keep his sleeves out of the way. Luffy, whose own scar peeks out of the neck of his T-shirt, would never think to comment on something like that.

Usually, Chopper likes to practice ASL with them. Rosinante is a fun teacher. Instead, he follows Law into the adjoining dining room. Law brings work with him everywhere he goes, and he’ll sometimes let Chopper look at stuff if it isn’t confidential.

“Anything new at the Heart?” he asks, trying not to be nosy as Law opens his laptop. “Any new patients? Baffling new cases? Medical marvels?”

“No,” Law says. He pokes Chopper in the forehead, pushing his head away firmly. “My hospital isn’t a soap opera and you don’t work there yet.”

“Nothing exciting?”

“Not unless you think retrograde amnesia is exciting. Potential client came in yesterday to ask about outpatient physical therapy and meet the staff. He kept making jokes about the car that hit him when he was a child. Unfortunately, Shachi and Penguin thought he was hilarious.” He levels Chopper with a narrow-eyed stare before he can do more than open his mouth. “Finish med school and apply for residency at the Heart and then I’ll tell you all about it.”

Chopper’s mouth clicks shut. He slinks a little lower in his chair to sulk. “That’s forever from now. And you guys don’t even have a residency program.”

“We will when you apply for it,” Law replies evenly.

Warmth fills Chopper’s chest like his own personal miniature sun. You’d never guess how kind this reserved man was just by looking at him or even talking to him for a few minutes. It takes really knowing him to figure it out. Rosinante is silly and a total klutz and kind of scary at first just ‘cause he’s so big, but he must have been a great dad to grow up with. He did a good job with Law.

“Can I ask another question?” Chopper says shyly.

“Depends. Would answering it be a HIPAA violation?”

“What made you decide to be Luffy’s friend?” he blurts. “I mean, I’m glad you did! But you must have dozens of other patients. I’m sure you’ve helped survivors of accidents even worse than the one my big brothers were in. I know that Lu can be awfully stubborn, and he sort of latches onto the people he decides to keep, but you went along with it. You let him keep you.” Chopper rubs his fingers against the grain of the tabletop, not brave enough to look up. “I was just wondering why.”

“He reminded me of someone,” Law says, and puts his headphones on to work. It’s a dismissal if Chopper’s ever seen one, and as much of an answer as he’s likely to get.

When he reenters the living room, it’s to find Luffy grinning wildly, bright eyes flitting between Rosinante’s face and his hands as the man tells a rambling story about his latest in a long line of mishaps at work.

Hopping over Rosi’s long legs and throwing himself onto the couch next to Luffy, Chopper signs along as he says, “What’s so funny? What did I miss?”

Chopper was young when Dr. Hiriluk died, but he remembers every horrible second of all the days that came after. He remembers Dr. Kureha learning how to be the patient one, the gentle one, shouldering Hiriluk’s half of the job so that someone would be there to hold Chopper while he cried.

It’s a process, she would tell him. Any doctor worth their salt would say the same thing. It’s not a wound you can see, but it still needs to be treated. Give yourself a little grace.

Of all the lessons she taught him, that’s the one he keeps closest to his heart.

Chopper knows a lot about bad days. He and his family have lived through enough of them to become reluctant experts on the subject. He knows how it feels to suffer so acutely you can’t breathe, to hurt in the pit of your chest like you should be gushing blood, even if all the charts and x-rays and experts say you’re fine. He knows how senseless and unpredictable the pain can be, popping up when you least expect it, when you thought you were getting better.

But he knows about healing, too. He knows how to help. All he wants to do is help.

#one piece #opfic #tony tony chopper #monkey d luffy #trafalgar law #donquixote rosinante #my writing #op #smile again #FINALLY wrote my best guy cora i cant believe its taken me this long to write him

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timegays · 1 year ago

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listened to my love mine all mine the entire time I drew this

#The good cop #cora Vasquez #tj caruso #anthony caruso #Tony Caruso jr #My art #whats their ship name. Uh.#Vanthony #?#idk

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hereforrhea · 3 months ago

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Nxt Halloween Havoc predictions + Blank

I would love for trick to win but i wouldnt be mad with Ethan Page again i think hes funny

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notchainedtotrauma · 2 years ago

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Nadeen held a chair and steadied herself. The baby, rushing from the front of her, had slammed into her back, turned and was now shifting around trying to distribute its weight. She closed her eyes and panted one two, one two. "That what the kind of thunderbolt that knocked Saul off his steed and turned him into Paul," Cora said, releasing her friend to move toward the young girl and brace her.

from The Salt Eaters by Toni Cade Bambara

#Toni Cade Bambara #The Salt Eaters #Nadeen #Cora Rider #we seize horror as we bow #care is the sweetest touch

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thefixisin · 1 year ago

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youtube

#CORA #post-apocalyptic #trailer reaction #sci fi #Tony DiGerolamo #Youtube

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amethystarachnid · 1 month ago

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I read your last Tony one-shot, and this “That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stark try to handle a teenage girl someday.” made me thing that this prompt Christmas Morning with the Kids is perfect for Tony 🤣 Tony + reader with a teenage girl and two little boys (or more, it’s up to you), Christmas morning, lots of love, I think it’s perfect ❤️

CHRISTMAS MORNING - part I

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: Life with a teenage daughter, twins boys and a toddler is always chaotic but on Christmas morning? Oh it is pure chaos.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ I merged the two requests because the second one didn't specify anything, hope you both like it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Tony’s warm body is pressed against your side, his arm slung lazily over your waist as you drift in and out of sleep. The glow of the early morning filters through the heavy curtains, and you nestle deeper into the cocoon of your shared blanket, trying to fend off the faint chill in the room. You know it’s Christmas morning, but a part of you is holding on to the luxurious laziness of waking up slowly, in no rush to face the chaos awaiting you downstairs.

That delusion is shattered within seconds.

There’s the distinct sound of heavy, rapid footsteps in the hallway, followed by a breathless, high-pitched “They’re still asleep!” in a stage whisper that echoes through the door.

Before you can even brace yourself, the door flies open, slamming against the wall with an unceremonious bang. Your seven-year-old twins, Alex and Howard, charge into the room like two pint-sized tornadoes, all gangly limbs and boundless energy.

“MOM! DAD! IT’S CHRISTMAS!” Alex shouts, his voice nearly cracking with excitement.

“Wake up! Santa came!” Howard adds, punctuating his declaration by leaping onto the bed with a war cry. He lands on Tony, who lets out a theatrical groan, his arm slipping off your waist.

“Oh, for the love of—” Tony grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow he’s shoved his face into. “Santa didn’t come. He texted me last night saying he was stuck in traffic. Maybe next year.”

“Liar!” Alex accuses, climbing up onto your side of the bed and flopping down against you with all the grace of a hyperactive puppy.

Meanwhile, Howard is enthusiastically bouncing on Tony’s back, yelling, “Dad, Dad, wake up! Mom, he’s not waking up! Should we pour water on him?”

“Do not pour water on me,” Tony warns without lifting his head. “Or I’m canceling Christmas forever.”

“Like you could cancel Christmas,” Cora’s sarcastic drawl cuts through the chaos as she appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with her arms crossed. Your teenage daughter looks impossibly cool for someone who’s been up this early, her messy curls tucked into a Santa hat and an expression that screams she’s simultaneously over it and secretly enjoying the spectacle.

“Thank you, Cora,” you sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and trying to sit up. Alex clings to you like a koala, making it a near-impossible task.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just here for the fallout,” she says, smirking as Howard accidentally knees Tony in the ribs while attempting a dramatic reenactment of Santa’s sleigh taking off.

“Why do we have so many kids?” Tony mutters, finally rolling onto his back and catching Howard mid-bounce. He pulls the boy into a mock wrestling hold, trapping him with a grin that matches Howard’s exactly. “You! You’re under arrest for excessive energy on a federal holiday.”

Howard dissolves into a fit of giggles, his squirming waking Estelle, who’s tucked away in her crib at the corner of the room. A sleepy whine signals her arrival to the party, and you groan, trying to extricate yourself from Alex’s grasp.

“I’ve got her,” you tell Tony, nudging Alex off you gently and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The chill of the hardwood floor makes you shiver, and you hurriedly scoop Estelle up before she can fully wake and start wailing.

“Mama,” she mumbles sleepily, her chubby fists clutching the neckline of your sleep shirt. You press a kiss to her unruly curls, swaying slightly to soothe her.

“She’s up!” Alex declares like it’s the most exciting development of the morning.

“No kidding,” Tony says, finally managing to sit up. He ruffles Howard’s hair, the boy now sprawled across his lap. “Cora, tell me you brought coffee.”

“Do I look like a barista?” she fires back, though there’s a twinkle of amusement in her dark eyes. “You’ve got two legs. Use them.”

“Three, technically,” Tony quips, pointing to Estelle perched on your hip. “But she’s not a coffee-fetching age yet. That’s a two-year-old skill, right?”

You roll your eyes, bouncing Estelle lightly as she starts to babble nonsense into your neck. “Do you want coffee or not?”

“Desperately,” he says, throwing off the covers and scooping Howard up in one smooth motion. The boy squeals, kicking his legs as Tony spins him around like a sack of potatoes. “Alright, troops! Let’s move this operation downstairs. Santa won’t wait forever.”

“Santa already came,” Cora corrects him with an exaggerated sigh, leading the charge out of the room with a nonchalant wave over her shoulder.

Tony gives you a sheepish grin as you follow her with Estelle, Alex trailing close behind. “At least she’s consistent,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, nudging him playfully. “And for the record, I’m blaming you for the chaos genes in all of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a wink. “But you love me anyway.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” he echoes with a chuckle, as the sounds of your children’s laughter and excitement fill the house.

You follow the stampede of your children down the staircase, Estelle still snug in your arms. Her tiny hands tug at the collar of your shirt as she mumbles sleepily, “Downstairs. ‘Telle pancakes.”

Tony, close behind you, catches that and grins. “Hear that? She wants pancakes. Girl’s got excellent taste already.”

“Wonder where she gets it from,” you reply dryly, shifting Estelle to your other hip as you step into the open living room. The sight before you makes your breath catch for a moment: the massive tree glistening with twinkling lights, the piles of colorfully wrapped presents spilling out from underneath, and the faint scent of pine mingling with the lingering warmth of the fireplace.

“Whoa!” Alex exclaims, his eyes wide as he takes in the sheer number of gifts. He and Howard make a beeline for the tree, their hands already itching to tear into the wrapping paper.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you shout, setting Estelle down and hurrying to intercept the twins. You plant yourself in front of the tree, arms outstretched like a referee. “No presents until after breakfast.”

“That’s child cruelty,” Howard protests, folding his arms in exaggerated indignation.

“Yeah!” Alex echoes, pouting. “We’ll starve!”

“You just ate a mountain of cookies last night,” you remind them, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Pretty sure you’ll survive until pancakes.”

“They’re growing boys,” Tony chimes in from the kitchen, his voice teasing. “You’re stunting their emotional development.”

You shoot him a mock glare as he saunters over to the stovetop, already pulling out the griddle pan and the ingredients for his signature pancakes. “I’m about to stunt your emotional development if you don’t back me up on this.”

Tony smirks, cracking an egg into the bowl with one hand. “Relax, honey. Pancakes are coming up. No one’s opening anything until we all eat as a family,” he says, enunciating the last word like he’s laying down the law.

“Fine,” Howard grumbles, flopping onto the couch in defeat. Alex follows, though his gaze keeps darting longingly back toward the tree.

Cora rolls her eyes as she plops into an armchair, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her oversized pajama pants. “You guys are so dramatic. They’re just presents.”

“That’s because you’re too cool to get excited about gifts anymore,” Alex retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“I’m plenty excited,” she says, deadpan, without looking up from her screen.

Meanwhile, Estelle toddles over to you, her little hands reaching up to tug on the hem of your pajama pants. “Mama! I help pancakes?”

You crouch down, brushing her messy curls out of her face. “You want to help Daddy make pancakes?”

“Yesss!” she chirps, her eyes lighting up.

“Alright,” you say, scooping her up and carrying her into the kitchen. “You’re on pancake duty, little miss.”

Tony looks up as you set Estelle on a chair beside the counter. “Ah, my sous-chef has arrived!” He grabs a small plastic whisk from the drawer and hands it to her. “Alright, Estelle. Stir the batter like this, okay?” He demonstrates with exaggerated movements, which she copies with gleeful determination.

“Mix-mix-mix!” Estelle chants, splashing a bit of batter onto the counter. You grab a paper towel to clean it up, grinning at the sight of Tony encouraging her with a dramatic chef’s commentary.

“You’ve got a natural talent, kiddo,” he tells her. “I see a future in Michelin-starred pancake artistry.”

“She’s two,” you remind him, though you’re laughing.

“Never too early to start thinking about college,” he quips, flipping the first pancake onto a waiting plate with a flourish.

“Where’s mine?” Alex calls from the living room, earning a chorus of similar demands from Howard.

“Patience is a virtue, boys!” Tony shouts back, stacking another golden pancake onto the growing pile.

You glance at the table and start setting out plates, silverware, and glasses. Cora, noticing the motion, sets her phone aside and starts helping without being asked. It’s a small thing, but it warms your heart—she might act too cool for her siblings, but she’s always got a quiet way of pitching in when it counts.

“Alright!” Tony announces, carrying a platter of pancakes to the table. “Breakfast is served! Everyone take a seat.”

Chaos ensues as Alex and Howard sprint to the table, their earlier frustration forgotten. Estelle claps her hands excitedly, repeating, “Pancakes! Pancakes!” as you carry her over to her high chair.

As everyone settles in, Tony winks at you. “Nothing like a Christmas breakfast to get the day started.”

“You mean nothing like a Christmas breakfast to delay the madness of unwrapping gifts,” you reply with a smirk, passing Estelle a small plate with a cut-up pancake.

She picks up a piece with her tiny fingers and holds it up proudly. “Big pancake!”

“Yes, baby, it’s a big pancake,” you say, kissing the top of her head.

The table buzzes with chatter and laughter as the kids dig into their food. Tony keeps up a steady stream of banter, teasing Cora about her phone addiction and making the twins giggle with ridiculous stories about “Santa’s Pancake Factory.” Estelle insists on feeding you a sticky, syrup-drenched bite, which you accept with an exaggerated “Mmm!” that makes her giggle uncontrollably.

“Alright,” Tony says as he leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee. “Breakfast conquered. What’s next?”

You glance toward the living room, where the tree and its mountain of presents beckon. “I think we all know what’s next.”

The moment the last fork clatters onto a plate, the twins leap from their chairs and sprint toward the tree like they’ve been shot out of cannons. Alex dives headfirst into the mountain of gifts, with Howard hot on his heels, their excitement almost tangible.

“Wait!” you call out, rushing to catch up. “We need to take turns so we can all see what everyone gets. No free-for-all!”

“Yes, Mom,” Howard groans, dragging out the word as though it’s the most tedious rule in existence.

Tony strolls into the living room, scooping Estelle out of her high chair on the way and balancing her on his hip. “Listen to your mom, guys,” he says with a mock-serious tone. “Otherwise, Santa’s gonna find out and revoke your gift privileges for next year.”

The boys freeze mid-motion, wide-eyed, clearly weighing whether their dad is serious. You suppress a laugh, knowing full well they’ll believe anything remotely Santa-related for at least a few more years.

“Okay, fine,” Alex concedes, settling cross-legged on the floor.

Cora takes her time getting comfortable in the armchair, her ever-present air of teenage coolness intact. Still, there’s a flicker of anticipation in her expression as she surveys the pile of gifts.

“Alright, Estelle, you’re up first,” you announce, crouching by the tree to grab a small box with her name on it.

Tony sets her down on the rug, where she plops onto her diapered bottom and claps her hands. “Mine!”

“Yes, this one’s yours,” you say, handing it to her. “Go ahead.”

With a focus that’s almost comical, Estelle tugs at the wrapping paper, tearing off little strips until the box underneath is finally revealed. She gasps audibly as she lifts the lid, her tiny face lighting up when she sees the stuffed unicorn nestled inside.

“Corn! Mine corn!” she exclaims, hugging the plush toy tightly to her chest.

“Unicorn,” Tony corrects gently, crouching beside her. “And yes, it’s yours, sweet pea.”

She beams up at him, her joy so pure that it tugs at your heart. “Thank you, Dada!”

“You’re welcome, princess,” he says, ruffling her curls.

The boys go next, and the room erupts into cheers and shouts of delight as they tear through their gifts. Alex nearly loses his mind over the LEGO Star Wars Millennium Falcon set he’s been asking for, while Howard can’t contain his excitement when he unwraps the shiny new electric scooter he’s been dreaming about.

“Oh man, this is the best Christmas ever!” Alex declares, holding up a Nerf gun almost as big as he is.

“Don’t shoot your brother,” you warn as Howard eyes the same toy in his pile.

“No promises,” Tony murmurs under his breath, earning a swat on the arm from you.

Cora watches the chaos with an amused smirk, opening her gifts with a calmness that stands in stark contrast to her brothers’ whirlwind energy. Her eyes light up when she unwraps the vintage vinyl record player you and Tony picked out, and she can’t suppress a grin when she finds the stack of classic rock albums tucked beside it.

“You guys actually remembered,” she says, her tone betraying the faintest hint of gratitude.

“Of course we remembered,” Tony says, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “I’m not that old yet.”

“You’re ancient,” Cora fires back, though the smile on her face takes the sting out of her words.

Once the kids have opened all their gifts and are busy playing with their new treasures, Tony reaches for the neatly wrapped box you prepared for him. He shoots you a look that’s equal parts curiosity and mischief as he tears into the paper.

Inside, he finds a sleek, custom leather jacket embossed with the Stark Industries logo and subtle accents that reflect his personal style. His eyes widen in surprise, and a genuine smile spreads across his face.

“This is amazing,” he says, running a hand over the soft leather. “You’ve got good taste, Mrs. Stark.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you reply, grinning as he pulls you into a quick kiss.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you a small box with a perfectly tied bow.

You open it carefully, your heart skipping a beat as you reveal a delicate gold bracelet adorned with tiny charms representing each member of your family—a star for Tony, a heart for you, and four miniature initials for the kids.

“Oh, Tony,” you whisper, your voice catching slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Merry Christmas, honey.”

Before the moment can grow too sentimental, Cora clears her throat loudly. “Okay, this is gross. Can we move on?”

You laugh, wiping at the corner of your eye. “Fine, fine. What’s next?”

Without answering, Cora reaches under the tree, pulling out two small, sloppily wrapped gifts that you hadn’t noticed before. She holds them out, one in each hand, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

“These are…for you guys,” she says, glancing between you and Tony. “I got them with my own money, so they’re not, like, fancy or anything.”

For a moment, you’re stunned. Cora is notoriously tight-fisted with her allowance, and the thought of her spending it on something for you and Tony nearly undoes you.

“Sweetheart,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, “you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she interrupts, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Just…open them before I change my mind.”

Tony takes one of the gifts while you take the other. The wrapping is haphazard, with too much tape in some places and too little in others, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You unwrap yours first, revealing a small, framed photo of the entire family taken during your summer vacation. The picture captures a rare, candid moment of pure joy, and your throat tightens as you trace your fingers over the glass.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Tony opens his next, revealing a simple black mug with bold white letters that read: World’s Okayest Dad. He bursts out laughing, holding it up for everyone to see.

“This,” he says, his voice shaking with mirth, “is the greatest mug in the history of mugs.”

Cora rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of pride in her expression. “Glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it,” Tony says, setting the mug down and pulling her into a quick hug. “You’re the best, kid.”

You join the embrace, wrapping your arms around both of them. “Thank you, Cora. These are the best gifts we could’ve asked for.”

The boys glance over from where they’re playing with their new toys, looking momentarily confused by the group hug. Estelle toddles over and squeezes herself into the mix, her chubby arms wrapping around your leg.

“Family hug!” she declares, her voice bright and clear.

You look at Tony over the top of Cora’s head, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of love and gratitude. This, you realize, is what Christmas is all about—not the gifts, not the chaos, but the moments of connection that make your family feel whole.

“Alright,” Tony says after a moment, his voice a little hoarse. “Let’s not get too sappy. Who’s ready for round two of pancakes?”

“Me!” the boys shout in unison, and just like that, the room is alive with laughter again.

The afternoon sunlight streams through the living room windows as the kids scatter around the house, their post-gift-opening energy reaching chaotic levels. Estelle is napping in her crib, clutching her beloved new unicorn, while the boys are deeply engrossed in building the LEGO Millennium Falcon on the coffee table. Cora has disappeared into her usual spot on the armchair, headphones in, pretending to ignore her brothers while sneakily keeping an eye on them.

You’re nestled on the couch beside Tony, sipping hot cocoa and enjoying the rare moment of relative calm. He’s idly flipping through his phone, likely working on some project even though it’s Christmas. You nudge him with your elbow.

“No work today, remember?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just checking emails,” he protests, flashing you a quick grin. “Not technically work.”

Before you can reply, the doorbell rings, breaking the peace. Cora’s head pops up from behind her headphones, and she springs to her feet with an uncharacteristic level of enthusiasm.

“I’ll get it!” she calls, already halfway to the door.

Tony narrows his eyes, watching her dart down the hallway. “That was suspiciously quick. What’s she up to?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you reply, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity yourself.

Tony sets his phone down and follows Cora at a leisurely pace, with you trailing after him. When you round the corner, you see Cora standing at the door, holding a neatly wrapped package handed to her by a delivery man. She thanks him quickly and tries to retreat toward the stairs, but Tony steps in front of her like a human barricade.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, crossing his arms. “What’s in the box?”

“Nothing,” Cora says a little too quickly, clutching the package to her chest. “It’s just…a thing.”

“A thing?” Tony echoes, raising an eyebrow. “A mysterious, suspicious thing?”

“Dad, come on,” she groans, trying to sidestep him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, but it is,” Tony insists, his playful tone belying the intense curiosity in his eyes. “You can’t just run off with a secret package on Christmas and expect me not to investigate.”

“Tony,” you say gently, though you’re equally intrigued. “Maybe we should let her—”

“No way,” he interrupts, looking more determined now. “Cora Stark, you unwrap that package right here, right now.”

Cora glances at you, her expression torn between exasperation and pleading. “Mom?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “He’s not going to let it go.”

With a dramatic sigh, Cora slumps onto the nearest chair, placing the package on her lap. “Fine. But don’t freak out.”

Tony squats down in front of her, his eyes narrowing. “Why would I freak out? Should I be freaking out?”

Ignoring him, Cora carefully peels back the wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box. She hesitates for a moment before lifting the lid, revealing a small collection of thoughtful, handmade gifts—a beaded bracelet, a framed photo of the two of them at some school event, and a handwritten note.

“What is this?” Tony asks, frowning as he picks up the bracelet. “Did…did someone make this for you?”

Cora clears her throat, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s from Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Tony repeats, the name dripping with suspicion. “Who’s Ryan?”

“A boy from school,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “We’ve been…you know, kind of dating.”

“Dating?” Tony’s voice jumps an octave, and he stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “You knew about this?”

“I knew,” you admit calmly, trying not to laugh at his reaction. “She told me a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” he exclaims, his hands flying up in mock outrage. “I’m her father! I should know these things!”

“Maybe because you’d act exactly like this,” Cora mutters under her breath.

Tony ignores her, turning back to you with a mock-wounded expression. “Unbelievable. My own wife, conspiring against me.”

“Tony,” you say, laying a hand on his shoulder, “she’s fifteen. This is normal.”

“Normal?” he repeats, as though the word offends him. “Do you know what teenage boys are like? I used to be one.”

“Exactly,” you counter, giving him a pointed look. “Which means you should trust that Cora knows what she’s doing.”

“She doesn’t,” he insists, gesturing wildly. “She’s a kid! She—wait, is this the guy who came to the science fair? The one with the glasses?”

“Yes,” Cora says, rolling her eyes. “And he’s really sweet. He made me that bracelet and wrote me that note, so can you stop acting like he’s a supervillain?”

Tony narrows his eyes, clearly still skeptical, and picks up the note. As he reads it, his expression softens ever so slightly. “Huh,” he mutters, grudgingly. “His handwriting’s pretty neat.”

“See?” Cora says, her exasperation giving way to a tentative smile. “He’s a good guy.”

Tony grumbles something under his breath before straightening up and looking at you. “What’s the protocol here? Do I have to meet him? Give him a lecture about respecting my daughter?”

“I already gave him the lecture,” Cora says quickly, standing up and gathering her gifts. “You can meet him later. Maybe. If you behave.”

Tony snorts. “If I behave? Kid, I invented behaving.”

“That’s a lie, and we all know it,” you interject, patting his arm. “Why don’t you just take this as a chance to prove you’re the cool dad?”

“I am the cool dad,” Tony grumbles, but he doesn’t stop Cora as she heads toward the stairs, her gifts clutched protectively in her arms.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Tony collapses onto the couch dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not ready for this,” he declares, staring at the ceiling.

“She’s growing up,” you say, sitting beside him and leaning into his side. “It’s not a bad thing, Tony.”

“Yeah, but…a boyfriend?” He groans, rubbing his temples. “What happened to the days when her favorite person was me?”

“Those days haven’t gone away,” you assure him with a smile. “You’re just sharing the spotlight now.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Fine. But if this Ryan kid so much as looks at her wrong—”

“You’ll what? Challenge him to a duel?” you tease.

“Maybe,” he mutters, grinning despite himself. “Or I’ll make him sit through my entire TED Talk catalog.”

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” you say, laughing. “But it might work.”

Tony chuckles, pulling you closer as the chaos of the afternoon swirls around you. For all his bluster, you know he wouldn’t trade these moments—or this family—for anything in the world.

I'm such a sucker for family men if you haven't already noticed

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mrsstruggle · 2 months ago

Text

The Beast of War - Chapter 2 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

This is the second part of the Shadow Wolf Series. Read The Lost Child First if you haven't!

Series Summary: In the aftermath of discovering her true identity and reuniting with her long-lost family, Y/N Stilinski finds herself adjusting to a new chapter of her life in Beacon Hills. With her brother and his friends in their senior year at High School, the town faces a fresh new threat. Y/N must navigate the complexities of her new life while confronting the looming threat that threatens to hurt her and the people she loves.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Series Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Stiles Stilinski x Malia Tate (for now), Steve Rodgers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff

Words: 4.9k

Note: This is not my best work, but here it is! Also, looking for penpals if anyone would like to be penpals with me!

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.***

Masterlist

The Beast of War Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

---

Slowly opening her eyes, Y/N notices that Derek isn’t in bed next to her. Rolling over, she sees that Stiles isn’t in bed either. She rolls back over to look at the clock on Derek’s bedside table—it reads 10:28 AM. Sighing, she debates whether to get out of bed or stay there a bit longer.

She grabs her phone from her bedside table and scrolls through it aimlessly. She starts to type a text to send to her dad when the bedroom door opens. Y/N looks up from her phone as Derek walks in. His plaid pajama pants hang low on his hips while his chest is free of clothing.

“I see you’re finally awake,” Derek teases, lying down next to her. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer to him, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m surprised I slept this late. With all my morning shifts, I’m used to getting up way earlier than this.” Y/N replies, cuddling into Derek’s embrace. “When did Stiles leave?”

“He left earlier to get to school. He was running behind, so I told him that we’d put the mattress back so he didn’t have to do it.”

“You are a big softy.” Y/N teases.

Derek rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

“When do you go in to work today?”

“I took the day off today. Peter and Isaac should be fine on their own today, and Cora will keep them in line anyway.” A month after the fight with Kate, Isaac moved back to Beacon Hills. He says it’s because he got bored of France, but Y/N knows it’s because he missed his friends and pack. Not long after he moved back, Cora did the same. After seeing her brother and his girlfriend plastered all over the internet, she decided to move back for moral support and to protect her brother—not that he needs it.

Isaac and Cora now both work at the Hale Garage. Isaac mostly does smaller things, such as oil changes or dent removals, but Derek has been teaching him other things to help his skills grow. Cora mostly likes to sit up front and work at the front desk. Other than the occasional phone call, appointment setting, or dealing with people who go in, she doesn’t have to do much. She likes that there is not a lot of work that she must do, and Derek likes getting to work with his sister—and he needed someone to take over Lydia’s job with school starting back.

“What about you?” Derek asks.

“I should probably get up and get ready,” Y/N groans. “I’m supposed to meet Steve and Bucky at noon, remember?”

“What are you helping them do again?” Derek asks, watching Y/N roll out of bed and walk to their bathroom.

“I’m supposed to help them move into their new place. I don’t even think they really need my help. I think they are using this as an excuse to hang out with me.” Y/N replies with her toothbrush in her mouth. “It’s also why we got them that stuff yesterday.”

“Do we need a code for if it gets too much for you?”

Y/N laughs, spitting out the toothpaste in her mouth and wiping her face clean, “I think I’ll be okay. Did you want me to speak to Bucky about the open position at the garage?” She wasn’t going to say anything about it, but she does know that Bucky needs a job.

Derek watches as Y/N walks out of their bathroom with clothes in her hands, “What do you think about it?” After Tony and Peter left last night, they didn’t speak about Tony suggesting Bucky for the open position. Derek hasn’t thought about it much either. He’s aware of Bucky’s dislike of him, so he assumes he won’t apply.

“I think,” Y/N says, stripping off her pajamas, “that he needs a job, and Tony thinks he would know what to do. Plus, I know you and Stiles are still a little wary about any of them, so this would give you an opportunity to get to know him a bit.”

“And you’re not?” Derek questions, leaning back against the headboard and watching Y/N as she slowly and teasingly puts on her clothes.

“I am, but this is a way for someone who isn’t me to check one of them out. Since my judgment is clouded, I’m scared I’m going to miss major signs I should be seeing.” It’s not that she thinks they are this group of evil people who are out to get her, but it’s hard for her to trust new people. She has her memories back, and she knows that they love her, but fifteen years is a long time—people change.

She’s changed. She’s not the toddler they knew her as. She’s an adult now with a life that, up until recently, didn't include them. That’s what scares her. It took her three weeks after the war against Kate to cave and look up everything she could about the Avengers. While she knows the media can’t be trusted or believed, she still saw a lot of concerning things.

They are public figures, and how they handled the grief of losing her is plastered all over the internet. From articles to YouTube think-pieces, people never gave them a moment of peace. There are even true-crime podcasts and YouTube channels where people do their makeup with smiles on their faces and talk about the mysterious disappearance of 3-year-old Y/N Stark. She can’t imagine how much pain they were in—and still in.

Y/N is scared that one day, they will pack up her things and take her back to the now-old compound. She sees the pained look in their eyes when she tells stories about herself growing up or when she calls Noah, Dad. What if one day they decide they want to go back to the way it was before Pepper gave her to Hydra and no longer accept her new life?

This isn’t something she thinks of often, and she knows, realistically, that they aren’t going to do anything that she doesn’t want, but the little voice in the back of her mind likes to worry. She hasn’t voiced her concerns to Derek, but he knows how she feels because he feels the same way.

“You think my judgment isn’t clouded?” Derek questions.

“I think that they are putting in an effort right now, so we need to do the same,” Y/N says, crawling into the bed and Derek’s lap to straddle him. “I can just tell him about the position. It doesn’t mean he will apply. And if he does apply, you don’t have to give him the job if he won’t fit. I want us to put in an effort, but not if it’s going to hurt your business.”

Derek stares into Y/N’s eyes before sighing, “Fine, you can tell him about it, but I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Y/N smiles, pressing a kiss onto his lips.

Derek smiles at the happiness radiating off her. She hasn’t said anything to him, but he knows her thoughts around her ‘new family’ are complicated. He knows that he should be putting in more of an effort to get to know them, but it’s hard when some of them don’t seem to like him—some of them being Bucky and Steve.

Steve is, at the least, friendly with him when they come over from time to time. He puts in a little effort for Y/N’s sake, but Derek can tell that Steve isn’t his biggest fan. Bucky, on the other hand, hates him. The few times that Y/N has invited them over for dinner, Bucky puts in the effort to ignore him or glares at him when he speaks. Y/N tries to ease the tension between them, but nothing works. Derek thinks it’s because they are both so protective of Y/N.

Y/N thinks it’s something deeper. Bucky is the only member of the Avengers who hasn’t tried to get to know anyone but Y/N. She doesn’t think it’s because he resents the life that she has outside of them, she thinks he’s scared about what the others think about him and what he’s done. She thinks he’s scared that the others won’t want him around her if they truly know about him.

She knows that dealing with Hydra and knowing about what Hydra has done to her has triggered old, hidden memories and insecurities that he had long buried in his mind. Even though they haven’t spoken about their experiences, she can see the way it’s brought up some old thoughts.

She sees the way he flinches when Stiles refers to him as ‘Winter Soldier.’ She sees the way he withdraws within himself when Scott talks about how he believes he can save everyone and goes on his moral high ground I’m better than everyone spiels. She sees the way he flinches when people touch his metal arm—even Steve.

Y/N wishes that Bucky would give the others a chance and get to know them or even spend some one-on-one time with her without Steve or someone else so she can tell him about them. If he did, he would realize that he has a lot more in common with them than he thinks, and they don’t judge him for his past.

If he spoke to Stiles, he would realize that he understands what it’s like to hurt and be responsible for people’s deaths while not in control of your mind and body. If he spoke to Liam, he would realize that Liam understands what it’s like to fear losing control. If he spoke to Lydia, he would realize that she understands what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind. She’s sure if he spoke to them and got to know them, he’d find even more in common.

“You owe me for this,” Derek says, his hands settling on her hips.

“What do you have in mind?” Y/N smirks, running her hands up and down his abs.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“I’m sure you can.” She leans in to kiss when his phone goes off on his side table.

“What now?” Derek groans as Y/N reaches over to grab his phone. He takes the phone from her hands to see a message from Peter. “I guess I will be going in to work today.”

“What happened?”

“Someone just dropped their car off, and it needs its brakes replaced.” He says while he types back a response to whoever texted him.

“Doesn’t Peter know how to do that?”

“They apparently requested me specifically.”

“I don’t blame them.” Y/N teases, her fingers running along the waistband of his underwear. “I’d specially request you too.”

Derek sets his phone down next to him and grabs Y/N’s hands to stop her from teasing him more, “If you keep teasing me, we both won’t be leaving this bed today.”

“That’s not much of a threat.” Y/N rolls her before sliding off him and fake sighing in disappointment, “But if you insist on going to work…”

“Well, it is what’s paying for the remodel of the house.”

“I assumed your large inheritance and the money made from the people living in this building was going toward the remodel.”

“No, most of my inheritance is still safely tucked away while the money made from this building has gone toward my new Camaro and making sure you and the pack are taken care of,” Derek presses a quick kiss to her forehead before getting out of bed.

“If Peter has $117 million in inheritance money, how much do you have?” Y/N asks, watching Derek walk over to the dresser.

“Let’s just say if we wanted to, we would never have to work a day in our lives, and neither would the people around us.”

“You have that much money, and you still make me go to work?”

“Is this you trying to tell me that you’re only with me for my money?” Derek teases, walking into the open bathroom to finish getting ready.

“No, this is me wondering why you force your hot girlfriend to work if you have enough money to have her naked on a beach somewhere with nothing but time to do other things.” She can hear Derek’s laugh echo throughout their bathroom. “If I knew that I could possibly marry into old money, I wouldn’t be trying so hard for my bachelor’s, and I would’ve dropped out of school a while ago.”

“Possibly marry, huh? Who said I want to marry you?” Derek questions teasingly.

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh, so you don’t want to marry me? I guess I better start packing my things then…”

Derek laughs as he walks out of the bathroom, fully dressed, toward Y/N, “I think we both know that one day you will be Mrs. Y/N Hale.”

“Who said I’ll take your last name?”

“You don’t have to take my name if you don’t want to.”

Y/N thinks for a moment, “Actually, I think we should get married as soon as possible so then I don’t have to have the awkward conversation with anyone about whether I’m going to stay a Stilinski or become a Stilinski-Stark. If I’m a Hale, then there will be no room to argue.”

“Save something for the vows.” Derek jokes before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’ve got to go. Hopefully, I won’t be gone too long. What time will you be back?”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be at Steve and Bucky’s, but tonight I’m going to the station to help my dad get ready for his date tonight.”

“I can join tonight if you want me to.” Derek knows that Y/N is happy that her dad has finally decided to get out there and go on a date after years of throwing himself into his work and struggling with the death of his wife, but he wants to be there for her in case seeing her dad with a different woman brings up some old feelings.

“Sure. I’ll come back here before the station if you’re done with work by then.”

“Okay.” Derek grabs his phone and presses one last kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Love you. I’ll text you when I get off.”

“Okay. Love you more.” Y/N smiles widely at him, watching him leave as he rolls his eyes at her childishness.

After he walks out the door, she grabs her phone to check and see if she has any notifications. Turning her phone on, she notices that Steve has texted her saying the moving truck arrived a little early if she wants to go over now. She quickly replies to him before grabbing her stuff to head over to his new place.

---

Y/N steps out of her car in front of Steve and Bucky’s new rental house. The four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath home is smaller than what Steve and Bucky are used to but considered average-sized in Beacon Hills. It’s also only two blocks away from the Stilinski house. Even though Y/N doesn’t live there anymore, she still considers it her home and is there quite frequently. She knows that is part of why they chose to rent it.

Walking up to the open storage container sitting in the driveway, she sees Steve and Bucky removing boxes from it and carrying them into the house, “Hey!”

“Hey! Thanks for coming.” Steve says, setting the box down in the garage so he can hug her. “We’ve moved all the big items into the house already. The only thing left are the boxes.”

She looks into the open storage container to see a few left, “How is there only three boxes left? Didn’t this just get here?”

“We don’t have that much stuff.”

“How?”

“We lived at headquarters. Most of the stuff there was Tony’s.” Bucky replies, walking into the garage with a rare smile on his face. He pulls Y/N into a tight hug in greeting.

“Did you never think about getting your own place?”

“We did, but a certain incident put that thought to a halt.” Steve answers. From the sad he’s looking at her, Y/N can assume he’s talking about her disappearance. She wants to ask more questions, but she’s not sure that she wants to know the answers. Most of what she knows about how they, and the other Avengers, took her disappearance is from Stiles and the extensive research she did on them.

“Well, then, I guess we need to do a bit of shopping,” Y/N says, moving to grab a box from the storage container. She sets her phone and keys on top of a box before picking it up. “You also need to show me where to put this.”

Steve picks up the box he previously set down and motions for Y/N to follow him into the house. She follows him through the laundry room and into the open kitchen and living room area. Y/N sets the box in her hands down on the other boxes that are piled up against the far living room wall and grabs her phone and keys from the top of it.

“Do you have any furniture, or is it just boxes of stuff?” Y/N asks, noticing that she doesn’t see anything other than boxes.

“Our couch and bedframe should be here tomorrow,” Steve replies.

“Is that it?”

“We thought that maybe we could go shopping together one day when you aren’t busy,” Bucky says, walking in with the last two boxes. “If you’re interested?”

“Sure. I’ll have to check my schedule and see when I’m available.” Between work, rebuilding the Hale house, and splitting her time between her two different families, she feels like she’s always doing something or having to meet with someone. She knows she needs to start saying no when people ask her to do stuff, but she has a hard time doing that. She sets her purse and phone on the kitchen counter but keeps her keys in her hand as she turns back to them, “Where’s your cleaning supplies?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we should probably scrub the place down before we start unpacking, so what box is your cleaning stuff in?”

“We don’t have any cleaning stuff,” Steve says, double-checking the labels on the boxes even though he knows they don’t have any.

“Then how did you clean at the compound?”

“Tony had people that did that,” Bucky replies.

“Even your room?” Y/N doesn’t understand how they don’t have any cleaning stuff. Even if they didn’t clean at the compound, they should have bought stuff for their new place.

“Yes.” Steve and Bucky look a little embarrassed that they are unprepared.

“Did you plan on hiring someone to clean this place too?”

“Um,” Steve doesn’t know how to answer that. He and Bucky hadn’t discussed much about their moving situation. They just wanted a break from the Avengers and wanted to be closer to Y/N.

Y/N smiles teasingly at the scared and embarrassed look on their faces, “So you have no furniture, nothing to clean with, and judging by the labels on these boxes, nothing to eat with either. Did you own anything at the compound, or did Tony own everything?”

Steve and Bucky glance at each other with wide eyes. They should’ve done some shopping before moving in. Since she said it out loud, they realize they don’t have anything to cook or eat with. Steve is also realizing that they don’t have any toilet paper, laundry detergent, or other things they will need. Anything they needed at the compound was always there. They never needed to buy anything. They also never needed to restock because people would restock things for them.

Y/N laughs a little at them, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of assumed this would happen. Follow me.” She turns and walks to the front door as the trail silently behind her. Unlocking and opening the door, she walks over to her parked car, unlocks it, and opens her trunk. “I stopped and got a few things for you yesterday.”

Stepping back from her car, Steve and Bucky can see that it’s full of things they need. With her back seats down, she was able to get them more than she planned to. She bought them a nice vacuum, a broom and dustpan set, a Swiffer mop, rags, dusters, and various cleaning sprays and scrubs. She even bought them toilet paper, laundry detergent, dryer balls, dish soap, towels, and other various necessities.

Closer to her front seats, there are boxes of pots and pans, plates, silverware, cups, and a few other kitchen items. In her passenger seat, there is a stack of organizers and containers. She even got them a few games and puzzles for fun.

“Thank you, but there’s no way we need all of this,” Steve says in shock, giving Y/N a little side hug to show his appreciation.

“Do you want your place to be semi-clean or clean-clean? Also, not everything is for cleaning. From the way you and the others talk about the compound, I assumed you would need a few things.”

“This is still a lot of stuff. You didn’t need to do this,” Bucky says, pulling her into a hug too, “but thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m not the only one you need to thank. I might have been the one who picked everything out, but Derek was the one who paid for it.” Y/N says, pulling away from Bucky. She can see the smiles on their face falter at her Derek paid for it.

“We will make sure to thank him the next time we see him,” Steve says, his smile a little more forced than before, “right, Buck?”

Bucky hums in fake agreement. It’s not that he’s less grateful now that he knows Derek paid for it, he just doesn’t like Derek. He swears he’s just protective of Y/N, and he doesn’t trust Derek, but Nat thinks he’s jealous. She also thinks he’s bitter that Y/N has this whole life that, up until recently, doesn’t include them.

“Well, let’s get all this stuff inside and start scrubbing everything down,” Y/N says.

---

They spent two hours scrubbing and wiping everything down before taking a break for lunch. Steve ordered two pizzas and a few drinks for them. Now, they are standing around the kitchen island as they quietly eat their lunch.

They haven’t spoken much since they started cleaning. Y/N put on some music, and she showed them what to do, but they didn’t say much after that. Part of it was due to them concentrating on their tasks; the other part was due to them not knowing what to say.

“How has work been?” Steve asks Y/N.

“It’s been good,” Y/N replies, “With no current threats in town, we haven’t been as busy as we sometimes are.”

“Tony said another journalist visited you at work recently.”

Y/N rolls her eyes a little at his protective tone, “They were just some college kid that had a few questions. They were mostly just asking about my thoughts and feelings on everything.”

“What did you tell him?” Buck asks curiously.

“Nothing that he couldn’t have guessed himself. How’s your job search been?”

Bucky huffs in frustration at that question, “I had a Zoom interview two days ago, but they only asked me questions about Steve the whole time. From the Captain American photo I could see in the corner of the room, I’m guessing she was a fan.”

“Well, I know of a job opportunity if you’re interested.” She knows he’s not going to like her suggestion, but she told Derek she would tell Bucky about it.

“It’s not at the hospital, is it? I’m looking for something less stressful, not more stressful. I also don’t think I’m qualified.”

“No, it’s at the auto shop. Derek is looking for someone to help out, and Tony said you would know what to do.”

Bucky almost declined immediately, but a sharp look from Steve stopped him, “I don’t know…”

“You can always just apply and think on it. His interview process is pretty simple. He’ll ask you some questions, and then he tests you out for about an hour to see if you’re a good fit. There’s no guarantee that you’ll get the job, and if you do, you can decide whether to accept or not.” Y/N shrugs her shoulders as she wipes the pizza grease off her hands.

Bucky thinks for a moment. On one hand, he wants a new job, and this one would allow him to learn more about Derek. On the other hand, Derek would be his boss, and he would have to spend time and speak to him too. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” From the smile on Y/N’s face, Bucky could tell that was the right answer.

They finish eating their lunch before unpacking the boxes. After they unpacked the last box, they said their goodbyes, and Y/N left to go home to pick up Derek.

---

“Maybe I should’ve gotten a haircut.” The sheriff mumbles, looking at himself in a handheld mirror.

“I think you should be lucky that you still have hair to cut,” Stiles says.

“I think you look great,” Scott counters.

“Thank you, son I should’ve had.” The sheriff smirks at Scott.

“Don’t listen to Stiles, Dad. I think you look handsome.” Y/N says, fixing his hair a little with her hand.

“God, what am I doing?” The sheriff struggles with his tie before Y/N stops him.

“What you’re doing is taking a night off and going to enjoy a lovely dinner with your date,” Y/N replies, fixing his tie.

“And who are you having dinner with?” Stiles asks.

“None of your business,” Noah answers.

“Why does Y/N get to know and not me?”

“I didn’t tell her who it was. Derek was the one who figured it out.”

“Derek knows too?!”

Derek just smirks and sits back against the sheriff’s desk. He likes that he knows something that Stiles doesn’t.

“Stilinski!” Someone yells somewhere in the sheriff’s station.

They follow the sheriff out of his office to see the boy who yelled for him. His lawyer is standing in front of him as Parrish and another officer stand next to him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he says, staring at Noah.

“Donovan, if you think that shocks me, remember it is well-documented in your Anger Expression Inventory. Officers, take him out of here.” Noah says, nodding his head at the officers.

“When I say I’m going to kill you, I mean I’m going to get a knife, and I’m going to stab you until your heart stops beating.”

The station is silent for a moment before Stiles breaks it, “Wow, that was awesome. Really, that was great. Do it again, but as Christopher Walkin.”

“Maybe shed a tear this time. I want to see the anger issues overwhelm you as you think about the little cell you're about to live in.” Y/N adds.

Donovan nods his head, stepping back before lunging forward toward them. Scott jumps in front of Stiles as Derek jumps in front of Y/N. Donovan continues to yell as the officers pull him out of the station and toward the transportation van.

“Well, he’s got some issues,” Y/N mumbles, slipping her hand into Derek’s to reassure him that she’s okay. “We should get out here so you can get to your date.”

“Us too,” Stiles says after he finishes his quiet conversation with Scott.

“You have to promise to call me afterward and tell me how it went. If I don’t hear from you, I will call you myself.” Y/N says, fixing her dad’s tie one last time.

“I will text you afterward,” The sheriff compromises.

“Thank you.” She hugs him goodbye, and Derek whispers a little dating advice to him before they leave. Stiles and Scott trail behind them before breaking off toward Stiles’ jeep.

“Do we want to pick something up or make something at home?” Derek asks as they sit in his Camaro.

“I want you to make that dish of yours I really like. I think we have the stuff for it.” Y/N replies, trying to give Derek her sweetest look so he won’t turn her down.

Derek huffs and rolls his eyes as he turns the car on, “The things I do for you.”

“Do you think I should be worried about what that guy said to my dad?” Y/N asks quietly. She made fun of him in the moment, and she likes to think that nothing will ever happen to her dad with her and everyone else around to protect him, but they do live in Beacon Hills, where anything is possible.

“With the things he has to deal with, I think some angry human boy is the least of his worries. He’s probably more worried about his date than him.”

“That’s true. It’s just that everything has been calm here recently. I can’t help but worry that something is coming. Stiles seems to be worried about something, so I’m worried too. Maybe it’s nothing, but there’s this feeling in my gut that something’s not right.”

---

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