#with a little bit leftover so hopefully i can tuck some of it away here and there. and perhaps even buy like... art supplies again omg

[dandyshucks]

GUESS WHO GOT ACCEPTED ONTO WELFARE THIS MORNING YAYYYYY

and my counsellor said she's going to get me onto a waitlist for low-income housing in town and i'll have priority over non-indigenous folks bc of my Metis status LETS FUCKING GOOOOO HUGE WIN

i am hoping to come back here relatively soon, but also we're entering the holiday season which is Rough for me so ,,, we shall see LOL. theres my update though! i hope everyones doing okay :]

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Been having some trouble with ye old autistic burnout, so I wrote a fluffy little piece about it.

Ghost x M!OC Darren "Thumper" Martin

Unedited, just straight fluff and comfort, enjoy <3

Ghost finds Darren in their base's kitchen, he's perched in the uncomfortable metal chair that's really too small for any of the 5 men that live there.

He's been sparse all day, slinking around in the background. A shadow, not unlike Ghost himself on some days. It's not uncommon for Darren to slip off on his own. He knows his limits, and Ghost often leans into his room to find him napping, tucked into a bear sized burrito with the fancy little sleep mask Gaz gifted him. It fits him perfect, even has little bluetooth speakers so he can play white noise to block out all the rest. 

Usually he reappears after an hour or so, the buzzing rain cloud of too much noise and fluorescent lighting temporarily shooed from around his head. 

There appeared to be no such reprieve today. Darren was far away from himself, faded into the background from his usual interactions. Ghost knows the signs well, has an easiedr time spotting it in others than himself. He usually gave Darren the opportunity to regulate himself before butting in. 

And Darren had given it a try really. Ghost had watched him fuss incessantly with his shirt, the familiar soft cotton suddenly too tight and itchy on his sensitive skin, cuffs hugging his biceps too much, clinging to his stomach. Hands rubbing over and over along his thighs in an attempt to smooth away stress. He'd changed his shirt at least 3 times if Ghost had noted correctly.

He'd even braved lunch with them, wincing slightly at the whir and inevitably blaring beep of Soaps microwaved macaroni. Pushed around his food for a bit before giving up, throwing it in a container to hopefully attempt later.

He'd avoided the gym all together, and then dinner, shooting a quick text to Price to let him know he was feeling ill. Wanted to rest. Ghost doubted Price bought the lie either, but decided against pressing the issue. 

Ghost had resolved to check on him that evening only to find it empty in the late hours of the night.

And so he finds him here, bundled in a big sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head, leg bouncing rapidly as he stares at the container of leftovers he'd put away that afternoon. He holds his head in his hands, looking equal parts disgusted and distressed.

“Why you thumpin’ Thumper?”

Darren jumps, big body jolting hard enough to make the chair squeak as whips up to look at him.

“Jesus christ, I didn't even hear ya come in.” He gives him a superficial nervous laugh, hiding his face again. Ghost hates it, when he hides his face. But he can’t say much, he hides too, keeps the mask on, hides earplugs or headphones underneath so the buzz of electricity doesn’t drive him mad. Rotates the same 4 lunches over and over in such a way as to not draw too much attention. He understands. 

He knows the pain, the frustration. Feeling like a silly cartoon thermometer, smoke fuming from his ears when Soap asks him one to many questions, the rising pressure of discomfort that never seems to shatter the glass, just mounting pressure that makes him feel like he’s suffocating in his own skin. And even with all the therapy and little tricks sometimes self soothing can only carry him so far. And while he thinks he understands why Darren suffers now, this was not the time for blunt solutions. This would take some tact, gentle prodding to keep Darren from buckling down and writhing himself deeper into the tangle of troubles that has him staring at stale mashed potatoes at midnight.

“Gonna tell me what's got you worked up?”

Darrens shoulders sag, and the other leg fires up in its bouncing, moving in an opposite rhythm to the other. Darren tries to wait him out, but Ghost is having none of it. Let’s him sit and writhe in the uncomfortable silence until Darren finally spits it out. 

“Lieutenant, it’s fine-”

“We ain’t workin’” Ghost cuts him off sternly, moves to sit down in the chair beside him. 

“I’m hungry.” he throws at the table, tired, antsy. He crosses his arms over his chest, squeezing tightly, another barrier he attempts to put between him and Ghost. 

Ghost’s eyes flick between Darren and the plastic container, prompting him to keep talking. Darren squirms.

“Its..It’s not that serious, I’m just being a toddler about…just,  I know I need to eat, It’s why I’m pissy. Everything just sounds bad, and I’d rather starve than eat any of this shit. But I need to eat.” he snaps, more at himself than Ghost. 

Ghost knows the feeling all too well. 

“Alright, if you could have anything right now, hot or cold?”

“What?”

That get’s his attention, tired gray eyes flicker up to meet his. He squints for a moment, thinking before piping up, slow and careful. 

“Hot”

“Soft or crunchy?”

His next reply comes a little quicker.

“Soft, I think”

“Spicy? Sweet?”

Darren wrinkles his nose, not unlike a bunny, and Ghost can’t help the amused smile tugging at his scarred lips. 

“Think I just want somethin’...kinda gentle?” he peeks up at Ghost, as if to ask permission. His sweet man. He looks a little more clear now, he’s stopped bouncing, hands now shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie as he looks toward him with a hopeful little glimmer. 

“Should be easy then.” Ghost nods, standing easily, mindful of the chair scraping against the tile floor. He takes the leftovers from Darren and pops them back in the fridge as he begins to dig around for other ingredients. 

Darren twists, following him across the room with curious eyes. Ghost digs out all he needs, a pack of noodles, butter, some of the cheap parmesan that Darren insisted they keep. Salt, pepper. 

“Whatcha makin?”

“Those noodles you like, should do well enough, yeah?

Ghost has barely gotten the water on the stovetop before a set of burly arms wrap around him, soft and slow as Darren molds himself to his back, face pressed between his shoulder blades. He’s content to let him stay there, clinging to him like a koala as Ghost takes half-steps back and forth to finish up their dinner. He makes them each a plate before guiding them both back to the table. 

The simple buttery noodles were just the ticket too. The tension from his shoulders easing as he digs in finally, scarfing down the food with an iron focus. The man must have been starving all day, the chips steadily stacking against him with each added stressor. He even goes for seconds, pushing his hood away from his face and returning to his seat with a happy little sway. A bouncy ritual that tells Simon he’s pleased. 

He grins up at Simon once they’ve both cleaned their dishes, sweet and sheepish. 

“There you are. “ Ghost murmurs with a smile, “C’mere love.” he gingerly guides Darren toward his front, tucking the bulky man close against his chest and hugging him tight. “You’ve been hidin’ from me today.” he chastises softly, pressing a soft kiss against his hairline as they sway gently in place. 

“Been real tired.” Darren whispers, letting some of the defeat bleed through. “M’sorry.”

“Let’s get you to bed then.” 

It’s short walk back to Simon’s room, Darren’s warm hand tucked in his as they go. He leaves the tired man perched on the edge of his bed as he prepares the room. Turns out the lights besides the soft glow from the night stand, sets up the small desk fan, digs out the extra pillows and tosses one at Darren’s head playfully. Earning him light giggle as he keeps the prize to himself and flops backwards, shimmying himself up nicely in Ghost’s bed. 

“Negative, take that off, you're going to be roasting us both in that.”

Darren huffs, shucking off the soft hoodie and t-shirt underneath, revealing a soft broad chest and even softer stomach, delicate inky lines run over his breast and shoulder and along his arm, soft flowers that contrast the hard lines on Ghost’s own arm. He folds them both up neatly, before shimmying under the blankets in just his sweatpants, tugging the covers up over his chin, and waiting for Ghost with sleepy sweet eyes. 

Ghost knows damn well the sweatpants will also get kicked off in the night, and he will wake up with a big southern octopus clinging to him in just his briefs. (If he’s lucky those might come off too.) He crawls over him in the bed, pausing briefly to straddle his hips and catch his lips in a soft slow kiss. Darren hums happily, hips wiggling under the blankets as he wraps his arms around his neck. 

“Careful now.” Ghost warns, nipping at his jaw playfully before flopping down beside him with the grace of a lazy cat. With some fussing he manages to get under the covers, tucking himself against the wall and dragging Darren across the bed. Simon tucks him against his chest, curling an arm around his waist and letting his fingers trail idly over the coarse hair of his belly. 

“Thanks for taking care of me Simon.”

Simon only hums, pressing another soft kiss to the back of his neck before squeezing him closer. Finally, with full bellies and the soft whir of the fan, they both fall into a peaceful sleep, curled into the warmth of one another.

[wlwmarvelenthusiast]

Can u write an au where carol’s cat (goose) keeps sneaking into fem!reader’s apartment and so carol and reader communicate with each other thru notes they put on goose’s collar and they eventually fall in love (((:::::::

Goose's Best Friend

Summary: After a stranger's cat injured in your apartment one night, you decide to attach a short note to its collar to give your apologies. They lead to something you could have never expected.

Pairing: Army Pilot!Carol Danvers x Reader

Warnings: language

Word Count: 2,792

It was the middle of the night, 2:57a.m., to be exact, when a loud crash shook you from the clutches of sleep. You sat up with a groan, rubbing your eyes to clear your vision enough to look at the clock on your nightstand. You swung your legs off the bed, eyes catching the shattered lamp on the ground. Fighting off the temptation to leave it on the ground for tomorrow, for fear that you might forget about it and slam your bare feet into the shards scattered around the floor, you slid your legs into some sweats and stood up.

You weren’t expecting, when you turned on the light, for something to move. When something darted around the corner you actually let out a high-pitched yelp, flying backwards and hitting your elbow hard off the corner of the nightstand. You felt tingling rush into the tips of your fingers as you tried desperately to comprehend what had just happened. Your breathing had already increased, and your heart was racing inside your chest. You took a hesitant step forward.

Despite being alone in the apartment, you flushed beet red in embarrassment when you found the creature you’d been so terrified of. The orange tabby cat stared up at you with wide eyes, letting out a quiet mew. Immediately your heart softened, its beat slowing down to a normal pace. When the cat made to step toward you, though, you immediately noticed the limp. Your eyebrows furrowed and you knelt down, letting it come to you. You reached out for its front leg, and it let you take it into your hand.

“Oh, sweet baby,” you muttered softly, wiping a bit of blood out of its fur with your thumb. “Come on. I think I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

It surely didn’t understand what you said, but it followed you when you stood up. It limped into the bathroom behind you, settling once it reached the tile floor. You reached into the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the red case, propping it up on the countertop and opening it up. Quickly, you located the roll of bandages and the scissors that came with it. You pulled it out and got some wet paper towels. Once more you knelt down on the ground next to the tabby.

A black collar around its neck caught your attention. You reached out for the silver tag that hung from it and spoke aloud. “Goose. Well, Goose, there’s no phone number here for your owner. Guess I’ll have to fix you up and trust you can find your own way home, huh?”

He meowed in response.

You continued to wrap up his leg. When you finally finished, you tucked the first aid kit away again. You clicked your tongue a couple times in an attempt to get him to follow you again. The both of you headed toward the kitchen, where you rummaged through the fridge for the leftover chicken from dinner the night before last. You pulled some out and set it in a small dish on the floor, a sort of apology for your lamp having done such damage to the poor animal’s leg. He helped himself quickly. Meanwhile, you dug through one of your drawers.

You popped the cap off a pen and cut a small strip of paper, struggling to keep your writing small enough to fit.

There was no number on the collar, so I opted for this. Goose found his way into my apartment and had an unfortunate mishap. I patched him up and gave him a treat. I hope that’s okay. He should be alright.

Hope he feels better soon.

You rolled the note around the tabby’s collar and taped it in place. He’d finished his treat by now, so you led him back to the apartment door. When you opened it, he cast one glance back at you, eyes shining as if in gratitude, then scurried down the hall. Just as he turned out of sight, though, someone else moved into your peripheral vision. You could have scoffed when you saw who had wandered into the hallway. She spoke before you could close the door.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Fuck off, Danvers.”

“Captain Danvers,” she hummed, a wide smirk on her face as she twirled her keys around her finger.

“In your dreams,” you scoffed. “And next time you’re using your stripes to get random women in bed, be a little quieter, would you? Some of us around here have self-respect.”

You closed the door before she could respond to that.

You and Carol Danvers had hated each other for as long as you’d lived there. The two of you were like hot and cold, or night and day. She liked loud music and late nights whereas you liked a nice book and an early night. You were quiet and soft-spoken, and Carol was a bully. In fact, she was your bully. You’d never endured such teasing and taunting from anyone else before. It wasn’t her harsh words that got to you, though. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure what it was that got to you. Maybe it was her arrogance, or maybe it was her ignorance for anyone around her. It didn’t matter.

Carol Danvers brought out a side of yourself that you didn’t know existed. You’d only have to hear a single word fall from her lips or see a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, and instantly any semblance of a good mood would dissipate and fade into annoyance. The hatred you held for her made your blood boil in your veins at the mere sight of her stupid, cocky smirk. You sometimes wished you could just reach out and slap that stupid smirk off her stupid face.

You pushed the blonde from your mind, heading back to bed. Hopefully, the coming day would be one that didn’t involve the blonde captain.

*

It was three days later that a quiet meow caught your attention. It tore your gaze from the TV, and you glanced toward the source of the sound. The face that was watching you immediately brought a smile to your face. You pat the couch beside you and the tabby jumped up, settling onto the blanket. You ran your hand across his head, watching his eyes close in content. You were about to turn your gaze back to the TV when you noticed the paper around his collar. It wasn’t the same one you put there. You reached out for it and removed it, careful not to rip it, and unrolled it. You flicked on the lamp.

Sorry about him. He wanders around the building. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten into someone’s room. If you fed him, he’ll probably come back to you (which I don’t mind, so long as you don’t mind that he’ll keep coming back). That’s how I know you’ll get this. So, thank you for patching him up. The vet would’ve cost more. You were right. He was just fine.

Rolled up with it was a twenty-dollar bill. You chuckled, immediately standing up off the couch. You pulled a small treat out of the fridge as you passed it, Goose trotting into the kitchen at the sight. You handed it to him and he took it happily, chowing down as you stood up straight again and continuing on your journey toward the notepad on the counter. Once again you ripped a small piece of paper out of it, ripping the cap of the pen off with your teeth and holding it there as you brought the pen down to meet the paper.

It seems so. You were right. He came back. He’s a sweet boy. I truly enjoy his visits. I don’t get many of them, so he’s welcome here whenever he pleases. And I don’t need this. Keep it.

You knelt down on the ground to Goose once again. He sat still for you as you wrapped the bill around his collar, wrapped the note around it, and then taped them both in place. Once more, you led him back to the apartment door, opened it up for him, and let him into the hallway. He rubbed his head against your calf once more before dashing out of sight. You shut the door behind him.

*

You huffed as you stormed into the lobby of the apartment building. Work had not treated you well that day. All you wanted was to head upstairs, put on your coziest pyjamas, order takeout, cuddle into the couch, and watch a movie or two. It was all you needed to wash away the horrible day and ease the stress that was weighing so heavily on your chest. You only wanted to pick up your mail before you did, but apparently, the universe had other ideas.

“Looking for some mail from your mommy?”

Danvers was the last person you wanted to deal with today. You didn't even bother to grumble a response to your neighbour, who was still in uniform as she stepped up beside you and unlocked her own mailbox. You were going to step away without a single word, but once more, you didn’t get your wish. Carol snickered at something, making you slam your box shut with far more force than necessary.

“What, pray tell, is so fucking funny?” You snapped.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. Nice keychain.”

The keychain was a souvenir one you’d gotten from your trip to Disney with your family a few years ago. It was a picture of you and your brothers all wearing Mickey Mouse ears and sticking your tongues out at the camera. If anyone else had said the words, you would have blushed and thanked them. When Carol said the words, you shoved the keys in your pocket and shot a glare so harsh that it would have killed if it could have.

“You’re a dick, Danvers.”

“Captain Danvers,” she corrected once more.

“Look, this whole army pilot thing might work on those girls you pick up from god knows where, but I’ve met you,” you sneered. “You use this uniform for detestable things, Danvers. It’s disgusting.”

You stormed away.

When you unlocked your door and stepped into your apartment, however, you found that you wouldn’t need pyjamas or takeout or movies to make you feel better. Your new best friend was sitting on your couch as if he had been waiting for you to arrive home. You dropped your bag at the door and moved to sit with him immediately. After stroking his head absentmindedly for a bit, you noticed the new note.

Take it. Please? Come on, you’re going to make Goose sad if you don’t. You’re going to make me sad if you don’t.

Attached with the note, again, was that same twenty-dollar bill. You rolled your eyes as you moved into the kitchen once more, handing Goose a few of the cat treats you’d bought for him. He accepted them happily as, for the third time, you prepared to write a note for Goose’s mystery owner. You didn’t even bother to sit down, hunching over the counter in a way that your back probably wouldn’t have thanked you for. You scribbled on the paper.

I’m sure Goose won’t mind at all. As for you? Well, I don’t really know you, do I? Just keep the damn money, will you? You know, Goose is going to gain a few pounds if you keep sending him back here.

Sincerely, Goose’s new best friend

After a few pats to the head, you sent Goose off with that. He was back later that day.

Goose’s best friend,

Goose does mind. He wants you to keep it. Please? Besides, if we keep attaching it with scotch tape to a wandering cat, it’s going to get lost. You wouldn’t want that, now, would you? I sure wouldn’t. As for the treats, I’ll make sure to walk him a bit more. Wouldn’t want to lose my new favourite pen pal over a couple extra pounds on the cat.

- Goose’s mom

This time, there were two twenties attached. You chuckled at that. Goose was gobbling down his treat as you wrote.

Goose’s mom,

I think that’d be quite a sight to see, you walking Goose down the street. Guess if I ever see Goose leashed and with some random woman on the street, I’ll know what you look like.

- Goose’s best friend

P.S. Just donate the money. Seriously.

As if it were habit by now, you reattached the bills, added your note, and sent the tabby out the door once again. You headed back to what you’d been doing.

It wasn’t long before the next reply.

Goose’s best friend,

Here, I’ll help you build the image. I’m 23, blonde, and about 5’6”. I’m in the army, so I’d probably still be in uniform after work. Oh, and Goose’s leash is blue, and he has a grey harness for walking.

- Goose’s mom

P.S. I split the $40 between the humane society and the local shelter

You once more had to laugh at the stranger. Of course, you immediately moved to respond. As much as you didn’t want to kick Goose out, you wanted her to get your answer as soon as possible. You grabbed your notepad.

Goose’s mom,

You sound cute.

- Goose’s mom’s best friend

It was a short note this time. You were having fun, though, and you wanted to tease your new friend a little. You attached the note to Goose and let him run off.

Once more, Goose returned with a new reply.

Best friend,

You didn’t give me anything in response. I’m offended.

- Goose’s mom’s best friend’s best friend

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way she’d signed her newest note. A pang of confidence hit your chest. You scribbled on the note.

Goose’s cute mom,

Let’s go for coffee then. 2B. I’m free when you are.

- Girl with a crush

*

You regretted sending that last note. You’d never gone more than 12 hours without communicating with the mystery note sender. You’d grown quite fond of the little pieces of communication you’d exchanged with her. It was actually the highlight of your day, on most days. Since sending that last one, though, you’d yet to hear back from her. It’d been four days now. You were quite upset about it, and decided the best way to fix that was some loud music. Maybe it’d piss Danvers off as much as she pissed you off.

When there was a loud knock on the door, you immediately assumed that you’d sure pissed someone off. Of course, they’d complain about you and not her. Everyone loved Carol fucking Danvers. You wished you could whirl the door open and shout at whoever was on the other side, but knew yourself better than that. You’d probably open it up and apologize, then turn the volume down and wallow in your misery to the sound of softer music.

That is, if it were anyone but Danvers.

“What? Just now realizing how damn annoying it is to hear loud music blaring from the apartment directly below yours?” You rolled your eyes. “Fuck off, Danvers.”

You went to slam the door, but she stuck her hand in. It must’ve been a little harsher than you meant to, because she shook her fingers out when she retracted them. You didn’t apologize, because you didn’t even feel bad. She deserved it after giving you two years of hell having to live in the apartment below her. You’d not have been surprised if one day she invited an elephant into her room just so she could make as much noise in your apartment as possible.

As you were about to make another snarky remark, though, you noticed something. That cocky glint that was usually shining in her brown eyes was missing. She wasn’t even meeting your eyes. Her gaze was cast to the door beside your head, locked to the bronze numbers that were screwed into it. You raised a single eyebrow, waving your hand in front of her face to get her attention. She blinked as if coming out of a trace, looking back to you.

“What do you want, Danvers?” You snapped when she wouldn’t speak.

She didn’t answer. She only held out a small piece of paper. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but took it from her. The handwriting was one you’d seen so many times.

Goose’s best friend,

Coffee it is. But I’m paying. I still owe you.

- A girl who also has a crush, Carol Danvers

[captainsamwilsonbarnes]

I’ll Make This Feel Like Home

I’ve been sitting on this WIP for a while, so I finally decided to finish and post it! It’s just pure self-induglent Sambucky domestic fluff, but my heart really needed it after watching those scenes of them together in Louisiana. 😍😍😍

~*~

Sam x Bucky (4.8K of pure fluff, rated T.) No applicable warnings other than TFATWS spoilers for anyone who hasn’t watched the series yet.

"That," Bucky says as he pushes back from the table and pats his stomach, "was the best goddamn meal I've ever had. Seriously, like ever. You really outdid yourself," he tells Sarah, who gives him a shy smile in return.

"Thank you, Bucky," Sarah beams, her smile growing even wider as she reaches out to pat his shoulder. "I like this one," she tells Sam. "He's a keeper."

"Yeah, he sure is," Sam grins. "I thought about returning him a couple of times, but he kinda grew on me," he winks while slipping his hand under the table and squeezing Bucky's knee.

That causes a very attractive blush to spread across Bucky's face, and Sam can't help thinking about all of the ways he could make that happen again.

Bucky gives Sam a private smile and says, "I guess you're stuck with me."

"I can live with that," Sam happily agrees.

"Will you be staying long?" Sarah asks Bucky as she stands up and starts collecting their empty plates. "Not that I'm kicking you out, I promise. We have plenty of room, and you're more than welcome to stay as long as you like."

Or forever, Sam thinks, but he keeps that to himself.

This thing with Bucky, these fond looks and lingering touches, that's not exactly new territory for them.

It's just been a while, and Sam's a little unsure of the protocol here when they've only spent a handful of days together after nearly a month of radio silence.

That wasn't Sam's choice, but Bucky was furious when Sam mentioned that he was going to turn in the shield. Sam hadn't even done it yet, but it still led to an ugly argument which ended with Bucky refusing to answer Sam's texts or phone calls after that. Things only got worse from there when the government gave the shield to Walker, but Sam didn't feel like he had much of a choice in the matter.

Sam's no fool, he knew the government wouldn't allow him to become the next Captain America. It had been a sweet gesture on Steve's part, but it left Sam with more questions than he had answers for.

After they returned from the blip, Sam ended up living in Wakanda with Bucky for a while since his previous apartment in D.C. was long gone. It was a hard truth to accept, but a lot had changed in five years. Sam knew he could go back to Delacroix and live with Sarah and the boys, but he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Not that he didn't miss them dearly, but he wanted to take some time to adjust to this new normal before moving back home. It was a lot to process at the time, and Sam definitely didn't want to give Sarah any more reasons to worry about him.

Naturally, Shuri and T'Challa happily opened their hearts and home to him when Bucky explained Sam's situation. They were extremely gracious about it and assured Sam that he was welcome to stay as long as he wanted.

That only ended up being a few months, but it allowed Sarah to prepare for Sam's return, and for Sam to be in a much better mental state.

Truth be told, Sam's not quite sure he could have recovered as quickly as he did if it weren't for Bucky.

Bucky, who hadn't even hesitated to ask Shuri and T'Challa if Sam could stay in Wakanda with them.

Bucky, who had been nothing but sweet and charming to him the entire time Sam was there.

Bucky, who always held and comforted Sam when he needed it.

Bucky, who never judged or pitied Sam when he cried.

Bucky, who always dried Sam's tears with a gentle touch.

Bucky, who understood that anger was a perfectly valid emotion, given everything they'd been through.

Bucky, who was typically a man of few words, but happily talked Sam's ear off whenever Sam needed a distraction from his thoughts.

Bucky, who has been through his own share of personal horrors, but always put Sam's comfort and well-being before his own.

Bucky, who quickly became one of Sam's very best friends and completely stole his heart.

Their nights together in Wakanda were Sam's favorite because they would often lie on a blanket under the stars, just the two of them. They told each other things they never shared with anyone else, not even Steve, and Sam really enjoyed getting to know the real Bucky.

Their interactions always remained platonic, but Sam would be lying if he said he didn't want more. He often wondered if Bucky did too, but Sam ended up leaving before he had a chance to find out.

Back in the present, Bucky shakes his head in response to Sarah's question as he gives Sam a wistful smile.

"Nah, I wish. I've got some things to take care of back in Brooklyn, so I'm leaving tomorrow, actually. But," he adds hopefully, "I would love to come back for another visit sometime. If that's okay."

"Absolutely," Sarah nods. "You're always welcome here anytime, so don't be a stranger," she says as she leans down and kisses Bucky's cheek.

"Watch yourself, baby sister," Sam glares as he swats at her with a dish towel.

"Do that again Samuel, and I'm throwing out the rest of the beignets," Sarah threatens.

"Okay, truce," Sam relents as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. Sarah's beignets are his favorite, and he doesn't doubt that she would throw them away just to spite him.

"I better have another one, just in case he decides to stick his foot in his mouth again," Bucky tells Sarah as he reaches for the plate of leftovers.

"Oh, you think you're cute, huh?" Sam smirks as he snaps the dish towel in Bucky's direction this time.

"Not as cute as you, Samuel," Bucky drawls just before taking a bite of the fluffy pastry.

Sam's entire face flushes hotly as he looks up and meets Bucky's eyes.

Is he…flirting?

It's been a while since anyone has flirted with him, so Sam is a bit out of practice. Still, there's a mischievous twinkle in Bucky's eyes that Sam hasn't seen in months. The warmth suddenly spreads from his cheeks straight down to places that he doesn't want to think about with his little sister in the room.

"Well, at least we agree on something," Sam jokes as he plucks the half-eaten beignet out of Bucky's hand and pops it into his mouth. It's a weak reply, but it's all his brain could come up with after being caught off guard like that.

Bucky isn't even fazed, he just reaches for another beignet and eats it in two bites. "God, these are amazing," he moans.

It's pure torture for Sam, watching helplessly as Bucky licks the powdered sugar from his lips.

"Thank you," Sarah says as she places a sealed paper bag in front of Bucky. "These are for you to take home with you. They won't be quite as good as they are when they're fresh, but just heat them up in the oven for about five minutes and they'll be pretty close."

"Marry me," Bucky says dramatically as he reaches for both of Sarah's hands. "Make an honest man out of me, Sarah Wilson."

"You're sweet," Sarah giggles as she pulls her hands back and dusts them off, "but I don't feel like being turned into fish food."

"Empty threats," Bucky waves dismissively in Sam's direction. "He'll eventually learn to accept our love."

Sam almost chokes on his beer at Bucky's words. He knows it's all a joke and he's pretty sure (okay, somewhat sure) that Bucky isn't actually interested in his sister, but it still leaves a very unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Especially because Bucky can really lay on the charm when he wants to.

"I'm going to miss you," Sarah tells Bucky as she holds out her arms and wraps him up in a hug.

No, Sam is absolutely not jealous about that. He's just going to drink the rest of his beer and pretend like he doesn't want to pry them apart. (He is secretly thrilled that they get along so well, but he can obviously never let them know that. It would give them too much power.)

"I'll miss you too, sweetheart," Bucky says as he lifts Sarah right off of her feet and swings her around. "I promise I'll be back, though."

"I'm holding you to that," Sarah tells him while poking Bucky's chest.

"Please do," Bucky laughs as he sets her back down.

"Okay gentlemen," Sarah says as she continues stacking plates next to the sink, "any chance you guys might take care of the dishes so I can pry the boys away from their video game and tuck them in?"

"Of course," Bucky nods while reaching out and offering Sam a hand. "You wash, I'll dry?"

"Deal," Sam grins as he lets Bucky help him to his feet. Not that Sam needs it, but he loves that Bucky is so delightfully chivalrous.

"Don't let him trick you into doing all the work," Sarah warns Bucky as she pulls him into another hug. "And you better come down and say goodbye before you leave tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am," Bucky says as he gives Sarah one last squeeze. "Thanks again for dinner, and just for everything, really."

"Thanks for always keeping my brother safe," Sarah smiles at them both as she exits the kitchen.

"Your family is amazing," Bucky tells Sam once they're alone. "Cass and AJ are the sweetest kids, and I'm really going to miss this place."

"Don't miss it for too long then," Sam says as he claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I know you have stuff to sort out in Brooklyn, but you can always come back here afterward. Maybe stay a while and make a proper vacation of it," he suggests.

"I thought we were going to take separate vacations?" Bucky teases.

"I've got Carlos and his fillet knife on speed dial, just so you know," Sam jokes as he grabs two more beers from the fridge and hands one to Bucky.

"I'm kidding," Bucky says as he accepts the bottle. Their fingers connect briefly, and Sam wishes they could live in this moment forever. No threats on their lives, no drama, just each other.

"Well I'm serious about you coming back. You up for it?" Sam asks.

"Definitely," Bucky nods before taking a sip from his beer. "Just let me tie up some loose ends in Brooklyn, then I'm all yours," he winks.

It's a common phrase, Sam realizes, but it still causes a sudden warmth to bloom in his chest.

I'm all yours.

Yeah, he could get used to that.

"Works for me," Sam says as he sets his beer down and turns his attention to the sink.

Bucky's words keep replaying in his head like a broken record: I'm all yours…I'm all yours...I'm all yours… so Sam has to occupy his hands before he does something reckless.

"Here, let me help," Bucky offers as he grabs a clean dish towel and joins Sam by the sink.

Bucky's 'help' turns out to be nothing but a distraction since he's pressed up against Sam's side, warm and solid. Sam's not really sure when Bucky started wearing cologne, but the one he's got on right now smells familiar. It's probably one of his own, Sam distantly realizes, since they both showered just before dinner.

Bucky hadn't brought much with him besides a single change of clothing, so he likely hadn't packed many toiletries.

"Are you wearing my cologne?" Sam asks out of curiosity, not that he minds in the least. Bucky usually just smells like fabric softener, which always makes Sam want to hold him close and breathe him in.

"Yeah," Bucky admits, "I hope you don't mind. I didn't bring any, so I just wanted to smell nice."

"You do," Sam says as he nudges Bucky's shoulder. What he doesn't dare mention is the fact that Bucky smells exactly like he probably would if he woke up in Sam's arms, with their combined scents mingling together. "You look nice, too," he adds in what he hopes is an appreciative tone.

Since Bucky neglected to pack anything to sleep in, he's wearing one of Sam's favorite T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. The shirt is a bit snug, but it clings to him in all the right places.

"Thanks," Bucky blushes as Sam hands him some plates to dry.

"You're welcome," Sam says while trying his best not to think about how much better that shirt would look on his bedroom floor.

"Do you think Sarah would share her beignet recipe with me?" Bucky asks a moment later.

"Doubtful," Sam snickers. "She's definitely taking that one to the grave with her. Hell, I don't even know it," he confesses.

"Oh," Bucky frowns. "Well, maybe she can still teach me how to make 'em even if we use a different recipe," he muses. "They're so goddamn addictive."

Shaking his head, Sam says, "they'll never be the same. You need water from the bayou to make them just right."

"Bullshit," Bucky scoffs as he gives Sam a playful shove.

"Hey, don't mock the process," Sam laughs, "but I can teach you if you really want to learn."

"Cool," Bucky grins. "I did a lot of cooking when I was in the Army. I wasn't half bad at it, actually."

"I can see that about you," Sam nods. "Especially living in Brooklyn. I bet you'll turn into one of those foodie snobs in no time."

"Nah," Bucky shakes his head, "I've never been too picky when it comes to food. My ma always taught me to eat whatever was put in front of me, so I doubt I'll ever become a snob about it."

"Sounds like she raised you right, then," Sam smiles.

"Guess so," Bucky agrees as he ducks his head shyly.

They work in companionable silence for the next few minutes, with Sam washing the dishes and then handing them over for Bucky to dry. The kitchen has a nice, wide sink, but no luxuries such as a dishwasher. That's fine with Sam, though. He's glad Sarah chose to preserve the original architecture, rather than overload the house with too many modern fixtures.

"Are there any more dishes left?" Sam asks a little while later as he's rinsing off some forks.

"Nope," Bucky says as he reaches around Sam and shuts off the tap. "All done," he adds in a low voice as he anchors his hands on Sam's hips and presses himself close.

It's so unexpected that it shocks Sam into dropping the forks back into the sink.

"Shit," he curses as soapy water splashes the front of his T-shirt.

"Sorry," Bucky laughs, clearly aware of the effect he's having on Sam.

"No you're not," Sam fires back because Bucky knows exactly what he's doing.

"No, I'm really not," Bucky purrs as he tucks his face into the curve of Sam's neck.

Sam had forgotten how sexy the scrape of stubble could feel. Sweet Jesus.

"Are you nuzzling me?" Sam tries to play it cool, but his voice betrays him by cracking slightly.

"Mmmhmm," Bucky confirms as he rests his chin on Sam's shoulder. "Just let me know if this makes you uncomfortable, and I promise I'll stop."

"Okay," Sam says a bit shakily, "did you accidentally eat some catnip?" Friendly touches are pretty common between them now, but there's absolutely nothing platonic about the way Bucky's got him pressed up against the counter.

Bucky chuckles at that while slipping his hands under Sam's shirt and trailing them over the smooth skin just above Sam's waistband. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Well something's up," Sam insists, but he doesn't pull away.

"Not yet," Bucky leers as he gives Sam's hips a squeeze. "But maybe if you play your cards right."

"Buck," Sam freezes, because that is entirely possible to misinterpret, "are you flirting with me?"

"Well, if you have to ask, then I'm obviously doing it wrong," Bucky laughs again. "I was a lot smoother back in the forties, I swear."

"You're doing fine," Sam praises as he melts into Bucky's touch. "You just caught me off guard, that's all."

"I'm full of surprises, sweetheart," Bucky whispers as he grazes his lips against Sam's neck.

Sam can't help shivering at the touch, because Bucky's lips are a warm contrast to the crisp evening breeze filtering through the open windows. The sweet scent of gardenias fills the air as Sam tries to calm his racing heart.

It's just Bucky, he thinks, which would have completely unnerved him once upon a time. Now it's a familiar comfort, like his favorite sweater, or the melodic sound of his nephews' laughter. Still, he can't seem to contain the flutter in his chest because he knows they're crossing a line that they've been cautiously avoiding for years.

"I like surprises," Sam says as he turns around and grips Bucky by the front of the T-shirt. The fabric is soft, and he can feel the heat from Bucky's skin seeping through it.

"I like you," Bucky counters as he cradles Sam's jaw with one hand. With the other, he hooks his fingers into Sam's belt loops and hauls him closer.

"I like you too," Sam admits as he drops his hands down and settles them on Bucky's waist.

"Glad we're on the same page," Bucky grins as he sweeps his thumb over Sam's cheek. "Would it be terribly old-fashioned of me to ask for permission to kiss you?"

"Yes," Sam says, eyes sparkling with delight, "but I sure hope that's not gonna stop you."

"Consider this my formal request, then," Bucky winks as he tilts Sam's face up.

"Permission granted, Sergeant," Sam murmurs just before Bucky kisses him. It's a slow, sweet drag of their lips at first, then Bucky carefully changes the angle as he cups the back of Sam's neck and deepens the kiss.

Sam lets out a whimper as he reaches up to run his fingers through Bucky's hair. It's the shortest it's ever been since Sam has known him, but he loves it like this. Bucky barely looks older than he did in the forties, and he's still every bit as handsome.

"Finally," Bucky pants shakily against Sam's mouth. "God, I've been wanting to do that for so long."

"Me too, baby," Sam replies as he wraps his arms around Bucky's neck.

"Well then, I guess we'll just have to make up for lost time," Bucky suggests as he leans in for another kiss. It's every bit as sweet as the first one but slightly less gentle as he pins Sam to the counter and rocks their hips together.

"Fuck," Sam groans as he pulls back suddenly and rubs Bucky's cheek. He can hear the TV upstairs so he knows that someone is still awake. Probably Sarah, but it could easily be the boys since it's not even that late. "As much as I really want to take this further, we can't right now. Not until we're sure that everyone's asleep."

"Sweetheart," Bucky says as he slides forward and nudges their noses together. "You don't owe me any explanations. This is your house and I would never want to make anything weird for you and your family. Especially for you, Sam."

"I know," Sam nods, "and I really appreciate that. I just wish we had some privacy, that's all."

"We will," Bucky smiles while adding, "they've gotta fall asleep sometime, right?"

"Right," Sam laughs as he kisses Bucky softly. "You're amazing, you know that? Just in case I don't tell you enough."

"Wait, does that mean I'm not as annoying as you like to pretend I am?" Bucky teases.

"No," Sam grins brightly, "you're definitely still annoying."

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly as he reaches for Sam's hand and steers him into the living room. "Well you're no picnic either, baby doll," he says finally as he drops down onto the couch and pulls Sam into his arms.

"Must be why we're perfect for each other, huh?" Sam winks as he settles onto Bucky's lap and kisses him again.

"Must be," Bucky agrees as he wraps his arms around Sam's neck and kisses him back.

*

"So, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," Bucky tells Sam a while later when they're curled up on the couch watching TV.

"What is it?" Sam asks as he sits up and turns to face Bucky. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Bucky replies. "But I kinda broke the lease on my apartment, so that's why I'm heading back to Brooklyn. There's not much left in it, honestly, but I have to pick up the rest of my stuff and then just turn in my keys. I could use some company though if you wanna come with me?"

"Of course, baby," Sam says as he reaches out and squeezes Bucky's knee. "Oh shit, I should probably check for a last-minute flight, though."

"No need," Bucky tells him. "I, uh, kinda hoped you'd say yes, so I already got you a ticket."

"And what if I said no?" Sam challenges.

"Oh," Bucky frowns, "then guess I'd just go alone and miss you the whole time."

"Who knew you were such a drama queen?" Sam smirks while leaning in to kiss Bucky's pout away. "I'm kidding, baby; I'd love to go with you. But wait, where are you moving to then?"

"Well," Bucky blushes, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I used to love living in New York, but it's changed a lot since I was a kid. It's too damn loud, for one," he laughs. "That, or maybe I'm just not cut out for big city life anymore."

"So, you're leaving the city," Sam says, but it's not a question. He tried to talk Bucky out of moving there in the first place, but he figured it must have been a comfort thing. It's the only place Bucky has ever lived, so it made sense that he'd end up there, at least for a little while.

"Yeah," Bucky nods. "It's just not home to me anymore. I mean, I guess it hasn't been for the last eighty years, so I think it's time to move on."

"So where did you have in mind?" Sam asks. He doesn't want to assume anything, but he suddenly feels pretty hopeful about what Bucky may be getting at.

"Here," Bucky says while brushing his lips against Sam's. "You're home to me, so I just wanna be wherever you are, baby. I already looked up some apartment listings earlier and I found a few that looked promising. I mean, if you're cool with all of this. I don't want to make you feel pressured, or make things weird, or - "

Sam cuts him off with a kiss so intense that it leaves them both completely breathless.

"Bucky," Sam pants a moment later. "Are you kidding me? You know I hated the idea of you living all alone in Brooklyn, and I hope you know that I always want you around me."

"Always?" Bucky blushes as he shifts closer and rubs his nose against Sam's.

"Always," Sam repeats as he tilts his head and kisses Bucky again. "You're not gonna need that apartment, though."

"I won't?" Bucky says while giving Sam a teasing grin. "How come?"

"Well," Sam explains as he hauls Bucky off of the couch and leads him over to the window. From there, they have a perfect view of the backyard which is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. "I was actually thinking about building a place for us. We own this land and there's plenty of extra room," he adds while gesturing out the window. "So I was thinking we could build an extension for ourselves, sort of like a guest house. That way, we'll have our privacy, but we can still be near Sarah and the boys. What do you think?"

"I think that sounds like a goddamn amazing plan to me," Bucky says as he turns to wrap his arms around Sam and pull him close. "I haven't known your family for even a whole day yet but I already love them almost as much as I love you," he smiles before leaning in for another kiss.

"Whoa," Sam gasps. "You love me?"

"So much," Bucky nods. "I know it's probably way too soon to say it, but - "

"No, it isn't," Sam disagrees as he gently trails his fingertips over the scruff on Bucky's jaw, "not if you really mean it."

"I've honestly never meant anything more," Bucky murmurs as he steals another kiss. This one is just a quick peck, but Sam still feels it all the way down to his toes.

"Bucky, I - "

"I don't expect you to say it back," Bucky quickly interjects before Sam can even get a word in. "I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me, sweetheart. I know I'm not good with words, and okay, most of the time I'm just not good at expressing myself in general, but - "

"Bucky," Sam tries a little more firmly this time as he rubs the back of Bucky's neck. "I love you too. I've known it since Wakanda for sure, but probably even before that, honestly. You may be a pain in my ass sometimes, but you're the only one I trust with my heart," he finishes as he tugs Bucky forward and kisses him deeply.

"Holy shit," Bucky says as he pulls back and gives Sam a hopeful look. "You love me? Like really?"

"Really," Sam nods as he reaches for Bucky's hand and drags him back over to the couch. "I know it's been a while since we've talked about it," he continues once they get settled, "but I honestly don't know where I'd even be right now if it weren't for you. I was really struggling to accept how much life had changed after the blip, but you," Sam pauses as he turns toward Bucky and scoots closer, "you were my knight in shining armor. Literally," he emphasizes as he reaches for Bucky's vibranium hand and squeezes it. "Thank you, baby. That really meant a lot to me, just in case I don't say it enough."

"Sweetheart, you of all people have nothing to thank me for," Bucky says. "You deserve the world, Sam Wilson, he whispers as he takes hold of Sam's jaw and kisses him again.

"Thank you," Sam pants between kisses. "It's not a competition, but you know you deserve nice things too, right?"

Bucky smiles softly as he leans back and grips Sam by the shoulders. "Baby, I've already got everything I could ever possibly need or want right here."

The with you part goes unspoken, but Sam hears it anyway.

"I love you," Bucky continues as he gives Sam's shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "When I escaped from HYDRA, I never dreamed that I could be happy again, or that I'd fall in love and have a shot at a normal life. Not that anything about our lives is exactly normal," he laughs.

"No, definitely not," Sam agrees, "but we make it work."

"We sure do, sugar," Bucky says as he drops a kiss on Sam's shoulder.

"So how about it?" Sam asks as he reaches for Bucky's hand and laces their fingers together. "Do you think you could be happy here in Delacroix?"

"I don't care where we live," Bucky says as he slides onto Sam's lap. "Here, New York, Wakanda, fucking Mars, even. Delacroix is amazing, but honestly, I'll be happy wherever we are as long as you're there with me," he finishes as he tilts Sam's face up for a kiss.

"You know we don't have any of those fancy sushi joints here, right? Or those hipster coffee shops that you love so much," Sam teases.

"That's okay," Bucky grins as he presses a trail of kisses up Sam's neck. "I make damn good coffee actually, and I happen to know of a fantastic place to get seafood. The owners are a little grumpy, but you learn to love 'em."

"Is that so?" Sam pretends to glare as he pokes Bucky in the ribs.

"Yes it is," Bucky huffs while trying to squirm out of Sam's grasp. "And I think the one with the hot ass might have a crush on me."

"You better be talking about me," Sam smirks as he shoves Bucky backward and crawls on top of him.

"Only you, my love," Bucky says seriously as he wraps his arms around Sam's neck.

"Good answer," Sam winks as he bends down and kisses Bucky slowly. "I love you," he adds when he pulls back and rests their foreheads together.

Bucky smiles at that, sweet and soft and so ridiculously fond as he leans in and nuzzles Sam's cheek.

"I love you more."

~*~

[tennessoui]

The divorced fic was so cute i want to scream. Does Obi have any time to be sad or are Anakin and his little demons always there to distract him from his infinite sadness

so i know most everyone wants to know what anakin does about The Kiss but here's a bit of light hearted angst a year before that (because humanity is inherently whatever but i am inherently evil)

aka

the immediate aftermath of the Router Incident (1.4k)

The night of the day of what will come to be known as The Router Incident starts off with a bang.

Obi-Wan gets home a bit later than normal. Not because his work drags on longer than usual, but because he is, on the subject of all things even passably related to his personal life, a coward.

It’s been at least ten hours since he left the house with the goddamn wifi router tucked under his arm because Anakin had said something about finding a new place.

As if this isn’t the twenty-first century. As if Anakin doesn’t have a phone with unlimited data. As if Anakin isn’t the sort of person to walk five miles to the nearest coffeeshop with his kids in their stroller, just to use their wifi to email Obi-Wan a series of italicized question marks.

Obi-Wan’s been practicing his apology ever since he got that email. I’m really sorry, I promise I’m not a controlling megalomaniac. I just panicked because I’m not that good at letting go of things. You’d think I’d have learned by now, but apparently I only know how to dig my heels in whenever I think people are starting to pull away. Apologies again, life is not a game of tug-of-war, and I promise I do know that.

He practices his apology, of course, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also try to put it off until the last possible moment. When he leaves the building, his car is the only one still in the lot.

I’m really sorry. Here’s the router back. I support your decision. Your kids will be great. I know you probably won’t let them see me, because that’s a bit weird if we don’t all live together, and you also don’t use social media, which is great because I also don’t use social media, but I would have made a Facebook account just to keep up with your family. It’s meant more than I can say to have something to come home to this past year, and I understand that you can’t put your life on hold for a lonely old man like me, and I will endeavor from now on to not impede your search for a new place to live.

No, too needy, he thinks at a red light, dragging his hand over his beard in defeat. He won’t beg Anakin to stay.

He would very much like to beg Anakin to stay, but he hadn’t even begged Satine to stay, and he had been in love with her.

He just enjoys Anakin’s company. His presence. Unwinding next to Anakin after a difficult day teaching is one of the things he looks forward to the most.

And this past holiday season, they’d had a big dinner at his house, filled to the brim with Anakin’s friends and his friends and some people from the local grocery store they’d met when out shopping together, and it had been so loud and so amazing. Nothing had been left untouched, there had been food on the ceiling (Obi-Wan suspects Leia to this day, but Luke had confessed), there had been leftovers for days.

You can’t just give me holidays like that and then take them away, Obi-Wan thinks angrily as he turns into his neighborhood. What will I do next winter, then?

He has to sit in his car for a second after parking, just to calm down. He’s the one in the wrong, he reminds himself. Anakin has all the right in the world to want to leave. It was never Obi-Wan’s family to begin with.

It was never Obi-Wan’s family to begin with.

When he opens the door, he’s met with the sound of children screaming and crying.

Luke rushes at him and jumps on him with enough force that he reels backwards, almost out of the house. He drops his bag on the floor in order to steady the child.

Luke is bawling his head off right next to Obi-Wan’s ear so it’s very, very difficult to hear what a red-faced Anakin is trying to say.

And then Leia runs up to him, tugs at his free hand until he looks down at her, and then stomps her little foot with a scowl. “I hate you!” she declares just as loudly as Luke is crying, before her tiny face breaks into tears and she runs off.

“Oh, for the love of--” Anakin shouts, throwing his hands up in the air and chasing after his daughter.

Obi-Wan, ridiculously hurt beyond measure and without a clue about what’s happening, goes to sit down on the couch, still gently cradling Luke’s body to his as the boy continues to weep.

“Hush,” he says soothingly. “And, ah. Please tell me what’s gotten into the Skywalkers now.”

Luke only sniffles and rubs his snotty nose all over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Well. It’s laundry day tomorrow anyway.

“Daddy says you hate us,” Luke mumbles, just as Anakin comes back into the living room, notably sans Leia.

Obi-Wan feels his mouth fall open in shock. “Daddy says what?” he asks, very slowly, making dangerous eye contact with Anakin over the top of Luke’s blond head.

Anakin flushes an even darker shade of red and looks around the room, as if that’ll save him.

“Daddy says we gotta go because this is your house and we don’t wanna stay over our, um. Welcome. We can’t reproach on your space, which means you hate us.”

“Encroach,” Anakin corrects, which Obi-Wan does not think is the thing that really needs to be corrected. When he tries to communicate this with his eyes, Anakin gulps and says quite quickly, “I’m gonna go check on Leia actually.”

Coward.

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says gently. “Your daddy is just being very, very dumb, a trait I pray with all my heart skips a generation.”

Luke blinks at him, his little eyebrows furrowed and his button nose bright red from all of his crying.

“I don’t hate you at all,” Obi-Wan says. “I love both you and your sister very much.”

“Then why do we gotta leave?” Luke complains. “I don’t want to go, we could never play Space Pirates and Lava Dragons at the old place, it was way too small.”

Obi-Wan thinks privately that his house, while certainly big enough, is by no means the proper size for how rambunctious the twins get when they’re playing Space Pirates and Lava Dragons.

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums consideringly. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“You don’t?” Luke asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “I really don’t. But it’s not my decision to make, Luke.”

“It’s Daddy’s,” Luke concludes, head hanging low. “And Daddy wants to go.”

Obi-Wan ignores the way that sentence drives what feels like a knife straight through his heart. “Yes, well,” he coughs. “Your daddy won’t do anything he knows you and your sister really don’t want.”

Luke looks contemplative. Obi-Wan wonders if he should feel really bad or downright awful for manipulating a child in this way. But needs must.

“And he won’t listen to me,” he continues gently, smoothing down the front ends of the boy’s soft hair. “Because your daddy can be very stubborn when he thinks he’s doing something right.”

“He’ll listen to me and Leia though?” Luke asks, head cocked and eyes bright.

Obi-Wan nods very seriously. “I think he would if you both asked very nicely and thought about a lot of good reasons why you should stay here.”

“I can think of loads! And Leia can think of a ton more probably!” Luke exclaims with renewed energy, launching himself off of Obi-Wan’s lap and up the stairs, ostensibly to their shared bedroom.

Obi-Wan leans back against the couch, equal parts amused, exhausted, and hurt. He’ll need to have a serious talk with Anakin soon. He’d thought the man knew that his home was his as well. Yes, Anakin still paid rent, an unfortunate but necessary sort of system, but they’ve never been normal roommates. And Anakin isn’t a guest who could overstay his welcome.

He’s. Well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know exactly what Anakin is to him, but he had hoped it was obvious to Anakin at least that Obi-Wan would not ever grow tired of his presence in his life.

So they do have some things to talk about.

But hopefully this means that Obi-Wan won’t actually have to apologize for the router incident, seeing as Anakin’s fuck-up caused much larger waves.

[oloreaa]

Cold Fingers

Pairing: Din Djarin/gn!Reader

Summary: You seek out your husband to warm you up; short and sweet, we all could use some snuggles

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: none, fluff, the Child makes an appearance, otherwise soft!Din is a warning on his own

Notes: Prompted from a conversation with @mandolovian, this is for you, my darling❤ 

Prompt(s): "Why aren't you in bed?"

Mando'a Translations: riduur - spouse; cyare - beloved

▪Masterlist▪

……………

Space is cold.

Very, extremely, unimaginably cold.

It’s one of those facts that are common sense and self-explanatory: stars shine, hyperspace is blue and space is cold. Of course, you’m were not often cold on board the Razor Crest, the ship had a decent heating system for her age, and your clothes were all warm enough for space, but in times like this?

You cannot seem to warm up.

Buried in the blankets that were stacked onto your shared bunk, curled into the fetal position, you listened to the baby snore in his pram and shivered.

You were freezing from the inside, it seemed, your fingers stiff and cold as you tucked them to your side, your toes numb as you wriggled them under the usually warm blanket.

Getting up, you gave a full body shiver as your bare feet hit the icy metal, goosebumps running up your legs, across your torso, spreading along your arms which you wrapped around yourself. You flipped the blanket down when you were up. Hopefully enough warmth will be conserved so you won’t have to crawl back into a cold bed when you’re back, or even better yet, get your husband into it with you.

You checked on the Child, who was sprawled like a starfish in his pram and snored peacefully, button nose twitching. A smile crossed your face at the sight, and if your fingers were not blocks of ice, you would have reached out and traced the little one’s cheek. But since you didn’t want to wake him, you just tucked your fingers against your side, and moved towards the door.

Using your elbow to press the button on the side, the door to the little hallway that connected the captain’s quarters with the cockpit hissed open. Really wishing that you had worn some socks or shoes now, you shivered as you made your way into the cockpit.

The blue and silver swirls of hyperspace illuminated the inside of the ship, the recently cleaned viewport granted every passenger a crystal clear sight of the warp outside the ship. Din was sitting in the pilot’s seat, helmet off, datapad in hand as he read something on the screen. His head turned around as you entered, and his body followed as he took in the sight of you, shivering and hunched over.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Din asked, holding out a hand for you to take, and when you inched closer, his warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you close.

“Hm,” you made, “Guess I just missed you?”

You took his features in and admired the way how the light of hyperspace softened his face. His curls were softer, his face more relaxed, his eyes brighter, and his mouth looked more inviting than ever.

Din pulled you even closer, and placed a kiss onto your wrist, where his hands seemed to thaw you, melt you, warmth running through your veins at the press of his lips against your skin. You smiled at him, and he looked up, dark eyes full of affection.

“The baby?” Din asked, and you gave a reassuring nod.

“Starfished in his pram,” you said, tempted to mimick the little one if it would not make you even colder, losing some of the precious body warmth you were trying to conserve, “Snoring.”

He smiled, and muttered “womp rat” in a loving voice. You stepped closer to the pilot’s chair, and wriggled your toes against the cold metal floor.

“It’s been a long day,” Din said, baritone voice sounding like molten honey.

“Yeah,” you agreed, bending down slightly and pressing a kiss to his forehead, “Come to bed, riduur?”

His hand came up, and cupped your face, thumb gently grazing across your cheek. “In a bit, cyare,” he said, “I’ll be right there.”

You pouted at him. “But I’m cold,” you complained, “I’m practically an icicle.”

Din snorted, his smile almost splitting his face as he shook his head, “You’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m not!” You said and rolled up your sleeves, showing him the goosebumps all over your arm, “Look at this!”

He laughed and moved to stand up, his body close to yours as he took your hands, held them close to his chest. “You’ve convinced me,” he said and gave you a cheeky grin, “I’ll warm you up.”

Your soft smile at his words prompted him to kiss you on the forehead, before gently knocking his against yours. The both of you enjoyed the quiet moment, before the cold made you shiver again.

“All right,” he said, amusement in his voice, “Let’s get you bundled up again.”

You made your way back to the captain’s quarters after Din looked over the stats for a last time, ensuring that the ship will not exit hyperspace for many hours. His fingers intertwined with yours, the two of you entered the dark room, the only sound in it the wheezing of the little child.

Both of you chuckled and chided each other in a hushed voice as to not wake the baby, and made your way to the bed. He held up the blankets and you scooted into the bed as fast as possible, sighing in relief as some of the leftover warmth was still there. Din quickly joined you afterwards, his solid body pressing against yours, an arm slung over your waist as his chest met your back.

You shivered, and turned around, before you tucked your fingers under his warmth. Din barely suppressed a yelp and gave you a slight shove which made you snicker under your breath.

“Your fingers are as cold as Hoth,” he chided, but moved closer anyways, “Why didn’t you just stay in bed?”

“Couldn’t warm up,” you murmured, voice giving away the smile you wore in the darkness, “It’s better now.”

“I can feel that,” Din deadpanned, “You’re an ice block.”

“Do something about it then,” you said and snuggled closer.

The baby gave off an ear-rattling snore, making both of you laugh, shoulders shaking with the effort to keep quiet. It took a bit of time until you settled down again, and Din still shook his head as he huffed in amusement.

“Menace,” he said, a smile audible in his voice, “He’s lucky he’s cute.”

You snorted. “That he is,” you said, and snuggled closer to him, “Din, you’re a heat pack.”

“Glad I can be of service,” he said dryly, before pressing a kiss against your forehead “Now, sleep. I’m here.”

……………

Thank you for reading!❤

Taglist: @pisss-offf-ghostt @chibi-liz05 @din-damn-djarin @soldade @ezrasarm @hdlynn @mndalorians @over300books @agirllovespancakes @crookedmoonsaultpunk @teaofpeach @shadylightbearherring @mitchi-c @adikaofmandalore @buckythewhitewolfx @thirstworldproblemss

[binunus]

my tylenol when i’m in pain | moon bin

a/n when I got this request, the title of it literally came to me instantly so if you want some cute mood music while reading, listen to lemonade by jeremy passion sksksksk, 

thank you to the cutie who requested this !! I hope your migraines feel better love ❤️ you’re cranking up binnie on my bias list 👀

{request: i get really bad chronic migraines sometimes and I was wondering if you could write something where bin takes care of his s/o when they're not feeling well. if you're okay with that :)}

genre: the fluffiest

word count: 2.2k ________________________________________________

Your POV

It was absolutely beautiful outside. The previous night’s snowfall left a pristine blanket of white on the street. You looked outside your window to see several kids making snowmen or engaging in snowball fights.

Ahh the innocent ideal of the youth.

You wished you could go outside and join in on the winter festivities without any care in the world, but alas being a working adult crushed those wishes any day. And it didn’t help that you felt like complete shit right now. 

For the past week and a half, you were working nonstop on a project that had a heavy deadline submission which ended yesterday. You barely completed it on time, sacrificing your well-loved sleep and meals to have a presentable end product. 

If you were back in high school or college, your stamina could have easily bounced back from the lack of sleep and nutrition, but your body couldn’t handle the neglect right now—and the cold weather only catalyzed your impending sickness.

Trudging back to bed, you winced as you tried to make yourself comfortable under the covers, muscles aching with every movement. You were at least thankful that your boss granted everyone an off-day today because of the snow, giving you one less thing to worry about in your list of priorities.

Faintly, you heard the jingle of keys from your front door, a tinge of excitement filling you at your guest.

“Baby?”

“In my room.”

“Shit, you sound so weak.” Your boyfriend frowned as he entered your bedroom, removing his hat and coat and placing it on the table by your desk. He walked over to where you were laying, leaning down for a kiss when you ducked under the covers, “Binnie, I don’t wanna get you sick.”

He let out a chuckle, removing the blanket from covering your face and stealing a kiss anyway. You scrunched your nose up, “If you get sick, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ll take my chances, baby.” Bin said with a smile, taking a seat at the side of your bed. He softly caressed your hair, “Hmm, how are you feeling?”

“A bit better now that you’re here,” You said trying to sound positive, “but if you’re asking me physically? Terrible.”

“Have you eaten?? What about a shower? Taking one helps a lot, and it makes you feel clean.” Bin nagged, thumb rubbing your cheek. You pouted, lightly shaking your head, “I’m not hungry, and it hurts too much when I move. Maybe later Binnie, my head really hurts right now and I just wanna close my eyes.”

He nodded, immediately standing up to go over to the other side of the bed. Bin crawled into bed next to you, arm hooking under your shoulder as you turned to hug his waist, snuggling as close to him as you could get. He kissed your forehead sweetly, humming a little song as you started to get comfortable, his chest as your pillow. Rubbing your arm gently as he sang, it took you only a couple minutes before your breathing evened out, the pounding of your head dulling as sleep overtook you.

Bin nuzzled his nose in your hair, your scent giving him a fluttery feeling in the base of his stomach. A little nap with you was too good to pass at the moment. Just fifteen minutes, Bin thought as he closed his eyes, feeling his body relax against yours.

After a little while, Bin found himself stirring awake, much to his dismay because he loved his sleep. Blinking the drowsiness away, he glanced at you to see that you were still deeply in slumber, soft snores coming out of your mouth. He smiled unable to stop himself from pressing a kiss to your cheek. He almost felt bad untangling himself from your hold at the risk of waking you up.

Carefully, he got up and out of bed, making sure that you were still tucked in before heading to the kitchen, closing the door quietly as he left. Bin let out a huge yawn as he washed his hands in the kitchen sink, getting ready to prep some ingredients for the soup he was about to make. 

Bin played some music on his phone as he cooked, loud enough to give him entertainment, but at a volume so that it wouldn’t disturb you. He was pretty proud of himself after finishing the chicken soup, plating the bowl nicely on one of your bedside trays with some medicine and a glass of water. Bin even cleaned up the pots he used for cooking, knowing that it was better for him to wash it now while he still had the motivation. And there was no way that he would let you lift a finger while he was here taking care of you.

After washing his hands again, Bin went back into your bedroom, tray in hand. He set it down briefly on your table to wake you up, tapping your shoulder. “y/n? Wake up baby.” 

You groaned, eyes still closed as you turned in your bed, back facing your boyfriend. “5 more minutes.”

“Baby, the soup’s gonna get cold. C’mon, you have to eat even a little bit.” He reasoned, pulling the blanket so that your upper half was exposed. You nodded drowsily, struggling as you tried to sit up. Bin smiled, propping some pillows up for you to sit against. “I made chicken soup, after you eat take some medicine okay?”

“Okay,” You nodded slowly with your eyes closed, moving your hair to the back as Bin brought the tray over. Your headache wasn’t as strong as before, but your body still felt like it was throbbing a little, hopefully eating and the medicine would help cure you a bit. 

“Do you want me to feed you?” Bin teased, half jokingly but also you knew he would if you really asked him to. Again, you nodded opening your mouth obediently. Grinning, he took a spoonful of broth, making sure to blow on it so that it wouldn’t be too hot before feeding you. “You’re so cute, y/n. You really are my baby, hm?”

“Mm I’m sick,” You said finally opening your eyes, sleep still heavy on your lids. You weren’t really disagreeing with him though. “That’s really good Binnie, I can feel my sinuses clearing up a little.”

“I made it with love,” He said cutely, leaning over to kiss you quickly on the lips. You let out an amused chuckle, letting his greasy comment slide as you opened your mouth for more. 

The two of you conversed easily as he fed you, catching you up on the latest drama at his work and with his friends. Although Bin made the soup for you, you made sure that he filled his hunger a little bit too, making him finish the rest of the bowl when you felt full. He praised you like a child when you took your medicine and finished the glass of water, it was a bit endearing if you were honest. “Do you need anything right now? How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay baby, thank you.” You said getting comfortable again under the covers. “Cuddle??”

“I’ll just put this away and then I’m all yours.” Bin nodded with a smile, going to the kitchen once more. After a couple minutes, he returned with a towel and a bowl of water.

“I thought we were gonna cuddle?” You pouted looking at him. Laughing, he dipped the towel in the bowl and wrung out the water, bringing it to you and placing it on your forehead. “We are baby, let me just try and bring your fever down a bit, your skin’s burning.”

You nodded, your body basically dead weight as he helped you sit up again, cooling your skin with the damp towel. You hummed in satisfaction, the cold cloth a nice comparison to your hot skin. “We might as well have just taken a bath.”

“Do you want to?” He asked rubbing the towel around your back. “Bath and then cuddle after?”

“Mhm,” You said removing the blanket and getting up, Bin holding your waist as you two walked to the bathroom. He told you to wait a minute as he turned on the water, checking the temperature as it filled up the bathtub. After deeming that the water was at a good amount, Bin started to strip himself of his clothing, stepping into the tub soon after. “Do you want my help, baby?”

“In your dreams,” You quipped removing your shirt. “Keep your hormones at bay, Binnie, my sick body won’t allow it.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, grabbing his phone from the counter and playing some music. “You know sex can help with removing sickness, y/n?”

“Uh huh, ask me that question again tomorrow and we’ll see how I respond.” You said getting in the tub and nestling between his legs. You shivered a little as your skin made contact with the water, leaning back against Bin’s chest for warmth. He grinned, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You relaxed in the cage of Bin’s arms, resting your head against his chest as he began to sing along to the song that was playing on his phone, rubbing the belly softly under the water. The two of you sat like that for a while, you cooling down in silence, content with listening to Bin’s voice. 

“Sit up for a second baby, let me wash your hair.” He said, lifting his arms from your body and reaching for your shampoo. He squeezed a generous amount onto his hand, first massaging it into your hair before using the leftover for his own. It was a bit of a struggle to wash away all the suds, the size of your bathtub barely enough to fit both you and Bin comfortably, but you somehow made it work. After deciding that dunking you both under water to rinse off the shampoo clearly wasn’t the right idea, Bin grabbed the shower head and opted for that instead, giggles coming from the both of you.

“Ah Binnie!” You whined as he started to tickle your sides, your boyfriend laughing as he drenched your head with water. “I’m cleansing you of your sickness, baby!”

That cycle repeated again, this time with conditioner, and by the time the two of you were done with your bath-turned-shower, the floor surrounding the tub was wet from all the splashes and Bin’s use of the detachable shower head. 

You shivered, arms hugging your body as Bin grabbed two towels, drying himself off first before doing the same to you. “I could have dried myself, baby.”

“I’m here taking care of you, and that includes drying you.” He shook his head. You chuckled, unsure of his logic but let him do as he pleased anyway. Bin smiled, eyes formed into crescent moons as he dried your hair, gently shaking the towel all over your head. Laughing, you went on your tiptoes, arms locking around his neck as you kissed him. He made a sound of contentment, moving his lips in tune with yours as his hands dropped down to your waist, leaving the towel on the top of your head. 

After a minute or so, you pulled away, a giggle leaving you as you saw Bin’s pout. You pecked his lips again briefly, before grabbing the towel and drying your hair again. Bin made sure to thoroughly dry the floor before the two of you went back to your bedroom. He changed into some shorts that he left at your place, deciding to forego a shirt since he usually chose not to sleep with one anyway. You, on the other hand, slipped on Bin’s shirt and a pair of pajama shorts, climbing immediately in bed after your hair was decently dry. 

He came to join you after getting another glass of water, encouraging you to drink it all before he cuddled you, knowing that the two of you were going to end up napping again. You finished the glass with ease, placing it on your bedside table, and turning to your boyfriend. He smiled, wrapping his arms around you again as the two of you laid down, finding yourselves in the same position as when he first came over earlier. “How are you feeling now, baby?”

“Honestly? Better.” You said, lips brushing against his clavicle. The medicine kicked in by now, but you were sure that Bin also had a lot to do with your slow recovery. “You’re all the medicine I need, baby.”

He let out a high-pitched cackle, squeezing your body a little tighter as he kissed your forehead. “If I get sick, will you be my medicine?”

“Of course,” You grinned, the tips of your fingers lazily drawing figures on his abdomen. “I love you Binnie, thank you for taking care of me.”

“I’ll always take care of you, y/n.” He said softly, taking in your scent as he closed his eyes. “I love you too.”

You drifted off to sleep listening to his breathing, a deep slumber overtaking you. By the next morning, you woke up feeling loads better, your temperature now at a normal level and your headache mostly gone. You turned your head to see Bin still sleeping, a smile on your face as you craned your neck to kiss his cheek. You sighed, relaxing yourself in his hold before closing your eyes again, sleeping for a little longer wouldn’t hurt. Especially if Bin was by your side.

__________________________________________

2-2-21

[tenmillionwhumperflies]

Cloudwalker Series Part 13

Okay this got split in half because it was like 3k words. Have more protective Avizon and a little Ihuka whump (mild beating).

Warnings: Mild beating, pet whumpee

Master-list Here Total WC: 1700

It wasn't long until Avizon's supplies began to dwindle. He needed to go back to town, to stock up and fill his cart. He decided to take the birds with him. They couldn't fly off, and he doubted they'd try to run. Ihuka had certainly learned this lesson. He'd been trying hard to please him since then. They'd earned a trip outside. Besides, he would need travelling supplies for when he went to the Great Library. He wasn't sure if he wanted to take his birds with him. Was it safer to seal them in the castle for the day or two he'd be gone? He was unsure.

But first things first, the market.

He went to their room and found that Dyan and Ihuka were asleep, a tangled mess of limbs, feathers and drool. Avizon couldn't help but smile. They'd settled in well overall, and they'd been far less trouble. Ihuka had his bad days still, but he found it was easier to set him off cleaning with Dyan and it seemed to work the resentment out of him that way. He couldn't afford to punish him much more. He was already so afraid of him. He thought he'd wanted a challenge, he thought he'd known what he wanted but things were changing every day. They were changing him... They reminded him more and more of his old self, before everything changed, before everything had been stolen from him. 

His master’s words rang in his ears. This is dark magic you seek. It will corrupt you, it will change you for the worst and it will eventually kill you.

"Wake up, little birds. We have a long day ahead of us," he called.

Ihuka yawned and tried to hide under his wing to get more sleep.

"I saw that, Ihuka. Wake up, there's a good bird. I might even buy you a gift if you can behave yourself.” Dyan stretched his wings out and sat up, “Where are we doing today, master?” “We’re going to the market.” Dyan gulped. “You mean...” “No, no! Not that market, a different one, for food and supplies. Don’t worry, all is well.”

The tension in Dyan’s body visibly dropped away. Avizon petted his head. “Get dressed. I’ll see if there are any coats leftover from the servants.”

“You had servants?” Dyan asked softly. Avizon cleared his throat. “No, they were before I took over the castle.” Avizon’s attack that day had led everyone to flee, leaving everything behind. Even the purple and turquoise clothes they wore had belonged to cloudwalkers owned by the princess. He shuddered at the memories, the thought of past pains.

He shook himself out of it. “Get dressed,” he found himself repeating. “and wake Ihuka up. Meet me outside by the horse.” “Yes, master.”

Avizon paused for a moment, remembering Dyan had hurt his wrist the day before because he’d been cleaning so much. It wasn’t broken, just stiff and achy. “Is your wrist still hurting?” Dyan nodded meekly. Avizon ruffled his hair, “alright, take it easy.”

Avizon left them to it. He rummaged around in the empty bedrooms until he found a chest with cloudwalkers clothes in. He knew they had to be somewhere. The princess had always spoiled her pets, and yet beaten them when she felt like it. Looking back, he really pitied those creatures. The Princess had always had a terribly good arm for striking. He wondered what had happened to those two, Fluffy and Flutter, she had called them. What had been their real names? Where had they come from?... Perhaps he could make some inquiries when he was in the city.

He looked in the box, seeing what he could find. There were shoes that looked agonising to walk in, accessories of all descriptions. He took the two bandannas out, they could be helpful, and finally he found the coats with a lace-up back. He hoped they would fit. He could always buy them new things when he got there at least. He brought it all downstairs and outside, where his two cloudwalkers were waiting patiently.

He made two piles, one for Ihuka with the white coat with purple stitching and one for Dyan with the black coat and turquoise. He gave them the bandanna. “Put these on, then I will need to wrap your wings. I’m not having those vermin stealing your feathers.”

It took a while to get everything sorted to go. Ihuka liked having the bandanna hanging loosely around his neck once Avizon had tied it for him. Dyan was more nervous, but Avizon had an idea. He tied it around his wrist and tucked it all in neatly. “There, that should support it.” Dyan cheeped out a thank you. He let them both sit in the cart, with their leads secured to it. They took it as a chance to nap. 

Avizon didn’t mind, it meant he could reflect without distraction. It seemed the past was determined to haunt him today. His horse nickered softly as she pulled the cart along. “Steady, Secret, steady girl.” She continued on her way, not caring for the rain that started. Avizon grumbled and pulled up his hood. Thunder clapped overhead, he heard a squeak from inside the cart and Secret looked unsteady. He worked on reassuring her. “It’s alright, little birds, no need to be afraid, we’re almost there.” The rain did mean that a lot of people had gone home, which meant this would be easier for him. He knew what to expect, he knew how the people were, but they feared him at least, and he could soon get them to scarper if he wanted to.

He brought the cart to a stop under a basic shelter, which kept the rain off his horse. He tethered her to the post and patted her neck. “Good girl. Steady now.”

He went to the back and untied the cloudwalkers, “You’ll have to come with me. I don’t want you getting stolen. Come on out.”

Dyan and Ihuka carefully climbed out, both looked unsure. He left their leashes short. He trusted them to stay by his side, but he didn’t trust the people. He urged them onward and brought them into the large wooden building where most of the stalls were. He set to work buying what he needed and much to his surprise, the cloudwalkers behaved. They followed him wordlessly, but Ihuka was tense, his head constantly moving. Dyan seemed used to this, but Ihuka was certainly not. He took a moment to pat his head. “Easy now.”

He bought what he needed, and the market owners would send their assistants out to pack his cart. The place emptied quickly, probably because he was here, but there were still half a dozen people or so. He relaxed the leashes, giving them more space to wander. He frowned when Ihuka’s suddenly went limp. When he looked, he quickly found the rope no longer held a cloudwalker on the end.

The rope had been cut.

“Ihuka?” he called out. He heard a yelp and a shout. “Nasty little thief! Go on, fuck off!” Avizon turned just in time to see one of the stall owners kicking Ihuka when he was on the ground. He glowered. “Come, Dyan.” 

A second man came over to Ihuka, an older man that could have been the first’s father. He slapped the young man in the back of the head. “What the hell are you doing?” “It took from the stall!” the younger man defended. “Aye, and I’ve told you to usher it off and inform its owner to pay for the items. You don’t beat the fucking things, someone owns them! They’re animals, they don’t know how the stalls work.”

The older man crouched down to look at Ihuka but Ihuka shied away.

Avizon walked calmly to the stall, seeing Ihuka curled up. He whined seeing him and got on his knees, hugging his stomach. On the floor, he saw a piece of liquorice root. “Your greatness! I… I.Is this your pet? I. I. I had no idea!” the younger one exclaimed. Avizon ignored him. He crouched in front of Ihuka, opened his coat and moved up his shirt. He saw where he’d been kicked hard, it looked like it would bruise. Hopefully nothing more…

“Dyan, ask Ihuka what happened,” Avizon said, but he glared up at the young man who realised he had just made a terrible mistake.

Dyan did so and reported back. “He took a bit of the root, he said they use it in the wild, that he couldn’t resist it… It does smell so good, I...”

Avizon took a piece of liquorice root from the stall and started to chew it. He wasn’t keen on the taste, but he had a point to make. “Where’s my beating then, sir? Or are you suddenly not so keen?”

“Please, your greatness, I… Is there anything I can do to make up for my mistake?” the young man groaned in fear while the older one kept his distance. Avizon smirked. “Well, for one thing, I’ll have all of your liquorice root, and because you kicked my cloudwalker three times, you can half the price, the half it again, and then half it again.”

The older man did not seem too happy but he wasn’t about to argue. “Yes, your greatness. Could I offer you anything for the bird’s pain?” “Yes, and if I find any bones have cracked, then I will be giving this man the same treatment.” Avizon was in no rush, he tended to Ihuka, hushing him as he tried to check for breakages but Ihuka wriggled a lot and pushed his hands away. “M.master, no… please...” He lowered his head down and let out a weak mercy squeak.

Avizon gave up looking for now. He didn’t want to upset him too much. “You’re not in trouble, little bird.”

After Ihuka had chewed on some herbs for the pain, Avizon took a fresh piece of liquorice and held it out to Ihuka, who was still curled up on the floor, no doubt still afraid. He knelt down and brushed a hand through his hair. “On your feet, good boy.” He gave him the root and picked up his lead. He inspected it, seeing where it was clearly burned.

“M.master?” Dyan suddenly whimpered. Avizon turned to see Erix in the doorway glaring at them.

[sabinemorans]

I love your writing so much! Could you please write something about the reader surprising Din with something that reminds him of Mandalore? Maybe a special meal or trinket? 🥺 My heart aches for some Din fluff lol

Absolutely!

You smiled down at the dark outline of your Mandalorian asleep in your shared bunk. It had been a hard few weeks of hunting and he deserved a good long rest. After the last bounty you’d made him dinner, ordered him to the fresher and then bed. He normally couldn’t sleep well without you but by the time the Child was asleep and snuggled in his pod Kuil made for him, Mando was snoring. You’d laughed softly and joined him, holding him close and whispering sweet thing into his ear.

But now you leaned down to kiss his hair and leave for a special surprise you’d planned. While alone with the Child yesterday you’d found a little shop tucked away in the market that had the most wonderful spices and as the ship’s cook you had to have them. While looking one particular bottle the shopkeeper had offhandedly mentioned that the spice wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“I’ve seen fully grown men cry using a dash of that stuff in their food,” the old woman said. “It’s one of the best if you’re making a dish for someone who can handle it. Like those Mandalorians you don’t see much of anymore! I knew one once, she said ‘if you’re nostrils aren’t burning and your eyes aren’t watering it’s not authentic mandalorian food.’” And that’s all you’d needed to hear to form a plan.

You had to go now, before he woke up and insisted on leaving the planet to turn in the bounties so you scurried off to the market to buy fresh ingredients. Hopefully you’d be back before he woke up since even with the note he always worried about you. You didn’t like how he always seems to have a tremor in his voice through the helmet or the way he shifted on his feet more when you had to explain where you’d been. Like he wanted to tell you not to but knew he didn’t have a right to. So you had to hurry.

Having scoped out most of the shops you needed to go to the day before you rushed around like a madperson shoving credits into people’s hands for spices, meat, plants and fruit. When your list had been completed you bought a candied stick for your self and hired transport to take you halfway back to the Crest, which knocked your walking time into a third of what it would’ve been.

Thankfully you didn’t hear Mando up and grumbling but you did hear the Child, and after picking him up and kissing him you told him of your plan for later.

“He’ll be excited don’t you think?” You asked taking your bag heavy with groceries off and and setting it on the kitchen counter. The Child lifted its ears and cooed softly. “I think so too.”

xxx

Mando woke up about an hour after you got back and walked into the kitchen area acting like he was well rested for the first time in days. His steps weren’t dragging, his shoulders weren’t slumped and he actually greeted you with a word and not a grunt.

“Hey,” he said in that raspy, modulated voice of his you’d come to love. The Child gave a little squeal and reaches for him from the makeshift high chair the two of you had cobbled together when you realized he was very done with being held while eating.

Mando picks the baby up and lets him touch the helmet as had become custom to them. It was obvious by the way Mando was leaning his helmet into the touch that he enjoyed it even if he couldn’t feel it. It was interesting how much love could be seen through body language and you smiled at the pair of them. Your boys.

“Morning,” you returned brightly with a touch to his arm. You’d finished making breakfast already and had his in a bowl all ready for him to take up to the cockpit when he was ready. “Feel better?”

“Tons, I’m glad this week is over. We can turn all the bounties in and relax for as long as I can take it.” Mando’s thumb rubs affectionately over your wrist as you laugh.

“So maybe two days?”

“At least.”

“It’ll be nice not to be on the move for a little bit. I can’t wait” You pressed a kiss to his helmet and with difficulty held your tongue about something else you couldn’t wait for. With Mando you figured it was best to not even hint at a surprise or he’d wring the information from you somehow. Either with a tip of the helmet or a teasing word in that low voice of his and you’d crack-he knew how to get you that bastard. But you were determined to hold onto this. He had changed your life completely and he was so far from home...wouldn’t it be nice to give him a taste of what you knew he missed?

After your pilot had eaten breakfast and had donned his helmet again the Razor Crest took off, headed to cash in two weeks worth of blood, sweat and tears (on the bounties’ part.) The trip in hyperspace took the perfect amount of time and when you waved Mando goodbye with the carbonite bound bounties piled up in his transport and you with the Child on your hip it was around the time you would be making dinner anyway. You waited until the transport was out of sight before looking down at the baby with a grin.

“Let’s get cookin’ cutie!” He squeals happily in response and you make your way back into the crest. “Yes you can be my little taste tester.”

xxx

A few hours later and you heard the ramp to the ship activate and a grin split your flour covered face in two. Listening to his footsteps you knew exactly when the right time to shout, “In here!” Was and you turned as the heavy boots clunked at the entrance to the kitchen. His body language said “stunned” and yoy couldn’t grin any wider. 

“Ta daaa!!”

The table was set already though you knew Mando wouldn’t eat with you, and in the middle was a pot of spicy Mandalorian stew. On the small amount of counter space you had there were spicy veggie dumplings, frog dumplings (for the little one) and a small pot of non spicy stew. You launched into an explanation of how you’d heard the shopkeeper talk about Mandalorian food and the research you’d done to make it all as authentic as possible.

“I made non spicy options for the baby of course but I thought this would be a nice surprise! You nearly killed yourself this week and I just wanted to bring a little of your old home into your new home.” You finished with a shrug and fiddled with your fingers while you waited for a response. He hadn’t moved from the doorway except to turn his visor to everything when you pointed it out. 

He turns back to you and with determination comes forward to scoop your up into his arms and hug you tightly, your body pressed so hard into the beskar the breath was knocked out of you. 

“Thank you sweet one... Thank you.” The words were nearly whispered through the helmet, the filter crackling a little at the low volume. He sounded near tears, his whole body clutching around you like he was afraid you were going to disappear. Your arms snaked around his waist and held him as tightly as he was holding you, your face buried in the crook between his armor and his helmet. 

“Anything...” you mumbled into the fabric separating his skin form your lips. “Anything for you Mando...”

When you pulled back to smile at him his hand came up and covered your eyes You felt the soft fullness of his lips on yours and gasped softly. The kiss was so soft, so gentle if your lips weren’t tingling like they always did when he kissed you, you would’ve doubted it had happened at all. When his lips were gone you let out a shocked little laugh. 

“Is that my reward?” You tease he pulls his hand back. 

“If the spices nearly burn out my taste buds in true Mandalorian fashion you’ll get an even better reward.” That sexy voice of his rumbles and the way he looks at you makes you shiver... God you hoped this food was good!

According to him (and the baby, who popped his dumplings in his hands before messily eating the leftovers) the food was perfect. Just spicy enough and when you pulled out some Uj'alayi (a traditional cake dessert) you swear through the helmet you could see his eyes get big. The Child was sleepy after dinner and after Mando put him down he blindfolded you so he could try the cake. He was extremely quiet, which worried you until you felt his lips on you again and the sweet/spicy taste of the cake on his tongue transferring to your mouth.

“Ready for your reward?” He asked, his gloved hands suddenly tugging on your shorts with a sense or urgency.

“Oh Maker yes.”

Traditional Mandalorian food soon became your specialty.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, happyjuicyfruit!

For @happyjuicyfruit. I'm not going to lie, I saw your request and an idea was born and aside from sleep and work I wrote non-stop until this was done because it felt so good to write it. So cathartic. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing.

Read On AO3

*****

Falling into Place

“The best feeling in the whole world is watching things finally fall into place after watching them fall apart for so long.”

Unknown

The warm hum of the TV mingled with the sound of the running shower through the small studio apartment Stiles rented in Sacramento. He scrambled on his small double bed (tucked into the corner alcove opposite the bathroom door) to try and get his sweats on without applying any pressure to his injured foot. He awkwardly half-hopped on one leg, falling back on his ass on the mattress as he held the cuff carefully open to maneuver his bandaged foot inside. Mission successful, he star-fished on the bed, fully clothed at last, damp hair mussing the sheets and his foot throbbing.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the shower, then forcing his eyes shut tightly to try and banish the image of exactly what body parts the less than average water-pressure might be crashing down on. Swallowing thickly, he hopped awkwardly along the narrow space, around the bookshelf he’d used as a divider at the end of his ‘sleeping area’ and into his roughly eighteen feet of living/kitchen space.

Careful not to clip his injured foot on anything, he managed to get the leftover lasagne out of the fridge and into the microwave with minimal disaster. He then frantically searched through the pile of unwashed dishes and cutlery to find enough for two people to eat with.

For some reason, it bothered him, the idea of Derek seeing his dirty dishes. He froze then, wondering if he’d left his laundry hamper spilling over. He didn’t have much time to panic, because the second he thought it, the shower shut off.

A few moments later, Derek stepped out into the room, steam billowing behind him, hair damp and…wearing Stiles’s t-shirt and sweats which looked a little tight in the shoulder and chest and across Derek’s thighs but mostly fit him just fine. Luckily Stiles preferred baggy. He didn’t realise he was staring until Derek started talking.

“I took them off the clothes dryer in the bathroom. I hope that’s alright? I washed mine in the sink. They had blood on.”

Stiles blinked, struck mute for a moment, still not really over the way his sweats clung across Derek’s hip area to form words. “Ah, no, sure, all good,” he managed at last, using the washing up to distract himself. “At least I’ve filled out a bit since the last time you had to borrow my clothes, right? And you’re lucky I had some spare. Laundry day is well overdue, to be honest. I’ve just been working on my assignments, which I got in on time, but then I found out about this case, the one with you in it and I had to find a way to convince them to let me in on it, to try and get you out, you know? So I’ve been so busy I just haven’t had time to–”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting his rambling off. “It’s fine. Really. This is hardly the worst place I’ve stayed.”

Stiles laughed. “Wow, ringing endorsement. Better than an abandoned bus station. Well, I’ll have you know this is a steal so close to HQ and it may be small but it’s just been done up. I am the first tenant to tarnish this kitchen. And because it’s one of the many investment properties Natalie Martin got out of the divorce, and of course Lydia is using emotional blackmail to my advantage, I can actually afford to live here without bankrupting my dad even further. Plus the roof-terrace, it’s amazing. I mean, I never actually go up there but some residents have this communal allotment and the view is amazing. Or, you know, it would be if I went there.”

Derek had crossed his arms, had rolled his eyes with that sigh, all of which weretelling signs Stiles was annoying him. And yet there was a little twist at the corners of his mouth that made Stiles’s stomach flip.

The microwave pinged then and Stiles came back to himself, prodding at the centre of the two chunks of lasagne to check they were heated properly before decanting them onto two plates. He went to offer one to Derek, complete with cutlery, before hesitating. He winced.

“Uh, would you mind carrying mine over to the ol’ dining area there? It’s a second hand couch but it’s in pretty good shape and I don’t wanna get lasagne all over it by hopping over there with my plate.”

Derek frowned at him for a moment, then down at his foot, as if he’d forgotten Stiles didn’t magically heal like he did from gunshot wounds – or, you know, splintered fragments of cement that had ricocheted off the wall from the gunshot that had largely missed him, but still. He’d been on the run again, Stiles knew, and before that likely just with Cora since he and Braeden had gone their separate ways. If their texts over the last few months or so were anything to go by, that is. He’d probably not spent much time with humans since last Stiles had seen him, except the ones trying to trap or shoot him.

Eventually, Derek took both plates and stepped back a little into the makeshift doorway between the wall and the shelf that stood as a screen at the end of the bed. It held his books, nicknacks and a TV that swivelled to face either the living area or the bed because Lydia was a goddess and a genius. Stiles hopped awkwardly passed him, supporting himself on the arm of the couch as he eased down onto it. Derek offered his plate to his sturdier lap rather than his hands, likely a survival skill taught after years of observing how erratic Stiles’s hands could be, before settling next to him on the couch.

The late night news was reporting the raid on the warehouse as a drug bust but they knew the truth. Thankfully, the FBI didn’t seem to know the truth, that the guy they’d been pursuing, namely Derek, was a werewolf. He thought they’d managed to get out of it without exposing that and hopefully, if Scott’s dad came through for them, Derek would be out of the spotlight soon enough.

Stiles had set it all in motion the second he’d seen Derek’s face on a slideshow of live suspects, but when he’d discovered they were planning on raiding a possible location of Derek’s, he hadn’t been able to wait for Rafael McCall. He’d made many contingency plans, but the one that’d ended up going into motion had been such a cliché he was almost disappointed in himself and the institution he was interning with.

He’d snuck in a spare FBI jacket and in the chaos, had managed to get Derek into it and offered up his cap and they’d literally walked out of there. Well, Stiles had been carried really, but semantics.

He hadn’t planned for there to be hunters there, who had happily started shooting the second the FBI had burst in looking for Derek. Derek, who had only been there because somehow those hunters were connected to the murders the FBI had linked Derek too. Stiles hadn’t gotten the full story out of him yet. But anyway, he hadn’t planned for there to be idiots there wanting to go on a shoot-out with the FBI, for bullets to be flying everywhere. He hadn’t planned for getting injured by exploding concrete, which was pretty much a bullet wound anyway.

That’s what his bosses were classing it as anyway – wounded in action pretty much. They were so pleased an intern that shouldn’t have really been there hadn’t been killed and that he was pretty much taking near-death in his stride that he thought maybe his reputation might have gained a few more points if anything.

And once Scott’s dad finished subtly helping Stiles’s team to connect the hunters to the murder instead of Derek, exoneration hopefully shouldn’t be too far behind.

“Where did you get this from?” Derek asked as he gulped down another mouthful of lasagne like a starving animal. Really, Stiles wondered when his last decent meal had been.

“Uh, I made it,” Stiles said with a mostly empty mouth. “I can’t afford to live off take-out, dude. I gotta live smart while I’m still an intern.” Even with the FBI an internship didn’t pay a luxurious dividend. “I can make a few things that can keep in the fridge for a few days. This is the last of the lasagne though, buddy, so if you want seconds the take-out menus are on the fridge.”

Derek blinked at him, looking almost owlishly startled which was sort of adorable on him really. He looked tired and confused and a few stray droplets of water trickled down his neck from his damp hair. “No, this is good. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, they haven’t given me my Michelin stars yet but I can eat a lot better than some of the other interns by being smart about it and thinking ahead.” Stiles finished the last few bites of his own and set the plate on the floor by his feet. “If I hadn’t learned to cook and make food stretch a little more, dad and I would’ve had to sell the house to keep us in take-out.”

Derek had gotten the larger portion, Stiles was a good host, so he was still eating and seemed to consider Stiles’s words for a long time before saying between mouthfuls, “Your mom taught you?”

Stiles offered a wistful smile.

“Yeah. Not gourmet or anything but cooking was our thing. I wasn’t the kind of kid that could sit down and watch TV while their mom cooked. I was always under her feet so she made me help, made me useful. Some things stuck, I guess. I learned enough.”

He thought that was going to be the end of it. They fell quiet and the late news bulletins had long-since finished and returned to some late-night comedy talk show. But then Derek spoke, quiet and distant, like he was somewhere far away, in a tone way Stiles wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from him before.

“My dad was the cook. He didn’t really teach me meals, Laura always used to help him in the kitchen. But he did teach me to make his salted caramel brownies.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what to do with that.

It’d been a long day, a long few weeks for Derek, really. He looked both world-weary and yet less troubled than he had since Stiles had last seen him. He sounded at peace with a part of himself Stiles had only ever glimpsed in their two years or so of chasing monsters together around Beacon Hills.

“Those sound amazing,” Stiles offered with a little smile, because it was the truth. Derek’s face turned to him then, empty plate still in hand, the glow of the TV and kitchen light making his features soft and warm.

He studied Stiles for a long time, eyes roving his face as if he were relearning him, before he said quietly, “it’s really good to see you, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled and chuckled a little self-consciously, “well, you know, likewise. And hey, I’m always willing to put you up when you’re a wanted fugitive, you know this from experience.”

Derek raised a brow, lips twitching. “Did you mention that in your interview for your internship with the FBI?”

“Oh, we got a sense of humour since we last met, huh?” Stiles laughed, but as he put his foot down to rise, he winced, remembering his injury. “Holy shit,” he hissed, grasping his ankle in lieu of his throbbing foot, thinking of the medication the hospital had sent him away with, sitting on the kitchen counter.

When they’d made their initial getaway, Derek had literally skulked around in the shadows while Stiles reported to the field leader, before taking himself to the hospital. In matter of fact, Derek had taken him to the hospital, giving him sideways looks like he was equal parts pissed off and concerned. And he hadn’t left Stiles’s side until they’d come back to Stiles’s apartment and they’d taken their respective showers.

To be honest, sitting in Derek’s rental car while he picked up Stiles’s prescription was a bizarre feat he kept coming back to. Not an unpleasant one though. He was definitely more than capable of looking after himself, had proven that a hundred times over, really. But it felt nice, having someone there who looked worried, who took the dinner plates and set them in the sink, who brought his medication and water to take them with in the only clean glass and…oh god…

“Dude, you don’t have to clean my dirty dishes, you’re a guest–”

“Technically, I’m a fugitive in hiding,” Derek cut across him neatly, running more hot water into the sink, the last of it until the tank filled up again after two showers, Stiles thought. “Besides, you need to stay off your foot and if you leave these dishes another night they might run off on their own.”

Stiles glared at him as he drank from his glass and then downed his pills. “This is a small apartment, buddy, there’s only room in here for one wise-ass.”

Derek ducked his head as he started the dishes, but Stiles caught his smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

*

Stiles woke up with a little start, the kind you got when you caught yourself drifting off on the couch in front the TV. Except it didn’t look as if he’d caught himself. It looked like he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV and Derek had carried him to bed. The medicine must’ve knocked him out, Stiles thought, blinking blearily at the narrow strips of pre-dawn light peeking around his blind to the side of the bed.

He could hear soft breathing in the quiet from beyond the wall that the double-sided bookshelf made and it felt comforting. Even now, nearly a year-on from the event, he still had trouble with the feeling of waking up too quickly. He wondered why his initial panic hadn’t woken Derek, but then, he supposed Derek had been on the run for so long, again, it was no wonder he was dead to the world.

The fact that he felt safe enough to crash in Stiles’s place was another thing to think about all on its own. The insinuations and repercussions swirled around in Stiles’s brain as he fully came aware of himself, cursing the pain in his foot before sliding tentatively out of bed. He used the bathroom as quietly as he could, then realised if he wanted to take more medication, he’d have to eat something first and to do that he’d have to turn the light on in the kitchen to find something.

The sounds of Derek sleeping sounded so peaceful that he felt like a dick for contemplating it. In the end he crawled quietly back into bed, careful to keep the leg attached to his wounded foot out of the blankets and tried to ignore the pain.

It didn’t work. He fidgeted uncomfortably, the discomfort making him uneasy, letting his mind stretch to strange places, to worries that apparently simply had to be solved at 3am. It was cold in the apartment too which didn’t help, but Stiles was one of those defiant people that waited until he was cold enough to be wearing a beanie indoors before he would put the heating on – more blankets before heating.

He’d worked himself into a state wondering if maybe the nurse he’d seen earlier hadn’t managed to get all the fragments out of his toe and that was why it hurt so much, when he heard Derek shifting around on the sofa. On instinct, he squeezed his eyes shut, guessing he just wanted to take a leak, but his brow furrowed when he heard a click-clack sounds on his wooden floor. It reminded him of Scott’s old dog loping across the kitchen floor and it took him a moment to register what that noise meant until he felt a cold, damp nose snuffling around his foot.

An image came to Stiles behind his closed lids and he remembered the black wolf darting into the fray in the desert, eyes glowing blue.

He twitched at the contact, but Derek either thought that was an instinctive motion out of sleep or didn’t care if he was awake because he hopped carefully up onto the bed and draped his front legs over Stiles’s. One of his heavy, warm paws just rested over the place where Stiles’s sweats had ridden to expose his ankle and it was as if Stiles could feel all of the pain draining away from his throbbing foot through the place where Derek’s warmth rested.

Opening his eyes at the sheer relief, he of course found the same black wolf sprawled half over him, warm and soft and staring right back at him with piercing blue eyes that glowed in the dimness. Stiles could just make out his shape and without really thinking about it, he reached out to touch. It just occurred to him that maybe Derek didn’t want to be petted like a dog and that maybe he might give him a reproving nip when he felt soft, fine fur under his fingers and the pressure of Derek leaning into his touch.

Stiles stroked one downy ear and then, emboldened, scratched his fingers over the wolf’s head. It felt cathartic and he wondered absently about those therapy animals, before the flick of Derek’s tongue against his wrist.

A low, tired chuckle rippled out of Stiles, hoarse and sleepy. He thought in the pre-dawn dimness, in the little alcove the bookshelves created around his bed, that maybe anything was possible without complications. There were no rules, no posturing or pride or uncertainty. Derek had sensed his discomfort, his pain, maybe even his loneliness – maybe because it mirrored his own. The low, grumbling sound Derek made when Stiles stroked the side of his head and scruff told him Derek was as happy for it as he was.

Then Derek, still the wolf, laid his head down on Stiles’s torso, breathing evenly and Stiles fell asleep stroking his fingers over his fur. Fell into a slumber that was light and painless and full of dreams.

*

Derek was already gone from his bed when he awoke well into the morning. When he sat up and hobbled out of bed, Stiles found him doing push-ups in the space between his couch and the TV. He stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, still finding it surreal, a half-naked Derek Hale exercising in his tiny apartment with sweat beading between the muscles of his shoulders and down to the small of his back.

He had the terrible feeling that he was staring and that his lips were parted, as if ready to spill something embarrassingly appreciative so he quickly turned into the kitchen area – only to stop dead. It was spotless. The dishes were cleaned and stored away, the units were practically gleaming and to make it worse, there was a laundry basket in front of the fridge piled high with clean, neatly folded laundry.

Holy shit.

“Dude, please tell me you did not do my laundry?” he pleaded, dismayed.

Derek seemingly ignored him for a moment, pushing up from the floor, the tight line of muscles in his back drawing Stiles’s unwitting gaze until he eventually rose. He snagged the glass of water off the side and drank it down greedily.

Stiles couldn’t help but wonder how many push-ups a werewolf had to do before getting all sweaty. But then the thought drifted off on a tangent about how long a werewolf might have to do other things to get that sweaty. How long, how hard…

Oh god, his face was burning.

Green-hazel eyes considered him for a long time, bright with the sunlight streaking through the window and Stiles had the horrible feeling Derek could tell his thoughts by smell or something. Whether he did or not though, all he said was, “I had to wash the blood out of my clothes. It just made sense to take yours at the same time. It’s no big deal.”

“Even my dad doesn’t wash my dirty underwear, Derek!”

Derek snorted, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t roll around in them, Stiles, I tossed everything into two washers.”

Stiles spluttered at the idea of Derek rolling around in his laundry and his hands flailed. “You’re a wanted fugitive until further notice, you could’ve been caught!”

Rinsing the glass in the sink and setting it on the draining board to dry, Derek turned back to face him, leaning slightly against the units. “I went to the utility room downstairs. No one was going to be looking for me there. I don’t get what the problem is.”

Well no, Derek wouldn’t, would he? Because he’d always been awful at looking after himself. Because he hadn’t had to share space with a human since…forever and Stiles was hyperaware that Derek could probably tell his every activity for the last few weeks on his dirty clothes, that he could probably read Stiles’s mind from chemo-signals or whatever and Stiles was only just realising exactly how much he had to hide.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Stiles scrubbed at his hair and the back of his neck. “Ummm, you’re right, it’s nothing it’s…I still haven’t really woken up yet. Thank you, for…basically sorting my life out while I slept the morning away. You didn’t have to do that though, you’ve probably been under more stress, being on the run than I have doing an internship.”

“An internship with the FBI who have no idea about werewolves when you know pretty much everything there is to know about the supernatural sounds pretty stressful to me,” Derek offered lightly, glancing out the window and down at the city thoughtfully for a moment. He seemed to be struggling for the best way to phrase whatever it was that was on his mind, but then, Stiles supposed he hadn’t had much in the way of company the last few weeks.

He knew Derek had been with Braeden briefly, then Cora, then on his own when his life had turned upside down again. And there was a lightness to Derek’s face this morning that Stiles thought mirrored his own. Like last night had been the first time he’d slept well in a long time too. He looked more at ease than Stiles had ever seen him in his entire life and he was technically still a wanted fugitive.

Dragging his hand through his hair again to distract from his wandering thoughts as best he could, Stiles hobbled into the kitchen area properly and shoved the last two slices of bread into the toaster. Hmmm. He’d have to get some groceries. His foot was throbbing though.

“I have to report to work via video conference later, since I can’t really walk much.” He glanced to the crutches the hospital had given him on loan for a couple of weeks and tried to imagine scaling the insane amount of stairs he had to climb everyday. He’d probably end up with a broken neck. Luckily he had loads of paperwork, which he was good at and didn’t mind doing. They’d probably let him do it from home for a few days, if only so they didn’t have to do it.

His efficiency with the paperwork was probably a big part of why they liked him so much, since most of his classmates tried to beg out of it. But his single-minded concentration that came with his ADHD, as much as it was easing as he got older, was a godsend apparently. When it was a subject he had interest in, i.e. his job, he was like a machine.

“Can I stay?”

Stiles turned slightly to look at Derek, still staring out the window at the grey sky. “Until things are sorted out with the FBI. Can I stay?”

He sounded warm and awkward and almost longing, voice a little husky and Stiles swallowed tightly.

“Dude, stay as long as you want. You’re always welcome. Mi casa, es su casa, always. You don’t have to ask.”

Derek looked at him at last, lips slightly parted as if he were going to say more. In the end, his mouth closed and he nodded determinedly.

*

Work was pretty gracious about his request to work from home. He had reports to type up and some other paperwork to keep him busy for the rest of the week at least. Plus he was entitled to some medical leave if he couldn’t walk easily. Besides that, they were thrilled that one of their unsolved cases seemed to be coming to a close because of ‘his help’.

Rafael McCall had apparently planted the necessary evidence into the system to connect the guys they caught at the raid the other day to the murders Derek (although the FBI didn’t know his identity) was accused of. One of them with similar build to Derek had even sustained serious burns to his back during the raid, which Stiles had reasoned could be where the suspected tattoo was that they’d used to identify the unsub they were looking for. It was the idiot’s own fault really, for being an immortal hunter who murdered countless people, for packing a flamethrower and trying to turn it on the FBI.

Stiles had zero sympathy for people who wielded fire. Maybe it was just because he had seen what fire could do in the Hale house, on Peter Hale’s face before he’d healed himself. It was a dick move. Even if he’d technically done it himself once, he supposed.

So it all tidied up nicely, really and by the time the video call had ended, Stiles was sure Rafael had managed to erase any evidence with anything similar to Derek’s face or body. He should’ve felt bad using the guy, he supposed. But he’d never claimed to have scrupulous morals and besides which, it was Scott’s idea to ask for his help in the first place.

Daddy McCall had infinite favours to do before he could make it up to Scott, Stiles supposed. But in the mean time, as long as Scotty approved, he would use Rafael McCall’s powers for good and maybe the guy would get his head out of his ass along the way.

He’d shot a text to both McCalls, one a curt message of thanks, the other assuring Derek should be safe as soon as they were sure the guys they caught were going to stay caught. The only problem was, Derek had snuck out while he’d been on his conference call. He’d noticed mid-conversation with his boss and so hadn’t been able to act on it. The second the call came to a close, however, he shut the laptop and sprang up. Snatching his phone up, he dialled.

The phone rang and rang. Stiles was already toeing a shoe onto his good foot and reaching for his crutches when he heard the jingling of keys outside his door. He stopped dead at the sound, looking up just as the door opened. Derek stepped inside, arms loaded with brown paper grocery bags. He blinked at Stiles’s proximity to the door, as if surprised and neatly side-stepped him to set the grocery bags down on the kitchen floor.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stiles demanded.

Derek raised a brow, pausing in loading fresh fruit and vegetables into the fridge drawer. His expression said it all.

With a scowl, Stiles gestured to the front door. “For the next few hours you’re still potentially on their system as most wanted, Derek. You can’t just go for a walk around Sacramento.”

“Stiles, you have a grocery store around the corner – literally. I was in there for ten minutes. I wore your Mets cap. I kept a low profile – I know how to do that, I’m very practiced at it.”

Stiles hesitated. “You went to the rich people supermarket?” That was the only grocery store on his block. Sometimes Stiles hit it up on payday for their luxury cookie range when Lydia came to visit.

Rolling his eyes, Derek continued to load the groceries into the fridge and cupboards. It was all so domestic, the scene, the bickering and it made Stiles feel sort of funny.

“Nobody noticed me. There was no way you could manage the groceries on your own and you hopping around on crutches and fighting me over who was going to foot the bill would’ve made more of a scene that me going in alone.”

“Dude, I can be stealthy and I don’t need you to fill my fridge–”

“You do if I’m going to eat all your food,” Derek interrupted, tossing the paper bags into the recycling bin before turning to face him. His nostrils flared and he stared Stiles down for a long moment before shaking his head. “Sometimes you need help too, Stiles,” he breathed, exasperated and fond all at once.

Stiles swallowed thickly, darting his gaze to the side. He didn’t even like accepting his dad’s help at the best of times. With Lydia and Scott, loved them though he did, they had their own stuff going on and he couldn’t ask for their help either. Or he could but he didn’t want to. It was easier just to struggle through. And yet Derek was standing there, watching him expectantly, with that mixture of softness and annoyance on his face and Stiles didn’t want to reject the symbolic hand he’d been trying to grasp since he was sixteen. That had often come close but had never felt within his reach until now.

A sudden buzz on his intercom for the front door made Stiles jump.

“I also ordered Chinese,” Derek smirked, “think you can manage to get the door?”

Stiles muttered under his breath at the indignation of it, but still buzzed the delivery guy in.

“You don’t have to bribe me with food to let you stay,” Stiles said as they set the take-out boxes on the minute counter space a few minutes later. It smelled so good that the argument Stiles had been forming in his mind dissipated in the delicious smelling steam rising from the boxes. “You’re welcome here, even after your name is cleared for a bit, if you want.”

Derek huffed as he split the contents of each dish out equally. Because Stiles may have been human but he had the appetite of a wolf. “Nice to know, but this isn’t a bribe. It’s just something I want to do. Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

Feeling like he was getting some of his equilibrium back, Stiles grinned. “Isn’t this like…a courting ritual, a wolf sharing food or providing food?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek barked, ears flaming. He snatched the bowls out of Stiles’s hand and carried all of them over to the sofa so Stiles couldn’t hop across with them and, most likely, risk sending it all to the floor.

Some old movie was on with Humphrey Bogart – Stiles’s mom and dad had liked watching his movies together so he left it on and they ate and Derek half-watched with a wistful little look on his face that made Stiles wonder if someone in his family had liked the movie too.

Stiles talked about Katherine Hepburn and how his mom had loved her, how she’d watched her movies with her mother. He talked about World War One’s impact on Africa and how he’d drifted off on a tangent about it in the middle of one of his papers about World War Two, and how his dad had just smiled quietly through the whole meeting with the teacher when he called his dad in about Stiles’s attention span. And through it all, Derek smiled slightly, that private little half-smile as he sucked noodles into his mouth and toed off his shoes in the middle of Stiles’s apartment. The apartment that Derek had cleaned and it just made Stiles feel so…warm. Comfortable. He’d never felt comfortable with someone and yet hyperaware of their every little movement at the same time.

Derek had polished off most of his chow mein and shifted back on the sofa a little as Hepburn dumped Bogart’s gin into the river, relaxing with Stiles until their knees touched.

Heat swelled in Stiles’s stomach and he covered up the little splutter he gave and distracted himself by chugging down some more noodles.

“I haven’t had good Chinese take-out since I moved up here,” he sighed happily, licking the sauce from his lips. He turned to Derek more fully then and swore he caught those eyes dropping to the movement of his tongue and back again. Huh. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. We can alternate–”

“You’re injured–”

“And you’re a guest,” Stiles protested but Derek just shrugged, looking back to the TV.

“The couch is comfortable enough when I shift, and plenty warm. It’s fine, I’m not turfing you out of your own bed Stiles and that’s the end of it.”

Stiles’s tenacity was sidetracked by curiosity. He set his now empty plate down, sitting back a little to let his leg stretch out and relieve any pressure on his throbbing foot. He’d had medication with his food and it was starting to kick in. “Do you always shift when you sleep or is my couch just that uncomfortable?”

“It’s fine, Stiles,” Derek half-groaned, polishing off his rice now, thumb tracing the edge of the plate distractedly. He stared at the screen without really seeing it. His silence only lasted a moment longer than it should have, but Stiles noticed. He noticed everything, he noticed the way Derek was still relaxed next to him, not uncomfortable at their proximity, the way his mouth had a slight shine from his tongue and the way the light struggling to peak through the clouds touched his cheekbones.

“I don’t shift in my sleep a lot. But it’s…it’s like letting go, I guess. A release of tension.”

Stiles nodded. “It feels good. Like sinking into a hot bath or eating really good food. It lets you process stuff?” he suggested and when Derek nodded his own lips twitched. He couldn’t help himself. “So that’s why you’re so zen now, huh? You’re one with the wolf and the wolf is one with you?”

But Derek didn’t laugh, didn’t really seem to register the joke, he looked hesitant, oddly vulnerable even as he was obviously trying to guard himself. “I can control it. If it bothers you.”

“Nah, you do you. Just don’t shed on my sheets or anything.”

With a scowl, Derek watched as Stiles snatched the last prawn cracker out of the complimentary bag between them. “I do not shed. I’m a werewolf, not a dog.” But there was that fond exasperation again that made Stiles a bit giddy. It made him feel stupid and hungry and happy and brave and scared all at once.

He drummed his fingers nervously along his thighs as he chewed and swallowed, and then of course his mouth moved of its own volition.

“Thanks, by the way. For…you know, last night. Taking the pain? And, well…you know, I…” He looked at Derek for some sort of clue, because Derek hadn’t mentioned last night and Stiles was almost half-convinced it’d been a dream. That was until he saw the way Derek’s eyes were molten and so, so close.

Stiles gave a nervous, breathy little laugh. “You’re better than that crap the hospital gave me.”

Considering him for a beat, Derek seemed to scan every inch of Stiles’s face. “Probably not half as addictive anyway.”

Stiles wasn’t entirely sure about that.

He spent the rest of the day doing his paperwork while Derek seemed quite content to alternate between reading one of Stiles’s books, flicking through the TV and messaging Cora on his phone.

It felt like they’d always shared this, comfortable and easy and gravitating around each other. When Stiles finally went to turn in, he found himself hesitating. His hand rested lightly on the bookshelf as he turned back to look at Derek, who was curled up under Stiles’s blanket that he snuggled up under on the couch on the colder evenings. For once in his life though, words failed him and after too long staring at Derek on the couch, all he could say was “goodnight Derek,” before heading into the bathroom.

His head was buzzing as he watched his reflection scrub his teeth, eyes too bright and face a little pink. Because it felt like everything he’d thought he’d imagined between them, once Derek had left them in Mexico, had just picked right back up where they’d left off. The easiness, those little half smiles that made something twist deep in his belly. He spat into the sink and splashed his face and throat with cool water to try and compose himself. Then he turned on the extractor, just in case there was some whiff of Stiles’s emotions or whatever in there.

*

It took another forty-eight hours before he got the short, not quite curt phone call from Rafael McCall saying Derek’s appearance was officially off the FBI’s radar (and unofficially off their records completely, as if it’d never been). But Derek stayed. He watched Stiles as he finished the call and then as he hung up, he held his gaze as he asked simply, voice warm and almost husky, “can I stay?”

Stiles wasn’t even thinking about the way Derek kept his apartment clean and his laundry done as he said, “as long as you want.” He thought about the fact that they liked the same cheesy old movies, that Derek liked to curl up with Stiles on his modest couch in the evening to read, while their feet pretty much touched under the blanket because the apartment was still a touch too cold, but not cold enough to turn the heating on yet.

He thought about their bickering and the way he liked to listen to Derek breathing as he drifted off. But mostly he thought about the way Derek had looked at him in Mexico, as he’d gotten into that car.

Now he was as safe as he was going to be, Derek used his modest little rental car to give Stiles a ride to work, saving him from struggling on the crutches all the way there. There were lifts in the actual building so it wasn’t so bad and Stiles’s life returned to a new sort of normal, but one where Derek picked him up after work. Where, when Stiles was poring over something for work on his laptop, Derek went out for a run and came back sweaty and breathless, or brought home the fresh doughnuts from the bakery a few blocks away until Stiles sang his praises through a mouthful of delicious warm sugar and cinnamon.

Stiles’s toe was healed enough that he could walk without the crutches in record time (if he was careful), so he soon started walking to work. But his heart still skipped a little when he walked out of his work building one evening to see Derek leaning against one of the fountains, just across from the glass doors.

“Hey,” Stiles breathed, feeling warm at the sight of him. He stayed late, he always did and Derek knew that but he’d still waited. Only a few of his fellow interns walk passed, looking interested. Stiles watched as Derek cleared his throat, ducking his head a little as if embarrassed and wondered what they were whispering to put that look on his face. Stiles had to know, but Derek gave no clues of course.

“So there’s a sale on at the furniture place just on the edge of town. I was thinking, you know, if you wanted to stay for a while longer, we could pick up a decent sofa bed? Give you a bit more space to sleep? Because honestly, there’s barely enough room on that thing for me to sleep on and you’re just a tad broader in the shoulders.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Derek assured him as they walked and Stiles knew a little prickle of disappointment. Because of course Derek wouldn’t be staying forever.

“Yeah,” he offered, running a hand through his hair, eyes on the sidewalk. “You’re probably so ready for a bit more space. I mean my apartment is a bit small for a werewolf–”

“It’s not too small,” Derek cut across him, sounding as confused as he looked when Stiles glanced at his face. “There’s nothing wrong with it, Stiles. I only meant that I’m fine where I am. My family spent half our time sleeping out on the porch in the summer, or camping out in the living room in front of the fire. I don’t need a fancy bed or a bigger apartment. I asked you if I could stay because it felt right.” He looked as if that was a bit more than he wanted to say and quickly looked back to the path ahead, waiting at the crosswalk in silence.

Derek was pretty poor at self-care, always had been, worse than Stiles’s dad, really, but outside of the life or death situations that came with Beacon Hills, he’d never gone along with anything he didn’t want to do. If he wasn’t happy where he was, he’d tell Stiles so, or leave.

It wasn’t until they’d crossed the road and started round the corner that Stiles spoke again, mind grasping at the tangent he was spinning onto. “You’ve never really mentioned your family much, except for the essential stuff,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“It’s easier to talk about the little things,” he shrugged, “I guess I’ve gotten used to talking about some things. When I spent time with Cora, she’d like to hear about them all the time. Everything I could remember. She was younger, didn’t really remember some of it. Not the good things.”

Stiles nodded, wondering how much of the good stuff he would’ve remembered about his mom if his dad hadn’t been there to refresh those memories.

“Is that like…your new anchor now or something?” When Derek looked confused, he continued, “just…your anchor was anger, wasn’t it? Only you’re not angry anymore, you seem…well you seem pretty amazing, if you ask me.”

He hated how fast his heart beat. The way Derek’s eyes flicked to him as if he’d heard. He probably had. Probably knew it wasn’t because Stiles had lied either.

“Not really. It hasn’t been anger for a long time. I can’t really pinpoint when, it’s not something that happens suddenly. It’s a gradual thing.”

Like grieving, like healing, like fighting beside someone everyday and missing them and only realising after they barrelled back into your life that you were falling in love.

It took Stiles a beat to realise his mind was drifting and Derek was still talking.

“…suppose I found myself in a situation, where someone was talking to me, maybe something I didn’t like, and I’d think…what would Stiles do?” Derek looked at him then, pausing on the sidewalk outside Stiles’s building and staring into his eyes with that wistful look.

Stiles’s stomach swooped and his head spun, even as Derek continued to talk.

“Of course, you’d always say something stupid or random–”

“Dude, you know me so well,” Stiles interjected, a little breathlessly, but Derek continued.

“–but whatever it was I felt…more focussed.”

 The chilly evening air whipped around them, picking up a little now and Stiles exhaled shakily, breath coming out in the lightest of mists between them.

Unbidden, the memory of being in the back of that van, with Derek and Liam came to him. Derek, trying to teach Liam to control his shift, both of them trying to tell him about anchors, about his focus. Back then, Derek had given him a look that Stiles had assumed was surprise at Stiles’s keen observations about werewolves and their anchors. Now he thought it had been a betrayal of a much more personal secret.

He tried to think back further, tried to think about their random text message thread over the last year, where Stiles had annoyed Derek as much as ever but Derek had always replied back. He thought about Scott and Allison, about Malia and him, the friendship their once-relationship had blossomed into. He thought about Jackson and Lydia and then he just stared at Derek as his scrambled thoughts fizzed out into quiet realisation. Like water rising up the bank where he’d camped with his assumptions of the world, until the flame he’d resigned himself to nurture there was swallowed up by the tide.

For just a moment, he felt like he was treading water again, only this time Derek was kickingback alongside him.

“You…you never said,” Stiles managed at last.

Derek stepped closer, the traffic going by, the glow of the streetlights and those of the business signs and windows all around blurred and inconsequential. It all wrapped around them in a flurry of sound and movement that fell away, as if they stood in the eye of the rush hour traffic’s storm, serene and untouched by the world as it passed on by. Stiles could feel the warmth radiating off of Derek and thought longingly of the solitude of the apartment above.

His tiny apartment that he loved but had also been a bit self-concious of. But now he supposed he knew why Derek loved it so much.

“It wasn’t…I didn’t…” Derek set his jaw, looking annoyed with himself. “I didn’t want you to expect anything from it. You were seventeen and I was…I was messed up, Stiles.”

Stiles glared. “I’m messed up. We’re all messed up, Derek, anyone who the Argents or the Nemeton or that goddamn town touched is messed up. What did you think I would like…jump you or demand a promise ring or something?!”

Exhaling impatiently, Derek shook his head. “I’d been on the run my whole life, Stiles and by the time I realised what was letting me keep my control, it’d all caught up with me at once.”

At that moment, Stiles thought of that Dire Straits song his dad loved, and that line, ‘When you gonna realise it was just that the time was wrong’ and he thought about what had happened. Probably happened anyway, if he could trust Peter’s story about Derek’s first love, and then his knowledge of what had happened not long after with Kate Argent. He thought about what that would mean for Derek, and how even a diminutive age gap with someone not quite of age would matter more to him than a lot of people. He thought about how angry and scared Derek had been when they’d seen him in the woods that day, when they’d been looking for Scott’s inhaler, and the man who stood before him now. He thought about the journey Derek had taken himself on after Mexico to get here.

Suddenly, the door to the apartment building opened and one of Stiles’s neighbours smiled apologetically as she stepped out onto the street between them and headed off down the sidewalk. The moment broken, Stiles shuddered as the chill crept down his neck and Derek tilted his head slightly, assessing him for an extended moment, before urging him inside.

They ate carbonara in front of the TV with Derek’s choice of a British series called Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, which Stiles felt a bit lost with, mostly because he wasn’t paying attention. He kept finding himself humming Romeo and Juliet without meaning to. This was so domestic. He couldn’t help but notice just how domestic it was and at the same time revel in it. Revel in the comfort of it and the tiny hope that maybe, if Derek had told him all this now, then that might mean this time he intended to stay.

Derek washed the dishes and Stiles dried, before excusing himself to the shower, if only for some space to process everything. Washing off the office was always cathartic too though, even if you did love your job. He dragged his hand across the surface of the steamy mirror as he roughly towelled his hair dry.

He couldn’t begrudge Derek his need for space or to process shit by himself after everything he’d been through after Mexico. He’d not exactly vanished off the face of the earth, except for the weeks he was on the run and understandably too busy for their usual text message sparring. There were so many things he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to tell Derek and he wasn’t sure where to begin.

But amongst all that, among the repeated verses of Romeo and Juliet that just would not get out of his head now, he couldn’t help but keep coming back to the same question. If Derek had told him now, was that because it was okay for Stiles to expect something? Or…maybe not expect but…to want? Did Derek want?

Everything was still a blur when he opened the bathroom door, steam furling out around him – around Derek, who was standing right outside the door, in the narrow walkway between Stiles’s bed and the bathroom wall. There was nowhere to hide. Stiles was wearing his sweats and t-shirt and Derek was barefoot right next to his bed and the narrow space brought them so close Stiles could feel his heat. He was so perilously close and there were so many things he wanted to say.

He had plenty of time to say them.

Later.

Suddenly, there was nothing more important than showing this imperfect, verbally challenged man exactly how he felt. He stepped forward, effectively closing the minute space between them, exhaling in an unsteady breath as his eyes traced the shape of Derek’s mouth. His hands slid up Derek’s neck. As he cupped his jaw, as he traced his thumbs across the soft bristles on Derek’s cheekbones, Derek’s eyes slid closed as if the pleasure in it was almost unbearable.

It was like Derek shuddered without the movement of it and his hands, broad and so warm and gentle, slid up Stiles’s back, chasing the damp chill from his shower and leaving prickling bursts of heat in his wake. Derek tipped his head to press his forehead to Stiles’s, breathing deeply as he held Stiles close.

Stiles’s hands cupped the back of Derek’s neck, fingers threading through his short hair and Derek made a low sound like a groan deep in his chest.

“When I watched you get into that car, I felt like I lost something I never even really had,” Stiles murmured into the scant inch between their mouths. Derek’s hands slid warm up over the goosebumps on his back. He dragged his nose down the side of Stiles’s, across his cheek and jaw and chin, all without opening his eyes.

Even with his heart screaming in negation, Stiles drew back, just enough to turn them, so Derek’s back was to the bathroom and Stiles was standing in the gap beside the bed, using the shift in positions and minute space between them to say what he needed to. Derek’s eyes looked glossy and dark, considering Stiles with confusion, hands gripping his waist as he watched Stiles tried to find his words.

“I know why you had to go, then. But I really want you to stay now.”

Derek’s smile grew slowly, tentatively, but it dazzled him with its authenticity. He was still smiling when he started to lean in. Stiles wrapped his arms around his shoulders, the two of them pulling each other in close in tandem until their mouths slid together.

It was so sweet he felt himself sink into Derek at the same time that Derek pushed back. His bed had storage drawers underneath for his clothes so it was pretty high, high enough to scoot back onto and have Derek stand between his legs and just plaster the heat of his body against Stiles’s – all without their mouths separating. The slow press and caress of lips was like a question, like a request, like the shy affection of two people who had done this dance without even realising exactly what it meant until now and god, he didn’t expect Derek to be so soft.

They tilted their heads to press deeper and Derek dipped to nudge his jaw with his nose, graze the corner of his mouth with his lips until Stiles’s skin tingled pleasantly from his beard. It was like werewolf scenting and human kissing mixed up in a way that was purely just Derek until Stiles panted against his lips. He parted his lips slightly, shifting back and cupping Derek’s neck to take him with him until they were sprawled on the bed. The soft, warm shadowy place illuminated only by the glow from the lamp in the living area beyond the bookshelves.

The warmth they created between them lit Stiles up from the inside out. Derek rolled him on his double bed, tussling with him in his sheets. Stiles couldn’t help but think they must smell of them and that was maybe what was driving Derek crazy most of all. He tugged his shirt off between kisses, Derek catching his mouth the moment it passed over his head, pinning Stiles’s arms so they were still all caught up in the sleeves. He was ridiculous and perfect and making Stiles laugh at the awkwardness that felt so right. Derek’s answering chuckle against his lips and tongue was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

“I’ve never heard you go this long without talking,” Derek mused as Stiles lifted his head to nip at his jaw, to scrape his lips across soft, scratchy hair and relishing in the slight burn.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Stiles mock-chided, struggling, flailing out of his t-shirt at last and smoothing his hands up Derek’s back, all tight smooth muscle. “Just your shirt?”

“Mmm.” It was nonsensical but Stiles only had a moment to wonder what it meant before Derek kissed him with bruising force and drew back. He tugged his shirt off and dropping it somewhere near the end of the bed.

There wasn’t a moment of worship or godlike awe. Stiles didn’t doubt Derek had had his fair share of experiences like that. Stiles was too desperate for him to gape and gawk. He caught Derek’s shoulders and tugged him back down to him the moment his shirt was off, holding him close, bare skin sliding together hotly. Stiles’s hands gripped at his impossible shoulders and the small of his back in little spasms, wanting him everywhere, dipping between their bodies to stroke over his chest and stomach until Derek’s abs shuddered against his fingers. He groaned against Stiles’s mouth, bracing himself over Stiles’s head with his forearms, letting him touch everywhere and hold him close.

Stiles grinned against him, before nuzzling back into his cheek and wrapping his arms around him again completely.

He squeezed, pushing a little to roll them again until they were on their sides. Derek’s hands slid down his back so slowly, holding him, one hand sliding into his hair to cup his head so, so gently. Stiles nuzzled him again, just under his jaw and Derek pressed his nose into Stiles’s hair. They were both mostly hard and that was fine for now. This was what they both needed.

At some point as they lay tangled together, Stiles started to drift. He found himself half-over Derek, still wrapped in his arms in a messy sprawl but with the blankets over him now, warm and close and breathing only Derek in.

“You smell amazing,” Stiles mumbled, half-asleep. Derek’s chest jumped slightly under his hand with mostly silent laughter. He felt him press into his hairline sleepily, not as chaste as a kiss to his forehead, somehow more intimate in a way that sent little tendrils down Stiles’s spine.

“You feel amazing.”

Stiles muttered something about them not even being started yet but it was mostly smothered by his mouth smooshed against Derek’s shoulder and he definitely heard Derek say something about Stiles drooling. Stiles thought he fell asleep before he’d even finished laughing.

*

He was in that blissful place that wasn’t quite sleeping, just drifting pleasantly in relaxed consciousness. The calm tranquillity of someone just awoken, slowly drifting down to reality like a feather on a soft, warm breeze. There was something tickly nuzzling into the hollow of his neck. He groaned, stretching his limbs under the heavy blanket of heat, his arms coming up instinctively to wrap around broad shoulders and stroke clumsily until he cupped the back of Derek’s neck.

Derek was half-kissing, half burrowing into his neck and shoulder. He was only half awake himself, it seemed, and urging them both out of slumber in what Stiles thought was actually just the most fantastic way imaginable. Actually, he wasn’t sure even his imagination could come up with something this good. He felt his neck throb, as if Derek had been at it for a while and he squirmed. He tugged gently on Derek’s hair until Derek nosed across his adam’s apple and down to the opposite side of his neck to worry him there, just beneath where his collar would sit – if he ever put a shirt on again.

After a blissful eternity just lying warm and content under soft caresses, under Derek’s weight, held off him just enough by Derek’s arms either side of his head, he started to roll his hips into Derek’s soft, diminutive motions like a question again.

Derek lifted his head then, eyes glazed and dark and beautiful, hair sleep-mussed. Stiles was struck with how beautiful and soft he looked, asking for his silent consent. In answer, Stiles tilted his head and slanted their mouths together and rocked up against him until they were pressed together where they were both hard. They moved like that for a while, unhurried and lazy and perfect.

It was early morning and Stiles thought distractedly that he was going to be Derek’s workout that morning. He chuckled into Derek’s mouth and gripped Derek’s ass to pull their hips tighter together. It was firm and perfect and Derek went with it, with a little almost-growl, rutting into him even as Stiles clumsily tugged their sweats down, only just enough to bring their cocks together. He panted, tearing his mouth away from Derek’s to look down and watch them grinding together, both straining and hard and sticky.

Derek pushed up on one arm, the other coming down to hold them both together. The flat of his thumb danced under Stiles’s head as he stroked and Stiles shuddered, stomach quivering. He gripped Derek’s wrist, but not to stop him. He pressed his head back hard into the pillows as he fucked up into his hand.

He blinked bleary-eyed up at Derek, who was watching him through lust-blown eyes, half-lidded with thick lashes. Stiles grunted as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders again, holding onto him, rolling up into him even as Derek pushed back. They were just carried off fast and hard, as sudden and swift as Stiles’s heart beat and Stiles came in thick stripes between them. Hungry and shocked, he reached down to stroke them both as well, clumsy and urgent until Derek’s heat splashed over his own release before he’d even recovered himself.

He was shaking, he was pretty sure, still rocking as if he couldn’t help himself, even though he was sensitive. Derek kissed him everywhere like he was the most precious thing he’d ever seen – sweaty and mussed up and completely gone, drunk on Derek.

Derek had nice arms, Stiles thought dazedly, not for the first or last time. Those oh so nice arms scooped him up and held him close, sheets still tangled around them. Together, they fall into that soft, dreamy place that Stiles just realised only lazy morning sex could bring.

“Did you love me before I was your anchor?” he asked sleepily against Derek’s mouth sometime later. Derek liked to touch his nose to Stiles’s a lot, to drag it over his cheek and the corner of his lips so they lay at the same level mostly, on Stiles’s favourite pillow he’d brought from home that he couldn’t sleep without.

Derek opened his eyes then, hand warm on Stiles’s hip and he looked freer than Stiles had ever seen him.

“I think there was always something, an understanding or–”

“A spark?” Stiles mused.

Derek rolled his eyes but his lips were quirked in a little smile as well. “If you like. I can’t pinpoint when it changed exactly, it just…I started to change. And when I was stuck in that desert, I dreamed about you – I only dreamed about you, Stiles, and that’s when I knew.”

Stiles studied him closely in the muted light. “That I was your anchor?”

“Yes,” Derek said softly, so openly. “And I was messed up then, we both were and the timing wasn’t right, and you were seventeen and part of me felt like I’d never really stopped being sixteen but I knew that somewhere along the way, you’d become the most important thing to me.”

Stiles stroked his face. Derek was getting laugh lines around his eyes, and they were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

“I think I fell in love with you when you were hiding out in my room all that time from the sheriff’s department, even if I didn’t really understand what it meant.”

He still wasn’t sure he understood it entirely now, but they had plenty of time to figure it out.

He leaned in this time, bringing their mouths together just a split-second before his phone buzzed. No, Derek’s phone buzzed in the living room. They ignored it at first, then it started vibrating frantically, signalling a phone call in silent mode and Derek huffed in annoyance before hopping out of bed. He pulled up his sweats as he went, but not before Stiles got a glorious glimpse of that perfect ass. He couldn’t wait to see more of it.

As Derek answered, he stumbled into the bathroom and ran a washcloth under warm water, sponging himself down and wringing it out to take out to Derek, but as he turned, he found Derek in the doorway, phone still to his ear, a worried look on his face. Or a worried scowl at any rate.

“What sort of trouble?” Derek said to the person on the phone.

Stiles didn’t have super-hearing, but the apartment was quiet and Derek’s phone was loud enough that he heard a woman’s voice on the phone. Cora?

“You’re telling me that their whole pack was destroyed?” His tone was difficult to read and Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was summarising Cora’s words for Stiles’s benefit, or just simply floundering in disbelief. Because Derek had just been on the run for months because hunters, the ones they’d helped the FBI catch, had annihilated an entire pack and somehow pinned the blame on Derek, who had stopped by to check it out at exactly the wrong time.

The second hit on a werewolf pack in less than six months was a bit of coincidence and usually hunters were a bit more circumspect about their attacks, even the crazy ones.

Genocide on a wider scale was harder to ignore.

Stiles glanced at his own phone through the doorway, sitting currently silent on his side table. His work may not be aware of it yet, or maybe they were, but interns weren’t privy to this sort of dangerous information – the kind of information that could start a wider scale of panic. There were people like Rafael all over the FBI and CIA, trying to keep the secrets of the supernatural world secret. They were either doing a really good job of it or the officials were being pretty secretive themselves.

Stiles wouldn’t have time to find out which it was. He just knew. Stepping closer, he pressed his ear close and Derek held the phone away from his ear slightly so they could both listen.

“They weren’t even careful about it Derek,” Cora’s voice said, sounding fast and afraid. “The pack I’m staying with are in contact with this one in Brazil everyday because they’re the alpha’s in-laws and communication completely stopped. When they sent some people to check it out, they were just…everyone is gone. It was a blood bath. A scale of attack no one could’ve defended against. We’re working on other packs, telling them to go underground, get into hiding so I can’t – I wouldn’t ask you, but you know there are kids in this pack I’m staying with, Derek, in some of these other packs we’re trying to get to safety and something huge is going on here and I need to know someone I trust is looking into it.”

Stiles swallowed thickly, hands shaking and Derek held his gaze, as still as stone. In the short time Stiles had known Cora, he’d never heard her this shaken and desperate. This was bad. They both seemed agreed on that.

“I’ll check it out. Send me the location,” Derek said.

“Just for reconnaissance,” Cora insisted, voice shaken but determined now. “You promise me, Derek. This isn’t a battle you can win alone. You stay out of sight, find information and get out.” When Derek didn’t reply she persisted more firmly, “you promise me.”

It was not a question.

Derek sighed and though his expression was tinged with worry, his eyes were soft and affectionate. Stiles had heard him talk about his time with Cora and the pack she was staying with fondly, so he thought they’d gone some ways to mend the fractures in their relationship. He couldn’t wait to find out more – once they got out of whatever mess was headed their way, because there was no question they were heading straight for it.

“I promise, Cora. I can be careful.”

Stiles swore he heard something like “yeah, now you can” muttered down the phone from Cora and he smirked in spite of himself.

“Don’t go alone. Are you still in contact with Chris Argent or Braedan? Or can Isaac meet you?”

“Isaac’s still in France, he’s…” Derek looked thoughtful. “He’s happy there, Cora. He’s got a whole life.”

“Argent or Braeden then,” Cora said impatiently, more like a mother than a sister. “You can’t go alone.”

Derek straightened a little then, staring directly into Stiles’s eyes without any reservations and with meaning so much more significant than his simple words suggested. “Don’t worry, I’ve got back up.”

*

They had to get a flight to Brazil. Luckily there was space on the next flight out with only one stop over and Stiles was thrumming with nerves the whole time.

On the last leg, Derek laid a hand over his on the arm rest to still his twitching fingers when it looked like the woman in the window seat next to them was about to kill Stiles.

He wondered if it were possible that Derek could anchor him as well as the other way around, because after that he did actually manage to get some sleep. He didn’t know then just how much he would need it.

*

The next seventy-odd hours of Stiles’s life were non-stop. He wasn’t even sure he could process it correctly for days, weeks, months after, but somehow, while they were checking the wide area the murdered pack had claimed as territory, he and Derek had gotten split up. The ‘hunting party’ that’d attacked the pack had disbanded but some were still in the nearby town and some, Derek had apparently found at the scene of the crime. All of course, while Stiles got into trouble with the former.

Stiles wasn’t even sure how but by the time Derek had met him back at their hotel, Stiles had already had most of the hunters he’d encountered taken in by local law enforcement as suspects and Derek…Derek had parked up out front in what Stiles was pretty sure was a stolen car.

“Oh my god!” Stiles declared more than gasped as he scrambled into the passenger seat. “Are you insane! There are Brazilian police all over this town now and you park up in a stolen car!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s not reported as stolen, they didn’t live long enough to make the call.”

Stiles scowled, scanning the street anxiously but the police that’d made the arrests were gone with their charges now and those that’d been left to clear the scene still seemed to be inside.

“Dude, where have you been?! You were meant to be back hours ago!”

Pulling back out into the street with all the calmness of a man out on a morning stroll, Derek made the turn at the junction toward the airport. “I was a bit caught up. I text you as soon as I could.” Before Stiles could do much more than process that the fact that he himself had also not really had time to check his phone, Derek added wryly, “Looks like you’ve been pretty busy too.” His eyes followed the three police vans they passed, currently transporting their suspects to the local jail.

They might not stay there, Stiles’s dad had been brief and distracted when he’d put Stiles in contact with someone trustworthy in Brazil. He was probably working on a big case himself as he was very hasty to get Stiles off the phone, so Stiles still wasn’t sure exactly how much Detective Silvos, who’d helped Stiles get these guys nailed down, knew about the supernatural. He hadn’t really blinked at Stiles’s vague and suspicious story though. Not when Stiles’s dad had spoken to him on the phone.

He also hadn’t asked Stiles to give him his address or contact details or to stay in town while the investigation continued, which was standard even in another country, of that he was sure.

He had the nagging suspicion somehow his dad was involved in this, which was impossible, surely? How could he be involved in a hit on werewolves in Brazil and Mexico that were somehow linked?

And why weren’t Lydia or Scott answering their damn phones?!

He stared at Derek then and the sight he made. “Is that your blood? Dude,” he hurriedly stripped off his outer shirt for Derek to put on when they reached the airport. They did not need that kind of attention.

Derek set his teeth. “Get your phone out and book us on the next flight out of Brazil.”

Stiles studied him carefully for a moment before digging in his pocket for his phone. “Sacramento flights are–”

“Not Sacramento,” Derek cut across him, focussed solely on the road ahead, as if he dared not let his mind drift back to whatever he’d left behind.

Watching his face in profile carefully, Stiles waited for Derek to explain or clarify what he meant exactly. But the haunted look in Derek’s eyes as the street lights flashed by made the uneasiness at the back of his mind settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. “Derek?”

“Book the fastest route to Beacon County airport,” he said at last, casting Stiles a little sideways glance.

Of course whatever crap was going on here was leading them back to Beacon Hills, the place they’d both tried so hard to escape. Stiles was so getting his dad a job somewhere in Sacramento because his life expectancy was definitely going to go up with that move. He shot his dad a text to check in as he pulled up the flights options.

*

It was night when they landed in Beacon County Airport after a long two stop flight and the taxi they took from there dropped them off at the Stiles’s house. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding filled him when they found that his dad wasn’t there. Even as Stiles felt his panic sky-rocketing, even as he dialled his dad’s cell and the line rang and rang, Derek stood poised on the threshold of the front door, listening to the cool, quiet night.

Stiles watched him, knowing, just knowing somehow that he was picking up on something Stiles couldn’t have a hope of sensing.

“They’re in trouble – we’ve got to go,” Derek said quickly. Stiles snatched the Jeep’s keys off the rack in the hall. He hoped that the fact that Scott had left the Jeep here meant his dad was with him, or at least protected somehow.

“Your driving will get us pulled over in five seconds, we want to avoid attention not get shot off the road by the anti-werewolf militia,” Stiles said as he shut the front door behind them and darted for the Jeep. Because his brain had been working overtime on both flights and he was starting to put it all together now.

He thought as he pulled his seatbelt on and Derek wrenched open the passenger door with distaste, that Derek was about to argue, but then he stiffened as if he’d heard something, eyes going wide and he jumped in.

“Drive,” he barked, before he’d even closed his door.

Stiles floored it, going five over the speed limit the whole way despite the way Derek was braced forward in his seat and scowling at the rate of movement.

“Look, if they see us speeding down the street it’s going to draw even more attention than a werewolf running down it,” Stiles snapped, heart pounding, mind racing as he thought of his dad, of Scott and Lydia and everyone else.

Scott hadn’t had time for specifics it seemed, hadn’t even had time to finish the phone call properly or reply to Stiles’s messages. Stiles wondered if his phone had been caught in the crossfire again, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Derek rolled down the passenger window roughly using the lever and glared at Stiles as if daring him to make a dog comment as he inhaled the sharp night air.

“Turn right,” he barked and the Jeep protested loudly as Stiles jerked the steering hard.

“Put your seatbelt on,” Stiles snapped and Derek turned his head to level him with a withering look. Stiles wasn’t deterred. “It still hurts if you fly through the windshield doesn’t it? Now don’t lean too far out of the window or a streetlamp will take your head clean off, fido.”

He had the brief, glancing thought that it was good their bickering banter hadn’t changed. That, and that they made a pretty good team. He only hoped their success of the last few days, weeks really, was going to hold true for whatever they were getting themselves into now. It was Beacon Hills, after all.

Derek helped him follow Scott’s trail toward an industrial site and as Stiles pressed harder on the gas, even he heard the sounds of gunfire. His stomach dropped and he and Derek locked gazes briefly. He saw his own worry etched into Derek’s expression and swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“Blood?” he breathed, not wanting to know.

“Not Scott’s. Not the pack’s, I don’t think but…” he frowned then and stiffened in his seat, grabbing for the door handle. “Keep going. Put your foot down.” With that, he leapt out of the door, landing easily on his feet.

Stiles swore, glancing repetitively in the wing mirror only to see Derek quickly keep speed alongside the passenger window, pushing the door shut hard.

A stream of gunfire pinged down from one of the rooftops to their left.

“Snipers!” Stiles shouted and Derek snarled, leaping onto the nearest structure and scaling the concrete, up and out of sight.

Ahead of him, Stiles could see the conflict now, a force of guns flashing in the dark, aiming for a barely covered alcove with wide open arches and he knew, just knew this was them. The militia that were trying to kill everyone he cared about. Maybe they even had? One man side-stepped out of the shadow of the building they were targeting, position prime for fire and Stiles knew without thinking the guy was preparing a kill-shot.

He floored the gas and slammed into him, sending the guy skidding forward with a crunch. Panting hard, Stiles turned out the still open window and saw Scott staring at him from his crouched position behind a pillar.

“You didn’t think you were doing this without me, did ya?” Stiles called out, a little breathless but with a wave of relief filling him at seeing Scott alive.

“Without us?” Derek added as he came up alongside the Jeep once more, evidently having disposed of the snipers that had sidetracked him. Movement just ahead, of more gunmen rounding the corner caught his eye though and his eyes flashed, fangs extending as he leapt forward.

If Stiles hadn’t been head over heels for him before, he sure would’ve been then. Because Derek wasn’t the same erratic, scared little kid in a man’s body. He was focussed, more dangerous and stronger now because of it. He may not have been an alpha but he was unstoppable. Maybe the others felt it too or perhaps their arrival had simply rallied their morale because he saw Malia move, saw Peter and for probably the first time, Stiles appreciated that they were wolves – a pack of wolves acting as one, all of them. He stood struck still as stone at the sight of them working together like a single force and didn’t really come back to himself until what was left of their enemy tore away with a screech of tyres.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about any of this, not a word not a single word,” he rounded on Lydia as the others moved toward…toward Deucalion, broken and limp on the floor.

“We had reasons, really good reasons,” Lydia muttered sheepishly, and as they moved, as Scott and the others focussed on Deucalion, she levelled him with a shrewd glare. “Why didn’t you tell me about Derek?” She challenged under her breath and Stiles wasn’t even sure how she’d known from just a glance, or if it’d only been a hunch that he’d confirmed with the full-facial flush he had absolutely no control over.

“Well that’s a…fairly recent development. Like…sort of shiny new…”

“Please, there’s nothing new about that,” Lydia scoffed under her breath.

He felt Derek tense as he came up behind them, Peter close by, Malia too and he wondered how much they had heard or if they’d been focussed on Deucalion’s last words.

“It’s already started, hasn’t it?” Malia asked.

Stiles frowned. How much had they missed here? “What’s started?”

“It’s an all out war,” Scott breathed, lifting his gaze from Deucalion to each of them in turn, as if confirming each and every member of his pack were unharmed after such a close call. An instinctive motion, Stiles thought, after years of running with wolves.

Stiles’s head was still spinning as Scott embraced Derek, relieved and glad to see him and so well, Stiles thought. Scott was the alpha but Derek represented a force of strength for Scott, a big brother figure and support that Scott didn’t have from anyone else. As they spoke, as Derek explained what had brought them there, Stiles suddenly found himself among all the conflicting feelings that had gripped him since they’d started heading back toward Beacon Hills.

Because their connection, this thing he and Derek had found together, their little den back in Sacramento felt so fresh, new and delicate like a bubble and whatever Beacon Hills touched, it fucked up. But standing there, watching Derek, watching Derek watch him with those soft eyes, he realised every inch of Derek was calm and collected. He was focussed because Stiles was there, anchoring him and whatever else happened, they were going to be okay.

“We found a pack slaughtered in Brazil, there were two words written on the wall, Beacon Hills.”

“You came back for Beacon Hills?” Scott asked, bemused.

“No,” Derek replied simply. “I came back for you.”

“We came back for you,” Stiles corrected.

Malia gave him a wry look. “Yeah, are ‘we’ going to explain that anytime soon?” Stiles honestly forgot how much she loved to tease him. He’d missed her, he’d missed all of them really and he felt a little giddy at the thought of sharing this happiness he’d found, this inner strength he’d cultivated, the person he’d become.

Derek moved to his side then, a subtle but distinctive movement. His eyes searching his, a smile touching the corners of his mouth as Stiles’s gaze dropped to it. It was like Derek felt invincible with Stiles beside him, and that knowledge was heady. The backs of Derek’s fingers brushed his where they hung limp at his side with such subtle, shy tenderness and yet Stiles’s stomach fluttered and he gave a nervous little laugh.

“Sure, we’ve got…stuff and you guys have stuff – a lot of stuff, actually. Huge stuff. But can we go somewhere with heat and light because I haven’t slept properly in like literal days and I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Derek’s soft little burst of laughter, almost too quiet to hear, was a beautiful sound, a moment of calming clarity, like the last gulp of fresh air before diving into deep water. They had a war to win.

*

When the smoke cleared, when they had defeated the militia that had tried to wipe out anyone with supernatural blood, they stood together in the darkness.

Stiles watched Scott bring a freshly turned, freshly afraid werewolf into their protection, if not their fold. Watched the beginnings of their future unfold before them and for once he didn’t feel afraid. He glanced to Derek, who gave him that little quirk of a smile, saw his own future, as well as his pack and he couldn’t wait for the rest of his life to begin.

The Jeep couldn’t make the drive to Sacramento, so he left her back in Scott’s loving hands to drive the newbie back to the loft. Derek’s old apartment had been renovated by the pack into ‘pack ground zero’ and now housed quite a few of their newest recruits slash recues. Scott had only looked a little bit annoyed, mostly indulgent, when Stiles had called it ‘Scotty’s School for Gifted Youngsters’.

He climbed into the passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro, a new model, not the old classic that apparently Derek had left with Cora. Derek looked so good and Stiles wondered how much begging it’d take to get Derek to stop for a milkshake on the way home. He was guessing not much, Derek was pretty good at taking care of him. He’d even looked ready to take on their friends when they’d effectively outed themselves to everyone in Deaton’s clinic before the final showdown. It had been unnecessary though, as nobody seemed very surprised, except Scott, who bless his heart was oblivious about most things.

“Your dad gave me ‘the speech’ when you were loading the car earlier,” Derek mused as he pulled out onto the quiet main road. “It wasn’t exactly the ‘shotgun’ speech…”

Stiles cringed. “It wasn’t the safe sex speech either was it?”

Derek smirked. “It was more along the lines of, I’m glad it’s you and good luck you’re gonna need it.”

Stiles made a sound that was a mixture of outrage and amusement. “Oh my god, traitor! You guys are gonna gang up on me at Sunday dinners aren’t you?”

Derek’s quiet laughter caressed his ears as Beacon Hills fell away in a blur of twinkling lights into the darkness behind them. He reached out, stretching fingers across Derek’s denim-clad thigh and relaxed back into the seat, staring out at the road ahead where the headlights greeted the tarmac.

Derek’s fingers came down to cover his as he drove.

“Do you think another militia will pop up like that again?” Stiles asked after the lights of Beacon Hills had long since vanished behind them.

“I think it’s always possible. Hunters are still out there. People like Monroe are still out there,” Derek said thoughtfully. “But rumour is spreading, about the Beacon Hills pack, about the safety they provide, their strength. It makes anyone think twice about making an attack like that again, but it also means newly turned werewolves and people like them have somewhere to go instead of getting into trouble, instead of causing mayhem with powers they can’t control.”

Stiles nodded, “it actually helps to have so many people in the town in on the secret too, I guess. They’re like an extension of the pack.” Plus his dad had been elected sheriff again and he had never been more respected by the community. While that kept him rooted in Beacon Hills too for the foreseeable future, Stiles didn’t worry as much as he had before. The bitterness that had once tainted his connection to that town had dissipated somewhat, his bond with his hometown, with the pack stronger than before.

It was funny how it’d taken him and Derek finding each other, really finding each other to enable them to reconnect with the pack and the town the way they were meant to. They would always belong to Beacon Hills and the pack there, it would always be theirs, but what they had with each other was home. Home was wherever Stiles curled up next to Derek at night and the rest of the world was a better place outside because of that.

Stiles couldn’t even put his finger on why, exactly. He thought though, perhaps, that they’d both been two very capable but misguided kids. Two strangers that, for their own reasons, had been forced to learn to take care of themselves. And while they’d both managed fine, they hadn’t necessarily been good at it. They’d been drawn to each other from the start, had always known how to push each other’s buttons but also known that they were both missing something.

Now they were whole. Cracked, a little chipped here and there and definitely dented, but for all those flaws, they were together and complete.

They’d looked out for each other as allies in war, but now they looked after each other as partners, as equals. As the other’s most important thing, the anchor that held them tight, steady and sure no matter how rough the seas around them grew.

“You’re totally gonna rip my throat out if I open this bag of Doritos in your new shiny baby aren’t you?” Stiles mused as he tugged the aforementioned bag out from his backpack that sat between his legs in the footwell.

“With my teeth,” Derek agreed automatically, completely deadpan. But his hand squeezed Stiles’s gently where they were still connected.

Stiles grinned.

There was also the fact that no one quite enjoyed Stiles’s own special brand of crazy like Derek did. That sort of unconditional love was something more powerful than anything, supernatural or otherwise. It was hard not to feel invincible knowing that. And when Derek looked at him sometimes, even then when it was just a quick peek between keeping his eyes on the road, like he couldn’t help himself, he could see Derek felt the exact same way.

“So at the end of the month, my boss is holding this sort of…I guess the term would be a dinner,” he began as he gently wriggled his hand free from Derek’s to open the dreaded Doritos. “It’s like this unofficial thing he does, to sort of congratulate us all for our hard work. Like a work’s Christmas party except it’s way too early for Christmas. But anyway, we’re allowed to bring significant others.”

When Derek glanced at him again, Stiles waggled his eyebrows and stuffed some Doritos in his mouth. “How significant do you wanna be, Derek?”

Derek flushed but turned back to the road. Honestly he rocked the angry-embarrassed thing, Stiles was so gone for him.

“Is he going to recognise me?” Derek replied eventually, but as he did so, Stiles leaned over to poke a Dorito into his mouth, forcing him to partake in the desecration of the Camaro’s spotless interior and lingering new car smell.

“Only one way to find out hubby-wolf.”

“Oh my god, Stiles, no pet names.”

“I’m also thinking we can probably fit a queen bed in the apartment,” Stiles continued as if he hadn’t spoken. We should stop at Ikea tomorrow. Just something with a little more room for you to, you know, have at me with all your wolfie desires. The full moons are gonna rock.”

Derek made a noise that was torn between dismay and adoration and annoyance all at once and Stiles grinned, stuffing his mouth full again before poking another chip between Derek’s lips. He prodded it until it was almost fully in Derek’s mouth, but when Derek resignedly sucked it in fully, he nipped at the end of Stiles’s fingertip, looking both irritated and pleased with himself.

Stiles beamed and dusted his fingers off before starting to mess with the radio.

Derek had to know what he was in for, after all.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Tower #2 (1/2/2021)

Click here if you’re like “What the heck is this about?”

Direct follow-up to this chat log.

Rhedd @sackreligion ducks in on Alastor @usedhearts and Alastor @dontasktheradiodemon. He’s eaten a chunk of soap. These things happen.

Anyway Dontask Alastor wants heelies now.

Rhedd

Hiccup. A soap bubble flits down from the ceiling, so innocuously. And then another, until a *certain radio demon* can be seen if one only looks up. He's peeking his head out upside down from a black portal.

usedhearts Alastor

The sound doesn't make Alastor jump, or start. He doesn't even look up from his phone for a second or two after. But then, slowly, his eyes lift, trailing up the wall until they lock on Rhedd, dangling out of a portal from the ceiling. Well!

"Can I.....help you?" He asks, raising a brow.

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

Alastor is ALMOST out of hearing range when his alternate speaks. He immediately ducks back in, curious. “Oh!” His eyes light up. ... More. “Well, speak of the devil!”

Rhedd

His hand raises (or lowers?) and though his mouth doesn't move at all, his voice is heard.

<<HELLO! This isn't a HIDEY PLACE, is IT? I thought I'd DROP IN and TUNE IN to my FAVORITE FREQUENCY but I MAY have THE WRONG NUMBER! HAHA!>>

usedhearts Alastor

Oh! Were they playing that game? Alastor's teeth lock in place as well, and when he speaks, its far more tinny and static backed than before.

"_Not to much a hidey place as a tucked away place! Not sure which frequency that is, but there are a lot here! Numbers and dials and buttons, oh my!_"

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

Y’all are being silly, Alastor’s talking with his actual mouth. “It would make for a poor hidey place, a broadcasting station inside a lighthouse! Why, we’re just about the most noticeable point on the island, ha! If we’re not broadcasting on your favorite frequency already, I’m sure we could pirate it!”

Rhedd

He slips back into the portal, only to crawl out of someone else's shadow. Feels like seaweed.

<<WELL! That's POSSIBLE! After all, WHEREVER I AM, they! ARE! >>

He's wearing a horrible hoodie, shutter shades and look at that glittery black lipstick. His ear tag jingles.

He's petting the red radio in his satchel. And as SOON as Rhedd opens his mouth, a sea of foam escapes. He looks like he's in pain,

usedhearts Alastor

Oh that terrible hoodie. Alastor's decidedly NOT looking at it. Instead he looks at the foam coming out of Rhedd's mouth.  This time he doesn't stop his mouth from moving as he speaks.

"What in the world happened with you, my good man! You look positively rabid!"

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

He takes one look and asks mildly, “Tide pod?”

Look, it’s not a bad guess. He’s been there. He understands.

Rhedd

"-oap!"

His voice is more akin to a gurgle, and he lifts a finger, opening a portal to shove his head through. There's nothing, no sound, but he's clearly straining....

And then he pulls his head back out, coughing and wiping his mouth as more bubbles pop up.

"Took a BITE! Couldn't RESIST!"

usedhearts Alastor

"Was it one of those ones that look like cupcakes? Or that are just shaped in general? Always tempted to take a bite out of one of those!" Alastor laughed, his foot bopping to unheard music where it sat on the table.

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

Alastor cracks up when Rhedd's head disappears. He manages to wheeze to his still-headed alternate, "Headless horseman." Cue the neighing sound effect.

When all of Rhedd is back in the room, he says, "Nice of you to return to us! I was afraid you were *heading out!*" He laughs again, slinging an arm around Rhedd's shoulders. "But come now, I'm sure the taste is atrocious, but it's not worth losing your head over it! What have you been going around saying that's so awful you need to wash out your mouth so thoroughly? Hah!"

Rhedd

OHHHH! He loves a good joke, ESPECIALLY at his expense.

"OHH! AHAH! HAHAHA! No, NO! It didn't look ANYTHING like FOOD! I just took it and BIT IT without HESITATION! And due to my NATURE when IT! COMES! TO! FOOD!" He taps at his mouth, then drags his claw down his throat, playing a very cartoonish GULPING sound. His own audience laughs, "Ideas POP IN and I am UNABLE to hold myself BACK from them!"

usedhearts Alastor

The jokes have him and his audience laughing as well! Some high chortles! This is the good stuff, being around other hims!

"Ah, yes, I see! The classic impulse to put something in your mouth and the other classic inability to stop! I understand completely. Sometimes you just need to take a bite out of the fake fruit!"

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

"I hope you're getting enough *real* food, though!" He gives Rhedd a critical look, has he been fed? "How full is that tank right now? Aside from the suds."

Rhedd

Rhedd grins at the two Radio Demons looking at him. What fun, having so much attention. He nods his head at the one, and a winning buzzer sound plays, before Rhedd turns to the other Alastor addressing him. He opens his mouth and a burp comes, to which he immediately covers his mouth with both hands, just after bubbles came up. His audience *roars* with laughter, and his ears flick, the tag jingling. *De nada.*

<<I beg your PARDON, friends! I've got NOTHING in my stomach, but it SURE! IS! CLEAN!>>

usedhearts Alastor

That's enough to get Alastor up out of his seat. His sauntering over with his usual, unhurried but jaunty, step, and then his arm goes around Rhedd. Just ignore the sweatshirt, Alastor. Be strong, be strong for Mother.

"Well that simply won't DO! Can't have another one of us wandering around with only bubbles in his gut, now can we? What sort of duplicates would we be?" The back of his free hand is on his forward and he's in Full Drama mode.

"Oh the humanity! What little we have left, that is!" He looked over at other Alastor and winked. "Think we need to correct this situation, don't you, good chum?"

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

Just two Alastors smothering Rhedd from either side, no big deal, he doesn't mind being trapped in all these arms does he? Alastor winks back. "I think we do! I've got the leftovers from a few culinary experiments left in the kitchen, it should be enough to fill a plate. Knowing your appetite, though, I think we'll need more than that!"

Rhedd

He doesn't mind being trapped in all of these arms at all, he has more than enough layers on to avoid *feeling* it, as it were. Though he felt a little bad for burping--there goes another one. Rhedd winces, though his mouth is still covered.

<<I would be HONORED to come to DINNER! I was in the MIDDLE of a RIVETING GAME of HIDE AND SEEK with my X-0-X-0, but before THAT I was IN THE MOOD for a MEAL!>>

usedhearts Alastor

"That's the good thing about games-- you can always continue with them after eating! The number of times I scarfed down dinner as a child to go running back out to play tag, well, they're incalculable!" He laughed and shared a look with Alastor before starting to steer Rhedd out of the broadcasting tower.

"Let's get that meal and then you can get back to your game!"

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

"Are you hiding or seeking? We'll stand guard at the kitchen door on your behalf if we have to!"

Rhedd

<<SEEKING!>> It's actually so easy to steer him, because he's leaning back on his heelies. Literally just steer him in the direction you need him to go. <<My! Dear! Engi! Is off HIDING!>>

usedhearts Alastor

"Engi? Not sure if I'm familiar with that nickname. Is it another one of us?" Zoom there they go.

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

Alastor's been entirely distracted by the heelies. He's staring at them. "Where did you get *those?*"

Rhedd

Rhedd opens his mouth, and just. Drools out soap. Amazing. He covers his mouth again as his eyes change to radio dials. Everything is fine.

<<Oh, these? Do you LIKE THEM? I picked them UP after a MEAL! Fun little THINGS! I can imagine myself, GLIDING through the SCENE!>>

usedhearts Alastor

"They certainly up your maneuverability! It's so easy to guide you along! _Allons-y!_" He catches sight of that soap drool. That's going to need to be taken care off. And he's summoning a hankie to hand off to Rhedd. There you are old boy.

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

"I want a pair."

Uh. He pets Rhedd's back. Hopefully dinner isn't going to be interrupted by him vomiting everywhere.

Rhedd

Absolutely he'll be fine. He takes the hankie. He's almost out of soap.

<<I can GET YOU ONE! I'm SURE of it! Just have to FIND another DEMON WEARING some!>>

usedhearts Alastor

"Think! You could install them in your dress shoes-- no one would see it coming!" He laughed.

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

"Just make sure they're the same size as me!" Studio laughter. "That's exactly what I was thinking! One second I'm tap dancing, the next I'm literally gliding across the floor! Imagine that!"

Rhedd

<<What an ACT! They take some GETTING USED TO so he CAREFUL you don't BREAK A LEG while you BREAK A LEG! HAHA!>>

usedhearts Alastor

"Yes! Practice makes perfect, after all! Don't want to be falling all over yourself like a baby deer!" He laughed.

dontasktheradiodemon Alastor

And then they went off to get food. Further banter is probably involved. Musical numbers MIGHT be involved.

[slyscenarios]

ophelia 02

heartbroken too many times, your naive mind tends to fall in love too easily. after kim taehyung enters into your life, you’re smitten by the handsome man only for this romance to come to an end… or so it seems.

prologue 01 02 03 member: kim taehyung (ft park jimin) pairing: fuckboy!kth x reader genre: angst, smut, hurt/comfort(?) warnings: eventual smut ig, angsty angst, swearing words: 3.5k a/n: i apologize for this chapter is a little bit shorter, but the good news is that the next part will (hopefully) have smut in it. also, is this too much jimin x reader action going on? sdkjsldkls pls lmk how the fic is coming along too as feedback is much-appreciated uwu 

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"O Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou Juliet?” A voice shouts aloud, making you jump in your seat. Scorning, you look up from your book to see Taehyung with a sly smile before he sits in the seat opposing you. “Hamlet, huh?”

“Can you lower your voice? We’re in a library.” You grumble before he takes the book out of your hands, making you frown. “Don’t you dare lose my page.” 

“Don’t worry love, I just want to see what’s so interesting about this book.” He smirks before flipping through the pages. 

“You quote Romeo and Juliet yet, you don’t know Hamlet?” Raising a brow, you rest your chin in the palm of your hand, waiting for Taehyung to hand you your book back. He sighs before sliding your book back to you, slumping back into his seat.

“Come on Y/n, no one knows about Hamlet,” Taehyung states, making you roll your eyes, “besides, there’s nothing romantic about Hamlet, unlike Romeo and Juliet.” 

“I beg to differ since there are some Hamlet and Ophelia moments.” Shrugging, you place your bookmark into your book before closing it.

“Yea but will it even top Leonardo Dicaprio as Romeo?” He quirks a brow before breaking out into a laugh.

“I bet you’ve never even read Romeo and Juliet,” you retort before packing away your things, “do you even know how the story ends?” He pauses before sitting up in his seat, glancing away before meeting you with a smile.

“Of course I know what happens, a tragic ending it was.” His smile widens before he stands from his seat, walking over to stand behind you. “Now, Y/n, I want to talk about something else.”

“Changing the topic, are we?” You frown before feeling a cold touch at the side of your arms.

“Why didn’t you meet me at the fountain?” Taehyung whispers from behind, his lips practically brushing against your ear. Biting your bottom lip, you turn around and face him.

“I simply forgot.” You squint before picking up your bag, standing up from your chair and walking away from the small corner. Taehyung follows behind, his hands in his pockets before he picks up from the previous conversation.

“Yes, but you didn’t seem to forget about the party the previous day either.” He remarks making you sigh and stop in place. 

“Cora told me about it yesterday. so I decided to go-” turning to face him, he bumps into you before you lose balance, feeling yourself begin to fall. Tightly shutting your eyes, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, holding you while you’re leaned back.

“Y/n, can you get up so people can stop looking at us?” Opening your eyes, you look around to see people staring at your current situation. Clearing your throat, you stand onto your two feet before brushing yourself off.

“Thanks, Taehyung.” You purse your lips before nudging him. Upon hearing whispering, you’re practically speedwalking out of the library, currently embarrassed.

“What was that about love? Were you hoping for a kiss?” Taehyung chuckles before chasing after you. You walk past the fountain before feeling a tug at your wrist, twirling you around to meet his gorgeous face. 

“What are you doing Taehyung?” You scrunch your nose out of confusion. He grins before bringing his other hand to caress the side of your face.

“Meeting you at the fountain.” Gulping, you glance to the side, noticing how the water glistened as the fountain was running. Sighing, you take a step away from the man before taken aback at how he pulls you closer. “You’re not running away from me this time, love.”

“Taehyung, stop-” You meekly speak, avoiding his eyes by looking towards the ground. 

“Y/n.” His voice was soothing as he lifted your chin with his finger, your eyes finding his. He slowly brings his face closer before you glance to the side, noticing how others watch you two as your face begins to flush red. Gently pushing his chest, you inhale sharply before squeaking.

“I have to... go.” Giving him one last look, you notice him lick his lips before you turn on your heel, walking away from him. You rush back home, quickly greeting Namjoon before heading straight to your room. Heated, you're in bed overly thinking about your interaction with Taehyung. “Don’t fall for another man, Y/n. It’s not worth another heartbreak.” You mutter to yourself before sitting up from your bed, sighing deeply.

...

Once the weekend comes around, you’re found back at the Alpha Sigma Phi mansion, in the back kitchen to be exact. You’re rushing back in forth between the island and oven, placing sheets of cookie dough into the oven for it to bake. This all started when Namjoon approaches you to ask for a favor.

“Hey, Y/n? Do you think you can help bake cookies for Jimin’s frat fundraiser?” Joon asks, making you pause from your reading and look up from the book.

“A cookie fundraiser?” You scrunch your nose as your brother nods.

“I would help but cooking isn’t my forte.” He laughs dryly before you shake your head, reminded of his burnt “masterpieces”.

“Fine, I’ll help,” you groan, “but what do I get in return?”

“Dozens of leftover cookies, for free to be exact.” Namjoon grins as you roll your eyes before laughing.

“I guess that’ll do.”

Rushing, you place an exact amount of cookies into a goodie bag before tying it up, placing it gently in a tray before seeing Jimin walk through the door. You can’t help but notice his slim, but built figure as he’s simply wearing a tucked-in white shirt and black jeans.

“How are we doing back here, Y/n?” He’s grinning, holding a clipboard in hand.

“I think we’re doing alright. Just recently put a new batch into the oven. How are we doing out there?” You ask before he chuckles.

“There are a lot more people than what we expected,” Jimin breathes deeply, lifting up a couple of his sheets before looking back up to you, “barely anyone shows up to our cookie fundraisers, I wonder why today?” Both shrugging to one another, you’re called for by another helper before sighing. “I guess this is my cue to go.” Jimin smiles sheepishly before you nod. He waves you goodbye before heading out, as you do the same, getting back to help out. After a good hour passes by, you’re told by another that you’re finally on break. You head towards the back of the large mansion, making your way to the patio and to your surprise, it’s empty. 

“I guess everyone’s busy at the front of the house.” Standing alone, you’re drawn to the large pool before walking over to it. “I guess dipping my feet for a bit won’t hurt.” 

Taking off your shoes, you place it aside before seating yourself at the ledge of the pool, dipping your feet into the cool water. Smiling to yourself, you look up into the cloudy sky, glad you wore shorts before feeling the wind lightly push against your skin as you slowly paddle your feet in the crystal clear water.

Sighing deeply, you’re ready to leave before someone sits beside you, dipping their feet into the water. 

“Something on your mind?” Surprised, you turn your head to see Jimin seated next to you. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just stressed with school lately.” You clear your throat before putting on a smile. 

“Alright, just making sure.” He grins before lifting his head, closing his eyes as the sun shines on his face. Gulping, you couldn’t help but awkwardly stare at his glowing face before he peaks to you with one eye. “Watching me in awe, Y/n?” 

“No.” You blurt before looking away, hiding your tinted pink face. Hearing him laugh, you can’t help but be curious as to what his next move is, so you turn your head slightly to check on him. Your eyes widen as his face is unexpectedly close to yours. 

“Are you watching me in awe now, Y/n?” He smirks as you’re now holding your breath. His hand wraps around your waist before he opens his mouth to speak once again. “Do you have your phone with you?”

Subconsciously, you shake your head before realizing his words, pulling your head back to see him slyly smiling. “Do I what?”

“Good.” He’s grinning, and before you realize, Jimin pulls you into the pool. Making it to the surface, you wipe away the water from your face before being held in Jimin’s arms.

“What was that for?” You frown, subconsciously wrapping your arms and legs around the man as he supports you.

“I was just trying to make you less stressed, Y/n.” He smiles before you splash him with water, a laugh coming out from you soon after. “Oh, it’s payback time.” He furrows his brow, making you let go of him and swim away in excitement. He’s chasing after you, splashing you as much as you can, while you do the same back. Catching your hand. he pulls you closer to him as his other hand rests on your lower back. You catch your breath as he leans closer. Tilting his head, he brushes his lips against yours before stopping at the voice of someone calling your name.

“Y/N! You’re back on duty.” Namjoon calls out from the patio, making you step away from Jimin. 

“I’ll be there in a bit.” Shouting back, you face back to Jimin before clearing your throat.

“Go ahead, I’ll be there shortly since my break is over as well.” He softly smiles before letting go of you. Biting your bottom lip, you listen to him. After getting out of the pool you realize how cold the breeze actually was but before walking away, you hear Jimin whisper, “meet me in my room for some spare clothes.” Smiling to yourself, you make your way back to the patio as Namjoon looks at you with wide eyes.

“What the hell were you doing in the pool?” Your brother’s slight aggression angers you as you push past him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“To get a spare change of clothes.” You grunt, opening your arms to sarcastically show your brother that you were drenched. Namjoon groans before walking into the house from behind you, telling you to hurry up as orders increased. 

You’re now found in Jimin’s lone room, waiting for the man who almost kissed you in the pool. Ignoring the fact that you were freezing, due to being drenched and the air conditioning being turned on, you turn to face the door as it opens and closes quickly. Meeting Jimin’s eyes, he slowly makes his way over to stand in front of you. After some silence is exchanged with one another, you’re both completely kissing each other passionately. His hands were supporting you from the back as you cupped both sides of his cheeks, tilting your head as he presses his lips against yours harder. What seems like forever comes to an end when you picture his girlfriend, Aika, who sweetly greeted you the other day.

Pulling away, you avoid his eyes before taking a step back, “Jimin, stop.” Confused at your action at first, he sighs before agreeing. 

“Right, let me get you some clothes.” He goes into his closet, disappearing for a couple of minutes before greeting you in a new set of clothes. “Here you go. I’ll leave you to change alone but when you’re done, it’s time to work again.” He softly chuckles before heading out, waving you goodbye yet again. Biting your inner cheek, you can’t help but feel guilty at what had just happened. Jimin has a girlfriend and yet, you’re making out with him in his bedroom. Shaking your head at the thought, you choose to forget it, changing as quickly as possible before heading back into the kitchen, only to get scolded by Namjoon. The fundraiser event is long, but you’re somehow enjoying it. After packing the last goodie bag, you stretch your arms out before Jimin and Namjoon walk into the kitchen together.

“And we’re done with the event! Thank you all for coming out to help, we couldn’t have done it without you guys.” Jimin exclaims as others cheer joyfully. Smiling, Jimin makes eye contact with you before you look away shyly.

“Feel free to take some cookies home because surprisingly, we have some leftovers.” Namjoon laughs, along with everyone else before they began to clean up. Walking over to the rather large closet, you squint, searching for the countertop spray before noticing it was on the highest shelf. Sighing, you stand on the balls of your feet, doing your best to reach before a hand reaches out further, grabbing it away from you. Frowning, you turn to find Jimin cornering you in the closet. 

“Jimin, we can’t do this.” You sigh before he straightens himself out. 

“Do what? I’m just helping you out, Y/n.” He smirks, handing you the spray bottle as you scrunch your nose.

“Well, if that’s all, then thank you Jimin” You retort before walking past him, quite disappointed that he didn’t bring up the current situation. After heading back to the others, the cleanup job is done as everyone begins to head home. Sending people off, you’re one of the last to leave as you did come to the event with Namjoon. 

“Thank you both. Without you two, I wouldn’t have known what to do with the overbearing orders today.” Jimin chuckles as you’re standing in front of the entrance, Namjoon by your side. With a smile, Jimin goes in to give your brother a hug. Inhaling sharply, knowing it your turn next, Jimin makes his way over to you before you’re wrapped around his arms, warm in his hold. Pulling away, Jimin grins to you both before Namjoon tugs at your shirt, hurrying you along. Without exchanging words, you give Jimin a firm smile before exiting the house, rushing to Namjoon’s car with the basket of cookies in your hand.

“What were you doing in the pool anyways, Y/n?” Namjoon curiously asks as you’re looking out the window.

“I just wanted to take a dip into the pool.” Your voice is soft as you partially lie.

“Okay, but it could’ve waited until after the event.” He sighs.

The fact that Namjoon doesn’t bring up Jimin surprises you, meaning that he couldn’t have seen Jimin there in the pool with you. You’re now wondering if your little interaction with Jimin had even happened. Brushing your fingers over your lips, you could only imagine what Jimin would have done next and how it could’ve caused much more problems in the future. Quiet throughout the whole car ride, you make it back home, hoping your small headache goes away.

The next day, you’re back at the library, doing your best to cram for your math exam with Cora by your side. After going over the study guide, given by your dear professor, Cora sighs before resting her head on the table.

“What’s the point of studying if I’m bound to fail the test anyway?” She whines before you chuckle, marking up the paper. 

“Come on, have hope, my friend.” You nudge her gently before placing the sheets of paper in your folder. “Let’s get going, yea?”

Hearing her sigh once again, Cora lazily gets up before straightening her back, eyes wide as she spots something from a distance.

“Hey, Y/n, do you happen to know a handsome fellow named Taehyung?” Cora asks, her voice changing into a whisper. 

“I guess so, why?” You hum, not looking away from packing your things, you feel her tug at your shirt, dividing your attention to face her.

“Looks like he’s coming over here?” Cora tilts her head in confusion before you peak from beside her, eyeing Taehyung making his way over to you. 

“Okay, now it’s really time to go.” You urge, quickly placing your things in your bag as Cora agrees, packing up as well. Standing up, you’re brought to a stop as Taehyung as standing in front of you, halting you from leaving the small corner.

“Where do you think you’re going, love?” 

“Class.” Giving him a short and simple answer, he frowns before eyeing your friend.

“Cora, I didn’t know you hang out with Y/n?” He’s raising a brow before you realize that your friend is practically hiding behind you.

“Is there a problem with that?” Cora grumbles before Taehyung defeatedly raises his hands.

“Nothing’s wrong with that, Cora.” He spites, making you quirk a brow. You’re all standing in awkward silence before you break it with a sigh.

“Look, we have an exam to take,” you take Cora’s hand before walking around the still man, “if you want to talk, meet me at the fountain later.” You mock him before seeing a smirk light up from his face. Dragging Cora behind you, you walk away from Taehyung without looking back until you’re out of the library.

“Well, that was awkward.” Cora states as you’re both stopped in place. Letting go of her hand, you take a deep breath before tucking the loose hairs scratching your face behind your ear.

“Want to tell me why you’re afraid of Taehyung?” 

“What, afraid?” She scoffs before folding her arms. “I’m not afraid of that... intimidating man.” She nervously laughs before rubbing her nape. Raising a brow, you tilt your head trying to prompt her to speak.

“Fine, yes- I’m quite afraid of that man.” She groans before rolling her eyes.

“Why?”

“Why not? Despite his good looks, he’s a very greedy man and will do whatever it takes to get what he wants,” She pouts before linking her arm with yours. “Now, forget about him, let’s just get this exam over with and celebrate with pizza later!” Cora exclaims before dragging you along, heading straight to class to take the horrific exam.

As time passes, you’re shifting in your seat due to the uncomfortable cushion beneath you. Eyeing the clock, you rush the last few strokes from your pencil before flipping your test over, getting up from your seat and handing it over to your professor. Catching Cora’s attention, you point out into the hall, assuring her you’d wait for her as she nods silently. While waiting in the quite empty hallway, you notice a window propped open from afar, intriguing you as you walk over to it. Looking out from it, you happen to notice Taehyung sitting on the ledge of the fountain before meeting his eyes, a smile emitting from his lips as he walks over to you. Panicking, you glance back to your classroom door as it swings open hoping for Cora to walk out, but to your disappointment, she doesn’t.

“Love?” Taehyung’s soft voice startles you a bit, making you sharply turn your head to face him. 

“Please stop scaring me.” You frown before he laughs.

“Sorry,” he apologizes before calming down, resting upon the window sill, “I thought we were supposed to meet in front of the fountain?” He quirks a brow, making you look away to avoid his eyes.

“I just finished taking my test and now I’m waiting for-” You’re cut off as Taehyung gently cups your cheek, making you directly face him, “Cora.”

“Did she say anything about me?” Oddly, his calming voice made you nervous.

“She’s just... intimidated by you, I guess.” You’re very breathy as he moves his hand to rest on the side of your face, subconsciously nuzzling into it. 

“Y/n, why did you run away from me the other day?” Despite the glass stuck between you both, he’s quite close to you, his face closing in as his lips plant soft kisses on your cheek, trailing down to the open skin of your neck.

“I didn’t run.” You whisper, gulping as he begins to nibble onto your neck.

“Liar.” He chuckles, looking up to meet your dazed eyes before bringing his face to yours. “I’m willing to bet you’ll run away again once Cora comes out here.” 

“What do you want from me, Taehyung?” You look away once again to avoid his eyes before hearing him chuckle. He removes his hand from your face, humming as he thinks.

“I want you, love.” He finally speaks. Taken aback, you purse your lips before bringing your hand up to poke his nose. 

“You’ll have to try much harder if you want me then.” You tease him before watching Taehyung smirk. He catches your hand though, pulling it towards him before he places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.

“I’ll see you later then, love.” He grins before releasing your hand, walking away with his eyes on you before he turns a corner, vanishing from your sight.

“You know I saw all of that, right?” Clearing her throat, you turn to see Cora standing outside the room door with her arms crossed. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for all of that, Y/n?” Glancing back to the window, you face Cora before walking over to her.

“I don’t know what just happened.” Biting your bottom lip, Cora sighs before linking her arm once again with yours. 

“Let’s go before fuckboy comes back and tugs at your heartstrings,” Cora remarks as you walk beside her, “and let’s also go get some pizza to eat because I’m starving.” As you both break out into laughter, Cora guides you to a closeby pizzeria in which she states has the best pizza on campus.

[flightofaqrow]

informant

qrow + Victor Alabaster ( @casketdweller​ )

“I’ve already been requested to track down a specific Faunus who stings, if you catch my meaning, and a little bird had told me you knew him. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about him.”

“…alrigh’, fine. i’ll bite,” qrow relents with greater gravity than the other gives someone who really shouldn’t be underestimated, “but i’d like t’know who this client’a yours ’s first. ‘sides someone cruel enough t’send ya anywhere near tha’ crazy joker.”

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“Is this even going anywhere, or are we done here?”

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clever fox must have thought a drunk man made for an easy target. or maybe he knows exactly who qrow branwen is, given the annoying air worn like a coat that he seems to know everything.

but not everything, or there’d be no reason for the subtle hounding. may not even know anything that really matters. qrow scoffs, slides his glass back and forth, slippery with condensation across the counter, and crimson eyes watch amber liquid wash around while ice cubes clink. there are things he knows, privy to only a carefully selected handful, and no amount of alcohol will have them slurring out.

truths too shady for even the slipperiest of scoundrels; better to cut things off at the head of what trail this conversation leads to. better to stay not knowing. go about petty little life as the other knows it, and leave qrow to live his. ( for whatever one could call wallowing in loss and misery and running from all his fears and own family to be living. )

different questions might produce different results, an exchange of different facts that don’t go down that rabbit hole, if still interested.

but qrow’s not the one to take first strike at this deal, and won’t be the one to carry it.

burns away bitter memories with a wash down of something even more bitter, then takes a breath.

“well,” he answers rough, and only spares a side glance to sharp corners of his eyes, “it cer’ainly seems like yer done, at any rate.”

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Easy target or maybe a potential client?

Victor hadn’t been entirely sure, but the fox Faunus had a delivery for him at either rate. But, given how their ‘transaction’ was going, he was getting less and less willing to pass it off. Especially given how the man dodged his inquiries and comments as if they didn’t exist. Hmph, humans.

Always thinking they were better or some such.

“I was feeling charitable.” He commented, picking up his own glass and studying how the leftover liquor left it with an amber colour. “I’ve already been requested to track down a specific Faunus who stings, if you catch my meaning, and a little bird had told me you knew him. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about him.” Shame, shame. Victor supposed he’d mention it off hand. “Said client even said they’d have information to pass along, but seeing as you’ve made it clear that you’re not interested; then I suppose after this drink I’ll carry on my way.”

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charitable, he says. even as everything else talks about the job. but can’t say he doesn’t catch qrow’s full attention with that little tidbit. head turns in full to face him with opened eyes, pointed edges moving further out on the lines of his cheeks with far more seriousness.

“…alrigh’, fine. i’ll bite,” he relents with greater gravity than the other gives someone who really shouldn’t be underestimated.

finally gets to the point, but treats it like a game in patronizing words and tone, but maybe that’s just how this guy talks. though, the hurt’s already been done because qrow made that mistake once already; played around too much in their fight, not knowing just what that faunus and that stinger could do. a score to settle, but on another day - once he dared to show his cartoon face again, or once haven is officially safe.

this conversation would have been better to have earlier in the night, but ideal doesn’t exist in qrow’s world. another mouthful swallows and follows with sigh, “but i’d like t’know who this client’a yours ’s first. ‘sides someone cruel enough t’send ya anywhere near tha’ crazy joker.”

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“Mm, wasn’t anyone cruel or anythin’. A friend of a friend requested a favour. I’m only doing this because it’s so hard to get anywhere for the moment.” Long nails clink against the glass as the fox Faunus rolled it against the counter. “Men of iron are hard to find, but so are the kind hearts of those in green. Don’t you agree?” Cryptic enough, though Victor figured that the other Huntsman was smart enough to pick up the cues.

“I’m only here for the night,” A burner Scroll was placed by Qrow’s elbow. “That the information I’m supposed to hand over. Didn’t peek, scout’s honour.” He wasn’t a scout, but it didn’t matter now did it?

“So how about you tell me a pretty story, and we can part ways as if nothing happened?”

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gods, it’s like trying to have a conversation with Raven, and if qrow’s addled brain is reading the situation right, that’s one of the few people in his life left unmentioned. no idea who this man is, and yet the fox knows an uncomfortable amount of intel on himself.

he orders another round for them both. a show of good faith, a sign to stick around. …and a way to cope with yet another example of how life never did like to let him have the upperhand.

otherwise silent aside from an exasperated breath, and only in sliding aside an empty glass does qrow snatch the scroll up and stick it in his pants pocket to look at later.

later, once the screen wouldn’t be spinning from swimming vision.

a lean in closer lets on to the trust bought less by the other’s word, and more by association. qrow doesn’t have to like the guy to work with him under Oz. temporary contract or no.

“…wel’then. i c’n tell you a lil’ somethin’ about a tail. what part y’need to know?”

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He watched the drunk, sorrow, Qrow snatch up the burner scroll and tuck it away in a pocket. Hm, not entirely wasted then. Fascinating. Victor had, of course, heard of the infamous Branwen twins - who hadn’t? - and of their exploits, but nothing too concise. He was glad, at least, to have tempered his expectations.

What a let down.

Victor’s own tail twitched at his question, humming in contemplation as he took hold of the glass. A study of it, partially out of caution, partially due to contemplation. “Something for the client, I s’pose. They’re curious if you’ve heard anything regarding one of those fables.”

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qrow lets a lot of people down.

and that’s fine when he only has to answer to one. results matter more than other people’s opinions. the other man can give him piteous looks all night, and it’ll only make qrow like him less.

give him more of a reason to drink.

one less friend, and one more failure to forget. but the bartender trips on his way back and that next round ends up all over floor. the cost of qrow’s patronage might just outweigh the revenue.

he sighs, and sits back. still unsure of whether this guy talks in code because he doesn’t know what it really means, has to, or is just trying to be obnoxious. fable huh? there’s plenty of those, but qrow has a suspicion. and that at least takes them off the topic of Tyrian, “no’yet. bu’ we’re gettin’ close. tha’stinger set us back a’ways. …an’ another lil’bird iss’ill keepin’ ‘er secr’ts.”

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Chartreuse green eyes closed at Qrow’s words. So the assassin caused a set back, and one of the birds was keeping her secrets still. Well, in a way he didn’t have to really hunt her down, since the goal had been to find this one, not the other. However, Victor wondered if it’d be worth the detour…

                   … Maybe, not.

“I see. Well, in that case I’ve done all I can then.” The informant said, picking up the glass and taking the tiniest of sips from it. “I’ll be out of your feathers in a bit. I’d like to linger just a bit longer before I continue on. I’m sure you understand.” A smile was flashed to the Huntsman, and Victor turned his attention back to the drink.

“Unless you have anymore stories I might be interested in relaying…?”

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well, while they’re on the topic. while qrow’s already spilled.

fingerpads tap slow enough not to make any sound along the counter in the absence of a glass to hold, an emptiness within and without, and nothing delivered yet to continue to try filling it, and maybe qrow prattles in the space left. or because he’s not used to people lingering.

nor used to knowing his secrets before he says them. this clever fox really must have been trusted by Oz.

qrow doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t glare anymore either.

he gruffs, “sure, wh’not. …think th’lion’s lost’is roar, an i’m startin’ t’think some pieces fr’m the board in this place’re missin’.”

he brings his other arm up, hands resting softly atop each other in front of him, while his gaze sinks to stare at them, “anyway, wha’s y’r name?”

hopefully that wasn’t a riddle or secret.

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Noted, noted, noted. Missing people and a cowardly lion, sounded like it’d been plucked from a faerietale. Heh. “Name’s Victor. Alabaster. S’pose that’s a freebie I can give.” The fox Faunus didn’t see the harm in it, figuring they may be in steady-ish contact. Perhaps. Perhaps not. He didn’t seem the type to like people lingering, and Victor didn’t blame him.

Lingering people always were the ones to keep an eye on.

Glass sat down, drink barely three quarters full. He’d lost his taste, and the bartender was looking at him in a way that told Victor he’d best consider an alternative place to hover. He flashed a grin at Qrow, “Should you need to pass anything else along, I’ll be in the area for a couple of days.” Couldn’t promise to be easy to find, though.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“yeah, okay,” qrow mutters like it matters. he’ll remember the name like he remembers most of his confidants, but this one would eventually be gone, too, whether by choice because of his semblance, or by consequence of… his semblance. not worth making friends.

someone having the audacity to grin in the middle after exchanging such somber news makes him lift his glass for a good gulp while the other leaves his behind.

“nice t’meet’ya,” he says it with faded finality - more like a farewell than the opener of a relationship; doesn’t even look up until dull red eyes lift to watch the other leave.

Then goes right back to his drink.

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 10

On the morning of Winter Solstice Selene found Eli outside exercising; in fact, over the last three weeks that's how Eli had started her mornings.  She knew the woman wanted to get back to her pre-tube physique but she hadn't been pushing herself this hard before -- discovering her dead husband had triggered the change in her and Selene didn't know what to do about it.

'Hopefully Dr. Xu is making headway...' she found herself thinking as she headed over to the corner of the yard that Eli had taken to exercising in.  It was a fairly flat area, mostly shielded from the sun in the afternoon and evening, and would have thick grass coverage once the seasons changed; it also was outside of the stable area so there wouldn't be animal droppings to worry about either.  Maybe she could pave a small area to give Eli something solid to exercise on too?  And when spring arrived with its downpours a paved spot would keep her out of the mud as well...Selene mentally stuck it on her To Do list. ((Continued below cut))

Eli was currently doing push ups, and doing them really damn well -- far better than Selene could ever hope to do.  She didn't look up as the builder approached, and Selene waited silently and counted out 52 push ups (and who knew how many she'd already done before Selene had even come outside) before Eli finally came to a stop and shifted her legs around to sit cross-legged in the cleared area of frozen grass.

"Did you still want to go to the Solstice gathering?" Selene asked. For a long moment Eli was silent, then she simply nodded; Selene returned the nod and smiled at her.  "Yay, all right -- did you want to be the bringer of cheese or the meats?" She took a step back as Eli got up; once the woman was up and out of the shadow of the edge of the nearby stables Selene could see sweat droplets sparkling in the woman's eyelashes and a thin sheen of it over her face -- she'd need to get inside and get dried off before she froze.

"Cheese, I guess."

It wasn't enthusiastic but she'd take it.  "Ok then - I'll go get the foodstuffs while you get cleaned up.  We've got a couple hours before everything starts but usually people gather early to watch Django get the hot pot started.  It'd be a really good time for you to meet and mingle, talk to people."

"I don't know that I feel up to mingling."

"Oh.  Well, uh..."

Eli gave her a strained smile.  "Sorry.  Don't mean to make things awkward, I just..."

Selene didn't press her to continue; instead she nodded and led the way back into the house where Eli disappeared upstairs to her room and Selene turned into the kitchen.  She'd bought some nice cuts of beef and chicken and a very soft and delicious white cheese from Sophie and Emily a day ago.  After her first Solstice in Portia Selene had decided to vary what she brought each year; the first time she'd brought diced up layered carrots and last year she'd brought cornballs from her own garden which had turned a small spot of the pot into a spicy chowder. This year would be the first time she'd brought any meats.  Hopefully they were sliced thin enough that they'd cook up quickly once they were in the pot...maybe she should have checked with Django first.  Oh well.

Eli should at least be well-received for bringing the cheese; the soft white was a Portia favorite and it tended to sell out quick when Sophie had a new batch ready to go.

A quick glance in the fridge showed that the wax paper wrapped around the meats hadn't leaked, and there weren't any grease marks on the paper bag that the cheese was in - it was nice to see that she wouldn't need to put them into other containers or worry about the bags ripping on the way in to town. Selene grabbed a potato fruit fritter out of the bag next to the cheese (she liked Sophie's pies and fritters, what could she say?) and retreated to a chair, slowly munching on the fritter as she waited for Eli.

She was washing grease off her fingers when she heard Eli coming down the stairs; the Dubei woman was combing her hair off to the side as she walked, and was wearing a sweater Selene hadn't seen before - it was a burnt orange color with goldenrod colored trim along the sleeves and collar.

"That looks nice.  When did you get that one?"

Eli glanced down and smoothed down the sweater's hem.  "Couple days ago.  Carol was nice enough to tailor it a bit so it fit better across my shoulders."

"Going to need a lot of tailoring soon, huh?"  That got a faint smile from Eli; Selene grabbed the meats and cheese and led the way out of the house toward Portia's gates.  "What were celebrations like, in the Old World?  Were there a lot of holidays?"

"Saying there were 'a lot' would be a massive understatement. You could find a festival or holiday going on almost every other week," Eli answered.

"Wow... That sounds hectic, but also fun."

Eli shrugged.  "Isn't that true of any holiday?"

"True.  Oh, here-" Selene briefly spun around and walked backwards, holding out the bag with the cheese in it.  "Best cheese anywhere around."

Eli took the bag and tucked it into the crook of her elbow.  "So...how does this festival work?"

"Well, we have a giant hot pot that Django gets started with a broth base.  We wait 'til it gets boiling, then everyone starts tossing ingredients in.  Everyone is welcome to eat as much as they want and because of how big the pot is you'll find little pockets of dozens of different flavors -- and, when we're done, all the leftovers are divvied out to everyone to take home, or available to eat for free at the Round Table for the next couple of days.  After we've all eaten we have a snowball fight -- or, WOULD have a snowball fight.  What snow that's out in the fields right now isn't all that packable since it's not fresh so I'm not sure if Gale has something else planned instead. And THEN, after that, we all take pictures together."

"...'all,'" Eli repeated.  "Who does that include?"

"Everyone in Portia, if they want to," Selene giggled.  "I help build the riser platforms each year.  When we're done with the hot pot and everyone heads off to the snowball fight I, Paulie, and a couple others move the pot out and get the risers in place for when it's picture time."

"Are the pictures just...for free? For anyone?"

Selene nodded.  "Yep.  And a lot of the pictures get printed in the newspaper too so even if you don't manage to grab a copy today you can clip it from the paper later."

They were approaching the central plaza now and Selene could already smell the vegetable broth; Dawa and Paulie were standing near the massive hot pot helping Django feed logs to the fire burning beneath it.  Gale, Gust, Ginger, and Russo were already there too, and so was Carol and Martha and standing with them were the triplets, Toby, and Jack as well.  Their arrival immediately caught the attention of the children; Selene subtly moved Eli around the plaza's edge in the opposite direction.

They stopped at the benches over near the Research Center and Eli sat down, and sat the bag of cheese on the bench beside her.

"That is definitely a large hot pot."

"Yep.  No idea who first forged it but it's been in use for awhile - not sure what they used before.  Maybe just a giant cauldron or something."

They sat and waited, and watched as more of Portia's residents began to show up.  There were a lot of curious and uneasy looks tossed their way; few people seemed willing to do more than nod or wave, and Selene was pretty certain most of the friendlier gestures were aimed at her and not Eli.  Really made her wonder what Lee might have been telling others since Eli definitely hadn't done anything to warrant the weird looks she was getting.

Eventually, as more people showed up and more greetings were exchanged, Martha's attention wandered enough that Toby broke away from the group they were all standing in and as Selene suspected the boy made a beeline toward them.

He stopped just short of the bench, eying Eli for a moment or two; despite having a heavy coat on along with his backpack he had managed to also strap a wooden practice sword to his back and the handle jutted awkwardly over his left shoulder.

"Hi!  Are you really three hundred years old?"

Eli blinked at the boy for a moment, then sat up a bit straighter.  "I think I'm closer to 370, but yes."

"What did you do in the Old World?  Were there adventurers?"

Selene watched as Eli's gaze moved from the boy over to where his mother was standing and chatting with Carol and Alice; after a pause Eli looked back to Toby.  "I was a ranger.  It was a type of soldier."

"Ha!" was Toby's response.  "Django said there was more to you than it looked!  Did you fight in the war?  Did you shoot robots with guns?   Was there really robots everywhere you looked? Did you use only guns or did you still use swords and stuff?  Do you know how to use a sword?"

"Toby, one at a time," Selene interrupted dryly.  Eli got bombarded enough as it was thanks to those nosy scholars.

A small smile crossed Eli's face.  "I didn't fight in the war - I was already injured and inside that tube by the time the Calamity hit.  I'm not even sure what event started it.  As for AIs - yes, we had a lot of them.  They did a lot of the work for us, but not ALL of our work.  We didn't use swords but we had some long-handled machetes as part of our camping kits and if we fought in close combat we had bangsticks.  They were these metal rods of varying length that, if you swung and hit something with it, would release a little electric shock with a loud bang, hence their names.  And, I know how to dance with a sword but not how to fight with one."

Selene had been listening quietly as Eli rattled off the answers to Toby's rapid fire questions but the last answer caught her attention.   "Dance?"

Eli nodded.  "Dubeian saber dancing.  Was a hobby I picked up when I was a teenager and carried it along while serving - I wasn't especially limber or graceful but it was still fun."

Toby pulled a face.  "Dancing?  That sounds boring."

"Maybe, to someone who hasn't ever seen it.  You started out with plastic practice props, worked your way up to wooden ones, then blunt metal, then sharpened metal, and the last 'rank' was sharpened metal with a middle, inner strip that you lit on fire."

THAT got Toby's attention.  "You danced with fire?"

"Me?  No.  I only made it up to the sharpened metal rank - live steel, as it was called.  Once I was out of school I only got the chance to study and practice when I was on leave from active duty."

"That sounds pretty neat, actually," Selene mused.  "Sounds kind of dangerous too though - a sharp edge AND fire?"

"It WAS dangerous, and that's why it was fairly challenging to work your way up the ranks.  You learned the basic moves with the plastic, then added weight and balance with the wooden ones.  From there you began picking up the advanced stuff with the heavier but blunt metal props, and you needed a perfect score from a certified instructor to move on to the sharpened ones.  When you got to the sharpened rank you had to have so many hours of supervised practice as well as a certain number of dances performed and scored by eight different instructors, all perfect scores and with no injuries or else you had to start over and put in the time and effort again.  Being as it became something I did on the side to keep myself busy when I was on leave I never had the time to put together the dances or log the hours needed."

"Are you bothering Eli?"

Selene jumped at Arlo's voice and spun around to find him standing behind her with his arms crossed and his attention squarely on Toby.  

Toby jutted his lower lip out at Arlo.  "No!  I'm learning about the Old World."

"Fine, but your mother is looking for you either way."

"Aw man..." Toby slouched off through the crowd back toward Martha who greeted him with a glare and what Selene imagined was a very short and to the point lecture on running off when she clearly wanted him to stay put.  He...did that a lot, and could probably recite any lecture by heart now.

When he was gone Eli leaned back against the bench and stretched her legs out.  "He wasn't bothering me.  Just asking questions."

"Fair enough. Martha WAS actually looking for him however."

Selene shifted around to perch on the arm of the bench, looking up at him.  "Are the scholars going to work today too?"

"Not that I know of.  Gregory and Adam are going to stay out at the sinkhole just in case they do, and also to keep guard.  Mali and the others planned to come take part in the festivities but I've no idea if the scholars will too."  Arlo glanced over a shoulder and skimmed the crowd, then returned his attention to Eli.  "I did want to mention that Lee gives a sermon every year before we eat - whatever he might say today know he's more or less said something similar every year.  This might be the one time I can honestly say it shouldn't be personal."

Eli nodded but didn't say anything in response.  After a few moments Arlo moved to sit on the bench with the bag of cheese between himself and Eli, and not too long afterward both Sam and Remington found them and stood about chatting as they waited for Django to signal that the broth was ready; it already appeared to be boiling and Selene spied what she thought were vegetable bits floating around in it.  Shouldn't be too long now.

"-Eli, I had a question about Stewart," Sam suddenly asked, abruptly changing the subject away from the weather.

"What about him?"

They'd all had a chance to talk to Stewart at least once now; the All Source AI was polite and helpful but Selene found his constantly shifting facial projection to be massively distracting.

"What are we going to do with him?"

That was a question Selene had thought about too.  Wendy, the other All Source AI they'd found, was currently in the Research Center and wouldn't be able to ever leave it now that her original power supply had been damaged beyond repair -- she'd always be tethered to the power supply they'd rigged up for her.  Stewart, on the other hand, had been specifically built to be mobile; his inner battery needed repair due to the ravages of time but he was confident they could fix it even with limited technology, and that would leave him with about three months worth of power if he was forced to go without his docking station. Could they move his docking station out of the facility and figure out how to power it up here?  It seemed like a huge waste to leave him down in the facility or for him to walk back and forth between there and town.

"I'm not sure yet," Eli answered after a lengthy pause.  "He seems convinced the reactor is still fully functional for now, so we've got a bit of time to figure something out.  But he'll have to be moved somehow -- the fuel inside a reactor has an expected lifetime and to be honest I'm surprised it's still working after all this time.  It won't last forever though, and there's no way we can make more of what fuels it."

"We were able to make a new power source for Wendy," Selene said.   She glanced toward the Research Center -- Wendy had seemed satisfied with the power output of the high voltage dual engine set up they'd put together.  "Could we move the docking station and make do like we did with her?"

Eli was silent for another long moment - Selene could only imagine the calculations going on in her head.  "--it's...possible, I guess.   But it'll need a lot of room, first and foremost - we'd need his docking station for sure, along with his memory cores and server banks, and then space enough for whatever power source we come up with to run it all.  He might need his own dedicated room entirely."

Remington's eyebrows shot into his hairline.  "He really needs that much power?  That much room?"

"Yeah, that seems-" Sam paused, then shook her head.  "Wendy didn't need that much of either.  What's the difference?"

"They're different models," Eli answered.  "They might both be All Source AIs but their duties are drastically different and they have different specs.  And I bet if we could find Wendy's original memory cores and servers her power and space requirements would shoot through the roof too."

Selene huffed out a sigh at that.  "Man...we've lost so much, haven't we?  I hope we haven't damaged Wendy on accident."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Eli replied, looking over to her.  "If she says she can manage with her current power level then she knows what she can and can't safely process."

"What would happen if we got her hooked up to more power?"

"Probably nothing.  Her memory cores aren't attached and she's not connected to anything else to warrant more power right now."

"She DID say that she couldn't teach us anything because all she did was give orders, but she's given us a few blueprints since she said that," Selene said slowly, tapping a finger against her chin as she thought - what did a memory core or server bank even look like?  "If she had her memory cores, would that make a difference in what she could teach?"

"A huge difference.  You can't teach something if you don't remember knowing it in the first place.  With her it's likely she DID know the inner functions of certain technologies but that information was stored in a separate memory core than what she's carrying onboard now.  If we separate Stewart from his servers and cores he'll lose a lot of what he knows too."

"Which seems like a poor idea," Arlo broke in.  "Having those medical texts is helpful but having something on hand that actually knows it and could teach it to others is way more valuable."

Sam shrugged. "The clinic DOES have that storage room upstairs, and also the space around it to add on another room or two - it'd make more sense to install Stewart in the clinic than it would here at the Center, since he's a medical AI.  I think it was just last year that Dr. Xu was talking to Albert about a possible expansion too."

Remington shook his head at her.  "He only did that because Phyllis wants to open her own office.  I think the plan was adding on and giving that space to her to start out with but she found a place out in South Block that she's trying to buy instead. He probably wouldn't say no to an expansion to house Stewart but I don't know that any plans or budget from before would be useful now since he wasn't factoring in an All Source AI's needs."

Selene stood up and stretched as she noticed Gale taking his place at the center of the crowd.  "Eh, leave it for another day - looks like it's about time to start."

Portia's townsfolk had all clustered around the hot pot and Selene and the others were basically at the back of the group; Gale was a little hard to hear but, as he did every year, he greeted everyone and then invited Lee to start his sermon.

-----------------------------------------

Eli listened quietly as Lee detailed how, after the Calamity, the sky had darkened and sunlight had disappeared.  AIs had gone rogue, crops were failing, people were starving - humanity already pushed to the brink was getting even closer to extinction.  To hear that finally, in a moment of need, people came together to ensure survival was nice...even if the story as a whole was very bleak.  

'To think I outlived all that because of a stupid tube and science I can't understand...'

One of the first things she'd asked Stewart was why she was down there - why she was in that tube - and the AI couldn't tell her.

Not because he didn't know but because he'd been ordered not to tell anyone outside of the project involving the tubes.  And what that project was was also something he couldn't share, and no amount of administrative access he could grant her would give her access to those files.  He couldn't go against his orders or his programming and had been very apologetic but ultimately she'd gotten nowhere with that subject.

The rest of her questions had been directly answered, at least, and it painted chaotic, terrifying, and destructive final days for the facility and the people of Dubei.

First had come a bombardment from orbital railguns.  Eli hadn't even known there WERE railguns up in orbit, and if they had fired freely on Dubei she imagined no one in charge had known they were there either (or if they HAD known, why weren't there defenses in place?).  Who could have gotten railguns into orbit without anyone detecting them?  Maybe they were inside something else...hidden, so that no one would suspect. And if that were the case then it could have been any nation behind it, and while Eli knew diplomacy had been breaking down she didn't think the Generals would have kept something this potentially devastating a secret...

Then Stewart had detailed how, in the immediate aftermath of that first attack, a small group of unknown assailants had forced their way in and appeared to be there to steal top secret information from various government-funded research projects.  Stewart didn't know what files in particular they had come for but they were systematically searching floors and attempting to breach his encryptions and firewalls before they'd been subdued either by security or by circumstance; the orbital bombardment had leveled over half the city and obliterated that part of the facility that had been above ground, and the damage had caused the air filtration and circulation system to go haywire during the infiltration. Several of the underground sections were subsequently flooded with such severely polluted air, smoke, and particulates that it had caused many to suffocate (even some who had tried to get protective equipment on had been killed before it made a difference) before Stewart had been able to get the systems under control again and broadcast an order to begin evacuation once the intruders had been dealt with.  

A small silver lining to this was the suffocation had taken out some of the attackers too, though their losses paled in comparison to the number of employees that had died. There was a mad scramble by those left to try and pack and prioritize, and to the credit of the survivors a lot was able to be salvaged and taken with them as the remaining living AIs were able to carry a lot more than a human could. But it was during the rush to leave that they'd been hit with a second bombardment and Stewart lost all contact with the surface world.  In the chaos of the second attack Stewart had issued a total evacuation order: if it couldn't be immediately carried out on one's person then it had to be left behind...supplies, personal effects, the fallen, everything. Those few that were left alive to hear the order made it out through old maintenance tunnels.

And that was it.  Ever since then Stewart had been the lone guiding force within the facility and had struggled to keep it functional (especially after an earthquake struck about 73 years after the second bombardment and had destroyed even more of the facility), and make certain that the remaining stationary AI assistants like Pauline as well as Eli in her tube survived until help arrived (something Stewart admitted he had lost hope for several times over the centuries).

That was a touchy subject... Eli had been in a tube, and so had all but two of her squadron.  It had definitely hurt to know that most everyone she'd worked with AND her husband were all dead in the same room she'd spent over three hundred years "sleeping" in and that it had only been sheer dumb luck that the earthquake's damage hadn't reached far enough into the room to take her out too.  Thinking about it, even briefly, was enough to make her eyes sting and well up and she quickly squashed it down and tried to focus on the end of Lee's sermon.

Better times...  Yeah, compared to what she'd been told had happened, and what had been been endured, these times were certainly better.   Humanity had a future even if it felt like she didn't.

 Don't think about it.

At least, don't think about it until the next session with Dr. Xu.   Or, bare minimum, she should aim to make it through today without falling apart.

"-all right, time to start adding things."

Eli flinched a bit as Selene - she hadn't even noticed the woman had moved from the other end of the bench - grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her toward the enormous hot pot, giving her only a moment to pick up her sack with the cheese in it; Arlo stayed with them and had produced a small bag of eggs from somewhere - she was about to ask where he'd been hiding it when she noticed Sam pull a cluster of some leafy green herb out of the bag she seemed to carry everywhere.  She handed whatever the herbs were to Remington and then pulled out a parcel wrapped in wax paper; Sam wasted no time in approaching the pot and dumping the contents of her parcel in and Eli watched as a small shower of tiny meatballs plopped into the boiling broth.

"What'd you end up bringing?" Remington asked then.  He had a small pocket knife in hand and was carefully cutting off the string that held the bundle of herbs together; she caught a whiff of it as well as a closer look and thought it was coriander.

Eli opened her bag and pulled out the chunk of cheese inside it, and managed to smile a bit as Remington's eyes lit up at the sight of it.

"Ha, you actually managed to get your hands on some of Sophie's cheese?  That'll win you a lot of friends today I bet." He wiped the blade of the knife clean on the hem of his shirt then offered it to her, handle first.  "Here, this'll help."

The cheese was the size of her two fists put together and it cut smoothly.  She did notice a couple of approving looks as she dropped the first few pieces into the pot and watched as it melted and floated on the top almost like a cream.

"Should I try to spread it out?" she asked, glancing over to Remington; Arlo and Selene seemed to have moved on to other spots around the pot, chatting with the other townsfolk as they walked and dropped in cuts of meat and freshly cracked eggs at random intervals.

"You can, or you can claim a little spot and let others come to you," Remington answered.  He started gently twisting the coriander into small handfuls that he sprinkled over a wide area of the hot pot's surface; the boiling broth quickly sent the little green bits floating away or sinking inward.

Along with the sudden surge of various types of foodstuffs appearing in the pot there were a lot of people and a lot of separate conversations going on around her; for now she decided to slice up about a third of what she had and spread it in the same area.  As she was carefully cutting off a few more slices one of the short, hairy men appeared at her elbow with what looked like fresh fish fillets.

"Hey, look at that," was the man's greeting as he spied the cheese in her hand.  "I always end up eating all that myself when I manage to get my hands on it."

She recognized him in that he was identical to the three others like him that she'd met, but his glasses were more opaque and a different size and shape than the ones his brothers wore.  Quadruplets?  "Would you like a piece to eat?"  She cut off a decently thick bit and offered it to him; he accepted it with a grunt and smile and popped the whole thing into his mouth before beginning to carefully slip the fillets into the broth.

"-so, you're Eli.  I'm Qiwa.  You meet the rest of my brothers yet?"

"I've met Dawa, Sanwa, and I saw a third brother on the night I was introduced but I'm guessing that wasn't you.  How...uh, how many of you ARE there?"

Qiwa began to chuckle, and didn't respond until he had all the filets in the pot; after wiping his hands on his shorts (Eli couldn't fathom how he wasn't freezing) he began to point to various spots in the crowd.  There was Dawa, and Sanwa, and there was...three, four, five...

"-there's SEVEN of you?" she asked, looking down at Qiwa in amazement.  "What's in Portia's water and should I be concerned?"

That got a deep belly laugh out of Qiwa.  "Don't worry, you'll get used to it!  We at least color code ourselves."

He kept on laughing and Eli shook her head - seven identical brothers, good grief.  She cut a couple more slices of cheese and let them drop in; Qiwa headed off, still chuckling, and for a brief moment Eli was left standing more or less by herself as people milled around.   Seeing that the pot was pretty cheesy where she was standing she decided she would move around after all and carefully edged off to the left toward a  dark-haired woman who was carefully adding in what looked like dumplings but before she got too far another woman stepped in her path and cleared her throat.

"Oh, uh - hello." Her brain stalled on the woman's name; she knew she owned the bakery and she recognized her from earlier when Arlo had sent Toby scampering back to her.

"Hello.  Sorry to bother you on a holiday but could I have a word in private?"

"Sure."  Eli returned the cheese to the crumpled up bag and tossed the knife in with it as well, then tucked it under an arm and followed Martha - THAT was her name, right - as the woman headed over toward the far wall and gate that led out of Portia.

Once they were away from the crowd Martha inhaled deeply and seemed to be trying to force a smile but it didn't quite cover up how tense the woman seemed.

"You might have guessed this already or been told but I'm Toby's mother," Martha started.  "I know he ran off earlier to pester you with questions and now all he can talk about is you being a soldier and fighting robots."

Eli winced a bit.  "Sorry about that.  I didn't mean to-"

Martha waved her hands and shook her head.  "No, it's not that - I'm used to him being a nuisance and overly excitable when he gets fixated on something.  It's more that I know exactly what he's going to do next and I wanted to ask you NOT to indulge him."

"...huh?"

Martha sighed and ran a hand over her headband and then through the hair it was just barely holding back from her face.  "His father was an adventurer, and it got him killed.  Toby is dead set on being an adventurer too, and while Django has been humoring him and teaching him some very basic swordplay I know without a doubt that he'll come asking after you to teach him how to fight as well.  And I don't want you teaching him anything, because I don't want him encouraged to go off into the wilds like his father did."

...well, that's not what she'd been expecting.  Eli mulled that over for a few breaths - it was a reasonable enough request, on the surface. "I can abide by that, sure.  Can I ask you something, though?"

"Oh good!  And, of course."

Eli shifted the cheese from one arm to the other, turning her head to skim the crowd and pick out where Toby was standing with the other children again; he had that practice sword in hand and was waving it wildly as he spoke, and the others were laughing along with him.  "I don't mean for this to sound insulting or belittling, but how confident are you that you can keep him from running off, if he's determined to follow after his da?"

Martha's expression faltered a moment and then she sighed heavily.  "Well...so far I've not had much luck..."

She trailed off and Eli nodded, more to herself than to the woman -- that was what she thought the answer was going to be.  It would seem little boys are just as headstrong now as they were three hundred years ago; it was a bit endearing but knowing how concerned Martha was just based on how she was acting now...

"I won't teach him anything if you don't want me to, but it sounds like - at least for the time being - he's not going to let go of that particular dream.  And if that's the case, maybe he SHOULD be learning how to take care of himself in a fight."  She turned her attention from the kids back to Martha.  "Since you worry he's going to run off anyway learning how to handle himself in a dangerous situation and how to deal with injuries and survival techniques would be valuable information for him.  THOSE are topics I'm well versed in, and I wouldn't mind teaching him.  But, I've got an idea for a compromise: I could bore him to tears with it in the process and see how much he likes the adventuring life then when he gets to see what all is needed for it."

Now it was Martha's turn to mull things over, glancing between Eli and Toby but seeming to be looking through them rather than at them.   "I...didn't think of it like that. I try not to think about it in general because I just don't want to lose him like I lost his father.   And, what do you mean when you say you could bore him?"

"I am definitely well-practiced in not thinking about things," Eli said quietly.  She took a breath and then flashed Martha a half-smile.   "And yeah, bore him with it.  If we make learning the skills and the act of adventuring seem like more trouble than its worth that might work better than forbidding him from doing it.  He's a kid after all: I've not met a kid who didn't push boundaries or rebel against their parents. This might be a phase you can turn him away from but if not at least he's not walking out into the wild unknown not knowing a thing about how to take care of himself.  -- and actually, I had another deterring idea.  How's his grades?"

----------------------------------------------------

After the hot pot gathering they'd all gone out into the fields for the largest game of "flag tag" Eli had ever participated in.  Everyone was exhausted and muddy by the end of it but they all remained in good spirits as they trudged back in to town to goof around in front of cameras (old-fashioned film cameras...another thing that had been old even in her time).

While she'd admittedly not felt like mingling or even really felt human this morning Eli found she was glad she'd let Selene drag her out.  The weird looks had mostly stopped by late afternoon and while only a handful of people had been brave enough to walk up to her she felt less...like an outsider, more or less.  And she hadn't run into that minister either so the whole day had been pretty peaceful; she had a small photo of herself with Selene, Xu, Arlo, and Dawa posing beneath the large tree that took up the center of the plaza, and her jacket smelled faintly of wood smoke as she walked back toward Selene's place.

In the morning she'd be heading back into town to meet Martha at her bakery, before Toby had to be at school.  He didn't know it yet but he was about to be offered survival and combat lessons, taught by Eli, on the condition that he had to get high scores on all his schoolwork for the next two quarters.

Martha had been tickled pink by the idea as it seemed Toby was a little terror in school too, and while the prospect of having to focus in school may not deter him initially Eli still vividly remembered her boot camp days...they'd find out how determined Toby was when she started putting him through his paces (both physical and mental - took more than just being strong to be a good ranger).

But, on the flip side of that particular coin, if he kept with it he'd be one heck of a well-trained adventurer.  At the very least that ought to relieve a bit of Martha's worry about the kid if their combined efforts couldn't turn his attention away from a future career of adventuring.

She would also need to drop by the Civil Corps building and give Remington back his pocket knife - she hadn't been able to find him after the tag game so it was currently in her own pocket (and she'd made sure to clean the cheese off before closing it).

When she got inside she borrowed a thumb tack from Selene and stuck the picture to the top edge of the headboard of her bed, then changed into the loose pants and shirt she'd designated as sleep wear and crawled under the covers.  Along with needing to talk to Martha and Toby, and return Remington's knife, she was also expected down in the facility to babysit the scholars...it was going to be a very busy day.

[thecosmicsen]

22, bicth.

send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song or  🎁  for shuffle    +   @shesin​

↳  fucking around with me is dangerous,  the lines are blurry now,  this isn't lust ·  tinashe

in true grisly apocalyptical fashion,  he observes how the blood red streaks mar her usually smooth canvas of skin and taint the vibrance of her pearly white enamels.  the metallic crimson stands out in a stark contrast to what she pulls herself off as.  refined.  polished.  impeccably groomed.  the untouchable.  but now he is reminded of the heart of her innate nature.  it embodies itself upon her in the form of dazzling patterns that trickle down the corners of her doused ruby lips and  falling off as seamless red droplets from the tapered ends of her canines.  is she smiling or stricken with another bout of grief that is about to come and seep in at full force to wreck havoc on her already trembling limbs  ?  he can’t tell just yet.  all he can do is merely observe from a situated distance,  marvelling at the irony of the entire situation.  how did he come to the point in life that he has to ask his twin brother,  that he had so cruelly stabbed,  to fetch a fresh body to ensure the survival of an increasingly unstable demonic entity  ?

what baffles him even more is the instinctive washing over of his own nature to serve and protect that grips his body in lock,  chaining his feet solely to the spot nearby her side to reassure the two of them that things will turn out okay.  the crease between his brows is elicited more from the presence of his twin brother’s erratic but stealthily hidden scheming.  Taesoo’s ever present gaze lingers on the back of his neck like an itch of a fly that one cannot seem to sway away enough.  he knows about Inés.  he knows I’m with her and willing to be flexible with my terms to make sure she gets through this.  he has all this information now and I don’t know what he is going to do with it.  he’s too calm as usual.  why did he leave so easily  ?

a ragged sigh that escapes between a bloody heaving pout catches Jaewoo’s attention.  flitting his vision back to the woman who still stands with natural command,  her posture visibly improved from her freshly plucked feast.  she doesn’t need to speak for him to understand what is going through her mind.  his lips downturn in a grimace as the invisible lines of fatigue etched on her face cause his heart to wring aches of sympathy for a creature that just unleashed frenzied savage destruction to a single vulnerable body.  she must have been starving.  no wonder.  

"  hi,  did you eat well  ?  ”  Jaewoo gently breaks the silence with the least provocative question to test the waters of a post-fed demon,  his overflowing concern filtering out any leftover confusion lilting his tone.  “  you got some blood on your teeth.  would you like me to help you clean it up  ?  ”  in all naturalness,  he hands over the power to her with the choice of whether she decides she will like him to help her clean up the drying ichor splayed on her limbs.  not that she needs any demonstration,  he scrutinises her reactions as he takes teeny tiny steps towards her which he hurries when she throws him a questioning look,  as if she is silently daring him to see what happens next if he acts hesitantly cautious in his movements towards her.

the air hang stills between the convoluting triangle of himself,  the devoured body and Inés.  although the reeking scent of torn open flesh causes his stomach to recoil from slight agitation the memories of his knife slipping between his brother’s ribs never seems to go away,  he has no wavering pauses when he reaches out to her hands gently.  her smeared palms transfer to his but he pays no mind to it as he is already used to being nothing but full of her bloody tears mattifying his clothes down.  he doesn’t mind it.  in fact,  he secretly is grateful for it so that hopefully she can notice that he is fine with sharing the instability of emotional turmoils with her and that he is nothing but a mirror to her in her moments of weakness.  you’re not weak,  you’re not alone,  I get like you too but even worse.  I can’t keep picking myself up right after but you can. 

when she doesn’t have a knee jerk reaction to shove him away this instance,  his tender touch increases in firmness only just enough to guide her to another of the little routines they have established together.  going to the bathroom usually entails a huge clean up of sorts,  primarily the deluge of crimson staining her cheeks from the emotions that ravage through her veins.  

“  you have so much blood on your face,  ”  he states,  his words nothing but soft spoken as he gazes at her with intense attentiveness,  his palms cupping her face.  it starts off with square one,  using a facecloth soaked in water to tenderly rub away at the cracking blood on her skin.  one palm steadies underneath her chin to ever so delicately guide her face around so he can dab away,  getting one morsel of blood cleaned off at a time.  this is all part of their established rhythm for the past few days where he carefully takes his time to wash her free of her smudged bloody shades that tarnish her cheeks.  each speck of smeared red is a testament to the emotional turmoil she has to endure which he had to helplessly witness the recoiling horror of having to see someone like Inés,  ever so self-assured in her own person,  to be battered down by the relentless swarm of the entire spectrum of emotions.  

it is a silent few moments,  nothing awkward but rather he feels intimately intertwined with her aching soul surfacing its tumultuous sharp descent of sentiments.  he meticulously dabs dabs dabs at her hollowed cheeks,  more of her ichor generously coating his fingers instead.  Inés opts for noiselessly staring at him if not fluttering her eyes shut to conceal the next threatening crash of unstable rickety emotions.  this time,  she keeps her eyes open at him,  her gaze steadfast and unblinking as he focuses on vanishing any reminders of her harrowing struggles that her heart has to trudge through.  in between mild brushing aways of the soiled facecloth,  he offers her small reassuring smiles in the moments their gazes do lock albeit an edge of fatigued empathy hardens the corners of his eyes.  I’m here for you,  we’ll get through this together.  I feel your pain too.  I don’t know how you’re still standing so strong.  I wouldn’t be able to survive something like this. 

now he feels a tinge of awkwardness flush his cheeks when he realises he needs to thoroughly brush his teeth.  attempting to camouflage his random embarrassment,  he pulls a slight grimace laced with mirth before gently murmuring,  “  do you think you could open your mouth for me please  ?  ”

it feels strange to do so but he thumbs a bare finger over her bottom lip,  silently asking for permission before taking his own initiative to tenderly tug her chin in between his fingers as another non-verbal cue to request permission.  to give her space to do so without feeling like he is overpowering her,  he breaks away between the arising pause of tension in order to grab her toothbrush and apply a generous coating of toothpaste.  when he turns back to her,  he is hit with the sight of how the thick oozing of blood fills up the tiny gaps between her enamels and the fierce need to protect and ensure her wellbeing grips him with force.

“  let’s rinse out first a little bit  ?  ”  he doesn’t know why he is asking for permission again when there is no other way to start cleaning her mouth.  filling up a cup of water,  he guides her by her arm over the sink so he can press the cool rim against her lips so she can begin to rinse her mouth clean.  when she finishes a few rapid swishing of the water,  she turns back to him expectantly,  a springing of tears to her eyes and his own soften.  I know,  I know.  you can’t explain your moods.  it comes from out of nowhere.  it’s okay.  it happens to me all the time too.

tucking behind a couple of stray hair strands away from her freshly cleansed face to avoid getting flecks of toothpaste on it,  he coaxes her to open her mouth wider with an encouraging grin,  abruptly transitioning into a tuneless hum as he starts brushing her teeth.  fixating to achieve nothing but a flawless finish,  he thoroughly brushes away at her teeth,  spending a little too long at her canines in awed fascination as his free hand remains gently cupped at her chin.  

five minutes later,  she is all freshly brushed and flossed but when he nears the end of wringing out the last bits of flesh between her teeth,  he is suddenly hyperaware of her blown out pupils following his every movement and his hands tremble slightly under her intense scrutiny.  he’s reluctant,  uncharacteristically shy,  to immediately meet her gaze so he draws out the last few moments for unnecessary extra flossing of her molars.  when he can no longer prolong the moment,  he looks up to meet her gaze and time seems to stop.  

blissfully unaware of their current situation and the context of the toothbrushing,  he is sucked into staring back at her hypnotic eyes,  the honeyed dark brown colour that means she is momentarily satisfied.  he doesn’t know how much time passes,  or whether such a concept even exists with a woman of her calibre,  he keeps staring back at her without much movement as she keeps staring back at him.  he realises that his hand is still cupping her chin although his hand holding her toothbrush is dropped far away from her mouth now.  yet he still holds her in his grasp whilst staring back,  a slight questioning behind his look as well as hers.  what are you thinking about right now  ?  how are you feeling in this moment  ?

he wants to say something but the words die on the tip of his tongue,  his brain halting him with a noiseless warning that he shouldn’t speak within this moment.  he remains questioning,  blinking his rounded eyes at her,  her toothbrush still tightly gripped in his other hand.  he desperately yearns to know how she feels.  does he need to go start making some tea now  ?

"  I’m here with you.  ”  the words spontaneously tumble out of his mouth since he feels a need to anchor them in the present tense and remind her himself that he is here for her.  removing his hand from her chin,  he rests on his chest earnestly instead.  “  I know you’re suffering a lot . . .  I feel it to with you.  but you will be fine.  we’ll get out of this together.  ”

the look she gives him mystifies him but she surprisingly rasps out a,  “  thank you.  ”  before spinning on her heel to walk away.

all that he is left behind with is the remnants of her blood staining his hands and soaked into the sleeves of his clothes.  he looks down at his bloody palms,  finding himself unwilling to completely wash himself straight away.  

is this how she feels too  ?

[the-shadow-of-atlantis]

Birthday Present for @thespacebuns

Tagging: @melyaliz @coffee-randomness

A/N I know you said some Pam and Nova adventures but this sorta slipped out

"Are you sure this will work?" Adeline asked nervously as she watched Nova mix the last of the ingredients into the cauldron.

"There's a reason we're only taking this one at a time. And also why you're not taking any at all for now." Nova said as she peaked over the top to make sure the color was staying consistent.

"Doubting your potion skills?" Pam teased, she was bouncing in place so much that she almost seemed to be vibrating with excitement.

"Hardly." Nova scoffed as she dipped a vial into the mixture. "Well here goes nothing."

Nova took a deep breath and quickly downed the potion she muttered the incantation and pointed her wand at herself. She felt a strange warm glow build upside her and gasped as the room began to spin. Suddenly Pam and Adeline were twice their size and Nova squawked in surprise. Wait squawked?

Nova looked around but her vision was so sharp and large it made her head spin. She closed her eyes and shook her head and tried again. She tried to move her arms in front of her but instead she saw black silk wings in their place.

"You're a Raven." Pam said putting her hand down so Nova could climb on.

Nova did her best to move her clawed feet forward stumbling a bit but she managed to hold onto Pam's fingers and felt herself be lifted. It was strange that was sure but she knew the more she practiced the easier it would become. She pointed towards her book to get a better look at the spell to turn back. Pam gently set her down and she looked over the pages.

“What are my markings?” Nova asked as soon as the room stopped spinning.

“Your eyes are the same.” Adeline said.

“Dang I was hoping for something a little more subtle.” Nova mumbled

“I doubt your eyes will be easy to spot if you fly enough.” Pam said, resuming her bouncing in place. “My turn, my turn!”

Nova smiled as she dipped the vial into the leftover potion and handed it to Pam who quickly downed it as soon as she grabbed it. It was all a blur as Pam's body twisted and turned and suddenly a small red fox was in her place. Nova couldn’t help but laugh.

“Of course you would end up being a fox.” She said through snickers.

Pam looked down at her paws and sniffed them, her eyes blinked curiously around her and she quickly began to explore.

“Wait we need to find your markings.” Nova said as she tried chasing the little Pam fox.

Pam finally let herself be handed and Nova inspected her carefully. Then she noticed them, little dark flecks that almost blended with the whiskers.

“You still have your freckles.” Nova smiled and the Pam fox huffed in annoyance.

~~~~

It was strange for Nova not being able to laugh as she soared through the sky. She followed Cedric as he raced around on his broom shooting through the air like twin bullets. Finally Cedric touched down on the ground and laughed as he saw Nova come out from the shadows.

“So you have no problem flying around as a bird and growing up to be shot into the sky by a tin can. But heaven forbid someone try to put you on a broom otherwise you’ll scream bloody murder.”

“At least as a bird I have more control over my flying.” Nova countered.

“I still can’t believe you made the animagus in only your third year. I’m pretty sure not even the Weasleys could have done that.” Cedric shook his head as she tucked his broom under his arm and began walking towards the castle.

“Its a gift.” Nova shrugged.

“Maybe you should take over for Snape in potions, you’re probably more qualified.” Cedric snickered.

“Oh don’t tempt me.” Nova laughed. “But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone about what Pam and I did.”

“Don’t I always?” Cedric asked.

“True but you have to pinky promise.” Nova said sticking her small finger up between them.

“I have to what?” Cedric asked pausing to look down at her hand.

“A pinky promise.” Nova said.

“What’s a pinky promise?”

“It's a muggle thing whenever friends want to keep a serious thing hidden.” Nova said.

“Like the unbreakable vow?” Cedric asked a little cautious.

“Well it’s not that extreme.” Nova said lifting her hand a little higher. “You just wrap your pinky around mine and say you pinky promise you won't tell anyone about the animagus.”

“Alright.” Cedric said, slowly twisting his pinky around hers. “I pinky promise I won't tell anyone about the animagus potion.”

“See that wasn't so bad.” Nova said smiling as she hopped away. “Last one to the great hall is a broken snitch.”

~~~~~~~

“Are you sure about this?” Pam asked her fox eyes scanning the school grounds.

“Yes the twins say there’s a passage under the whomping willow but they don't know where it leads to because they can never get close to it.” Nova explained as she flapped down from her perch.

She wasn't quite sure how it was possible to communicate in this form but it was convenient.

“How do you know they aren’t playing a trick on you?” Pam huffed.

“Because they’re smart enough not to. But they’re not smart enough to pay attention in herbology class and realize there’s usually a knot you can touch that will make the whomping willow stop moving for a short while.”

“Okay but why do I have to be the one to touch it?” Pam asked, her paws shuffling nervously.

“Because you’re faster.” Nova pressed, still Pam huffed. “Im sorry did the potion make you turn into a chicken?”

“I’ll show you chicken.” Pam snapped and took off across the grounds.

~~~~~

Nova was doing her sweep of the halls occasionally peering out the windows to see if she could spot anything out of the ordinary. Ten years after the war and she was still a bit paranoid of danger. She caught some movement near the edge of the walls and scoffed in amusement.

“Can’t sleep either?” Pam asked, wrapping her shawl a little closer to herself.

“Nope.” Novas said not surprised her friend was also up. Most of the teachers nowadays took patrolling the halls more seriously.

“What are you looking at?” Pam asked looking out the window.

“Remember when we used to do that?” Nova asked pointing out the animals that were running around.

“Well I'll be damned.” Pam laughed as she spotted them. “Do you know which ones they are?”

“I have a good guess.” Nova said smiling.

“So what's stopping us from going out there and scaring the ever loving shit out of them?” Pam asked, looking at Nova hopefully.

“Last one outside is a broken snitch.” Nova said quickly running down the hall.