#where i try to eat more '''''''vegetables'''''' and ''''''proteins''''' and man i just wanna heat up a frozen pizza and be done with it

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Cooking for myself sucks. I wish I was a zoo animal.

[pascalpanic]

Cooking in the Crest (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: You become sick of the endless prepackaged food you eat while living on the Razor Crest. From a holovid, you and Din try to learn how to cook.

W/C: 3.2k

Warnings: FOOD is a big warning here; this is all about food, cooking, and eating; some language, and mentions of violence and blood because Din is a hunter.

A/N: this was a request by lovely @binarydanvvers !! I hope you guys like it too :))

The Razor Crest was not exactly built to be a home. The beat up old ship, a pre-Imperial piece of garbage, was mainly meant to be a freighter, to carry loads and supplies around. It had a bunk, yes, but that was mainly for the pilot to sleep. Some ships were elaborately built and crafted to house people, even families; this was not one of them.

You could tell that from the moment you walked aboard. This was not built to be a home, but the Mandalorian and his little green child had made it one. It was endearing, really. It was still cold and harsh, not exactly welcoming, but there were little touches. A sling for the baby to sleep in above the man’s bunk. A few scattered toys for the kid. Extra clothing tucked away, and what seemed to be a makeshift kitchen.

It can hardly be called a kitchen. It’s more of a food storage area. The Mandalorian man has stored packets of food, dried or wrapped, water, and other assorted food necessities in a small corner of the ship. There’s also a device for heating meals, like the just-add-water foods he carries so many of.

The baby doesn’t complain. Well, he really can’t, considering that he cannot speak yet, but he never pushes away the food. Of course, his favorites are frogs and occasional organic things he picks up on the surface of the latest planet, but he’s never refused a nutrient bar or an instant bread loaf. The kid is always hungry; he’ll take anything.

You’ve been traveling with Din for a while now. He entrusted you with his name not long after he entrusted you with the care of his foundling. He’s a kind man, surprising beneath the layer of impenetrable beskar, with a warm laugh even through the modulator.

In this time, you’ve become exhausted over the endless routine of microwavable carbohydrate packs with dried proteins. A nutrient bar is a nice switch, but it’s endless days and nights of bland food. “Do you even eat? Does your species photosynthesize or something?” You’d asked Din once, teasingly knocking on his beskar.

“I’m human,” he assured you, voice dry. He presents himself as tired of your endless teasing, but you both know he could never be. You’re the energy, the entertainment to him and his little green child.

“I doubt that,” you teased, nudging his hip with your own as you walked past, the baby on your other side, giggling at your words.

The kid is smart. He can’t yet speak, but he can recognize meaning in words and the emotions you convey with your tones. You’ve been steadily working on teaching him the right morphemes to form words, but he’s just not quite there yet. He made a little babbling noise at his father, then turned and looked up at you, grinning with tiny white teeth.

Din must eat, you’ve come to notice. He never takes the helmet off; you’ve never heard his voice without the modulator, you’ve never seen him eat. But the stock of food dwindles at a quicker pace than it would for one and a half people, so he must consume some of it. You’ve noticed that the dried proteins or instant spicy grains go quicker- those must be his favorite. You’ve made mental notes several times to pick up extra when shopping.

As the three of you take off from the last planet, a lively and populous city center, your stomach is happy with its contents: you and the baby had gone on a culinary tour, trying different local delicacies. You glance at the kitchenette in the corner and wince at the protein bars. Surely you’ll be reduced to eating the dry and chalky sustenance the next time you’re hungry.

The baby sits in your lap, bouncing excitedly as the ship lifts off. He coos and waves his hands excitedly as Din turns and navigates, though it’s nothing too bumpy for the little thing to handle. There’s a jolt when you leave the atmosphere, and the baby squeals as the stars rush past when Din maneuvers the Crest into hyperspace.

Once the course is set, Din turns to you. You wonder what he’s thinking; it’s a shame you can’t see his face. “We should be at our next location in about a day.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, heightened over the prospect of eating more dried, flavorless food. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Do I know how to what?” Din asks, cocking his head.

“Cook. You know, make food in a way other than using the microwave.”

Din stares at you for a minute. “No, I really don’t. I’ve never had reason to.”

“You don’t consider eating this bland shit eternally a reason?” You ask, folding your arms. The little green baby on your lap mirrors your actions, looking at his father. “I don’t either, but I think we both need to learn. I’m sick of this endless dried food and nutrient bars and instant grains.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. “Fine. How?”

“How what?” You ask, taunting him back from his earlier sarcastic question.

“How are we going to learn how to cook?”

You shrug. “We could take a cooking class on some populous planet. They have them for couples.”

Din looks at you, sharply even though you can’t see his face. “Okay, well, two people,” you chuckle, though you can’t help but notice the rigidity of his body. You’re skilled at reading his body language by now; something changed in him when you said couple. “Why the hell not?”

“Because, cyar’ika, I am a Mandalorian. I’m not exactly going to fit in with the happy honeymooners at a cooking class, searing bantha for my beloved.”

You frown at him. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Din. Work with me here.”

Din is frowning beneath the helmet. You can just tell. “I don’t exactly take orders from you.”

“It’s not an order,” you roll your eyes. “It’s a request. Please.”

Din sighs. He’s quiet for a minute. Then: “Fine.”

“Yay!” You grin and brace his beskar helmet in one hand, pressing a kiss to the visor. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

“I don’t know how fun that can be,” he grumbles.

-

The holonet turns out to be a surprisingly vast resource for cooking and recipes. You’d never expected this much to be uploaded to it. There are traditional dishes from Tatooine, Naboo, anywhere really. The first struggle is deciding what to cook.

You stop at another populous planet next. Thank the Maker, you mumble as you put the baby in the wrap carrier that straps him to your chest. “We’re gonna make something good, huh kiddo?” You ask and smooch the baby’s little green head. He just coos in return.

Wandering through the planet, you find various little specialty shops, and you mark off the list you’ve created. Spices from the shop specializing in them, fresh vegetables at a stall, meat from a grocer. When the foods are all collected, you return to the ship, where Din has purchased a portable heat source to be used for cooking.

The business Din has on the planet goes quickly and he’s back before you know it. You’ve barely had time to clean the vegetables under the small refresher sink before you hear the clink of beskar and the baby’s excited laughter at his return.

You carry the bowl of vegetables and grin as you spot Din on a crate in the corner, wiping down his armor of blood. “Welcome home, bounty hunter,” you tease as you arrange some crates to form a table and chairs and set the holoprojector in the center. “How’d we do today?”

“Wonderful,” he grumbles as he wipes a smear of mud off his chest plate. He finishes then looks at your arms, holding the ingredients. You set them down and the hot plate as well. “We’re cooking now?”

“I’m hungry,” you shrug.

Din nods. “I suppose. Do you want me to get piloting us out of here and then we can start?”

You shrug again. “We paid for a full day and night. Might as well use it.”

He nods and begins removing his beskar, leaving him in just his flight suit and helmet. You cock an eyebrow at him and tilt your head in confusion. “Don’t wanna get any food on the beskar.”

This makes you genuinely laugh, throwing your head back. “Oh, blood and dirt and mud are okay but no food? You have some odd standards, Din.”

No one has called him by his name since he was a child. You’ve never even said it aloud save for once or twice. The sound of your voice saying it is like the sweetest music; he could listen to it eternally. He’s a little nervous inside, tingly and fluttery from the feeling. Thank the Maker his helmet doesn’t let it show.

“Go wash your hands and let’s get going,” you order him, stacking two extra crates and setting the child on top so he’s the same height as the two of you. He’s delighted by the view, looking around.

You put the vessel on the hot plate then turn it on, unsure of how quickly it heats. Din returns not long later, sitting on his crate across from you. “First step?”

To answer his question, you turn on the holovid. A cheerful Zabrak narrates for you and shows you the steps, starting with the first: to chop the ingredients. Din reaches for his leg and you shoot him a glare, pausing the video. “You were not about to use that knife to prepare our dinner.”

Din just looks at you. “Why not?”

“God, you’re impossible,” you laugh, though it’s lighthearted teasing. “No, use this, a clean one.” You hand it over along with a few vegetables. Din starts cutting with neat precision, the yellow tuber vegetable falling in perfectly round slices to the surface you’d laid down before.

The baby whines in protest; he wants in. Looking around, you scramble for something before giving him the softest vegetable and a plastic utensil. “How’s that?” You ask him.

He’s delighted, slicing his vegetable and mirroring his parents and the video. When the step is finished, you press play again and it informs you to add some of the oil and cook the vegetables first.

Din pours them in, causing a sizzle from the hot cooking vessel. “Ooh, it must be ready,” you grin and drizzle some oil over the top.

“I don’t think that’s the order we were supposed to do it,” he points out, rewinding the video.

“Oh well,” you shrug and stir the vegetables. The aromatic plants waft from the steam, making you sigh in happiness at how wonderful the recipe smells, even now. “Can you smell under there?”

Din shakes his head.

You frown. “I’ll close my eyes. Lift your helmet and take a smell, it’s delicious.” You squeeze them shut as if to prove you’ll do it.

He would never trust anyone else like this. He’s surprised he even trusts you enough, but he unlatches his helmet and lifts it just enough to catch a whiff of the delicious smell. He sighs happily too and puts the helmet back on. “You can look again.”

You open your eyes and smile at him. “Well, we’re not doing terribly! What’s next?”

The video plays a little longer, telling you the next steps: add the spices to the cooking vegetables, stirring them in, then the broth you’ve purchased.

Picking up the bag, you rummage through for the intended spices. “You wanna do this part?” You ask Din.

“I’ll probably mess up.”

“Give it a shot,” you say with a warm smile and hand him several small pouches of spices and a measuring stick.

His fingers are thick and worn without the gloves, and the sight of them pinching the bright orange powder and sprinkling some in the pot is truly humanizing, indicative that this man is Din, not The Mandalorian like you knew him as before. He does that with the required spices, choosing to go by heart rather than the measured values.

You go next, adding the broth to the pot and closing your eyes to listen to the beautiful hiss of the liquid against the hot metal. “Do you think you could cook on beskar?” You tease Din. The man just shakes his head.

The recipe then indicates for you to cut up the meat and add it before covering and letting it boil. Din uses the sharp knife you’ve provided to once again, neatly slice the meat and add it to the pan. “You’re quite precise with that thing,” you inform him with an impressed nod.

He snorts. “I know the ten quickest ways to kill someone with it.”

“Still, precise to do that,” you laugh. You cover the pot and sigh, setting a timer on the holopad to the amount of time needed before the meal will be ready; thanks to the specialized tech in the hot plate, it won’t take long at all.

The baby shows you his knife work with the mushed vegetable. It’s considerably less impressive than Din’s, but you ooh and ahh over it all the same, making the baby beam with pride. “Your knife work rivals your father’s, little man,” you tease the baby and poke his side.

“Yeah right,” he snorts again and leans back against the metal wall of the Razor Crest’s hull.

While the food carries on its quick cooking, you prepare three bowls and spoons to eat with, setting each in front of where the three of you sit. The bowl is much smaller for the child, but he seems just as pleased.

The timer dings and you clap your hands together in excitement. “Let’s see!”

Lifting the lid, the smell that wafts out makes your stomach growl. “Oh, this is going to be good,” you sigh, setting the lid aside on the heatproof surface and scooping some into each bowl. “Careful, it’s hot,” you warn your boys as you a hand them their respectful bowls.

“It sounds wonderful but… you know I can’t eat it,” Din reminds you.

That makes you frown. “Of course you can. We made it together.”

“No,” he sighs. “I can’t eat it because I’d have to remove my helmet.”

The idea crosses your mind as quickly as his words. “Well then.” You stand and push your crate aside, then pull him up and do the same. With your bowl of stew in hand, you plop down on the floor and turn your back to him. “Now you sit with your back to me.”

“Cyare, I-“

“Just humor me, Din. Please.”

He sighs and gets on the floor, groaning at the creak of his joints and popping of his back. Din presses his back to yours, sitting with his legs splayed carelessly to either side. “There. This what you wanted?”

“Yes,” you nod. “Now eat. I won’t look, and the kid is your foundling, he can see you.”

Din is hesitant at first. He sits there for a moment while the baby slurps his dinner, pondering what to do. Then he remembers how much he trusts yoh. How you’d do anything for him and he’d do anything for you.

He removes his helmet, setting it to the floor with a heavy clunk. “There we go,” you smile and reach behind you to pat his chest. “Eat up. I bet you’re hungry from that hunt.”

“Hungrier from making this,” he grumbles as he scoops a spoonful, ungracefully shoving it in his mouth and moaning in content. “Oh, that’s damn good.”

“Isn’t it?” You laugh, eating some yourself and smiling at the flavor. “Seasoned just right,” you affirm him, resting your head back against his own. You can feel that he has hair- well, now you know he isn’t bald.

“Cooked properly thanks to you,” he reminds you.

“Ha! I don’t know shit about cooking. Thank that holovid,” you chuckle, nestling your back against his. You can feel every little notch of his spine, the lumps in a perfect line cascading down his body, as his back presses against yours. He’s warm, and you can feel him breathe in and out slowly- he’s relaxed. Good.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you eat your meals. The kid has long finished his tiny bowl and has passed out in his seat, which makes you laugh. He’s missing the sight of his helmetless father thanks to a post-meal nap.

No words need to be exchanged. There’s meaning in the silence, in the fact that you can hear his breathing and his real voice, the hard gulp of his throat as he swallows yet another bite. Maker, he’s so wonderfully human. You absolutely adore it.

When you’re done with your stew, you set your bowl to the side. Din does the same, and his back relaxes against yours. Neither of you are quite ready for him to put the helmet back on, so you breathe the unfiltered air with him, listen and feel him breathing, try to take in every detail of what his body feels like pressed to yours, even if it’s back to back.

“Din?” You ask softly after a few moments.

“Yes, cyare?”

“I promise my eyes are closed,” you tell him.

“What do you mean-“

Din is cut off when you close your eyes but turn, kissing his cheek. You can feel stubble beneath your lips, and above it smooth skin. God, he feels so damn warm. With your eyes still closed, you hug his neck. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

Din breathes slowly, forcing his heart rate not to accelerate into hyperspeed. “It’s not putting up with you,” he admits. “It’s enjoying you. I really do.”

The words make you flushed and flustered, honored that this strong and silent type has used such eloquent words to compliment you. “Thank you. For all of this, Din. Thank you for letting me know you.”

He’s grinning ear to ear, and he turns his face to kiss your cheek back. “You can know me all you want to, mesh’la.” Din puts his hands over your arms and takes one last moment in your arms. “Well, we need to put the child to bed, and I’m legally supposed to be wearing my helmet right now.”

You turn and sit with your back to him, smiling and nearly giddy from the moment. “Who’s gonna yell at you if you don’t? Mando police?”

Din groans and puts his helmet back on, ignoring you. When you both stand, you hug him for real this time, chests pressed together. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he mumbles through the modulator and presses his forehead to yours in a keldabe kiss. “Let’s do this more often.”

“I agree,” you nod and kiss his helmet one last time.

-

taglist:

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[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Pt17

(Conversations around consent, sexual activity, and descriptions of torture and attempted suicide. I will put a little - before a paragraph with torture/assault and another - when its over. May or may not also include implied consensual activity. We'll see where this goes.)

Curtis wakes up to soft little regular whimper-moans from behind him. Unsure if his lover is dreaming of torture, or if it's a happy kind of dream, he shifts back a bit, pressing into Takashi to check. Smiling a little in relief it's definitely not torture. Sighing a little, he's awake now. And hungry. They didn't eat dinner last night. They'd gone to bed. Worth the missed meal in Curtis' opinion. However, he's ravenous.

Digging through the cupboards he finds oatmeal, spices, and dried fruit. Surprised to find so many seasonings in the cabinets of a man who rarely cooks, Curtis wonders if it's a holdover from living with Adam. Especially considering Takashi doesn't even buy himself proper self grooming products. Probably just habit to keep the spices around.

The fridge has a few flavors of almond milk. Some non dairy creamers, and not much else in it. Overall the food choices are somewhat depressing. There's more in the freezer, thankfully. Frozen meat, vegetables, and fruit. Shaking his head a little, he sighs.

But another look through the pantry shows plenty of rice, beans, potatoes...cereal. He's feeding himself.

Finding a flat pan, he starts some of the last of the bacon. Whisks some eggs in a bowl. And adds vanilla almond milk to the oatmeal with cinnamon, nutmeg, and fruit. It can sit until Takashi wakes up.

Curtis likes the simple ritual of preparing food. He doesn't mind doing this. Although once they live together he figures if he cooks, Takashi can do the shopping. He usually already does the cleaning up.

Some time later he hears a weird noise somewhere between "blech" and "ugh" accompanied by soft but vehement cursing.

"You okay?" Curtis calls when the swearing doesn't stop but he hears water running. "Did your dream not have a happy ending?" He asks, heading into the bedroom.

"If you can call it that," Shiro snaps back, voice cracking.

Takashi is naked from the waist down and he throws the washcloth into the sink as Curtis comes in. His face is red and his eyes are full of tears.

"What's wrong? You okay?"

"I don't know."

"What happened?" He gently thumbs a tear off Takashi's cheek.

"I don't know. My body never did this. I was, I was finally feeling like I was in my own skin and then this happens!"

"What, as a teen you didn't get wet dreams? God you were lucky." Stroking back Takashi's hair he gently kisses his cheek.

"I didn't even know this was possible," he protests.

"It is," Curtis assures him. "It happens. Not super common, I don't think. But yeah. It's normal."

"Not for me," Shiro protests. "Maybe the clone?"

"You had his memories and he thought he was you, right? Do you remember that happening?"

"No."

"This makes sense to me, love, I'm sorry. It's been years, right? And you have been so stressed, and so anxious, and so sick... You got a little last night... And your body wants more. Is that so awful? Years and years without any.... What'd you dream about anyway?"

Shiro turns red again, scar livid across his face. "You." He swallows. "Us."

"Oh yeah? You wanna tell me what we did that rocked your world so hard it made you come in your sleep?"

Ducking his head down, the tips of his ears are red, too. His silvery hair just makes the blush look even brighter.

"Is it embarrassing?" Curtis asks gently. "Or are you just shy about this stuff?"

"I never really talked about it with anyone. My family was.... Traditional. It was really hard to get used to the idea I liked guys at all. Adam... Had to be patient for a long time. I came out because of him. I admitted to myself... Who I was. I get to be with you because of that," he says softly. "But ... I'm not as... Blase about it as you."

"Am I allowed to ask you about it? Or tease you if it's just us? Will you be okay talking about stuff? 'Cause I'm... I'm not comfortable sleeping with you until we hash out do's and dont's." He meets Takashi's eyes. "I can wait. It's no rush. Nothing like that."

"We can talk about it," Shiro mumbles, leaning into Curtis. "I was dreaming about...us. You were um, your mouth...I think that time we talked about it has been in the back of my head this whole time."

Curtis smiles and kisses his temple. "The real thing will be a lot better," he promises. "Put some pants on, breakfast is almost ready." He slips away to make sure nothing's burning and to heat the oatmeal mix.

Shiro comes out in different sweats, still embarrassed. Still he's done worse in front of Curtis. Such as thrown up on himself in his sleep back on the Atlas. One of the first nights Curtis started checking on him. He hadn't even really woken up, either. Curtis had had to help him clean up. Change the sheets. He'd brought tea to help with his stomach. And never said a word to anyone about it. Not once.

They eat relatively quietly, seated at the counter with their knees touching.

"What time is it anyway?" Curtis mumbles, mostly to himself. Glancing at his watch he blinks. "We woke up early."

"Hm?"

"Its 0600. I usually get up closer to 0700. Guess I have time to lie around." He smiles a little.

"What'd'ya want me to pick up at the store?" Shiro mumbles. Already trying to decide on what kind of grooming products he needs. He knows most of Curtis' favorite snacks already. The man has a sweet tooth.

"Something not frozen or dried...how long am I staying?"

Turning red he shrugs. "We haven't really had a chance to talk and I don't want to do that before work if that's okay."

"Fine by me," Curtis agrees.

Done with his food he hops up, taking the now empty dishes and heading to the sink. He cleans up automatically, glad to have something to do. For all it's a hair harder with just one hand. He has to set the dish down to swab it out. Then he loads them into the dishwasher.

Curtis contentedly watches him move around the kitchen. They've only been together a few months as a couple now. But this feels right. He loves this man. Scars and all. And he knows Takashi feels the same way. After all he's been through, it's nice to let himself again. It's nice to be loved. It's nice to know the person he's letting himself be with is worthy of it. After his partner had died, Curtis had had a string of one offs and bad decisions. And he'd treated them and himself like trash.

One of the absolute best things about Takashi is that he makes Curtis feel so loved. So wanted. So incredibly safe and special and like he matters more than anything else in the world. Takashi has this special way of focusing on him that makes him feel like he's the only other person in the world.

"If I go in early I can leave early," Curtis says, and Takashi nods a little. "Gives us more time tonight?"

"Yeah. Sounds good." He smiles a little.

It seems a little forced but they've been through a lot. "Hey how's your back feeling?"

Blinking in surprise, he stretches a little, his hand on the small of his back. "Good."

"Lemme feel," Curtis smiles. When Takashi comes around the counter and leans over to present as much of his back as possible to his partner.

"Hey look, still not purple," Curtis teases, running his fingertips up and down Takashi's back. He laughs when Takashi arches under his touch, just like a cat. "I love you so much," he says affectionately.

"I love you, too. Please don't stop," he adds.

"Well. I will have to eventually. I can't be late." But all the same he scratches up and down his partner's back. He enjoys the way Takashi shifts under his hand. Deciding that both hands might be best in this situation he shifts on the stool to make it easier to give scratches.

Eventually it's time to go. They kiss goodbye and head out together, but part ways outside the building.

Shiro sends Keith a message.

Stuck going to the store. You need anything?

0645

Probably should grab some basics. Meet you at the store?

0647

Sounds good. No plants.

0648

Mom says you should bring 'your mate' a gift. Yes plants. Apparently. Or the skulls of your enemies. But that seems excessive.

0650

That would not match his decor, no.

0650

See you in 10.

0651

Keith finds Shiro in the personal grooming section of the store.

He looks up when he notices the Red Paladin. "Curtis also has a problem with my taste in body wash."

"I see."

"Problem is I have no idea what to pick," Shiro shrugs.

Keith peers over in the basket. It looks like Shiro has managed to pick up fruit, vegetables, and some kind of meat in the time it took him to wait for a train to pass. "Sorry I'm late, by the way."

"Stuck at the tracks?"

"Yeah. Slowest train I've ever seen. Couldn't have been going much over 80."

"Disappointing."

"Seems like you're mostly done."

"Still need snacks. And candy of some kind. Curtis is an addict."

"Where's your protein crap you always used to get?"

"I always hated it. And medical says I'm healthy now... So. I didn't buy any."

Keith looks over at Shiro and notices some things that disturb him. For one, every time he reaches out to maybe pick a bottle, there's some kind of tremor in his hand. Two, he's sweating and the store is chilly. Three, he's a little flushed. Four, his eyes seem glassy. Getting in closer, he lightly squeezes Shiro's shoulder and hides his expression. Shirt is damp. He's been distressed for a while.

"What about pine? You always had some weird thing for forest scented crap."

"No, that was Adam. I was the one who liked spearmint and wintergreen."

"So why did you always smell like-.... ? Ah."

Shiro turns red. "I know Curtis likes cinnamon. But I don't see that here."

"There's stuff that's kinda minty," Keith points out. "You can buy whatever you want." Personally he thinks having to change your scent to please your partner is ridiculous. Probably why he's not much for dating. "See this one?" He cracks the lid to sniff and then hands it over, watching Shiro's hand like a hawk.

The shaking is still there. He's still beading sweat around his hairline and his hair is starting to stick to his face.

"That's kind of the problem," Shiro mutters, sniffing the bottle. It smells nice. Shampoo. Okay. So now just body wash. Maybe something for dry skin? He's been itchy lately and Curtis is probably right. He's probably drying his skin out. He can take care of himself a little better for Curtis. "Is there matching body wash?" He asks, trying to read labels without giving away the entire aisle is swimming. He's so stressed out. Which is how he ended up just grabbing a random bottle and bailing the first time around.

Keith looks at him and back at the shelf quizzically before picking it up from right in front of Shiro and handing it to him. "Says ultra cleansing. Isn't that code for: will dry your skin out?"

"Oh. Maybe I should pick something else."

Unsure of what to make of this, he shrugs. "You could just get the same brand you used to, and pick a different scent."

Shiro shifts uncomfortably. "I can't remember what it was," he admits. "I'm missing a lot here and there," he tugs absently on his bangs. Remembering how his skull had been cracked open.

"It's this stuff in the red bottles. It's got some stupid names, though." He tries to keep his expression neutral. He knew Shiro had issues remembering everything that happened while he was enslaved as a gladiator. He had no idea Shiro had also lost any time before then.

"Whatever's there is fine."

"Maybe Lance would be more helpful," Keith suggests. Then they both look at each other and laugh. "Okay so definitely not. But hey there's only four options, so."

They test out each bottle, Shiro hates the first. Keith the second. The third and fourth take a while to decide between. Shiro just picks up the matching shampoo and dumps it in.

"Do you think I need more clothes?" He asks hesitantly.

Keith kind of stares. "Judging by your apartment? Probably." Watching Shiro looking over at something on the other end of the men's care aisle, he realizes he doesn't want to help shop for the next thing. "What kind of candy? I'll grab that while you finish up here."

Realizing Keith figured it out, he turns red. "Uh. He'll eat pretty much anything that isn't black licorice. But he's kinda partial to anything sour and then chocolate with almonds or peanuts."

"Got it."

"Thanks." Shiro wanders down to the other end of the men's aisle. There's an overwhelming amount of things and he's realizing he's not sure if Curtis has preferences. And his personal comm is off at work. And Shiro isn't going to call him about condom brands on a Garrison line. They're all recorded. While he's not sure if it will be days, weeks, or months until they need any supplies he'd rather have them on hand.

Thinking about what he's used before, he doesn't see any familiar packaging and the aisle blurs in and out of his vision for a minute. There, he grabs a few things. He's not into anything all that interesting, and looking at some of the grocery-store approved toys makes him feel uncomfortable. A few things look like something the Galra would have found a way to weaponize and use and while he's sure before all this he would have been game... Now he isn't. He realizes he doesn't even really want Curtis on top of him, either. Or at least, not inside him.

-

He can still feel the blood running down the inside of his thighs. Sometimes just dripping steadily down without touching his body at all. They'd ripped him open in a new way. Trying to find some other way to torture and scare him. He has no idea how they guessed that, or if it was half accidental. They hadn't realized that human joints really weren't that flexible when they broke his elbow. Just testing his limits.

Shuddering he's terrified of the scarring ripping open again. Of just anything tearing into him.

Trying to imagine if he could go down on Curtis his throat tightens and he swallows hard against a gag. What if it feels like the feeding tube they'd forced down his throat? He'd been refusing to eat after. Had tried to hide the bleeding. When it stopped he'd been so depressed he'd given up hope and reopened the wound. Tore skin. Hadn't cared. He'd wanted to bleed to death. They'd stapled the wound shut, drugged him with a paralytic that did nothing about the fact he couldn't sleep, shoved a tube down his throat, and chained him spread eagle so he couldn't move so much as an inch and inflict more damage.

-

Keith finally can't spend more time in candy and goes back to find Shiro. He's worried. He recognizes the stricken look he sees and gently takes Shiro's hand and pulls him away. "You can't get pregnant anyway, you don't need those."

Blinking and coming to, "school really failed you, didn't it?" He asks absently.

"You're cleared of any and all diseases and so's he. Nothing he can give you or vice versa."

"Maybe he doesn't like to swallow," Shiro says conversationally, still shaky. He knows Keith hates when he talks bluntly about this kind of stuff. So it'll stop the conversation in its tracks.

Keith makes a face. "Let's go find you a shirt that isn't black or grey?" He suggests.

"I look good in those colors."

"Yeah Shiro everyone does. What colors does Curtis like?"

Everything, Shiro wants to say. Curtis is full of life and color in spite of everything. "Purple. Galaxy purple like in those hubble telescope photos..." He says softly, thinking of the prints he's seen in Curtis' apartment. "Dark blue..." His bedroom.

"Great. There you go."

"Black and grey used to bring out my eyes..." Shiro teases, fluttering his eyelashes and trying to recover from earlier.

"And match your hair." Keith just shrugs and smiles blandly.

They wander over to the clothing section and browse. Shiro ends up with a simple deep purple henley, a dark navy vneck sweater, and Keith convinces him to try a maroon vneck tee and deep green henley, too. "Add some color old man."

They drop the groceries off, Shiro throws the meat and some seasoning into the crock pot. He can't bake to save his life but he can dump things in a pot and walk away. While he's busy Keith discovers Shiro's battered running shoes. After lecturing the other man about his knees and feet taking unnecessary damage he forces Shiro back out to get new shoes.

Then he drags him to get some nicer towels, a second set of sheets, and some actual jeans, and some nice button ups so Shiro can dress up a little without going full uniform. Shiro only has 2 pairs of black pants and Keith feels odd realizing what they're doing. Maybe he he should have let Curtis do this. But Shiro started on his own. Keith just helped him finish. And made sure he had more than just the absolute bare minimum cheapest crap he could pick in two seconds.

When they get back Keith helps him load all the fabric into the wash so it'll be ready before Curtis gets back. He has a feeling the other man will appreciate all the changes. Looking at the clock he's surprised its only a little after 1400 hours.

He notices Shiro never really stops shaking, and he seems uncomfortable the whole time. Not unwilling just not himself, either. "Do you remember forcing me to pick out clothes?" He asks suddenly.

"Yeah you were a real shithead."

"Thanks for not returning the favor."

"Wouldn't know how to be that obnoxious even if I tried," Shiro smiles.

"So magnanimous."

Shiro shakes his head a little. He flops tiredly onto the couch unsure what to make of all of it.

Keith lets Shiro sleep, fear mounting in his chest cavity. He switches the laundry into the dryer. He's not sure what to do to help Shiro. But at least the man has food. Nice sheets, soft towels. New, clean clothes. The food smells good, and Keith finds himself puttering around looking for things to do, because he's afraid to leave Shiro alone.

Eventually he settles on the couch, putting a hand on Shiro's chest to feel his heartbeat. It seems steady. Normal. Healthy. But the tremors, the sweating, the indecision... It's all so concerning.

Eventually the dryer dings softly. Keith gets up and finds himself remaking the bed, folding clothes and more or less pacing around again. Somewhat amused he's the one taking care of Shiro for a change, he settles back down on the couch when the housekeeping is done, watching him sleep.

He dozes off eventually, and wakes up to the door sliding open.

Curtis smiles as Keith hastily exits, and sniffs the air appreciatively.

Kneeling down by the couch he presses a gentle kiss on Takashi's forehead. "Hey handsome," he smiles gently. "Wake up, love."

Takashi blinks awake, and smiles when he sees Curtis. Curtis gently strokes his cheek and kisses him.

"You hungry?" He asks gently. "Food smells good, what is it?"

"Brisket, and I have veggie salad in the fridge. Just needs dressing."

"Sounds good to me, you ready?"

"Yeah. Keith ran me ragged."

"I can see that. Once we eat do you just wanna go back to bed?"

"No, we should talk."

"Okay," Curtis agrees. Kissing his forehead again he stands up. Watches Takashi shift an arm under himself and sit up, and ease his body off the couch. He seems like he's moving easier. Less stiff.

Takashi quietly gets out plates and silverware, still half asleep. Pulling the salad out he has 2 choices for dressing and lets Curtis pick. Dumping food onto his plate, he settles at the counter and waits for Curtis to do the same.

When he's done serving himself, he unbuttons his uniform, and settles the jacket across the back of his chair. "Thanks for dinner."

"Of course," Takashi smiles back. They bump knees as they eat. He's happy to eat quietly, the hustle and bustle of running errands and dealing with people has him drained. The nap helps but just sitting there with his leg against Curtis' makes him feel better. That and not being required to talk around the food.

Half wondering if they should have talked first, in case he made himself sick, he breathes out a sigh through his nose.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I didn't mean to wear myself out so badly, though. Sorry."

Curtis nudges his leg, "it's fine."

When he finishes he rinses off his dishes and loads them.

"You cooked, I would have cleaned up."

"You do most of the hard work in our relationship, I think," Shiro smiles. "I can handle some dishes."

Curtis frowns a bit, but decides that can be part of their conversation later. He's absolutely not going to let that slide. Their needs just look different. He smiles when Takashi pulls out a sack of candy. And then laughs when he realizes how full it is. "Trying to fatten me up?"

"I just... There'll always be some here for you."

Holding out his hand he takes Takashi's gently as he comes around the counter and tugs him in close, between his legs. Tipping his face up they kiss for a few moments. Soft and gentle. They pull away and smile. Takashi is a little pink and Curtis smiles. Seems like everything works fine now.