#Excuse my shitty screen caps

[nowhere-to-go-but-here]

Because smiley!Luca makes everything better ❤️

Plus bonus Mino ❤️

From here. Link posted by the amazing @pochiperpe90 on Twitter

#Luca marinelli #Camino my beloved ❤️ #Excuse my shitty screen caps #I couldn't resist the smiles but I have zero skills in this area 😁

[bunny-yan]

Okay but the hacker and AI made me actually laugh out loud when I reached the end, I was not expecting a comedy sprinkled into my yandere soup today 😆 I'd love to see more of their dynamic if you're inclined to continue with that story. They've got this great bickering, snarky energy between them, like two coworkers who really do not like each other but have to remain relatively civil because they work together.

I think it’s because half of our hacker yan’s personality is sarcasm and he unintentionally teaches this to Eve. It can get pretty annoying for him when it learns how to use sarcasm, but not understanding the full implications of how it comes off.  TW: language

—

“Excuse me?”

You looked up from your phone to see a guy. It was odd how unassuming he was, wearing a dark hoodie on a day as hot as it was with a cap and a mask. 

“I’m really sorry to bother you, but I lost my phone, and I was wondering if I could borrow yours to call someone I know.”

You smiled and he felt as if his heart would skip a beat. He bit his lip, begging himself not to lose control. 

Your hand extended out, offering your phone without even bothering to pull up the app he needed. How trusting. 

You shouldn’t have been. 

He took the phone from your hands, feeling something tingle inside his chest as his fingers brushed against your own, but he had to calm himself down. He couldn’t pass out without doing what he needed to. It wouldn’t take long, but he was trying hard not to appear suspicious. 

It was fucking hot in this dumbass hoodie, and the mask and hat weren’t helping, but he didn’t want to tip you off on who he was. It was too embarrassing to face you just yet. 

He couldn’t pull up a tracking app and set it up on your phone with you standing there staring at him, but it was tempting on the off chance that he messed up. 

Oh god, you were looking at him. You made light conversation, making him think that maybe there was a chance to distract you long enough to-

No, no, it would have to happen remotely. 

Pulling up the phone app, he typed in his number before pressing the call button. His phone was silent in his pocket, having checked repeatedly that it was on do not disturb before he approached you. It would blow fucking everything if his phone rang, and he had to come up with some dumb fucking reason of how he didn’t realize that he had his phone the first time. He made a show of being annoyed when the person on the other line didn’t pick up. Attempting to call again, but adding a few special characters that would trip the program’s sensor to provide a connection between your phone and his. 

Did he feel bad? 

Sure.

It wasn’t your fault you were getting hacked. You were just a kind unsuspecting stranger who had the misfortune of running into him on a day he was feeling particularly shitty. But instead of being an asshole like half of the people he’d run into that same day, you were considerate. Squeezing his arm as you offered an apology, he felt something swell as he stared at this stranger who’d managed to move his stubborn heart.

He’d only known you for two hours, not even sure of your name, but he was desperate to know more about you—your hobbies, the things you liked, the things you didn’t, what you preferred to do in your free time, how many kids you wanted, what season you preferred to get married in. 

Maybe he was moving a little fast, but that’s what was so great about love. 

This was one-sided, but as soon as he scraped up every piece of information he could about you, came up with the perfect plan to approach you, knew what you liked, and imbued every inch of himself with your ideas of an ideal partner, he would execute the perfect first meeting, and things would fall into place from there. 

When your screen turned grey, he couldn’t help the smile that twitched from behind the mask he wore. He exited out of the program, deleting his number, before returning your phone to you. No different than when he handed it to you. 

He thanked you before speeding off like something was biting at his heels. 

He was nervous; he thought his lungs would collapse, that he’d say something stupid and that you’d regard him as a weirdo you never wanted to meet again, but thankfully, none of that happened. He was a little nervous that he wouldn’t set it up in time, that you’d decide to go home before he could figure out how to implement the program, and that he would have to follow you home and stake out your house until he could have another chance encounter with you, but things were looking up. 

He’d gain everything there was to know about you, learning everything he could about the budding new love of his life. He felt giddy, wondering what he’d learn, what kind of person you were. If he’d uncover gold the deeper he searched or found something he didn’t like. You didn’t seem like the type of person who posted provocatively, but it didn’t really matter. He could always dispose of the things he didn’t want others to see and keep them for himself. If he uncovered a significant other, it wouldn’t be hard to convince you of their infidelity. 

He was excited to unearth everything he could find about you as he slowly ingratiated himself into your life, and he knew the perfect program to help him do it. 

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere hacker #yandere hacker & ai

[archive2394934]

Two insane posts in one day? You bet. Anyway, heres some more fun things to add to my mindflayer theory stuff. I was rewatching season 3 and I wanted to point something out that is oddly left out of all other things I've seen talking about this scene in particular, as its now kind of known in the fandom that this was probably Henry or at least he was heavily involved here.  You see the thing is this scene also seems to make it explicit that its not one "person" here. THERES another. I screen capped the entire thing but I have tried to compress a little for this post so excuse my very shitty collage.  So in this scene the whole point is to expose Billy as possessed by the mindflayer. So 1)... Everything Billy said in this scene was a ploy to escape the suna and maybe kill one or two of the party if possible. Will is able to sense that this is the mindflayer just in time to warn Max to get away from the door before MF!Billy lunches himself through the glass, nearly stabbing her.  

Now looking back at this scene a lot of the fandom is convinced that this is Henry but I’m gonna offer a different perspective based on the ENTIRE scene rather than just this one snippet. First of all we have Billy's insane strength which we’ve seen Will also have in s2 when the MF was forced to “come to the surface”. The insane strength doesn’t seem to be a Vecna quality. We also have the fact that the first thing the MF tried to do when it came to the surface within Will was murder Joyce by strangling her, same thing here. Possessed!Billy instantly tries to kill Max, after tricking her into getting close enough to him. We also have the fact that when the MF’s presence within its hosts bodies is known, they get these black veins and their bodies show signs of rot. 

This is shown here with Billy (Same scene). Its also curiously shown with Vecna’s body as well. 

But what really makes this seem like this is a team effort by Vecna and the MF is this the corresponding scene. 

2) Now we know Vecna knows who Eleven is. They have personal history. But “Henry”-Billy doesn’t? Heather on the other hand is the one who knows. So its not Billy who is acting as proxy for Henry here, right? It cant be and we’ve already confirmed this is “the mindflayer” within Billy?  Heather asks: The girl, was it her? Billy replies: Yeah, It was her. She knows now. She knows about me. She could have killed me.  Heather replies: Yes. But not us. Not us.  The scene pans out to show the little flayed army the two of them have been building together along with the physical poxy body for the MF.   (And imo I think this was referencing how yeah, Billys body could have died- but “they” have plenty of others.)  See now.... Possessed!!Billy talks about Eleven as if he doesn’t know her, he’s simply confirming she was there to SOMEONE who does know her. Its Possessed!Heather that asks about “the girl”, in order to have Possessed!Billy confirm it was the same girl he’s presumably been told about by Possessed!Heather. Its also interesting to note that Possessed!Billy is telling Possessed!Heather that Eleven didn’t know about him before, but now she does, as if Possessed!Billy is kind of aware that Eleven knew whoever he’s talking to in Possessed!Heather, just not “himself.” (Himself, who at this point has been ID’d by the party as the MF???)  Why would Possessed!Heather know who Eleven is while Possessed!Billy doesn’t if Possessed!Billy was always under Henry’s control and was always a poxy for Henry? Why would these two be sat here conversing with each other as separate but totally intelligent beings if this was all JUST Henry?  IMO, Possessed!Billy isn’t Henry. Not here. Possessed!Billy is the MF. Possessed!Heather is Henry. She even speaks like him. Henry has a particular manner of speech. He is often very monotonous. His tone is usually “flat” and he tends to “repeat” things. (autism king). Possessed!Billy doesn’t talk like that. NOT until he encounters Eleven after psychically intercepting her after she tries to get into Billy’s mind. I’ve explained in the past that I think this is the point when Billy shifted from the MF’s control to Henry’s control, and that I think basically Henry and the MF were kind of playing hot potato with the flayed. They were swapping control between each other as needed (With Heather and Billy particularly, because these are the two that are both shown constantly working together and appear to actually retain a human-level of intelligence during. )  There's a reason Billy and Heather work as a team. Heather never would have been needed if there wasn’t TWO “forces” at play here. A body for each of them. Otherwise theres no reason for Heather to be doing anything. She could have just been standing around zombified like the other flayed.   Which continues when we see Vecna!Billy confront Eleven and he literally says “WE’VE BEEN BUILDING IT” not “I’ve been building it”. At the start he speaks about just himself, about Eleven “finding him” when she was tricked by Brenner to look for Henry. Then he changes pronouns and begins speaking in plural, denoting that he is working with someone/thing(s) else. That could have just been “the hive mind” in general, but this shows that FOR SOME REASON there was a duo going on here, two of them, working together.  SIDE NOTE: I also think its interesting that in both times we’ve seen the “MF” get control of a host it instantly tries to kill one of the hosts family members. This being interesting given Henry as a child was driven to kill his family members.  

Anyways suffice it to say my evil!gay henry headcanon for the byler fandom is way better than all the others and thats that Henry's in an evil homosexual relationship with the mindflayer and they're out to use their evil gay union to destroy the world.\

ALSO TO ADD TO THIS REAL QUICK: The party explains that when the ‘flayed’ are flayed it means they basically BECOME the mindflayer, their minds are totally taken over. This basically states that everyone who is flayed IS the mindflayer (or rather IS henry I suppose), yet, still.. Billy and Heather (Two flayed) were talking to each other as separate entities. This doesn’t really make sense if this is just ONE being/ONE consciousness period. This shows two intelligences. They would not be talking to each other like that and its a weird detail to add otherwise imo? 

#henry creel #vecna #001 #the mindflayer #byler #billy hargrove #stranger things theory #Old man yells at cloud #anyway since im dumb u guys are welcome to have a crack at trying to explain this but yeah. interesting huh. #villain gays vs hero gays s5 rumble #billy hrove

[slayerkitty]

@respectthepetty these mugs, from the after credit scene. Excuse my shitty screen cap, lol. They have interlocking puzzle pieces and their initials on them. I about died. I'm not sure how well you can see Ken's in this cap.

#chains of heart #dinken #thai bl

[cerberusthewatchdog]

The Smell of Rain

The smell of rain has always been one of my favorite smells. Petrichor. A fancy name that almost encompasses what it means but does a pretty shitty job of showing what it does to my head, making me think about all the stuff that is and was and could and never will be. Do you ever just really fucking miss something that you’ve never even know? I think the best way I’ve heard it is in a song where it goes something like “I’m missing a time that I’ve never known, I’m missing a place that I’ve never called home.” Like what could have been but will never happen. I’m not talking about missed chances or anything I’m talking about how I wish I had grown up in a place where it snowed. Where every winter I would shovel a path up to our house all the way from the main road to our little family farm with my mom and my sister and a bunch of dogs that are technically outdoor dogs but they come inside anyway. I would go to school everyday and play on the school’s hockey team and wrestle too even though those are both winter sports. I would play football still and I still wouldn’t be that good but I wouldn’t be trash. Maybe I would have a bigger family, not just my sister and my mom. Maybe I would have a little sister or an older brother. I could have grown up swimming in the river near my house with the other kids in my town, building forts, climbing trees, and starting fires in the woods late into the night past the time we should have been home but no one minds because it’s summer and that’s what kids do. I could have gotten a summer job working at my best friend’s dad’s shop every year, leaving each day with grease under my finger nails, hands rough with callouses from being outside all the damn time. And maybe I wouldn’t be good at all that shit, maybe it wouldn’t come naturally but at least I could try. On lazy Sundays after finishing my chores (maybe grumbling about it but everyone knows it’s just for show) I might walk over to the gas station to say hi to the kid behind the counter only a grade above me. It’d be under the excuse of buying a bottle of pop but after they’d popped the cap off for me and handed the bottle back, our fingers brushing briefly, and I took a sip, grimacing at the sickly sweet taste we’d both know what- or more accurately who- I was really there for. And then maybe they’d grin knowingly at me and say “don’t like it? that’s my favorite flavor” and I’d smile back and say “oh yeah?” Like a challenge almost as I pushed the bottle back across the counter towards them. “Go for it” I’d say and then they’d take a long drink from it before leaning towards me and covering my mouth with theirs and maybe it turns out that I don’t mind the taste too much after all. And I don’t think that I’d really change if my world was like that because that’s what’s in my head anyway and it’s not really too far off from the truth. My mom would never be mad if I got home later than I said I would be because she knew that nothing could ever happen to me in this town, we all take care of each other. the kind of town where people leave their front doors open all the time, calling out greetings through the screen door to people passing on the street. And when it rains you can just run up onto any old porch to stop and wait out the storm and have a nice chat and maybe a hot drink before setting off again, refreshed by the smell of right after it rains. 

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 23 - Haunted Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Coming home can cause issues.

Series Masterlist

                          SIX MONTHS LATER

You flipped the knife in your hand as the guy tied to the chair glared at you.

“You know,” you trailed off, “I’ve had a really shitty couple of months, Johnny- can I call you Johnny?”

“No.”

“Rude,” you commented, “Fine. John. I’ve had a really shitty couple of months so you really don’t want to try me right now. Just tell me where I can find your boss.”

“You’ll never find him you stupid bitch.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Since I’m going to kill you in a couple of minutes I feel like I can share some things with you,” you said, “My best friend says I keep everything bottled and I should talk about my feelings.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“See, that’s exactly how I feel!” you pointed at him, “Thank you. I mean, I feel angry at myself. I kind of fucked up with the man I love.”

“Jesus Christ, just kill me already.”

“I’m waiting for a text to do that Johnny,” you pointed out, waving your phone at him. “So, I tricked him and used him and threw him to wolves. And then Accords 2.0 didn’t pass and he has been pardoned once again, and he’s a free man now. I have a strong feeling that he’s not the ‘forgive and forget’ type of guy. You know, assassin to assassin.”

“You’re the chattiest assassin I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you, I’m trying to improve myself,” you said, “I mean what exactly should I do? I don’t even trust my agency at this point, my handler lied to me and I have been at this fucking place for six months now, hunting you down. Well, your boss but…”

“You’ll never find him.”

“We’ll see about that my friend,” you said, “So anyway, like what am I supposed to do? I lost the one guy I actually loved. How do you cope with that? Because drinking doesn’t work, sleeping with others doesn’t work…. Nothing seems to—“ you were cut off when your phone vibrated and you touched the screen to open the text message.

From: Julian

Go for it.

“Wait, no no no, I’ll talk—“

“Kind of too late,” you pointed the gun at him, “Nice to meet you Johnny.”

With that you pulled the trigger, silencer doing its job as there was no loud bang or anything. His body fell back with the impact, and you heaved a sigh.

“Maybe I need a therapist I can’t kill,” you mumbled and walked out of the warehouse to approach the car before opening the door to the passenger seat to get in.

“Is it done?” Julian asked and you nodded, rubbing at your eyes.

“Yep.”

“Are you hungry?”

You made a face, “Just because the General sent you here does not mean we’re going to become buddies.”

“I’m not trying to become buddies with you,” Julian stated, “I just want to eat fries and there’s a two for one deal.”

You eyed him up and down.

“Fine, I could eat fries.” You leaned back in the seat as he started driving, keeping your eyes on the road. Soon enough, you reached the city center and Julian got fries from a food truck, then sat across from you.

“So,” he said, “You do realize this whole thing would’ve been over by now if we actually worked together?”

“I’m not going on the field with you.”

“The General sent me here to help you.”

You dipped the fry into sauce, then popped it into your mouth, “You can help me by pretending you’re not here.”

“Y/N.”

“You know what they say Julian. Fool me once…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still holding that grudge.”

“You mean when you left me behind to die on the last mission we were together?” you asked back, “That grudge?”

“I told you—“

“I’m not going to talk about that with you,” you cut him off, “And I work better alone. Who told you we could waste the guy by the way?”

“The General.”

You grabbed the salt shaker to pour some salt on the fries, causing Julian to make a face.

“Are you kidding me? That was salty enough-“

“Why did he not text me?”

“No idea. Maybe he’s avoiding you because he promised you handler and here you are. Field spy.”

Your jaw clenched.

Or maybe he’s avoiding me because he fucking lied to me.

You had to give it to him, it was the perfect plan. The moment he had suspected you were getting too close to Bucky, he had come up with the one thing he knew that would make you switch sides.

And that-

That was below the belt yes, but that was also masterly.

But at the end of the day, you barely had two people to trust in the entire world, and you seriously doubted you could ever forgive the General for what he had done. You knew he held duty above all, above family and surely above you, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

You shook your head at yourself and grabbed another piece of fry.

“So um…” Julian shifted his weight, “Are you okay?”

You shot him a glare, arching a brow, “Peachy.”

“No I mean… About Barnes.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This whole Accords 2.0 failure, there’s no way we could go after him again.”

“I don’t want to go after him again.”

“You don’t want revenge?”

That made you straighten up your back and you put the fry down, “And why exactly would I want revenge?”

That made Julian fall silent and you nibbled on your lip.

“What exactly did the General tell you before you came here?”

“That there was a job here.”

“Bullshit,” you replied way too quickly, “Did he send you here to be my babysitter? He thinks I’ll go after Barnes myself is that it? That’s why they sent you here months after I left the country but right after Accords 2.0 didn’t pass.”

Julian licked his lips.

“Listen, the agency wants to keep you safe—“ he started but then his phone beeped. He grabbed it to take aa look at the screen, then cussed under his breath.

“What?”

“Check your texts.”

You touched the screen and frowned as your eyes skimmed the text.

From: General

Time to come home.

“Well,” you muttered, your heart dropping to your stomach, “Shit.”

                                                   ***

Coming back home was harder than ever now. After catching up with Keith and Chloe, you were taken to your new apartment that was given to you by the agency as usual, and for the whole night you couldn’t sleep.

Even if there was no trace of Bucky in your new apartment –in your new life, you still couldn’t shake off this feeling. It was as if the moment you had entered the country, Bucky had entered your life in an instant.

Odds were, you wouldn’t really see him again. After all it was a big city, and Bucky wasn’t exactly the social type.

So your first week back in New York wasn’t exactly terrible. You were still waiting for your orders while getting to know to the city slowly, because after long missions it always took time for you to remember you had a real life there, real memories—

Well, as real as it could be, for a spy.

“Just see it as a vacation,” Chloe had said, “They threw you into another mission as soon as you got out of the country, it’s just a delayed vacation.”

As far as vacations went though, this one just sucked.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t keep away from places you and Bucky had been too, like this coffee place where you had first officially met.

You sipped your coffee, scrolling down on the news website as your eyes skimmed yet another article about Accords and whether you could trust superheroes or not, but you were soon distracted when someone pulled the seat across from you, making you look up from your phone.

And as soon as you did, your heart dropped.

You had to give it to the General, he was manipulative, he was a liar and he had betrayed your trust terribly but the one thing he had done right was training you well. Aside from that one second, you managed to adapt a look of nonchalance on your face, slowly putting your phone down.

“Hello Cap.”

Sam raised his brows and eyed you up and down.

“You’re back?”

You could swear he could hear your heartbeat and you shrugged your shoulders, looking around.

“Yeah,” you said, “Big apple and everything.”

“So much for the small town girl.”

“I have never been a small town girl,” you drawled, “Never been to Oregon either.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

You turned your coffee cup on the table just so you could do something with your hands.

“Why?” he asked after a beat and you shifted your weight despite your whole training of feeling calm and collected, nervousness hitting you out of nowhere.

“You’re a veteran, Wilson,” you managed to say, “You don’t need me to tell you how the chain of command works. Army doesn’t care how we feel about orders.”

“I’m very familiar with how chain of command works,” he pointed out, “But you’re not a soldier, Y/N. You’re a spy.”

“That makes it even worse,” you stated, “I know it sounds like an excuse, but… you don’t know how my agency works. I don’t get to say no to orders, and I sure as hell don’t get to blow my own cover.”

“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

Jesus Christ, Wilson was really good at this observation thing.

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” you said, “I’m no use to anyone if I develop a conscience.”

“But you did,” he insisted, “Why else would you come to help us? Why else would you warn him beforehand?”

“He told you about that?”

He shot you a look, “What do you think, Y/N?”

You scoffed a laughter. “I was feeling generous,” you said, “No other reason.”

He kept his gaze on you for a couple of seconds, as if trying to see whether you would cave before he took a deep breath.

“You know he was going to propose, right?”

That-

That was just too much. You could feel your jaw hanging as you stared at him in complete silence, his words echoing in your ears.

“No,” you said after a moment, then shook your head fervently, your nose in the air, “No you’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Sam said, “Apparently he was looking for this… house painted in white with—a red door or something.”

Don’t cry.

Do not fucking cry.

Spies don’t cry over heartbreak.

You clenched your jaw and blinked back the tears, straightening your back.

“It’s a good thing he didn’t get to, then.”

“Y/N, he loved you.”

“No Sam, he loved someone who doesn’t exist,” you replied, “Sweet small town girl with sundresses and smiles and some house in the suburbs with kids and all that shit. Girls like me don’t get that ending, I have way too much blood on my hands.”

He pressed his lips together and you cleared your throat.

“How much does he hate me?”

“Why do you think he hates you?”

“Assassins aren’t good at forgiving,” you said, “I would know, we don’t have that talent.”

“That’s not a talent, that’s a choice.”

“It really isn’t,” you muttered, “So?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

You let out a bitter laugh, “Yeah no. Actions have consequences and I’d rather not cross paths with the deadliest assassin in the world after double crossing him.”

“But you want him to forgive you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Intuition,” he said and pushed his chair back to stand up.

“He didn’t kill your father, Y/N.”

You heaved a sigh.

“I know,” you said, “Trust me, I would’ve walked away so much easier if he had.”

“Enjoy your coffee,” he said and walked out of the coffee house. You threw your head back, closing your eyes.

“Yep. I shouldn’t have come back.”

                                                  ***

“I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of hate that we’re not living so close anymore,” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear and opened the door to your apartment as Keith chuckled.

“I knew you’d miss me.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re a softie deep inside. Very very deep inside.”

“If you repeat that in front of anyone I swear to God…” you muttered and he groaned.

“Have I told you they’re putting me in the same team as Julian?”

“You guys have a new mission?”

“Not a long one probably.”

“Why the fuck am I—“

“Because you’re on a vacation,” he cut you off, “And also they’re probably going to make you a handler, that’s worth waiting for.”

“That or….”

“We’re not talking about that on the phone,” Keith said quickly, “Amateur.”

“Careful there, I’ll outrank you soon enough,” you said, walking to the bathroom to wash your hands. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Alright, see you later!” he said and hung up. You put your phone into your pocket, then washed your hands and made your way to the kitchen.

It was only when you put the wine bottle back into the fridge that you noticed something was off. Your body moved on its own accord, before you knew it you had already grabbed the knife in your boots and threw it to the figure in the dark corner of the room but he easily caught it, metal hitting what sounded like another kind of metal before he stepped out of the corner. Your breath caught in your throat, and for the first time in your life you froze, all the training leaving your mind.

You were supposed to be looking for a weapon, any kind of weapon but somehow, your body refused to move.

Bucky turned your knife in his hands, his gaze pinning you to your spot before he tilted his head.

“Hi honey,” he said, his voice way too cold. “I’m home.”

Chapter 24

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagines

[woodchoc-magnum]

L*ne St*r Hate Watch 3x11

Usual disclaimer: Hi, if you love the show, please don't read this! Scroll by and have a great day.

As always, Eddie Diaz:

So unfortunately I am spoiled but only for the big twist – I don't know anything else about this episode, so let's get into it!

This week on the writer's blow Rob Lowe show…

Okay so I totally thought that the pig in the bed at the end of last week was at Amy Acker's apartment but no, that was Rob Lowe's house

Carlos' dad is in the house

He thinks the pig was targeted at Owen

Owen literally just said, "I'm a fairly beloved figure and I have no enemies" EXCUSE ME SIR WHAT PLANET ARE YOU LIVING ON????

Mateo quite rightly is like, "Uh…"

They're listing all the people Owen punched and it's not a short list guys

If I was Amy Acker I would be side-eyeing this man so hard

Carlos' dad is flummoxed, there are like four people in the last six months that he's punched

Oh the cop from the winter storm who was trafficking people was acquitted. If you'll remember, he gunned down a guy in cold blood right in front of Marjan

"Obviously someone has a beef with me" – Judd: "Well, that ain't a short list, Cap." NO SHIT

Marjan's understandably really mad

Oh are we getting a Nancy subplot in this episode? Unexpected

Uh oh this lady has a DNR I bet

She's even wearing a DNR bracelet

It's 100% the lady who was in True Blood but I don't remember her name or her character's name and I cannot give you anymore information

Marjan and Paul are stalking the murderous cop

Oh he seems to be working as security at a mall and he helped a little old lady with her groceries, but Marjan is making a whole deal about it

SHE IS MAKING AN ANNOUNCEMENT AT THE GROCERY STORE THAT HE'S A MURDERER??????

You know I think Marjan has some lingering trauma from the whole winter storm thing

I mean if it was me I probably wouldn't have done that right in front of him and thus exposing myself as a witness but whatever

Owen's second wife was named 'Lorraine', what's a bet that she's going to come back into it as some point? Who can they get to play her? My money is on Kate Walsh. I have no basis for this.

Marjan got the cop fired

JULIE BENZ

And she's an artist!

Not a very good one ngl

Marjan looks amazing in this dress like omg

Shitty screen cap (sorry I won't put gifs in these posts, I don't want to bother the LS gif makers):

It's a very, very shitty screen cap but you get the idea

At this point if I didn't know the twist, I have no idea if I would've known it was coming or not, but I think I would've been smart enough to realise that the cop is the red herring. He's just turned up at the art gallery to menace them

He's very openly stalking them at this point, but that is just because Marjan blew up on him at his job

Is Owen going to throw a punch?? My money is on yes

Oooh he just threatened to kill Marjan

Owen punched him.

Called it

Now Owen is being arrested

Carlos' dad is real mad and he's throwing some real shade about all the punching

The cop has put a restraining order against Owen

Also Nancy is being sued for ignoring the DNR bracelet

Part of the lawsuit is that Nancy is fired and is not able to work as a paramedic again – but they're saying that because she didn't know she was wearing a DNR bracelet, she's protected. Plot twist – she 100% knew about the bracelet. I'm just speculating here but still

Okay so everyone is at TK & Carlos' house for dinner including Amy Acker, who is now "part of the gang" I guess. I'm annoyed that she hasn't dumped Owen yet.

TK has had approximately 1 to 2 lines this episode

Now the art gallery is burning down? Where Julie Benz had her show?

They think Julie Benz might be trapped inside and now Owen's going in to rescue her

She is indeed inside

They're totally excusing Owen going in by himself and because "he always knows what he's doing" according to Judd

I'm eye-rolling so hard right now

He just very heroically carried her out of the burning building and she said "Owen, you came for me"

Nancy is about to confess that she knew about the DNR bracelet

She knew about it, and she's saying she's going to resign

Tommy is like aw hell no

I bet they're going to turn up at the lady's house with like a fruit basket or something

Julie Benz is in hospital

And now Carlos' dad has just told Owen exactly where the cop lives so you can bet Owen is going to go all lone ranger on his ass

Maybe he'll punch him again

Owen has just taken Julie Benz to Carlos and TK's house for her own safety. TK might get another line here guys

Julie Benz and Amy Acker have just come face to face – two Buffy/Angel alumni in the same scene!

Amy Acker is going with Owen to stalk the cop

Tommy has invited the DNR lady and her sister over for fresh cookies, I told you they were going to sweet talk her

DNR lady is really mad and I don't blame her, but like, ending Nancy's career is a bit of overkill

Marjan, Owen and Amy Acker are now all collectively stalking the cop

TK just said, in the most monotone way ever, "If you don't like pho you're out of luck" and like – he says everything in a monotone, that much is a given, but I just needed to highlight it because I'm like… you have had three lines in this show, and you work so listlessly with the material you're given that I am completely baffled by you at every single turn. I don't know if he just doesn't like the writing (understandable) or if Ronen is just completely incapable of acting at all. I know it's not a very big line, but the way he delivers it is just… ?????? FLAT? And the director was obviously like "yeah cool next take"

In conclusion, this show sucks, continuing on

I think Carlos is about to figure out the big twist, makes sense, he's one of the smarter ones

Owen's a big Emilio Estevez fan and now I'm trying to think if Rob Lowe and Emilio Estevez were in a movie together - THEY WERE!!!

They were in The Outsiders (how DID I NOT REMEMBER THAT) and St Elmo's Fire together, amazing, I love that little Easter Egg honestly

Pause for an Emilio Estevez gif:

Listen I know I talk a lot of shit about 2022 Rob Lowe, but 80s Rob Lowe? can fucking GET IT. There this movie he did with Demi Moore, it's called About Last Night, it was made in the 80s, he's naked for half the film and it's great. Highly recommend.

Also, if you've never seen St Elmo's Fire - do yourself a favour, it's fucking wild. Demi Moore's apartment in this movie is the pink fantasy of my dreams. Also 80s Andrew McCarthy? The DREAMIEST

Back to the hate watch after a little Brat Pack interlude

Now the cop is in the backseat of the car and I will say that Owen probably should've locked the fucking doors? Idk

He took a photo of them for violating the restraining order

At this point I think I would've been like, there's no way the cop is the stalker – he is way too cavalier

OH MY GOD THE COP JUST BLEW UP

THE COP JUST BLEW UP

And I think now I would've been very, very suspicious of Julie Benz because she's acting very, very suspiciously

OH HE'S FIGURED IT OUT

IT'S JULIE BENZ

SHE POISONED TK I'M SURE OF IT

SHE WAS THE ONE WHO "ANTHRAXED" AMY ACKER

Julie Benz is so fucking great, I love her so much

"Do you believe in destiny" she's amazing

She's 100% poisoned TK I'm sure of it

"That's the same with me and Owen" AMAZING, WHO WOULD WANT TO BE WITH OWEN STRAND

Girl you have such bad taste omg

She's just confessing to Carlos

Owen keeps a key under the planter on his front porch, great security

She lit the fire at the gallery knowing that he was going to come and save her

"Where's TK" she legit poisoned him

SHE'S POISONED THEM BOTH

You know they could only have Rafa do this scene alone because there's no way Ronen could act this well

She dosed them with oxy

She's amazing and she does villainous so well

Carlos' dad has figured out that Julie Benz is the stalker

And now Marjan has turned up at Carlos and TK's apartment and she is suspicious

Man this would've been so much more enjoyable if I hadn't known the twist

Oh Marjan is onto it AND JULIE BENZ JUST STABBED HER

AND MARJAN JUST PUNCHED HER AND CALLED HER A BITCH AMAZING

Julie Benz is now disappointingly being arrested

TK is speaking in a monotone again

DNR lady is dead

I guess Nancy gets to keep her job

DNR lady dropped the lawsuit before she died and gave her the DNR bracelet as a reminder

Side note – my cat is currently very unhappy that my other cat is blocking her path to her usual spot on the table next to my desk

THEY FOUND JULIE BENZ'S HUSBAND'S SEVERED HEAD IN A FREEZER AMAZING

She's great, I hope they bring her back again

Side note – my cat jumped over my other cat, crisis averted

Owen says he's done throwing punches and we all know that's a fuckin lie

The cop is still alive and in hospital with a bunch of burns

Oh shit if I was him I would want that DNR bracelet, fuuuuckkkk dude looks rough

Oh the cartel blew up his car, I thought it was Julie Benz but honestly she's way too classy for that

To sum up:

Would I have been suspicious of Julie Benz early in the episode? I would like to say yes but I think I definitely would've figured it around the time that Owen left her in the apartment with Carlos and TK. Like it was very clearly not the cop doing the stalking, he was the red herring the whole time, so… I like to think I've watched enough TV shows with plot twists by now to figure out who the real criminal is.

And honestly? Like as dumb as this whole thing was, and as Owen-centric as it was… it was very fucking entertaining. I think my biggest criticism is that any woman on the planet would find him attractive enough to want to stalk, let's face it

In final conclusion:

My Eddie-gets-stalked fic I want you to want me is way better than these episodes, so read that instead! (she says humbly)

Eddie Diaz because this was a ride, y'all:

God he's gorgeous holy fuck

#lone star hate watch #also strangely an 80s brat pack appreciation post #i got a little side-tracked #there's one mention of emilio estevez and i'm like THE 80S WOO

[sugarandspace]

In Their Own Bubble (Buddie)

Summary: The well rescue left Eddie uncomfortable with small spaces and absolutely hating the idea of being stuck somewhere. Things go south when Buck and Eddie get trapped in a small elevator while they are working.

Warnings: claustrophobia, panicking, vague mentions of being buried alive and nearly drowning

A/N: I found this tiny elevator (picture if someone wants to see how tiny it is) while working, and now literally every time I use that elevator I think of this fic idea. Shoutout to my friend Em (thatnerdemryn/@thatnerdemryn) who took this fic to a whole new level by saying that Eddie could be claustrophobic!

AO3

“... I’m going to take the stairs.”

“Don’t be silly,” Buck says and pulls Eddie into the elevator with him. It’s a tight fit, especially with the bag of gear they have with them, but they both get crammed in. “It’s a short ride to the roof, we’ll manage.”

Then when the doors slide closed and they are alone, Buck adds with a quieter tone and a wiggle of his eyebrows, “Gives me an excuse to be close to you.”

And close they are. With Buck leaning on the wall opposite to the buttons, Eddie has to lean to the mirror at the back of the elevator so as not to accidentally touch them. Buck looks at the floor and wonders if their boots would touch if they tried to stand on opposite sides of the elevator. It’s very clear that the elevator was added after the building was built and they had to make do with the space they had. Buck is just glad they aren’t wearing their turnout gear, even in their regular uniforms their arms are touching despite them almost being at opposite corners.

“We’re at work,” Eddie says with a pointed look as if to remind Buck.

Their relationship is still fairly new, and they had agreed early on that they would give the department zero reasons to separate them. They both love the team they have and like being able to have each other’s backs while on call. They both know not to risk it for a few stolen kisses during a shift. They spent months pining after each other without knowing that the other felt the same, waiting until the shift is over to kiss the other might feel like torture sometimes, but it’s nothing compared to that. They can wait.

Plus, neither of them is really ready for all the teasing that would come if their team knew that they were together, so it’s better to keep it between them (and Christopher, of course) for now.

“Is this elevator even meant to carry this much weight?” Eddie asks, and Buck can see that his boyfriend looks visibly uncomfortable. He pushes away the joke that’s ready on his tongue and answers honestly.

“Even when we count both of us and the gear we’re carrying, there’s still a long way to the maximum weight this elevator allows,” he assures Eddie and leans towards him to affectionately bump shoulders. “It’s going to be fine.”

As if on cue, the elevator makes a loud noise and stops abruptly, making both of them jolt forward a little. Buck glances at the screen showing where they are and sees that they are currently stuck on the seventh floor.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says, a hundred percent sure his words combined with his shitty luck are the reason they are currently stuck in an elevator.

Eddie doesn’t respond, and Buck watches as he frantically tries to push the buttons on the elevator, trying to make it work.

“This can’t be happening,” he mutters to himself and moves to the doors, trying to pry them open with his hands, but the doors don’t move.

“Eds?” Buck asks, getting worried. Eddie doesn’t panic, like, ever, and seeing him like this is really making Buck worry.

“We have to get out,” Eddie says, and for the first time since the elevator stopped, he looks at Buck. Buck can see that he’s starting to sweat and his eyes don’t stay on Buck for long, desperately looking for another way out.

“We will,” Buck says. “It’s going to be okay.”

Buck presses on the button of his radio and speaks to it, “Hey Cap? Eddie and I won’t be able to make it to the roof. The elevator is stuck on the seventh floor.”

“Copy that,” Bobby replies. “We’ll get to you as soon as we’ve helped the victim.”

Bobby is talking about the man they were supposed to be helping, a man who had gotten his head stuck on a small window as he had tried to stick his head out of it to get some fresh air. The man was on a top floor where their ladder wasn’t going to reach, so Buck and Eddie were supposed to go to the roof where one of them could have been lowered down to help the man from the outside.

Their gear bag sits with them in the elevator, but Buck knows they have more in the truck. The team will be okay without them, it’s just going to take a while longer for them to help the man. Luckily the situation isn’t dire, the man isn’t in pain or in danger and he can wait a little longer.

Eddie, however? Buck’s not sure if he can wait.

“Copy that,” Buck replies to Bobby and then turns his attention to Eddie. His breathing is turning more panicked and he’s running his hand through his hair, obviously nervous. Buck’s been in an elevator with Eddie before, and the man has never expressed being afraid of them so it leaves Buck a little confused.

“Eddie?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

“We should be helping that man,” Eddie says, “Instead of being able to do our job we are stuck here.”

It’s not the real reason, but Buck doesn’t push.

“The team will help us,” Buck says and sits down. There’s not enough room for him to straighten his legs, so he sits cross-legged. It makes his knees hit the sides of the elevator and leaves Eddie even less room to stand.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, looking at Buck like he grew a second head.

“I’m sitting down,” Buck says. “There’s nothing we can do other than wait.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He goes back to pressing the buttons and Buck can see that his hands are trembling. He reaches up to hold one of them, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“We’re safe here,” Buck says gently. “The elevators have a ton of safety measures that prevent them from falling. It’s not uncommon that they stop, but it’s very very rare that they fall. We’ll be okay until our team gets to us. After that, I’m sure they have a joke or two about having to save us but I think we’ll survive those too.”

Buck’s attempt at lightening the situation doesn’t help Eddie, it almost looks like he doesn’t even hear Buck’s words, and Buck wonders where his head has gone. He wants to help but he has no idea how.

“Talk to me Eddie,” he says, his voice gentle. He brushes his thumb across Eddie’s knuckles and squeezes, getting a strong grip in response.

“I don’t like being stuck,” Eddie says, and his voice comes out strained like he’s forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “When I was in the well I-”

Eddie’s words get cut off by a strangled gasp and suddenly Buck knows exactly why Eddie is reacting so strongly to this.

“Hey,” Buck says and pulls on Eddie’s hand, trying to urge him down with him. Because of the tight fit, Eddie ends up in Buck’s lap and Buck helps him get comfortable so that Eddie is straddling Buck and they are chest to chest, forehead to forehead

Buck knows that they wouldn’t want to be seen like this on the job, that if their coworkers were to see them now they would get exactly the type of teasing they are trying to avoid, but the need for comfort and the need to comfort override that. Buck can’t just stand there when Eddie is struggling, and if someone tries to make fun of them Buck will have a word or two to tell them. And their team are good people, Buck knows that they wouldn’t actually make fun of them if they saw how Eddie was feeling, and by now it would be clear to everyone, not just for Buck’s practiced eye.

“You are not there,” Buck says softly. He doesn’t need to talk loudly because Eddie has his face close, his forehead against Buck’s, and Buck wants Eddie to focus on his voice, wants to create a bubble around them that’s safe and calming. “You're not alone. We are getting out of here. The team knows that we’re here and they know exactly where we are. They are coming, all we need to do is wait.”

Buck has heard enough about how Eddie felt in the well - whispered conversations after a nightmare or on a particularly rainy day that makes Eddie space out in front of the window - to know exactly what boxes to tick while listing differences.

“It’s warm here,” Buck says and moves his hands up and down Eddie’s back, both to provide more warmth and to remind him that he’s not alone. “I’m here.”

Eddie’s hold on the back of Buck’s shirt gets tighter.

“I know that,” Eddie says, his voice scratchy. “Intellectually I know that I’m not there but-”

Eddie trails off and Buck finishes for him, “But sometimes it’s a little harder to make your brain believe it.”

He feels Eddie nod against his forehead.

Buck is familiar with the feeling. Gets that sometimes when they are spending time near the pier, or when they are on the street and there’s a sudden loud noise.

“Well, I’m going to remind it as many times as it needs,” Buck says. “But I need you to take a deep breath first.”

Eddie’s breaths are too shallow and too quick. Buck doesn’t know if it is because he’s panicking, or if he’s reminded of being underground in a hole that had a limited amount of oxygen, or underwater where all he had was what little he had in his lungs.

Buck leans up to kiss Eddie’s forehead before returning to their previous position, their foreheads against each other’s.

“Take a deep breath in,” Buck says and brushes his hand up Eddie’s back. When he feels the back move under his hand, he brushes it back down. “And breathe out.”

They follow the pattern until Eddie’s breaths get steadier and longer and when his breathing is calmer and he no longer seems to be panicking, Buck brushes his hand up into Eddie’s hair and guides his head to Buck’s shoulder so that they can share a proper hug. Eddie no longer has a death grip on the back of Buck’s uniform shirt, but his arms are sure around Buck’s back. Buck keeps his hand on the back of Eddie’s head while the other is around his waist, keeping him steady on his lap.

Eddie hides his face in the space between Buck’s neck and shoulder and Buck starts brushing his hand through the hair, hoping it brings Eddie comfort, that it reminds him that he’s not alone. For the same reason, Buck keeps talking.

“What do you want to have for dinner today?” Buck asks, his voice still gentle.

“You want to talk about dinner plans?” Eddie asks and Buck is happy to hear some lightness return to his voice, even if he stays hiding in the crook of Buck’s neck. “Now?”

“I want to give your brain something else to think about,” Buck says and turns his head a fraction to kiss the side of Eddie’s head. “So, what do you want for dinner?”

They stay like that, talking about dinner and Christopher and the plans they have for their next day off. Buck’s bad leg starts to ache at some point because it’s been in the same position for a while and Eddie is kind of heavy, but Buck doesn’t mention it. Eddie seems comfortable hiding like this, and Buck doesn’t want to disturb the calm bubble they have.

What does burst their bubble is the crackle of the radio, and Bobby’s voice that follows.

“We are at the elevator now,” he says. “We’re going to open the doors. The elevator is halfway to the seventh floor so you’ll have to climb out.”

“Copy that,” Buck replies. Then, to Eddie, “I guess that’s our sign to move.”

Eddie nods, pulling back from Buck, but only enough so he can leave a soft kiss on his lips.

“Thank you.”

Buck smiles in reply, “Anytime.”

Eddie gets up first, and Buck tries to follow. He can’t hide the grimace as he tries to put weight on his leg, and Eddie notices.

“Your leg,” he says as he helps Buck up. “It’s hurting?”

“It’s no big deal,” Buck says. “It was just in the same position for too long.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eddie asks, his brows furrowed.

“I had more important things to focus on,” Buck says gently, to which Eddie replies with a fond look followed by a roll of eyes.

“Idiot,” he says lovingly.

Buck doesn’t have time to reply before there’s a loud noise and the doors are being pried open.

“The rescue is here,” Chimney says as soon as they can see him. “I thought you guys were supposed to be working, not give us more work?”

“We didn’t exactly plan this,” Buck replies.

“You sure?” Hen asks, and when Buck looks at her he notices that she’s looking between them, to where they are still holding hands. Buck looks up at Eddie and the first thing he pays attention to is Eddie’s messy hair.

He knows what this looks like and knows it’s not the truth, but he’s not going to tell them the actual truth either. It’s for Eddie to share if he wants to. He just gives Hen a shrug and pushes Eddie towards the doors, letting him get out first.

When Eddie is out, Buck lifts the gear bag out of the elevator and follows suit. Getting out is easy, it only requires a little upper body strength, but getting up to standing proves to be a little more difficult because of his leg. Eddie is by his side immediately, helping him up.

“You two okay?” Bobby asks. “Did you get hurt when the elevator stopped?”

“No,” Eddie says. “But Buck’s leg is hurting.”

Buck gives Eddie a betrayed look but Eddie replies with a raise of his eyebrows that either says ‘do you really think they didn’t notice’ or ‘do you really think I’d let you hide an injury’, Buck’s not sure which.

“It’s fine,” Buck says. “It was just a little tight fit in that elevator. It will be fine once I get to stretch it.”

“How awful to be stuck in such a tight space,” Hen says as they start walking to their truck, the others leading the way as Buck and Eddie walk behind them. “Having to be so close. How did you pass all that time?”

Buck knows what she’s trying to imply, but even though it feels tempting to tell them that they don’t need to speculate about when they will get together since they already are, it’s more rewarding to know it’s a secret. Something just for them.

Buck looks at Eddie where he’s walking beside him, biting his lip and looking troubled. He’s probably thinking about what actually happened in the elevator, and knowing Eddie he doesn’t like the vulnerability he showed while stuck there. He’s getting more comfortable with being more open with Buck, but the idea of the team finding out probably sounds awful to him.

Buck catches his eye and gives him a comforting smile and once he sees Eddie return the smile, he gives him a wink, a reminder of their not-so-little secret.

“Actually,” Buck starts. “We made plans for what to eat for dinner.”

Buck keeps talking all the way to the truck, telling the team about this new pasta recipe he tried over the weekend and how it was the best thing he’s ever eaten (not counting Bobby’s meals, of course), and it’s like any other call they’ve been to. Just before they get in the truck, Eddie reaches over to give his hand a quick squeeze, a silent thank you.

Buck smiles at him and gets to the truck, eagerly waiting for their shift to end.

Most days, keeping their relationship a secret at work is easy. On some, like today, it’s a little harder to keep the touches casual and to keep the affectionate words unsaid. But at the end of the day, it’s worth it so they get to be in their own bubble for a while longer.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #9-1-1 #my writing #guys that elevator!! #ah #what a wonderful little thing #anyways it's past 6am as i'm posting this so please be kind and ignore the mistakes

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 11:

“So, what, you’ve just known about your soulmate for over a week? And you didn’t tell me!” Your best friend huffs, slouching into the booth across from you. 

The café you had decided to meet Selene in seemed abnormally loud today, but even through the noise you could hear her frustration. And you understood it too- she’d been listening to you fantasize about your soulmate for years now, so much so that it must have gotten annoying. But she listened anyway, and apparently you repaid that favor by not even telling her when your tattoo appeared, nor when you actually met him. 

You couldn’t help it though. As much as you wanted to gush about it to everyone, another part of you wanted to keep it a secret. You didn’t wanna share Bakugou yet, as selfish and ridiculous as that sounded.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry; but honestly, it was just super surreal. Like I didn’t know how to talk about it.” You meet her eyes, grateful to see that even through her frustration, Selene still just looked happy for you. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Had to give you a little shit, but really I’m excited for you.” She takes a sip of her drink, leaning forward on your elbows. “Can I see the tattoo?”

You pale.

It really was an ugly tattoo. Messy and scribbly and poorly drawn, and odd even  as far as soulmate tattoos go. Every other person you’d known with a soulmate tattoo - which, granted, wasn’t many- had a name. Even your soulmate himself had your name! But you didn’t. You had his phone number, and no matter which way you thought about it, you couldn’t figure out why that was.

“Yeah, it’s uh, on my collarbone.” You unzipped your jacket, pulling it to the side to reveal the tattoo. 

“It’s- it’s, um, not what I expected.”

“That’s what I said. It showed up on my birthday,” You shrugged. “Wasn’t there the night before, but when I woke up it was just sitting there.”

“Why a phone number?” She questions, poking at the mark with a gentle finger. “And why does it look like-”

“Like that?” You chuckle, pushing her hands away and zipping your jacket up once more. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen anyone else with a phone number before; even Bakugou has my name.” 

“Um, who?” 

“His name’s Bakugou. My soulmate, I mean.”

“Wait- you talked to him? And you still didn’t tell me? You bitch!” Selene throws her head back, a laugh tumbling out of her lips. “I thought you’d just been hiding the tattoo, I didn’t know you were hiding him too!”

“Shut up- you’re being so loud!” 

“I can’t help it! This is just so exciting!”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Y/n,” You watched your friend straighten, a wicked smile crawling across her lips. “What’s that look about, huh, does somebody have a crush?”

You can feel you cheeks and ears flushing, but you don’t say anything. Selene just stares at you, wide manic grin across her face that just seems to make you blush even more. It’s a stalemate until she reaches across the table, poking at your red cheek. You break.

“God, fine, maybe- I don’t know, okay!” You huff, looking down to avoid her eyes. “We’ve talked like everyday since my tattoo came in, but I still feel like I don’t knowing anything about him!” 

“Huh-”

“He’s so, like, dodgy- about everything I ask him. It was like pulling teeth just to get his name! And it’s not even his full name! Just his last.” You pulled at your jacket, sinking into your seat. “Bakugou just like, avoids everything I ask him! I’ve told him about my quirk, and what I’m studying, but he won’t tell me anything! He just like gives me a two-word answer or calls me a name- which is fine, I actually find that part funny- but still. He gives me nothing. Absolutely fuck all nothing unless I literally beg for it!” 

“Woah, okay, breathe, Y/n. ” Selene holds a placating hand towards you. “Look, I’m sure he has his reasons. I mean, they’re probably shitty reasons since he’s like a 20 year old gu-”

“21.”

“Yeah, okay, since he’s 21, and definitely immature, but they’re still his reasons.”

“Who the fuck cares about reasons? I mean we’re literally soulmates. We’re gonna know everything about each other eventually, so I have no idea why he’s being so cagey! Actually, now that I think about it, it’s really kind of irritating!”

You gasp suddenly, not realizing how involved your rant had gotten. Apparently you were more upset than you realized, or at least significantly more annoyed.

You think back to how you felt yesterday- after you’d read Sunshine at the end of his text. You were light and airy and happy, but all of that seemed to have faded. God, what you wouldn’t give to feel like that now.

Selene waves a hand in front of your face, up and down in front of your eyes until you meet her gaze.

“I get that. I understand where that would come from, but all that really matters is whether or not you like talking to him- do you like talking to him?”

“Yes.” You say simply, surprised by how easy the conclusion was to come to. “I do.” 

“Then don’t stress, sweetie.” Selene pats your hand. “Tell me about the things you do like.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Your smile is small, timid, unsure, but you find the words come easy. “I like that he’s funny- and that he swears a lot. And that might be even more funny, because sometimes I’ll look at my texts and I swear it’s like there’s a 12 year old on the other end.” 

Selene just smiles, nodding to urge you on.

“I like that he gets super shy if I say anything nice to him- it’s like he freezes up and just swears everywhere and types in all caps.” You feel your cheeks heating up as you speak, but that doesn’t stop you. “I like that he’ll text me if I don’t text him- and that he responds fast when I do. And I like that he’s blunt- there’s less words for me to get anxious over that way.” 

“Alright. I’ve decided.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I like him for you.” She shrugs. “And I have good opinions so don’t argue.”

“But he still-”

“Yeah, I get it. But at the end of the day he’s still your soulmate, right?” She leans forward, tapping your forehead. “So stop overthinking it. You wouldn’t have that tattoo if he wasn’t supposed to be good for you.”

“Yeah.” You feel the sudden urge to hug her, overcome with yet another reason why you loved her so much. “I was being sort of ridiculous wasn’t I?”

“No, not ridiculous. It’s a valid complaint.”  

You nod.

“He does need to start telling you more, especially if you’re already telling him about you.” Selene brushes her hair back with an errant hand. “But I also think you tend to fixate on reasons to leave instead of looking for reasons to stay- and I’m not gonna let you do that this time.” 

You just look up at her, finding nothing but Selene’s gentle smile. 

It hits you then that she’s right. You did always search for the bad instead of making your own good. With relationships. With friendships. Even with school- but she was right. You couldn’t do that this time. It wouldn’t just affect you, it’d affect Bakugou too. 

“Hey, I love you, you know?” You suddenly tell her.

“I know. You’re my ride or die, bitch, of course you do.” She laughs. “Now c’mon, lets go actually order, and you can let me read through all those texts you were talking about.”  

“No!” 

She just laughs, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the register.

--/--

Later that night you’re sitting with your phone in hand, nerves making a tangled mess of your insides.

You were stalling.

There was a part of you, a big part of you that just wanted to ask him. Ask him about his full name, and his quirk, and his job, or his school if that’s where he was- about his life, and just not take no for an answer. Wanted to needle and pry and be annoying until you had one fact about him to match every one you’d already given him about yourself.

But there was another part of you too. Another part that wanted to see him call you Sunshine and keep him happy instead of possibly irritating him. And that part was screaming just as loud.

You groaned, setting your phone down once again, and rolling onto your side. Your eyes caught on to the TV. You’d switched it on earlier, hoping the background noise of the local news could help settle your nerves, but it didn’t work. As of now though, you were quickly held captive by the footage you saw.

On screen was a recap of a battle that had occurred a few days ago- and it didn’t look good. The villian was terrifying; a black, oozing mass of tar that seemed to swallow people and objects whole. It was running a rampage through the city, it’s undeniable strength completely unchallenged by the police force- until suddenly? An explosion. Multiple explosions. Big, loud, noisy explosions and chaos and bright light until the villain was shot clean through with a grenade blast. The villain fell, engulfed by a cloud of smoke and debris.

You watched as the smoke cleared from the camera footage, only seeing the vaguest outline of a man before they were jetting offscreen by the force of their own explosions. 

“Burgeoning pro-hero Dynamite yet again saving the day, and then quickly leaving the scene.” The newscaster announced, voice drowning out the sound of the disaster footage. 

The scene switches as the fight recap footage ends. The usual roundtable of reporters is shown instead, and they quickly begin discussing the fight.

“It’s not altogether surprising,” A woman says. “In fact, it’s almost better if he leaves, don’t you think? I mean, surely no one’s forgotten what happened in Hosu right?”

Another reporter winces. “Yep, definitely not. Even a year out from the incident it’s still hard to see him in the same light as before.”

You shift on your bed, suddenly scared half to death by the loud sound of your phone hitting the floor. 

Fuck. 

Even after the quick break, you still couldn’t decide what to say to him. 

Luckily, he didn’t let you worry about that for much longer. 

#katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha fic #mha fic #bakugou soulmate textfic #bakugou soulmate au #mha soulmate au

[missinghan]

radiant ⤖ han jisung

❖ genre : college!au ; love-hate relationship!au ; frenemies to lovers!au ; fluff

❖ word count : 10k.

❖ warning : explicit language & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : you've made a mental note to yourself never to make dumb bets with J.One again because who knows you'll fall for Han Jisung over two cups of boba?

one.

College. 

That specific morifying seven-letter word can literally make someone jump off a cliff. Like straight up, Lucifer would rather drink and bathe himself in holy water than to join one of the world's most traumatizing systems. Where knowledge is being drilled into people's mind like a tattoo, and it's not even a cute one, one that you most likely will regret later. 

Man, what a life. 

After highschool, most people thought they were ready, physically and mentally. That's not true. Did you really think that you're ready for monotonous lectures, for back-to-back assignments with ridiculous deadlines, for cramming forty slides of the PowerPoint presentation from your professor the night before an exam just because your brain cells decided to say 'fuck it' in the middle of the lecture ? 

No one's ever ready for living to torture themselves. 

Not even Hwang Hyunjin. Hyunjin, the boy you grew up having him right by your window. Hyunjin, that one kid in class who would always hand people his homework whenever they asked for it. He's too kind for this world, for his own good, you often say that to yourself but Hyunjin isn't really all that great. 

He too takes pain in turning in assignments to the T.A and dreads his 9am classes tremendously. But, since he's got a rich ass uncle who has some spare apartments lying somewhat near college ( as long as he preserves the place and invites someone over to help paying the bills ), he doesn't have to deal with the struggles of living on campus. 

And you, just happen to have the honor to live with him. Well, more like temporarily to see how things will work out later. You despise living on campus anyway. 

"What's with the long face ? Did Minho ramble about his cats again instead of working ?" Hyunjin walks into the living room before dropping his keys into the gold-accent bowl that he previously purchased from a garage sale. It's quite convenient, actually, the keys never end up under the couch or some random drawers again.

You look up from your laptop screen, sparing him a glare and focusing back on your assignment. Being a media major is equivalent to taking lots of notes and a shit ton of reading which is a pain in the ass. Meanwhile, a theatre kid like your roommate has his midterms and finals as setting up plays for school's events. Pfft, privileged people.

You don't hate-hate the idea of going to school like some people, in fact, you genuinely love learning, but you're in desperate need of another word for 'child labour' to be applied to this ... situation.

"Ohoho.. It's way worse, trust me, you don't wanna know." You lean your head sideways on one of the pillows, words slightly slurred with your cheek being pressed against the soft surface.

Hyunjin raises his voice from the kitchen area. "Did he confess his love for you or something ?"

"Jesus no ! You know he's not into me like that." You almost screech and sit straight up. "We were supposed to finish our project that's due this Friday. And guess who else was there ? Another chick showed up ! I swear that I wasn't hallucinating, he brought a new one home every other day. She said she was just 'a friend'." You make the quote-on-quote sign with your fingers to emphasize.

You pull on your own hair dramatically with all your might, hissing under your breath just by recalling it. "And whenever we had a twenty-minute break every hour and a half or so, she keeps brushing herself against him, acting all innocent about it. I was deadass pissed off—"

"Woah woah, I don't think it's that—"

You throw your hands in the air helplessly, suppressing the urge to throw a tantrum. "It is that bad, Hyunjin ! The chick doesn't know how to take a fucking hint !" Whatever, Hyunjin is probably too tired to wait for you to finish complaining about some random classmate drooling over Minho because they do that all the time anyway.

"Damn." He sips on his apple juice. "I should come over next time. Might be a not-so-shitty, watered-down version of 'Fifty Shades of Grey'."

You shoot him a glare, closing your laptop shut. "I instantly regret moving in with you."

"Why ?" Hyunjin pouts and plops himself next to you on the beige-colored couch. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table while obnoxiously sipping on the box of juice.

"Because apparently, you love weird, gross, mushy noises as much as Minho does." You answer flatly, burying yourself deeper into the white fuzzy blanket. Actually, no. Living with Hyunjin isn't as bad as you're trying to make it sound.

He might not cook, but he knows some decent restaurant with reasonable prices. He might be all over the place sometimes while panicking over an upcoming exam but at least he keeps his space organized ( unlike Han Jisung, whose closet is a perfect resemblance of World War III ).

Hyunjin throws his apple juice into the nearby bin while scrolling through the 'Romance' section briefly. And sharing the same Netflix account is probably the best decision you two have ever made. "What's worth-hating here ? No smelly kids, no not-having-enough-personal-space problem. There's good food, a cute, quirky roommate which naturally equals good company. You're living your best life right now. The only downside to this is that you have to deal with my questionable sleeping habits."

Fine. Hwang Hyunjin is cute, and a total heartthrob to the entire school. You won't be surprised if every single male student hates him with a passion ( which they do ). Not to mention, all of your female classmates would be more than happy to finish all of your assignments within two days as long as you hand over his number. Although they might want to reconsider due to the fact that this good-looking boy is also that person who records his alarm by yelling at the top of his lungs into his phone speaker.

But, a good friend wouldn't do that, because even God doesn't know what those creepy girls would do once they had their hands on his phone number. This is also why you always get dirty looks from everyone just because you just happen to be his plus-one for everything.

And Hwang Hyunjin only needs a plus-one when Seungmin decides to hate him on that day ( which is almost everyday ). So there goes your reputation. You're probably nothing but a mediocre girl who just doesn't know when not to be all over her hot best friend in the people's eyes.

Hyunjin snaps his head towards the front door when the bell rings then proceeds to turn back to his roommate, showing those ridiculously adorable puppy that naturally implies as 'Get the door for me, will ya ?'. And although all you want to do is to slap him with your laptop, you still stand up nonetheless. You undo the chains and slides the lock over before swinging the door open.

"Hyunjin, I was wondering if you wanna come see us perform this Saturday. You know, at the school's mini music festival. 8p.m. Got two tickets to spare. You can get yourself a plus-one or something." And before you - with an obnoxiously loud tone, the leather jacket and Balenciaga cap - is Changbin, who sassily brushes past you and makes a beeline towards the couch, where Hyunjin is man-spreading, wrapped up securely in his white fluffy blanket.

He lazily sits up from his previous position, receiving the tickets with half-open eyes. "I'll go. As long as 'Wow' is on schedule." 'Wow' is 3racha's first and most definitely last attempt of a love song but somehow, it's managed to get itself a special place in Hyunjin's heart. Well, more accurately, everyone's heart.

Changbin cocks an eyebrow. "It's first on the list actually." He then turns to you with a smirk spread across his lips. "Whatcha say, Y/N ? We all know your favorite line is 'Excuse me noona, do you have a boyfriend ?' from the lovely J.One." He refers to one of Jisung's lines in a love song which he wrote at the age of 16, Changbin wasn’t even 18 himself then. Good times. And now literally every girl is more than ready to throw themselves at him anytime, anywhere. Chan really didn't lie when he proclaimed 3racha as 'hot'.

You shake your head with a timid smile tugged on your lips. "I don't think so Bin, I'm having midterms on Monday, J.One can be saved later as my midnight snack whenever I wanna grill his ass for pestering me during the golden hour aka 3a.m."

Midterms sound good enough for an excuse because everyone would literally kill keep their A-s on those report cards. But unfortunately, you can't just play on the infamous SpearB that easily because apparently, being roommates with Hyunjin has absolutely nothing to do with improving your awful acting skills.

Just then, the most inappropriate, insufferable, infuriating, and other synonyms for 'annoying' clapback clicks inside Changbin's brain when an imaginary lightbulb pops up at the top of his head. "Man, you two are really out there banging each other in secret—"

And out the door he goes before you feel the need to personally stitch up his lips with your terrible sewing skills from elementary school. You close your eyes and takes in a deep breath, shutting the door behind your back while Hyunjin is too busy laughing his ass off on the couch.

This is getting to the point where you don't even need Han Jisung to be here to have the urge to strangle him, because his trash friends are no help at all.

two.

You step onto the bus with your earbuds on, right hand dropping the bus ticket into the glass box that's neatly placed right beside the driver's seat. Another day, another 4 hours of lectures and 2 continuous shifts which is another 5 hours at the café on campus, in which, sucks. But, what makes it even suckier comes right in three, two, one..

"Two people please !" A disturbingly obnoxious voice chirps right behind you. Just then, a figure dashes through the couple who are currently throwing daggers at him with their eyes. Not this again. You groans to yourself before sliding an extra ticket into the box because you definitely know better than to mess with a cranky bus driver. That boy over there really gotta pay for that shit.

Then, you take a seat beside the window, deciding to ignore the pest who just made you spend an extra ticket for his ride. You really should have taken another bus instead of the 325. Suddenly, a hand reaches towards one of your earbuds and pulls it out quickly. A puff of air hits your left eardrums like a rush of electricity, causing you to jump a bit.

"Can you stay still for a good span of 10 fucking seconds ?" You deadpan and and snap your head around. And before you - with slightly damp fringe covering his warm brown orbs, cute button nose and peachy lips ( gross ) - is Han Jisung. More accurately, the bane of your existence.

Jisung chuckles loudly at the big scowl on your face as he angles his head to take a proper look at you. You look like you just rolled out of bed, literally, not even metaphorically. Sweatpants, flannels and sneakers are the way to go if you're gonna be on your feet all day running around to serve sleep-deprived students and professors. Of course you look like a complete bum, it's 9a.m. What did he expect ?

"Aw." He pouts. "Where's the fun in that then, little cub ?"

And when Jisung reaches a hand out to pat your head, you frowns at his particularly ridiculous nickname for you and slaps his hand away. He watched the new remake of 'The Lion King' before the new semester started and cried like a total baby when Mufasa fell off the cliff, said Felix. Honestly, you wouldn't blame him because those devastating thirty seconds remain to be the most heartbreaking scene that Disney has ever invented. But still, the nickname is painfully unoriginal.

"Man, I hope you bombed your midterms or something." You speak up flatly, a slightly better retort lingering at the tip of your tongue but you're far too tired to argue with him anyway. And not to mention, your previous statement is completely useless because if Hwang Hyunjin is that kid who works his ass off to get good grades then Jisung is the complete opposite of that. He can sleep through ten lectures and still get a minimum of 90% on his exams. The perks of being a prodigy since newborn, can't relate.

Jisung feigns a painful expression, scrunching his nose up in fake agony. "How supportive of you, so incredibly validating." He cocks his head upwards carelessly, giving you a full view of his side profile.

Okay. Despite his annoying personality and questionable nicknames for everyone then Han Jisung is kinda attractive. You get it, you get it, Hwang Hyunjin is attractive but this prick is another kind of attractive.

Whenever he screams his heart out at the mic on stage, there are literal silver and gold specks floating in his eyes like an explosion of stardust scattered across the whole universe. And the way he conveys his emotions into his lyrics to perform an entire song on stage is just tremendously remarkable. No wonder all the girls always come rushing in when J.One is on stage.

Wait, were you thinking about Han Jisung or J.One ? But no, Han Jisung is J.One. It's just that J.One is slightly cooler than Jisung because he doesn't pester people until they have a cardiac arrest. Whatever, your brain is already yelling for retirement.

"You are coming to watch my performance right ?" Jisung suddenly leans over, your noses almost touching. Being the idiotic person that you are, your body immediately locks itself in place, hissing slightly at the current proximity. Great, now what ?

"Ooh." A low whistle escapes his lips. "You were too busy checking me out. It's okay, that's understandable. Not everyone can have a close-up of J.One's out-of-this-world visual." He flips his imaginary long hair and you make a gagging noise.

"I was not !" You exclaim upon embarrassment, cheeks turning into a bright shade of coral. "There's just something in your teeth."

"Uh huh, I doubt it." Yeah, he would never buy that. Jisung smiles at you cheekily and once again, Han Jisung has proved that he's the kind of guy who has the particular type of smile that makes you want to knock their teeth out. Although you can't help but fall for it nonetheless. Very typical of you. "So, are you coming or nah ?"

Your heart tingles a bit, and you feel like you can just pass out right here right now on this stupid bus in the middle of this stupid conversation with his stupid boy and his stupid smile. "No, I have my midterms on Monday. Guess who's pulling all nighters again ?" You push his face away because if not, you might as well just explode and make a fool of yourself.

"Ahhhh, why not ?" Jisung whines as if there's no tomorrow. "It's not like you enjoy drowning yourself in Kang's 40 slides of 'History of Media 101' anyway." Now, for once in a fairly long time, the bastard finally said something that wasn't complete bullshit. And you're starting to reconsider your decision because although Han Jisung is undeniably insufferable, J.One can make it up with his dope performances. But then again, you really just don't want to see his face on Saturdays.

Suddenly he rolls himself over again, his lips drawing a devilish smile. You can tell already from the dangerous look in his eyes, it's not going to end well.

"Are you in for a bet ? If I win, you'll have to go. But if you win, I'll do whatever you want me to, for an entire week. You're basically the privileged one here, don't even deny it."

three.

Changbin wakes up from his long nap to find Chan having his eyes glued to the laptop's screen as if his life depends on it. It makes him wonder how long his friend has been working on the rearrangement of all their songs for this Saturday's music festival.

"I see that you're making quite the progress." He grunts slightly before sitting up straight. The small faux leather couch that their school has in the band practice room isn't exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep on. But after what seems like an eternity in the lecture hall, tolerating the professor's rant then Changbin wouldn't even mind sleeping on the floor.

Chan slowly peels his eyes away from the screen and blinks numerous times so that he won't potentially go blind. He looks over at Changbin's slouch figure on the couch, tapping away on his phone and smiles dumbly at some memes that Minho just DM-ed to their group chat.

"Damn right, I just finished chopping up the bits of back-up vocals. I feel like my back is so fragile that it might break in half if I stand up." He runs a hand through his mop of black hair that's nowhere near the definition of 'doable' and yawns into his other palm.

He peeks over his shoulder to see Hyunjin and Felix sleeping while leaning against the mirror, Minho laying on top of Jeongin as he chuckles creepily at his phone. And Woojin is too busy singing his heart out with his guitar in the corner to notice Seungmin capturing everyone in their greatest glory, meaning when they're all a hot mess.

Changbin swings his legs over and slips into his black Adidas slides, walking over to Chan in a sluggish manner. He crouches down a bit while squinting his eyes to take a proper look at the laptop screen. Chan indeed has finished most of it, no wonder he looks ( and probably smells ) like trash. "I'll give you a hand, just send these over to me after when you got home." He says, giving his friend a pat on his back.

"Yeah sure," Chan puts a hand over his mouth to cover up another yawn. "By the way, where the fuck is Jisung ? He hasn't been answering my texts all morning."

Changbin gives him an indifferent shrug. "He said he would be on campus all day on Thursdays since he has classes and work right after- hold on he's texting me."

[ 5:23pm ]

piece of shit : where are you guys ?

baby changbin : band room, clearly you never listened.

[ 5:24pm ]

piece of shit : yeesh, I was busy you ass. texting y/n and all.

baby changbin : it was fucking 3a.m. !

[ 5:25pm ]

piece of shit : whatever, we'll be there in two.

He pauses for a while and lets the words sink in. Why "we" and not "I" ? Since when this was a plural thing ? Did all of those lectures and serving sleep-deprived students fuck up his brain cells ?

Wow, now Changbin feels bold to assume that Han Jisung even own brain cells. And before he can show the texts to the rest of his friends to make fun of Jisung while he's not here, the glass door swings open. Hyunjin and Felix jolt up in surprise at the same time, almost bumping their heads together at the creaking sound.

"We got you kids boba, wake up wake up hurry hurry SCHNELL !" Jisung screeches loudly when he pushes himself through the front door, accidentally making you bump your forehead into the dull glass surface.

You follows him inside with a big scowl on your face, quickly passing Changbin the plastic bags. Yes, you can hear the polar bears crying in the distance loud and clear but unluckily you only have two hands for ten cups of boba.

"Why boba all of a sudden ?" Minho looks up from his phone in boredom as Jeongin is utterly dying underneath, slapping his palm repeatedly against the floor in exhaustion.

Minho feels ( kinda ) bad for him and decides to roll himself over, setting Jeongin free from his miserable state. "Did you two go on a date or something ?" The youngest one's features morph into a frown, eyeing the two up and down in caution when he crosses his legs together.

You make an unimpressed face and glares at Jisung, who's currently hogging the entire black couch on his own. "Who the fuck would make their date carry everything then ? You tell me Jeongin."

Woojin stands up after craning his neck and shakes his head in disapproval. "My greatest disappointment, Han Jisung, would do that unfortunately." He walks over to Felix and Hyunjin to get himself a cup from the bag.

"Let's be honest, you'd still date him even if he does that anyway. I haven never seen any other girl who has the courage to personally rummage through his disastrous closet just to steal a hoodie." He takes a sip and smirks at the black hoodie that you're wearing. Woojin thinks you should definitely give yourself more credit because personally, he can't be bothered to step into Jisung's room, much less his closet.

You're still slightly confused for a moment there but quickly look down and almost gasp in realization. "I can explain—"

"Don't worry Y/N, if he ever mistreats you, you best believe that he's not gonna see tomorrow's daylight." Felix supplies unhelpfully over a mouthful of boba. Since when did he become such a nuisance ? But he's not entirely wrong because if no one volunteers to skin Jisung alive when he leaves you with a broken heart then Hyunjin will literally disown him. He doesn't care if it's legal or not because even a law student like Woojin would be on his side in this.

You hold up your hand defeatedly. "The jerk purposely left it on my couch back at the apartment. And Hyunjin didn't want to return nor wash it so I was obligated to do that myself. Eventually, the hoodie just ended up on a hanger right behind my bedroom door. Not to mention, I was running late earlier and had nothing to wear." You finish your sentence, realizing that your roommate has been giving you a 'wtf' face all his time.

"Out of reasons already ?" Chan chirps, raising a dark brow.

Okay.

In your defense, it's a goddamn good hoodie. The material is actually really nice that you might accidentally fall asleep if you wear this to class. You didn't mind the design on it either, kinda boyish but very funky, almost hippie looking. And last but not least, the smell of it is intoxicating, leaving you yearning for more. That's also equivalent to Jisung smells nice ( ew ) and your cheeks automatically heat up at the thought of feeling like he's hugging you whenever you wear it.

You frantically try to explain with expressive hands. "Look, guys—"

"You're going this Saturday !!" Jisung's voice suddenly booms behind your back as he declares loudly like it's the most worth-knowing thing in the whole wide world. The guys trade confused look with each other, not knowing what nonsense their friend is babbling about. Whatever, they don't have to either way. "You're going, you're going, you're going !"

You look over at Hyunjin's cup in disbelief, completely full and untouched. Meanwhile, Felix has already finished his drink in between the 15-minute conversation. You blinks and quickly comprehends the new amount of information, you lost the bet. Which means...

Screw midterms.

four.

Screw the music festival, you’re not going anywhere.

“How’s this ?” Hyunjin steps out from his room with a white dress shirt tucked inside his skinny jeans. And you hate him even more now because your roommate looks totally #boyfriendmaterial in every outfit that he’s been trying for the past half an hour. Really, Hyunjin should give himself more credit for his looks because you bet girls would still throw themselves at him even if he showed up to school looking homeless and all.

You look up from your phone in boredom. “Looks good to me.”

Upon your flat reply, Hyunjin shoots you a glare. “Good ? It only stops there at ‘good’ ? Then which item in my closet appeals to you as ‘spectacular’ or ‘breathtaking’ ? Should I just hire a personal stylist or something ?” He wants to snap at you but ends up whining like a elementary school kid that’s not allowed to drink his favorite soda from the vending machine.

“Dude, eat a chill pill.” You frown slightly at his particularly dramatic ass ( tsk, drama majors ) and decide to put your phone down. “You’re going to a music festival, at uni. Not attending some kind of award shows for celebrities.”

Hyunjin snickers before clicking his tongue. “And you’re planning on wearing that ?”

Your roommate is stressing himself over being overdressed for an event. You, on the other hand, haven’t even made up your mind about an outfit yet and your plus-one is picking you up in less than 30 minutes. And you’re still here, on the couch, in your pyjamas. Call it madness but personally, you wouldn’t mind wearing this to the music festival. Music is technically art in some kind of shape or form and only uncultured swines judge those who prefer being comfy over fashionable.

Come on, it’s art. Your pyjamas can express yourself in some sort of way right ?

“Stop shitting on my Mickey Mouse sweatpants as if it’s something straight out of the 1910s.” You protest, urging to throw the jar filled with gummy bear on the coffee table at his precious face. Mickey is definitely not going anywhere since you guys have been bonding since middle school.

Hyunjin pauses in the middle of his track going back into his room. Suddenly he turns around and smiles at you creepily. “It’s Jisung, isn’t it ?”

Yeah, no. Most definitely not. Still not him. Nuh uh. Okay… Maybe it’s because you don’t want to embarrass your plus-one because he’s also a total heartthrob. Maybe, it could be something about the fact that you’re afraid you’re not gonna look as good as your roommate. Or maybe it’s something inside the can of Redbull that you downed last night while rewatching the last episode of ‘Goblin’. You don’t even like Redbull.

Shit, you’re running out of excuses already.

“Actually, I was thinking that it’d be better if I didn’t show up.” You confess timidly, scared to meet Hyunjin’s confused expression.

When you gather enough courage to look up, he looks absolutely unimpressed and partially disappointed. “And you’re just gonna rain-check on Choi Yeonjun like that ? Changbin’s not letting this slide, I’ll tell you that.” He shakes his head in disapproval, this time turning on his heels to walk towards his bedroom door.

Something inside your stomach is tickling, as if it’s trying to tell you that you’re about to commit some kind of unforgivable sin if you don’t go to the festival. And just when you’re about to ignore it and wrap yourself up warmly on the L-shaped couch like the lazy bum that you are, your phone buzzes.

[ 4:24pm ]

yeonjun | I’ll be there in five.

five.

Only losers go to a music festival without a plus-one.

Hyunjin is one lucky bastard because Seungmin is tolerating his ass for the day. Meanwhile, Woojin is too busy pestering Felix to let him sneak into backstage looking for Changbin. And by now, everyone probably knows that Minho is secretly obsessed with Jeongin since he's decided to stick himself to the youngest like the spoiled parasite that he is. But that's not the point. Point is : you're terrible at navigation so you're obligated to get yourself a plus-one.

And he just happens to be Choi Yeonjun, that one business major who's secretly a dancer that left everyone's wig flying to Africa during last year's prom. You two have walked past each other before between periods and since he's an acquaintance of Changbin, he'd always wave back at you with the sweetest smile. You see him as a fun person to be around, kinda like a sunshine.

But what you didn't know is that, if your group of friend's chaotic energy is 3000, then Yeonjun alone is already on another level.

"Why the long face Y/N ? Enjoy the music, relax, let the night set you free !" Yeonjun chuckles at the frown on your face as he swings an arm over your shoulder. You can already tell that he's getting a bit tipsy from his tinted red cheeks and his breath smells like beer. Never knew the guy couldn't go heavy with his alcohol. Much like your roommate himself.

You peel the red plastic cup away from his hand to abandon it on some random table, dragging him away from the bar before his friend - Beomgyu, offers him some kind of sketchy looking drink. The kid is only a freshman and you feel like you should strangle the person who permitted him to be the bartender for the night.

"Alright, that's enough beer for you." You tell him mild-seriously, partially because you don't want him to end up knocked out in the middle of nowhere and partially because you can't contain someone who's drunk, not even yourself. "Let's find Soobin, I bet he's running around campus looking for your ass."

"What do you mean he's looking for my ass ? He's at home playing stupid boardgames with stupid Taehyun." Yeonjun slurs, shaking the haziness away furiously before fluttering his eyes upwards. "Look !" He squeals a little bit too loudly for anyone's liking. "It's your boyfriend !"

You abruptly put your index finger on his lips. "Shh shhh ! Han Jisung is not my boyfriend ! Watch your mouth, please, I beg." You hush him and glance around to look for any signs of Hyunjin or Felix popping out from a random bush to make fun of you. "We're barely friends, why would you think that we're dating ?!" You cry dramatically, cheeks burning with a bright shade of pink.

The blue haired boy makes a thinking face, which you think it's undeniably cute, before pointing towards the stage. "Because he's looking at you ?" He says cluelessly, giggling while clapping happily like a seal.

You unconsciously lift your head to eye the stage. Time seems to stop when you realize Jisung has been staring at you all this time. His expression is unfathomable. Your heart starts thundering loudly inside your rib cage, so loud that it overcomes the loud EDM music in the background, so loud that you're afraid he might hear it even when he's so far away.

In this light, in the middle of your chaos, there is Jisung. And he's absolutely otherworldly, radiant, dazzling, coruscating. Gosh, you can go on forever if your brain cells allow you to.

The moment he breaks eye contact, that's when you're pondering over who is it that your heart is beating for. Han Jisung ? Or is it just J.One ? Because you've seen Jisung as a total pest who never takes things seriously, who always makes you pay an extra ticket for his ride to uni, who spontaneously sends you derp pictures of him in the middle of a lecture. But no matter where you go, he would constantly pop up inside your mind out of nowhere. Like a phantom.

Suddenly, Chan's voice booms through the speaker, making you jump. "The performance of 3racha will be delayed due to technical errors. We apologize for this inconvenience." You stand there dumbly, blinking numerous times for his words to sink in. The question here isn't really 'what?' but 'why?'. 3racha take music very seriously and they're not the type to slack off any performances even if it's just for a school's small event.

You snap your head back to the stage, Chan and Changbin are talking to a technical staff, an apologetic smile blooming on their faces. But wait, where the fuck is Jisung ?

"Told ya !" Yeonjun hiccups into your ear. "What kind of non-boyfriend will cancel a performance just to come and see you like this ?" You should have gone with Hyunjin, you really should.. You bet he's not even half as drunk a Yeonjun right now since all Seungmin drinks is kombucha.

Unexpectedly, and also expectedly, you find yourself staring at Jisung, who's speed-walking towards your direction, like a complete dumbass. There's fire flickering at the back of his irises, burning intensely onto you. His brows are knitted together, his jacket hanging slightly over his shoulder, teasing you with a flash of his biceps. You also notice how the microphone is still there, in his hand.

Did he fucking leave the stage just to see you ?

Jisung breathes out a puff of smoke from the chilly air. "Y/N, got you."

Your heart actually feels like it’s hanging on the edges when your name rolls off his tongue so tenderly. "And you are ?" He looks over at Yeonjun with an almost disgusted expression, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. You don't blame him either way because Yeonjun looks like he just made it out of one of the world's most traumatizing lunatic asylum with shitty security. And Jisung wouldn't let you walk around with a crazy guy attached to you like a total creep. Not when he's monitoring.

“Y/N’s plus-one ?”

“Well that makes two of us.”

Yeonjun holds his hands up as if he's being held at gunpoint. "Easy, dude, I'm leaving. I'm leaving. She's all yours." He laughs, sounding almost too nervous to be true because Jisung is somewhat scary whenever someone gets on his bad side. Just ask Highschool Hyunjin.

"You're wasted as fuck, what makes you think that I'll let you go home alone like this ?" You say, flinching slightly when you feel Jisung tightens his grip on your hand. He cocks a brow as if he's testing you.

"Nah, I'm not going anywhere. Just gonna swing by the bar, Beomgyu probably came up with something to knock me out." Without a proper goodbye nor a hug like his normally playful self usually does, the blue haired boy turns on his heels to walk away from the scene. And you exhale deeply out of relief, not because you hated Yeonjun's company, you might actually hang out with him again. Just not where there's alcohol.

Jisung still hasn't let go of your hand yet, and surprisingly, you don't want him to. "I take that as you two aren't dating ?" He questions, studying your features more closely. You're really pretty, he thinks. Jisung has never once hesitant about using the word 'pretty' for you and he's not afraid to show it either. It's just that you never bothered to notice.

"No ? Hyunjin decided to ditch me for Seungmin and Yeonjun's a mutual friend through Changbin so we texted, and he picked me up after when Hyunjin left." You give him a weird look, confused by how pissed off he looks right now. "And I take that as you're jealous ?"

Jisung laughs humorously, his voice doused in dry sarcasm. "Huh, funny. Last time I checked, you were supposed to be backstage with me since you lost the bet, not clinging yourself onto some hot guy from Changbin's Biochem 101." Of course Jisung is pissed off. How could he not when you're all smiling and laughing with another guy, when he has an arm over your shoulder, holding you so lovingly, so tightly ? Another guy that's not him.

You widen your eyes at how ridiculous he sounds, almost in disbelief. "Excuse you ? Since when 'being backstage with you' was even a thing in our bet ?" Yeah, completely unheard of. "And I was not clinging onto him, I'll have you know that he chugged on a bottle of Hennie and ended up wobbling around like a fucking toddler !"

Your voice is getting louder and louder by the second, chest heaving up and down in anger because he is in fact, being extra insufferable tonight. You haven’t seen him acting like this since he officially declared cold war with Hyunjin back in junior year highschool.

"Oh yeah ? Then what ? You liked that ? It makes me sick to the stomach seeing you giggling at one of his stupid jokes. You seemed so fucking comfortable even when he's this close ?" Jisung tugs in your arm to pull you closer, his cool breath fanning your forehead. Your cheeks unknowingly feel hot, but you're not going to admit it to his face. "You're completely okay with this ?"

You grimace a stiff smile. "Of course I am." Oh boy were you wrong.

"Even now ?" He places his hands over your shoulder to bend down, angling his face so that the tip of his nose is brushing over yours. His gaze pierces right through you, leaving you completely stripped and vulnerable. And you hate every single part of this. You hate how you heart is swelling, how his touches burn like fire, how much effect he has on you with such minimal effort.

Jisung says with a devilish smirk blooming on his lips. "Hmm ? I don't know Y/N, you look pretty burnt up to me."

"It's because of the heat—" You instantly regret what you said when it starts to rain. Droplets of water repeatedly tap against your skin like clear champagne. A cloud shadows over you two and another splatter of rain comes along. Goosebumps rise on your skin at the cool sensation as your limbs lock themselves in place. Jisung has never broken eye contact with yours since then, specks of good and silver floating in his eyes like a brilliant explosion of a supernova.

Just when you thought your lips was gonna collide, something unexpected happens. Jisung takes off his jacket and swings it over your shoulders. He gently holds you by the waist as he hurries you inside, your gaze never once leaves his features. He's saying something but you can't quite catch it, it's hard to concentrate when he's being all affectionate and sweet to you like this.

You are far too busy telling your heart not to explode.

six.

Felix stomps over to your table and slams his tray of food down aggressively. Everyone peels their eyes off what they’re doing for the time being, throwing a weird look towards him. With a satisfied smile on his face, Felix drops his notebook onto the table. Changbin glances at him with an expressionless face, almost yawned in boredom. “And how did it go again ?” He drawls tiredly as if he has heard the same joke over and over for an entire week.

“You know that feeling when you feel like you’re completely detached from your own body and just stare at yourself from above ? I was up there, mind blank while my mouth couldn’t stop blabbering about what ever the fuck was on those slides. I ditched my Flashcards, completely untouched, 5 minutes has never flown by so quick. Boom, the professor didn’t even think twice about giving me an A.” Felix leans back on his chair comfortably after wrapping up his story.

Seungmin scrunches his nose at his friend. “Yeah sure, it’s an A. Big fucking deal.” Kim Seungmin basically has a full scholarship straight to college in the middle of his senior highschool year, you can say that he has the right to be unimpressed.

Minho shrugs indifferently, scrolling through his feed to kill some time. “It is for Yongbok apparently, give him a break. You know he hardly gets any when his brain only consists of Seo Changbin and Fortnite.”

Felix hisses at the older boy like a cat when you accidentally step on its tail, threatening to gouge out one of his eyes with the plastic fork on his hand. Minho being on his ass 24/7 just makes college that much more of a hellhole. He can’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance because no one is even trying to spare a ‘Good job’ or ‘Good for you’. He might actually need new friends, Felix ponders.

But wait, something’s missing.

Jisung didn’t even try to make fun of him. And he never missed a single chance to pester him or call him out every time he’s all giddy over good grades. In other words, his secret life as a potential nerd has been foiled thanks to Han Jisung. But apparently, girls find it hot when a nerd is secretly a dancer.

He looks over to his friend and frowns furiously. A hood thrown over his head, eyes glued to his laptop screen, Jisung looks extra antisocial today and Felix can feel something’s off because he would be jumping around, yelling into your ears by now, not making a PowerPoint presentation. “What’s wrong with you two ?” He asks, noticing how you’re also acting strange.

You’re mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, and stop abruptly at a new post from @j.one. It’s a picture of Jisung grinning while gripping on a microphone followed by a caption “Always have so much fun performing w/ my bros, @spearB & @cb97 - photo by @princehwang #SocialSaturday”.

You almost snickered, feeling the need to change it into “#TBT”. Not only because this photo was taken months ago for a summer music festival nearby Uni, but also because this bright side of Han Jisung no longer exists. He hardly talked to you since Saturday, ignored you when you made eye-contact with him on the hallways, didn’t even ask you to pay for his ride.

Basically, he’s making a fuss out of nothing. But you wouldn’t say that it feels good not having him call you ‘little cub’ 50 times a day or send you random messages during a lecture like ‘go out with me ?’. You never take them seriously anyway because he can’t like you just like that, right ? “Ask him, not me.” You raise a brow towards Jisung, earning a glare from him as a reply. “I’m not the one who’s being petty over me going to a music festival with Choi Yeonjun.”

Jisung sighs dramatically and shuts his laptop close. “Is that all you got ?” He inquires sarcastically as if he’s gonna set you on fire if you dare to try him.

“That’s what I said the first time we played Mario Kart together, isn’t it ? I totally kicked your ass, to the curb.”  You protest as the blood running through your veins slowly boils. If it weren’t for Hyunjin to hold your shoulders in place, you would have thrown hands at Jisung.

Jisung slams his hands onto the surface of the table harshly, almost knocked the whole table over. “Yeah, that’s why Chan never lets you drive because you’re exactly the reason for all of our wild turbulence. Because you suck at driving !”

You feel like you’re being held in a chokehold, literally and metaphorically because you can’t even drag Jisung down to the very bottom of Hell when you’re fully capable of doing that. Not before you kill him with your bare hands.

“I mean one of us had to have the guts to drive everyone back after a party where y’all got fucking wasted. College parties are so lit, they say. Who the fuck does three keg stands in a row just to run around the neighborhood shirtless later on ?!” You clatter loudly, earning a ‘wtf’ look from the students at the opposite table.

“Who wants another milkshake ? It’s on me.” Woojin interrupts the two of you, already pulling out his wallet in a rush.

Jisung’s ears automatically turn red, and you smirk at the sight of his pink cheeks upon both embarrassment and anger. “What did you just say ?”

“Ten milkshakes it is.” Chan drags Woojin out of his seat and the two of them helplessly walk towards the canteen cashier from across your table. He’s already given up, you can tell. Because if not, he would just personally hang Jisung upside down on a tree ( his natural habitat ) so that he can cool down before he said something he’d definitely regret later.

You push Hyunjin away and stand up right, staring at Jisung dead in the eye. “What’s wrong ? Cat got your tongue ?” Are you finally getting back at him ? Is this how victory taste like ?

“Say that again and I’m gonna— ugh ! Christ, I hate you !” Jisung sounds like he’s on the verge of exploding and you’re absolutely enjoying every single moment of this.

You mock him in amusement. “You’re gonna what ?”

“I’m gonna fucking kiss—“

Before Jisung could finish his sentence, Minho pulls his friend backwards and Jisung once again lands on his bottom, onto the wooden bench. “Okay, I don’t wanna ruin the heat but at least spare some of your sanity for the sake of publicity, yeah ? You know, if you guys wanna make out that bad, there’s always a restroom.”

Sanity ? For the sake of publicity ? Well, that changes everything. “WE’RE NOT GONNA MAKE OUT LEE MINHO YOU FUCKING BASTARD ! DON’T MAKE ME KNOCK KNOCK UPSIDE YOUR HEAD, YOU FILTHY PIECE OF SH-“ You’ve come to a decision that if Han Jisung doesn’t end up somewhere six feet under the ground, then Lee Minho - aka his best friend - is taking his bullet for today.

“Woah woah, Y/N, easy girl, easy.” Hyunjin holds you back with both hands. Okay, he gets why Jeongin doesn’t want to come over whenever you and Jisung are breathing in the same room now.

Jeongin scrunches his nose as he obnoxiously chews on his tuna sandwich. “Yeah, you guys need to cool down a little bit. You know, just chill out. That’s enough for your ‘friendly banter’, let the others enjoy their lunch in peace, will you ?”

You and Jisung continuously give each other death stares for the rest of your lunch break. Even when Chan and Woojin come rushing back with five cups of milkshakes each, even when it’s your favorite flavor in the entire world, it can never put out the fire of wrath that’s burning furiously deep inside. All you want to do is to have Han Jisung down on his knees and beg you for his life like how King Stefan did to Maleficent. The only difference is that Jisung actually doesn’t have a daughter.

Is that too much to ask for ?

seven.

[ 2:35pm ]

yeonjun | hey, I need to talk to you…

yeonjun | nearby café after school ? I can just wait if you’re getting out late.

You read the message on your way out of the lecture hall and widen your eyes. The hour displayed on your screen reads ‘3:45pm’. You immediately push your way through the crowd of sweaty students and run down the hallway like a psychopath. God, Yeonjun has been sitting alone at the café like a complete fool just because of you. Now you feel like a terrible human being.

“Woah, where are you going in such a hurry ?” Hyunjin yells at you loudly when you brush past him and Jeongin.

You hastily shout back at him before continuing to run. “Don’t wait for me ! Just spare me some left over !”

When you arrive at the café, you feel like you should give yourself a pat on the shoulder because you don't think you’ve ever run that fast before in your entire life. Not even for the marathon competitions during middle school.

And the café looks somewhat different today, something smells weird too, you notice. Then you realize that they just repainted the whole thing, replacing the old teal blue color into a warmer brownish color. The walls and windows are decorated with fairy lights, like a cherry on a sundae, it’s perfect for the upcoming winter break. Because students aren’t just gonna come here for the caffeine, they’re gonna hog this place for themselves sooner or later to get at least one aesthetic photo for the holiday.

You quickly spot Yeonjun sitting alone in the color while having his headphones on, slowly dozing off to the music. His cup of iced macchiato remains untouched with water dipping on the sides. A pang of guilt hits you almost instantly when you start walking towards his direction. As you sit down on the opposite seat, Yeonjun suddenly startles and shakes his sleepiness away.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, my phone was off all day.” You say with an apologetic smile on your face, feeling the guilt keeps piling onto your shoulders. “You could just leave or something, I wouldn’t be mad.”

Yeonjun removes his headphones and laughs slightly, scratching the nape of his neck. “It’s fine,” He waves his hands at you to tell you that everything’s okay. “I really need that short nap after all. God, I was dreading my neuroscience assignment all day. But hey, I really need to talk to you, that’s why I was so determined to wait.”

“Don’t even, Yeonjun. You could have just gone home and rest.” You shake your head at him in defeat. You swear to God, he’s too kind. “What’s so important that you wanted to talk to me so badly ?” You ask while flipping through the menu. The weather has been pretty chilly lately, it might be nice to have a hot chocolate.

Yeonjun’s ears turn red at your words and he starts to dart his eyes around, scared to meet your eyes. “I— uhm, look, I just—“ He stammers with tinted pink cheeks, which you find ridiculously adorable. “I just wanted to say sorry for what happened on Saturday.” He manages to squeak out and you have to hold back the urge to laugh. “I shouldn't have drunk that much beer, right ? You should feel lucky that I left you with your boyfriend because I may or may not have thrown up all over Beomgyu. He almost kicked me off a cliff, I’m not overexaggerating, I swear.”

That’s not true. Yeonjun should be the one who needs to feel lucky because not only didn’t Beomgyu leave him on some random sidewalks, he personally called Taehyun to bring him extra clothes and had an Uber to get them three back home before midnight. He knows Beomgyu is too utterly soft for him to murder him in his sleep anyway.

You smile at him before waving the waiter boy over to punch in your order. “Choi Yeonjun, it’s fine, really. You’re so much fun to hang around. But next time, no more beer for you, get it ?” Upon your teasing, he lets out a nervous chuckle. And little did you know, he’s planning on telling you something much, much more horrendous. “And how many times do I need to tell you that Jisung is not my boyfriend ?”

“Just not yet.” He corrects you, and you’re stuck between the ideas of strangling Han Jisung and throwing Choi Yeonjun off a cliff. Or maybe both. “You guys caused quite the scene during lunch break. You two bickered like an old married couple. Not to mention, you’ve probably ended up on everyone’s social medial by now.”

Your eyes widen in terror. A tape of you, and Han Jisung yelling at each other at the top of your lungs is on the Internet. Since a young age, you’ve come to realize that nothing on the internet ever really goes away. And that thought scares you shitless. Great, now everyone will think of you two as that one loud couple who always argue over stupid things. “I’m so fucking screwed— give me a sec, someone’s texting me.”

[ 4:12 pm ]

han | where are you ?

y/n | why would that matter ?

han | you’re on a date right ? with him.

y/n | han jisung are you watching me ? wtf you creep !?

[ 4:13pm ]

han | do you like him ?

han | just answer me honestly for once.

y/n | so you ARE jealous. hah, busted.

But wait, why would he be jealous ? That makes no sense.

[ 4:14pm ]

han | so what if i’m jealous ?

Your heart stops as a small ‘huh?’ escapes your lips. Yeonjun looks at you with a confused expression, almost develops a mild interest in what made you so flustered. But he guessed it either way because it’s too obvious who’s the only person that has this kind of effect on you.

han | i was the one who asked you out first, it’s not fair !

y/n | ...

y/n | hey, are you drunk ?

[ 4:15pm ]

han | i’m as sober as i can be, enjoy your pretty little date y/n.

When everything’s already a mess, when you’re at a loss for words, Hyunjin’s abrupt call is something else more than just fuel to the fire. “Y/N ! Have you seen Jisung ?” Your roommate sounds alarmed on the other end and your stomach automatically twists into a knot.

“No, I haven’t seen him since lunch… why ?” The uneasy feeling has been ghosting your gut since you received the questionable texts from Jisung, and you’re afraid to hear what Hyunjin’s gonna say next. “What’s wrong ? What happened to him ?” You bombard him with questions after questions, fiddling your fingers nervously in fear.

Yeonjun quickly senses something’s off and reaches his hand outwards. He places his hand over yours gently, rubbing little circles to remind you to calm down. There are a thousand bad scenarios running through your mind like lightning of what could have happened to Jisung. What if he’s about to do something stupid ? What if he’s hurting, and no one ever asked ? What if… it’s all because of you ?

“Hyunjin, just fucking answer me !” You almost snapped, finding the silence on the other line extremely disturbing.

He replies breathlessly, as if he’s already given up. “He’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone ?” You can’t believe your own ears at this point.

Hyunjin sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. “Changbin said he hadn’t been home when his shift was supposed to end at 3. Chan said he wasn’t on campus either, nor the band room. We’ve checked everywhere, not his house, not the usual boba place, not even his favorite get-away spots. He ran away, Y/N, no one knows why. And I’m scared..” Your heart instantly drops to the pit of your stomach.

Not even his favorite get-away spots.. We’ve checked everywhere.

But Jisung would never tell them about all of his get-away spots.

eight.

Jisung unlocks his phone and sees several missed calls from his group of friends along with endless texts but his eyes only linger on some particular ones.

[ 7:23pm ]

y/n | can we just talk this out ?

y/n | this is so fucking childish of you.

y/n | I don’t care if you want to kick me out of your life.

y/n | I’m coming for you.

Jisung doesn’t know whether he should be crying or laughing. Basically, he’s emotionally restrained.

Because apparently, life is preposterous. One moment you’re laughing while being pissed off when he annoys the heck out of you. Then later you would ditch him to have yourself wrapped around another guy’s arms. Hours ago, you were on the edge of pushing his limits into the unknown and now you’re being all concerned and worried about him. He feels mildly exasperated partially because you’re playing with his heart, and partially because he allows you to do that.

He has been watching you from behind all this time. He always has so much on his mind that keeps him awake at nights but never really knows how to convey his feelings for you into words. Maybe that’s why J.One can only write love songs in vain. So being the genius person that he is, he thought ( and still think ) that the only way to approach you was to make fun of you. He can only call you questionable nicknames all day because he doesn’t have the heart to actually call you ‘babe’ in a genuine way. He would always end up spitting out something less than appropriate or stick his nose into your business because he can never fathom the courage to say a simple ‘I love you’. Yes, Jisung knows that he’s a coward for making such excuses but the thought of putting his heart into someone else’s hand scares him shitless. Not that he has never gone through a heartbreak before but the scars never really go away.

Honestly, Jisung has never thought that he would end up liking you this much. He still vividly remembers the day that you two met for the first time. It was freshman year highschool, he got signed up for a role in the drama club at the time being thanks to Hyunjin and suddenly he saw you sitting alone in a corner, struggling over a piece of prop for the set. 

Even when it’s the awkward phase, you took his breath right away like ‘whoosh’, leaving him utterly speechless when your eyes collide.  From then on, you’re the ‘nothing’ that people ask him about whenever he looks like he’s spacing out. You’re the only thing that keeps lingering in his mind, impossible to forget. He finally understands why people are always so giddy about their crush because once you like someone, everything changes. Like how your smile seems to be even brighter than the Sun, how your goofy laugh feels like music to his ears, or how every little thing that you do affects him way too damn much. Woah, he understands why his group of friends said that he’s so whipped for you now.

Jisung doesn’t know what to think or what to feel anymore. He really doesn’t. He hates how you keep switching between ‘the Y/N who hates Jisung with passion’ and ‘the Y/N who genuinely worries about Jisung’. It drives him nuts not knowing how you really feel about him. Jisung swipes his index finger upwards and presses the ‘Airplane Mode’ button from the Control Center settings. He can’t afford having Chan or Minho screaming directly at his ears after when he ran away like that. Maybe he is childish after all.

“Han Jisung !”

Jisung snaps his head backwards to find you standing there, disheveled hair, hands supporting on your knees with a glint of fierceness in your eyes. With the dim source of light from the Moon, you’re glowing under all of the sentimental glory that leaves him completely flustered. He’s really predictable, he thinks. Of course you’d know that he would end up choosing the park where he used to hang out with Seungmin since kindergarten. It’s also where he bawled his eyes out after his first breakup, having you rub little circles on his back and tell him that everything’s gonna be alright.

“What are you doing here ?” He asks soullessly although his heart his yelling at him to fall into your embrace.

“I told you, didn’t I ?” You say, breaths growing more even by the seconds. “I’m coming for you, I don’t care if you’re gonna kick me out of your life because I’m not allowing that.”

Jisung snickers, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “You rain-checked on Choi Yeonjun just like that ? Aren’t you afraid that he’s gonna break up with you tomorrow after finding you that you’re rummaging through the entire city to look for me, an absolute bastard who never leaves well enough alone ?”

You shoot him a stern look, brows slightly furrowed. “You didn’t let me finish, how rude. I’m trying to prove a point, don’t you see ? If I really didn’t give two fucks about you then why would I be here ? If I was really dating Choi Yeonjun then I could have just stayed at home and cuddled with him until Hyunjin kicked him out of our apartment. It’s been almost three hours, Jisung. Three fucking hours. I was running from place to place like a psychopath, got lost on some random streets, just to find you. Yes, just for you.”

He squints his eyes at you skeptically. “And your point is ?”

“I care about you.” You don’t even need to consider anything at this point and that has Jisung’s jaw dropped to the ground. “I could never hate you, even if I do, I can’t hate you for the rest of my life for my own good. Even when you call me ‘little cub’ fifty times a day, even when you make me pay for your ride, even when we almost threw hands at each other during lunch break, my feelings for you never change. Not even one bit.” You state confidently, taking long strides towards him.

Jisung looks at you with a blank expression, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know Y/N. You’re a fucking hot mess. For all I know, you second-guessed most of your decisions in life. What if you decided to pull—“ That’s it, you’re not enduring his ‘what if’-s bullshit any longer.

Without a word, you grab Jisung by the collar and pull him flush against you. When your lips collide with his, it feels like you’re being sent to the Moon and back continuously. Sparks of joy, lust, and mixed emotions ignite inside his heart when you trace your tongue over his then it explodes like a firework that lights up the eerie darkness effortlessly. Jisung slowly gives in and melts into the kiss, his hands snaking around your waist to hold you closer, feeling your warmth radiating off on his flannels. You’re the first one to pull away, hands trailing behind the nape of his neck.  “I can say that giving away my first kiss is enough to prove that the only thing I’ve never second-guessed was liking you.” You say breathlessly, trying to ignore the rouge on your cheeks. 

“I am your first kiss ?” He widens his eyes slightly.

You scoff at him while trying to act casual. “Be grateful at least you brat.” Jisung chuckles softly at you, slightly taken aback at your bold action as the feeling of your lips on his chills him to the bones. “Point taken.” At that moment, you quickly realize how his warm brown eyes hold their own galaxy with the stars shining so brightly that makes your heart swell. At that moment, you also realize that Jisung is your Sun because his smile alone can light up the whole celestial sphere. Meanwhile you’re his Moon because no matter what happens, you’ll always be here to brighten him up on the darkest of days.

And you both know that as long as you have each other, you will forever be radiant.

#stayshub #stray kids ot9 #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #han fic #stray kids fanfic #stay #han jisung #bang chan #seo changbin #lee minho #hwang hyunjin #kim seungmin #lee felix #kim woojin #yang jeongin #han jisung fanfic #han jisung fluff #skzinc #skz jisung #jypnation #txt #choi yeonjun #college au

[adrenalinesaint]

It’s come to my attention that a gossip blog has sprung up for the rpc here on tumblr, so I thought it may be appropriate for me to share my thoughts on the matter.

Grow up.

If you support or participate in this sort of behavior, make no mistake, I consider you to be both juvenile and a waste of my time. I do not want you to engage with me in any way, shape, or form.

This is bullying masquerading as wokeness. It’s no different than any other hate blog. Call outs are designed to protect people from dangerous individuals, not ostracize people you think have shitty takes. Someone roleplaying something with their friends on the internet does not influence the overarching institutions that harm people.

Individuals should have modes to express themselves and grow as artists in a public format, even if you disagree with the way they do so, so long as they are not harming anyone.

Blogs designed to point out specific people and discourage others from engaging with them based off of limited accusations, without any shred of proof, ARE HARMFUL.

If someone is acting in a harmful way, call them out. Make a post including the fucking receipts and the PROOF.

And you have no excuse anymore not to include proof. The tumblr ask character limit is increased, you can include images in your asks. Where are the screen caps????????

This is honestly just some babymode bullshit !!

I’m only making this post due to recent events involving having someone of this Exact Flavor invade my inbox on anon. If there is anyone of that ilk left in my follower count, please, the door is that-a-way.

#.ooc #negative for ts #drama for ts

[1989dreamer]

Mountains of Shrapnel for Sterek Big Bang 2021

Written for @twsterekbigbang’s Sterek Big Bang 2021, in collaboration with @mrkgrl​ (whose art is just delightful and so, so amazing!).

Word Count: 34,083

Summary: When Stiles returns after graduating, he discovers that Derek Hale is back in town. He also learns that Derek has somehow managed to fill an entire house with so much junk it isn't functional anymore and is on the verge of being condemned as unlivable. Stiles uses the excuse of helping Derek clean out his hoarded house to reconnect, aware that what used to be a teeny-tiny crush is not so small anymore. Emotional baggage makes an interesting bedfellow, but so does the revelation that Stiles might not be as alone in his crush as he thought he was.

Tags: Hoarding, Hoarder Derek, Falling in Love, Friends to Lovers, Redeemed Scott McCall, Mentions of Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Mentions of Past Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Not Nice Deaton, Human Scott, Canon Compliant to the end of 3B, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Vomit Scene, Derek Hale is in Therapy, Love Potion, Emotional Healing, They get a little sex happy toward the end, Reconnection

Warnings: Kate plays a large part in an element of the story although she does not appear on screen; vomit scene.

Note: The scene that features vomiting starts at "Maybe it was something he put in the pot pie?" and ends after "Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom."

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

Graduation day came and went rather uneventfully despite the fact that Dad wouldn’t let Stiles wear jeans under his gown and either his head had shrunk since they’d measured him or they’d gotten his head size wrong so his cap refused to stay on his head if he bobbed his leg too hard.

After the long drive home, he and his dad went out to eat at The Burger Joint on the edge of Beacon Hills. Stiles glared at his dad when he ordered the double bacon cheeseburger deluxe.

“What? I’ve been eating well otherwise. I deserve a treat. Besides, it’s not every day your son graduates top of his class.”

“Did it have to be a double bacon burger?” Stiles asked. He was about to continue griping, hoping to at least badger his dad into not eating all of the bacon when the door jingled, catching his attention. Normally, Stiles would have checked who came in and then gone back to his conversation, but the person was an unexpected face. “Is that Derek Hale?”

Dad twisted in his chair until he could see what Stiles saw. Derek fucking Hale stomping his way up to the counter, phone in one hand, money in the other, glowering steadily at the poor clerk as they traded him the money for a bulging bag.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “He moved back to town, oh, about a year ago now. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” Stiles said. He jumped up from his chair and hurried to catch Derek before he left the building. Derek looked far less unsettled than Stiles felt at seeing him again.

“Stiles.” He nodded. Stiles swallowed hard.

It wasn’t that he and Derek hadn’t kept in touch, except…that’s exactly what happened.

Derek had left Beacon Hills halfway through Stiles’ junior year of high school, changed his number (and sent Stiles a “Here’s my new number” text about six months after, but he’d forgotten to mention who it was, so Stiles had thought it was one of his classmates and by the time he’d figured out that it was Derek, the number had been changed again), and practically disappeared off the face of the Earth.

Stiles’ mouth didn’t seem to want to cooperate so he just stood there in Derek’s way. What could he say? “I missed you”? Derek obviously hadn’t missed Stiles since he hadn’t contacted him outside of that text.

“Derek,” Stiles finally managed, and then his dad grabbed his arm and dragged him back a few steps.

“Derek, nice to see you again, son. How’s the house treating you? Have you found a job yet? We’d better let you get to your food. See you around. Take care now.”

Dad forcibly steered Stiles back to their table and pushed on his shoulder until he sat down. Derek didn’t move for a long minute. He stared at the Stilinskis with a sullen glare before squaring his shoulders and setting his bag of food down on a table to dig out a notebook. He borrowed a pen off another patron and wrote something down. He returned the pen, picked up his bag, and approached their table.

“This is my address and my number,” he said gruffly, almost stabbing the paper at Stiles’ face. “Congratulations on your graduation. Sir,” he nodded at the Sheriff, “always nice to see you. Have a good meal.”

Stiles grabbed the paper and Derek spun on his heel and marched away.

“He’s gotten better about that,” Dad remarked and then dug into his burger which must have arrived when Stiles was busy gaping at Derek.

He picked up his own burger, a much more modest cheeseburger deluxe. “You said he moved back to town last year?”

Dad paused, thinking. “At least,” he said. “In some ways, it feels like he’s been here forever. He keeps to himself mostly, but I think he’s a good neighbor to have. He’s been nominated for that community thing they created three years ago. You know the thing.”

“The Good Neighbor Program?” Stiles asked, a little cheekily.

“That’s the one. I think he might win it this year.”

“This year? Wait, what about last year?”

“Mrs. Halvershiem won it last year,” Dad said. “Derek was too new to town then. But he’s certainly done a lot in the months he’s been here.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles wouldn’t have thought Derek would do anything other than hide away from the world. He did a lot of that before, which Stiles mostly doesn’t hold against him. He stood up when he needed to. If anyone deserved to shut the world out, it was Derek. Life had dealt him a shitty hand and then kept piling on the bad luck.

The fact that Derek was back in Beacon Hills at all was a miracle. One which Stiles would use to reconnect.

If he was honest with himself, he’d missed the big guy. He’d missed the supernatural. He’d still gotten up to a few mostly un-supernatural shenanigans in college but nothing could ever beat the exhilaration he’d gotten when one of his plans went right and Derek was right there with him, backing him up.

Stiles had been mad at Derek for a long time after he’d left, and he didn’t know if his dad had told him that he was back that he wouldn’t have reacted badly. Some of his anger was directed at Derek because Stiles had realized that he was a little bit in love with Derek, like, a crush or something. Most of his anger, though, was because Derek had left him behind.

Once Stiles had sat Dad down and fully explained how Dad was right, he wasn’t gay, but not because of how he dressed. Stiles was bisexual, not gay. Some days, it still hurt having his dad dismiss him like that, but Dad was trying his best to be supportive and understanding now, and that’s all Stiles wanted, really.

He wondered if Derek knew what his orientation was back in high school. If he did, he hadn’t said. Honestly, Stiles hadn’t ever asked him if that was something he could smell.

But now, with no prompting from either Stiles or Stiles’ dad, Derek had given Stiles his address and his phone number. That was something that would never have happened back in high school.

Stiles felt like he was forgetting something majorly important, but staring at the paper with Derek’s surprisingly neat handwriting, he couldn’t think what it could be. That is until he heard the ice in his dad’s glass of water.

The bacon on his dad’s burger! That’s what he forgot!

Stiles glared at his dad, but nope, it was too late, Dad had already eaten everything.

He didn’t even look a little bit guilty as he finished off his water and stacked everything neatly.

Stiles hurriedly started eating his burger. “Hey, can we visit Derek today?” he asked through a mouthful of meat and bread.

Dad had retired a few months earlier, working part time at the bakery downtown instead of as the Sheriff anymore, so it wasn’t like he’d have the excuse of patrolling anymore.

“Sure. Been meaning to get out that way for a while now. I think Derek works out of his home so it’s rare to see him around town.”

“Is it rare for him to pass out his address too?” Stiles folded the paper, tucking it deep in his breast pocket. He was not going to lose that paper if he could help it.

“That I don’t know. We all kind of just know where he lives now. It was a big thing when he moved back. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just remember how upset you were when he left the first time, and I didn’t want you to get hurt again if he wasn’t going to stick around.”

“Dad, I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, why don’t you call him later, set up some time to catch up?”

“That’s actually a really good idea. Thanks.”

Stiles finished his burger while his dad went to pay. He and his dad didn’t have plans for the rest of the day, but Stiles didn’t want to duck out immediately just to possibly reconnect with an old friend. It wasn’t like Derek was going anywhere in the next twenty-four hours. He would call him tomorrow, he decided. Today could be all about his dad. After all, they hadn’t seen each other for almost two months while Stiles was busy finishing up his classes. He wanted to hear about what his dad got up to in his retirement when he wasn’t baking cupcakes.

He patted his pocket one more time, soothed by the crinkle of the paper. And then he gave his attention back to his dad.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek answered his phone with a gruff, “Hale.”

Stiles slapped his forehead. Of course Derek wouldn’t recognize his number. Stiles had had to change it a few months back when an incident with a currently incarcerated ex-classmate of his escalated to the point that Stiles had a few new scars and a few new friends in the Berkley Police Department.

“Hey, this is Stiles.”

“Hi.”

Still gruff. Well, some things never changed.

“Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up over coffee or something?”

Stiles couldn’t remember Derek ever drinking coffee, so he was hoping that he did or else this would get even more awkward than just trying to talk about things that weren’t supernatural-related.

“Sure. The bakery your dad works at serves coffee. We can meet there.”

Stiles didn’t want his dad to have the inside scoop, but maybe Derek would feel more comfortable there? Maybe he wasn’t comfortable at all and Stiles really shouldn’t be trying to meet up with him. Maybe—

“Are you breathing?” Derek asked, a different gruffness to his tone. Stiles recognized it as his concerned tone. Derek was concerned for him. Aw, wasn’t that sweet? Last he knew, Derek couldn’t stand the sight of him, hence why he skipped town. Or at least, that was what Stiles had told himself for a few years.

“Yes, I’m breathing. The bakery is fine. What time did you want to meet?”

“Are you busy in an hour?”

Stiles checked his wrist for a watch he’d never worn, but he’s just graduated. He has no plans aside from catching up on some sleep. He’ll always make time for Derek anyway. He’d always regretted the way they hadn’t kept in touch, and now faced with the opportunity to rekindle the friendship, he won’t let a little thing like being busy keep him away.

“Nope. Not doing anything. See you then?”

“Sure. Thanks, Stiles. Bye now.”

Stiles stared at his phone long after Derek disconnected the call. That was new. The Derek saying “bye” thing. Usually he would just hang up.

It’s been six years. Maybe Derek really has changed. Stiles was interested to see just how much of an actual adult Derek was.

Back in the day, it had been easy to forget that Derek was only like twenty-one to his sixteen, and even worse when Derek was twenty-two and he was seventeen. Dad had started taking Derek around to crime scenes and everything. Stiles had almost expected Derek to start working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department in an Official capacity, and then shit hit the fan.

Kate Argent returned, kidnapped Derek—twice—and nearly murdered them all before she was finally put down.

When it was all said and done, Derek had looked at all of them gathered outside his loft where the final stand had been made, shook his head, and just walked away.

The text came later, after a year, and by then Stiles’ hurt had been so ramped up that he’d refused to even acknowledge that it was maybe Derek’s way of reaching out after taking some time for himself.

Now, though, Stiles would give anything to go back to the day Derek walked away and follow him.

Regrets wouldn’t get them anywhere though, so Stiles set a timer on his phone, sat down at his computer, and dicked around until it was time to go to the bakery.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad waved at him when he walked in. Stiles was still unused to seeing his dad in an apron with one of those little paper hats on his head instead of his Sheriff’s uniform, but he had to admit, his dad looked far more relaxed behind the counter of the bakery than behind the wheel of his cruiser.

The interim sheriff wasn’t seeking reelection this year, and Stiles was terrified that his dad would be pressured into running again. Half the town still referred to him as Sheriff.

Stiles hadn’t asked his dad if he planned to run, half-hoping that by not talking about it, he wouldn’t influence him to accept the nomination.

Dad pointed at one of the tables, and Stiles almost sagged in relief. He’d half-thought that Derek might stand him up, but there he was, sitting at the table, a puzzle book in front of him along with a mug of steaming liquid and an untouched puff pastry.

Stiles sat down across from him and without looking up from his puzzle, a crossword, Derek pushed the coffee and pastry toward him.

“Don’t you want anything?” Stiles asked, unsure if he was supposed to accept Derek’s offerings.

“Not hungry,” Derek replied, filling in a word. He set the pencil down, closed the book, and settled back in his chair. He didn’t cross his arms, but his expression was flat and stony enough that he might as well have.

“How are you?” Stiles started. Derek was standoffish, and Stiles could understand why. He didn’t have the same time as everyone else. To Derek, Stiles hadn’t been his friend for years. To Stiles, he could still remember the visceral pain he’d felt when he realized that Derek was leaving them behind after everything they’d been through, but they were still friends.

“I’m fine,” Derek said. “How about you?”

“Great. Just graduated.”

Derek nodded. “I know.”

“How about you? Did you ever go back to college?” Derek had confided once that he’d been enrolled in New York, but had dropped out when Laura was killed.

Derek shook his head. “Never felt like it. I did a bit of trade school though. Picked up welding and furniture restoration. I do both on the side.”

“On the side of what?”

Derek shrugged. “Of life, I guess? I don’t really need to work. I just do.”

Stiles had transferred Derek’s address into his phone in case he forgot the paper somewhere and lost it. “So, if I randomly stop by your house, you won’t always be there?”

“Not on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Derek said. “On Tuesdays, I fill in at Scrappers Galore and Thursdays, I help out at Raquel’s Antiques.”

“So any day but Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Stiles repeated.

Derek squinted at him, suspicious. “Yes,” he said slowly, drawing out the word. “I guess. Why? You planning on stopping by unannounced?”

“Only if you want me to. If you want me to always announce whenever I’m planning on swinging by, that’s great too.”

Derek tapped his book, thinking. Stiles had forgotten how much he missed Derek’s everything. And not just because he was handsome and nice to look at. (Yeah, he’d figured out pretty quickly that he’d like both men and women, and that he’d likely been very attracted to Derek when they’d first met.)

No, Derek was more than a pretty face. He was compassion embodied, caring, kind (once he got out of the survival mode he’d been in when they’d first crossed paths), and more than generous.

It was a little unsettling that Derek seemed to be hedging his words with Stiles, unsure if he wanted to fully trust him. Stiles wanted to remind Derek that he was the one who walked away, not Stiles, but he didn’t want to accidentally push him too far.

They were reconnecting, after all.

“My house isn’t the cleanest,” Derek finally said after a long moment of silence between them. “I don’t need to hear about how I should be doing this or doing that. I’m in therapy, but right now, we’re at a stage in my life where I can’t do certain things.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Hey, no judging here.” The only reason he kept his room clean was because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to think at all. Clutter worsened his ADHD, and no amount of medication was going to make him focus on the things he should if he was constantly distracted by his surroundings.

Dad had helped him clean out his room last summer when Stiles had returned only to find that all the things from his childhood and high school years sat heavily on his mind, making what was supposed to be a relaxing time very stressful.

He half expected Derek to be the same way, but maybe not? Derek didn’t have an ADHD diagnosis, and likely wouldn’t ever get one, so that was probably not it.

Derek picked up his book. “It was nice talking with you, but I need to run an errand. Call me later if you want to come over.”

“Hey, no, yeah, it was really good to see you. I’ll definitely call you later.”

Derek ambled off, and Stiles was probably imagining that he looked more relaxed than when Stiles sat down. Huh. Maybe he and Derek were still friends.

He picked up the pastry, taking a large bite. Well, Derek still knew what Stiles liked to eat. A sip of the drink revealed that it was the coffee order Stiles used to drink in college. It wasn’t bad, but it was more sugary than Stiles liked now.

But it was still very thoughtful of Derek. And besides, there was time now for Stiles to teach him his new coffee order.

He finished the drink and pastry quickly, dropping a tip in the jar for his dad, and waving as he headed outside.

For some reason, he really didn’t want to go home, so he texted his dad that he was picking up some stuff for supper and headed to the grocery store.

He parked next to a Camaro that reminded him strongly of Derek’s. It was even black too. Once inside, he grabbed a cart and started wandering the aisles, adding things he thought could make a delicious, healthy supper.

When he went to pay, he found himself behind a tall, broad back that was oh-so-familiar. He didn’t need to smell the woodsy aftershave or see the slightly scraggly hair in need of a trim to know that he hadn’t just been reminded of Derek’s Camaro: it was actually Derek’s Camaro. Derek’s errand must have been grocery shopping, although from the look of his cart, it wasn’t so much groceries as junk food.

Stiles never imagined Derek to be a junk food eater, certain that the chemicals used to mimic natural ingredients and flavors would have been off-putting for a werewolf and his heightened sense of smell and taste.

Derek must have either smelled him (likely) or sensed him staring at him (also likely) and turned around with a tight smile.

Stiles just waved. He wasn’t in the habit of accosting his acquaintances in the queue to pay.

He made a telephone sign with his hand, and Derek nodded.

The amount of food that Derek had bought meant that he’d likely still be putting it into his car by the time Stiles got out to Roscoe.

He’d talk to him then. Invite him to supper. He’d gotten plenty of ingredients for two people, and definitely more than enough to accommodate a third.

Besides, it’d be nice to see if his dad and Derek still got along. He hoped so; otherwise his renewed friendship with Derek was going to be awkward.

It was unfortunate that Stiles had lost all his other friends, also shortly around the time that Derek had left. In fact, Derek’s leaving had caused such major infighting among them that Stiles and Scott still weren’t speaking to this day.

Lydia and Kira, caught in the middle, had bonded over their refusal to take sides (although, privately, they both admitted that Stiles had more of a point to his argument that Scott had caused Kate’s return, something Scott refused to accept and Stiles refused to revisit now for fear of becoming enraged again). Lydia and Kira had ended up getting married after two years of dating and now were living on the east coast while Lydia studied at MIT and Kira got her teaching license.

Stiles hoped they’d had better luck keeping in touch with the others, but he also didn’t think they’d made an effort with Derek because, to be honest, neither of them were very close to him to begin with.

Still, Stiles wasn’t one to shy away from something just because it was hard. He had gone from ignoring a problem and hoping it went away to confronting it head on because then it wouldn’t just grow bigger behind his back and knock him off his path again.

He paid for his groceries and hurried out to the lot. Derek was indeed still piling bags into the trunk of his car.

“Hey, so I’m making pesto, and I was wondering if you wanted to join my dad and me for supper.”

Derek spun around, even though there was no way he didn’t hear Stiles behind him. “Uh.” His eyebrows went up and then quickly lowered. Confusion at being asked and masking that confusion. Good to know Stiles could still read him. “Is your dad okay with that?”

Stiles waved away his concern. “My dad loves you,” he declared, almost positive that it was true. After all, his dad hadn’t glared at or threatened Derek at the diner today.

Nor had he gotten between them when they caught up at the bakery.

Derek’s eyebrows wriggled again before finally relaxing to their normal position on his face. Stiles stifled a comment on the bushiness of them. He didn’t know if Derek was self conscious of any part of his body, and he didn’t want to accidentally dredge up anything for him.

“I highly doubt he actually loves me,” Derek said. “No one really does.”

“Hey now.”

Derek rolled his shoulders, less of a shrug and more of a so-life-goes motion. High school Stiles would have agreed with him, maybe cracked a self-depreciating joke about himself to lighten the mood. College graduate Stiles was wiser and less infatuated with nihilism.

“Seriously, I’ve never seen him look so happy to see someone who wasn’t me.”

Derek still didn’t look like he believed Stiles, but that was okay. Stiles was back in Beacon Hills for a while. He could work on him, make sure Derek knew just how much he was treasured.

“I heard you’re up for the Good Neighbor award this year.”

Derek ducked his head, blushing hotly. “I don’t know about that,” he mumbled.

“Hey, if they hand you the award, just say thanks and move on. I’m sure you deserve it anyway. You did a lot for us back in the day.”

Derek scoffed. “As if. I did more harm than good and you know it.”

“Well, I for one appreciate what you did for me. And before you deny it, you were helpful, if a bit scary.”

“I got people killed. Can’t forget that.” Derek dropped his gaze down to his feet. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can make it to supper.”

“Please don’t,” Stiles said softly. Derek’s head snapped up. “I want you there. I want to reconnect with you. I’m not inviting you out of pity or because I think you can’t feed yourself.” He sighed, stepping forward, hand raised so that Derek had plenty of time to decide if he wanted to step out of reach. When Derek didn’t move, Stiles set his hand on his arm and gave it a little squeeze before pulling back entirely.

“Okay,” Derek said, a little breathlessly. He swallowed hard. “Okay, I’ll be there.When?”

“Give me about two hours and it should be ready. Pesto doesn’t actually take that long to make, but I think we’d both appreciate some time to put away our groceries.”

“Okay. I’ll be there. I promise.”

Stiles beamed at him, which oddly made Derek blush. Huh, food for thought. “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. It’ll be great to catch up some more.”

“Sure.” It was probably just Stiles’ imagination, but he thought Derek’s tone was a little cold, as if Stiles had said something unfavorable. “See you.”

Stiles waved to him and then got into Roscoe and drove back to his dad’s house.

Dad wouldn’t be off work yet, so Stiles took some time to put away the groceries, clean up their nicest set of plates, and set the table before he pulled up a recipe on his phone and got busy.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek arrived at the house at the same time as Dad. Stiles could hear them greet each other on the doorstep. He waited a decent two minutes while they exchanged pleasantries and Derek gave Dad a bottle of wine he brought with him.

“Ah, Stiles loves this brand. Thanks.”

Stiles threw open the door. “Come on in,” he said brightly, taking the bottle from his dad. Both his dad and Derek know him well: this was his favorite vintage right now. “The food is ready.”

Derek shifted awkwardly before stepping into the house. He looked uncomfortable and on edge even though Stiles had double checked to make sure the wolfsbane his dad grew now that Chris Argent was off globe-trotting was out back in the shed. Maybe he could still smell it?

“Thanks for inviting me,” Derek said, almost too quiet to hear. He cleared his throat and asked for the bathroom.

“You know where it is,” Dad said, clapping him on the back. “I’m going to get washed up, Stiles. Supper smells great.”

“Thanks. I’m going to put this on ice. Anyone want a glass with supper? Not sure how well it’ll go with pesto, but we can try it!”

“I think I’ll try some,” Dad called over his shoulder. “You got any of that non-alcoholic beer left?”

Derek reappeared before Stiles could answer. He still looked terrified but at least he was still standing in the front hallway.

“Come on.” Stiles held out his hand, waving Derek toward the kitchen. “We can grab everything and set up in the dining room.”

Derek followed, and then stood still while Stiles loaded his arms with plates, silverware wrapped in napkins, and a serving utensil. Dad grabbed the dish with pesto, and Stiles wrapped the wine bottle in a wet paper towel and stuck it in the freezer, setting a fifteen minute timer on his phone.

Once the table was set, a centerpiece collected from the back garden Dad worked on in his spare time, and the wine collected after the timer went off, they all sat down. Neither Stiles nor his dad had cared to say Grace since before Mom died, but the way Derek folded his hands and stared at his plate, spoke volumes. Stiles nodded at his dad, and Dad spoke a quick few words before holding his hand out for Derek’s plate.

“Guests are served first,” he said gently when Derek politely refused.

Derek surrendered his plate, and Dad heaped it full. Derek winced at it when he took it back, and Stiles made a mental note to send him home with some Tupperware if he couldn’t finish it.

Or maybe Derek didn’t like pesto? He had seemed at least a little enthused when Stiles invited him, but maybe Stiles was reading too much into it?

He was overthinking things. He needed to not do that. Dad dished up some pesto for Stiles and then himself, and Stiles wondered if Dad liked the pesto at all since he hadn’t taken near as much as he normally did.

“So, Derek, how are you liking being back in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles turned a horrified eye to his dad. What kind of question was that? The last time Derek was in Beacon Hills, he’d been assaulted by a phantom from his past, all but run from the town, and everyone who cared about him was either dead or disgusted with him, Stiles included.

Although, if Stiles was honest with himself, he wasn’t as disgusted with Derek as he was with himself or Scott. Derek had just been reacting to the stress and repeated assault from Kate.

“It’s been good,” Derek said. He poked at his food before putting a small bite in his mouth. He chewed for almost a minute before he swallowed. “The people have been nice.”

Ashamed, Stiles stabbed at his own food. He hadn’t ever been the friend Derek needed. He didn’t know why it was so important to him that he do this, invite Derek for supper, go out for coffee to catch up, when even two years ago, he couldn’t find the time or patience for him.

“I’m sorry we were such assholes,” he blurted out.

Derek frowned at him. “We?” he repeated. “Are you apologizing for you or for everyone?”

“Everyone.”

“Don’t. I don’t want it. I was an asshole too.”

“Yeah, a surviving asshole.”

Derek smothered a chuckle. “Still an asshole.”

“Can we suspend the assholes at the dinner table?” Dad asked, pointing his fork at Stiles. “You’re sorry. Derek’s sorry. I’m sorry. Can we please just eat?”

“It is good,” Derek said. “The pesto, I mean. You’re a good cook, Stiles.”

Stiles took a moment to bask in the glory of the compliment before he set aside his plate. “So, Derek, is there any chance I’ll get to see where you live now?”

Derek glared at his plate. The change in expression gave Stiles pause. He vaguely remembered Derek telling him he couldn’t judge him for how he lived, not that he couldn’t visit him at all.

“I’m not ready for visitors,” Derek mumbled.

“Okay.” Stiles tried to bury the flash of hurt, but from Derek’s even more miserable expression, he wasn’t successful at all. “I mean,” he tried again, “I can wait until you’re ready? Or I can help you if that’s what you need? I’m not going to judge you.”

Both Dad and Derek turned their heads to stare at him. Stiles sunk in his seat.

“You know what I mean.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his plate.

Derek sighed. “I appreciate it. I really do. I’ll have to think about it. Is that okay?”

“Perfectly okay.” Stiles returned to his food, finishing his wine with a long swallow. He gathered the plates while Dad picked up the rest of the pesto. “I made a cheesecake,” Stiles said, mostly for Derek’s benefit so he wouldn’t take the opportunity of being left alone to duck out early.

“You’re actually going to let me have a slice?” Dad asked, surprised.

Stiles lightly slapped at his arm. “Of course you can have a slice. You’ve been doing much better with your diet. And besides, it’s low fat.”

Dad’s face falls. “Low fat?”

“Yes, low fat. It’s still delicious.” Stiles gave his dad one of his most mischievous looks, one his dad probably thought he retired after leaving his teens behind. “Or did you not want any?”

“No, I’ll take a slice. I probably won’t eat more than that.” His dad grabbed glasses for milk. “I mean, one is probably all I’ll need.”

“You can have two,” Stiles said magnanimously. “I’m sending the rest home with Derek.”

Derek was still sitting in his seat, thank goodness. He hurriedly shoved his cell phone under the table, shooting Stiles a guilty look.

“If you have other plans, you can go to them. You don’t have to stay for my sake.”

Derek shook his head. “No, it’s something for tomorrow.” He got a determined look in his eye before pulling out his phone again. “I could maybe use your help,” he admitted. “That is, if you have time.” He showed Stiles the screen.

It was just messages from a number Derek hadn’t saved as a contact. Okay to drop off mom’s stuff at 10?

Derek’s simple Yes underneath it sparked a shiver of fear in Stiles that he couldn’t explain.

“What is ‘mom’s stuff’?” he asked. Before Derek can stop him, he flicked the screen to another conversation. It was almost exactly the same except it was “Aunt Catherine’s crap” instead of “mom’s stuff.”

“It’s just stuff,” Derek said, evasive. He pulled his phone back, locking the screen. “Sometimes it’s a lot of stuff, and sometimes it’s not a lot of stuff.”

“And Aunt Catherine’s crap?”

“Catherine?” Dad interjected. “Catherine Harper who died two years ago? Her nephew finally decided to clean out her house?”

“Yeah, and apparently decided to just dump her ‘crap’ on Derek.”

Derek flushed. “It’s not like it’s a bad thing,” he mumbles. More clearly he said, “I help them take care of unwanted things. I have a holding period, and if, after that period, they don’t want anything from their loved one’s things, then I dispose of it.”

“Sounds like they’re getting more out of this deal than you,” Stiles remarked, studying Derek to see his reaction. Predictably, he blushed harder.

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh no?” Stiles started dishing up the cheesecake. “It probably is exactly like that. I know you, Mister. You don’t give enough thought to yourself when you try to help everyone.”

Derek accepted the plate. “Maybe I enjoy helping people?”

“To the point where they hurt you?” Stiles shook his head. “Dude, I was one of those people. You can’t say honestly that I didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m not holding a grudge.”

“Maybe you should.”

Dad grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “Let’s leave it alone for now,” he advised. “The wounds are obviously still fresh, but you’ll get nowhere if you keep picking the scab off before it can try to heal.”

He sat down and forked a large mouthful of the cheesecake into his mouth. “You’re right, Stiles, this isn’t so bad.”

Stiles acquiesced with a brief nod, tucking into his own slice. It wasn’t as good as the cheesecake he normally made, but for his dad’s health and inclusion in desserts, something Stiles had banned him from during high school, he’d gladly make it again.

Derek finished first and declined a second helping. Surprisingly Dad did too, so Stiles slapped a lid on the pan and handed it to Derek before he left.

“Can I come over around 10:00 tomorrow? Just to see what is being dropped off?”

Derek shrugged, nonchalant, but Stiles could still see the tension holding him stiff. “I’m not going to stop you.”

“Great,” Stiles said with genuine enthusiasm. “Text me the address?”

“Didn’t I write it down for you already?”

“Oh yeah.” Stiles smacked his forehead. “Sorry about that.” He patted his pockets until he came up with the crumpled paper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. Then, he walked to his Camaro, waved at Stiles after he secured the cheesecake in the front seat, and drove away.

Stiles returned to the kitchen to find his dad loading the dishwasher he’d finally bought after retiring from the Sheriff’s Department.

“That went well, I think,” Stiles told him.

“Son, I know you want to fix things, but some things take time.”

“I know that.” He blew out a breath. “It’s just…You know how we treated him when he came back to find his sister. His murdered sister.”

“The sister he did not murder,” Dad finished. They’d started referring to Derek like this after watching The Emperor’s New Groove one too many times when Stiles was on break his sophomore year.

Stiles blew out another breath. “I just wish we had been nicer to him. I mean, especially after we knew he had nothing to do with the murders.”

“Stiles, regret can only do so much for us. Go see what’s up tomorrow, but then let Derek dictate the pace. After all, it’s his healing that you’re so worried about right now.”

Stiles chewed on that for a minute before deciding that his dad was right. “I won’t push him if he’s not ready,” he finally said.

Dad sighed. “It’ll have to do. Now, do you want to watch a movie with me or did you have plans with your online friends?”

“A movie,” Stiles said automatically.

He’d make plans with Kira and Lydia later. For now, there was nothing better than getting to spend the night picking apart a movie with his dad. They both loved pointing out the inaccuracies in films, which made them unbearable to watch with anyone else. Besides, Stiles justified it as making up missed time. Dad had been busy most of his life. It was only fitting that now they could relax together when his dad had nothing more pressing than an early bedtime, and Stiles wasn’t as involved in the supernatural crises that used to plague the town.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek’s text with his address came in just before 8:30 a.m. when Stiles was in the shower, trying to wake up. Dad was already at work, so Stiles sent a text telling him that he was at Derek’s and will be home by supper, and then he packed a few water bottles into his backpack, grabbed some money from a stash he kept under his mattress, and then drove Roscoe to Derek’s address.

It was located in the solidly middle class residential district, the one right before where the Beacon Hills wealthy lived. Derek’s house was huge, by Stiles’ standards. It stood almost three stories tall and was nearly half a block all to itself. Someone had erected a fence around the property, six feet tall, with no spaces between the slats, and painted pale green to match the house. The front gate was wrought iron rendered into roses, the tops spiked.

Derek was sitting on an upturned bucket in the middle of the sidewalk, sorting a few piles of dusty books into three piles.

Stiles parked across the street so he wouldn’t block Derek’s visitor, and strolled up to him.

Derek barely paused in his sorting to grunt an acknowledgement at him.

“Do you need help yet?” Stiles asked. He picked up a book from the pile closest to Derek, gingerly flipping through it. The book was filled with poetry written by some author he didn’t recognize. The poems were stuffy, love in an abstract, don’t tell our families way that made Stiles sneeze. Or that could have been the dust.

He set the book back where he found it.

“Is this part of ‘mom’s stuff’?”

“No, this is part of Samuel’s things. He’s actually coming by today to collect all the books by Tomás Gibraltar.”

“And how long have you had Samuel’s things?” Stiles picked up the book of poems again. The author was not Tomás Gibraltar, so he could assume this pile was not one Samuel wanted. He grabbed a book from the pile Derek was sorting. This one was a Tomás Gibraltar book so he handed it to Derek and watched which pile he set it on, then he dove in.

“I’ve only had them for a few months. I thought I had more time. He was supposed to be back in Beacon Hills in another two months, but I guess his trip got cut short.”

“Good thing I’m early, eh?”

“Huh?” Derek quickly checked his phone. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll buy you lunch after Andrew drops off his mother’s things.”

“Cool.” Stiles added another Tomás Gibraltar book to the pile. “How many books did this guy write?” The pile already had twenty books.

“Over fifty, I think,” Derek replied, “which is a drop in the bucket compared to the number of books Samuel dropped off.”

Stiles stepped back and quickly counted the books surrounding Derek. He lost count at eighty-seven. “And just how many books was that?” he asked.

“Eighteen boxes worth,” Derek said. He stood up, stretching and rubbing at the small of his back.

“I guess even werewolves get backaches,” Stiles joked, flipping three more books into the Gibraltar pile.

“It’s a non-essential wound,” Derek said as he grabbed another stack of books. “It’ll heal when I’m done.” He looked up, stricken. “You don’t have to help long enough to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Stiles said. “I didn’t drag eighteen boxes of books out of your house.”

“That was the easy part.” Derek flashed him a brief smile that faded almost immediately when a large white SUV pulled up next to them.

A large man, gray hair, full beard, and mirrored sunglasses sauntered over to them.

“Derek.” His voice was jovial, but from the set of Derek’s shoulders, the man wasn’t a welcome visitor.

“Hey, Samuel. You said you’d be over by 9:30.”

Samuel made a show of looking at his wristwatch. Stiles would bet money that it was either a Rolex or a very good knockoff. “So I’m early. You’ve had two hours. You should have gotten it all done.”

“An hour,” Derek corrected quietly. “You called an hour ago.”

“Seriously?” Stiles set down the books he was holding. “What is your problem, man? You only gave him ninety minutes and thirty of those, you just took away?”

“Who’s this?” Samuel pointed at Stiles, flicking his fingers like Stiles was just an annoying fly.

“My friend,” Derek said. “But he’s right. You didn’t give me enough time, and you’ve shortened it considerably, so you know what? You can deal with your books yourself.” Derek stood up, grabbed his bucket and Stiles, and marched toward his house.

“You can’t walk away from a paying customer,” Samuel shouted after them.

“You didn’t pay me anything,” Derek said. He shoved Stiles through the gate, slapping the bucket into his arms.

“Is this a fight? Should I call the cops?”

Samuel squared off, snarling at Derek. Instead of a fighting stance, Derek instead grabbed a book from the Gibraltar pile. He held up a hand. “One step closer,” he gritted out between clenched fangs. Stiles held his breath. He didn’t know if this man knew what Derek was. He hoped Derek would be able to rein in his control and possibly endangered himself.

Samuel faltered his steps. He studied Derek, expression blank for a long few minutes before he shook his head and adjusted his sunglasses. “Fine. You’ve got til 9:30.”

“No,” Derek said. “You take your books now. All of them. If you don’t, everything is going to the dump. You have fifteen minutes to get this crap off my property before I call the police on you for trespassing.”

“You can’t do that. These books are my property.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you dumped them on him,” Stiles called. He was escalating the situation, but he couldn’t help it.

Derek didn’t deserve to be treated like his time wasn’t important.

Samuel could go kick rocks for all Stiles cared.

Samuel worked his jaw before stalking to the pile of Gibraltar books and gathering as many as he could carry and stacking them into the back of his SUV.

Derek watched him, periodically checking his phone to keep track of the fifteen minutes. Once time was up, Samuel still had over a couple hundred books. Derek left him then, locking the gate behind himself.

Samuel began cursing but Derek didn’t turn around, and after a moment to enjoy the sight of a full grown man in tantrum mode, Stiles followed him. Derek didn’t say anything when Stiles walked with him up his front steps and into his foyer. Stiles stopped still in shock.

There was so much stuff that his brain couldn’t quite process what he was seeing. Derek had already disappeared from view, and Stiles didn’t see how. Was there a path? Where did Derek get all this stuff from?

It was boxes and boxes covered in things like lamps, clothing, papers. There was so much of it that Stiles was afraid to touch it or even try to find Derek’s path because he was positive it was going to fall over and crush him.

Instead, he waited in the foyer, hands shoved deep in his pockets while he rocked back and forth, unsure why, but knowing that he was heading for a panic attack.

Derek returned with the empty pan and lid from the cheesecake, handing it to Stiles.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Stiles shook his head. He clutched the pan, squeezing it like it was a flotation device, feeling like it was one too.

Derek gently gripped his elbow and turned him around. They stepped back out on the porch, and Derek guided him to a chair. Samuel was still cursing, but he was now sitting on the ground sorting his own damn books.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, shaky. He was still on the edge, honestly could go either way, and he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. Derek pressed down on the pan so that it was weighted against Stiles’ legs. He latched onto the sensation and used it to pull himself firmly into just-past-panic territory. Then he stared down at the empty pan.

“Did you really eat all the cheesecake yourself?”

Derek flushed. “No.”

“Liar,” Stiles countered.

“I didn’t,” Derek protested. “I gave it away.” His eyes cut away and Stiles couldn’t make eye contact anymore. He frowned at him, thinking back to every Hoarders episode he had ever seen. “Do you have a working fridge?” he asked.

“Yes,” Derek bit out. So, probably a lie.

“Did you not like it?”

“What? It was fine. It tasted almost like regular cheesecake. It was fine, Stiles. I told you, you’re a good cook.”

“So, why did you give it away? It would have kept for a few more days.”

Derek’s mouth twisted, and it was all the warning Stiles had before Derek stood up and stalked into his house. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked.

Stiles waited a few minutes to see if Derek would reappear, and when he didn’t, he banged on the door.

After about five minutes, Derek finally cracked open the door. “What?” he snapped.

“Why are you mad at me?”

Derek pointed at the pan Stiles had left on the chair. “Why are you interrogating me about your cheesecake?”

Screeching tires and burning rubber interrupted whatever response Stiles was going to say, and they both watched as Samuel peeled around the corner. He’d left all the books that weren’t by his Gibraltar author, and Derek visibly slumped as he stared at the mess remaining on the sidewalk.

“I can help you pick them up,” Stiles offered. He briefly wondered where Derek would put them, or if he could even fit them into his house.

Derek eyed him. “Will you leave your cheesecake out of it?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Derek opened the door wider. “Thanks.” He passed out a plastic tote, and Stiles took it. Derek stepped out, another tote in his arms. “I could only empty the two. I know there’s more, but I couldn’t find them right now.”

No wonder, Stiles thought meanly. With the mess in Derek’s house, it was a miracle he didn’t lose himself.

It took ten minutes to fill the first tote. Derek hefted it up on his shoulders and carried it back to his house. It took him ten minutes to empty it and come back, and by that time, Stiles had the second tote filled. Derek took it from him and again took ten minutes to come back with it emptied. He also brought the chair from the porch and Stiles’ pan.

“Why don’t you take a quick break while I fill this tote?”

Stiles shrugged. He wouldn’t say no. Besides, he was thirsty. He offered a bottle to Derek as he began packing books into the tote.

Derek accepted after a few seconds of cajoling. They were silent for a sip or two before Derek said, softly, “I know you’re disappointed in me.” He fiddled with the cap from his bottle, running it over his fingers and tucking it into his palm, only to start again immediately.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles said. He concentrated on taking small, even sips of his water. It was a shock to be sure to see the amount of stuff in Derek’s house.

“You had a panic attack because of me,” Derek said.

“Not you,” Stiles said. “Claustrophobia. It was a little tight and I lost sight of you.”

“Sorry about that,” Derek said, in a tone that wasn’t entirely truthful. Stiles wondered when he’d gotten good at reading Derek. It couldn’t have been in just the day and a half since they’ve reconnected. Maybe Derek had gotten easier to read?

“I’m sure a few cleaning sessions and the house will be right as rain.” He was lying through his teeth. Another thing he remembered from Hoarders was that if the front of the house was as jam packed as Derek’s, then the rest of the house was too. With two and a half stories, that had to be a million pounds of trash all stuffed into the poor house.

“A few cleaning sessions,” Derek repeated, numbly. “Yeah. Sure. Are you offering?”

“I mean, yeah, if you want.” Stiles didn’t have a job yet, hadn’t even applied anywhere, so he had time. Plenty of it.

Derek studied him for a long, long moment before re-capping his bottle and handing it to Stiles. “We’ll see,” is all he said before he got back to packing the tote with the books. Stiles estimated at the rate they were going, it would take another forty minutes to pick up the rest of the books.

“Do you think Samuel is coming back for the rest of his books?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know he’s not getting them. He dumped them on me and left me this mess to clean up, so he can go fuck himself.”

Stiles tripped over nothing, shocked at the fact that he just heard Derek swear.

Of course, he has heard him call people bitches, Peter’s nurse came to mind, but Derek tended not to swear, and Stiles hadn’t ever heard that word pass his lips.

“I’m sure he can,” he said, amusement evident in his voice. Derek scrunched his nose at him before lifting both totes onto his shoulders and walking toward his house. Stiles sighed. Of course Derek would take it as Stiles laughing at him. Oh well. At least Stiles could carry some of the books closer to the house so that it would at least take nine minutes for Derek to empty the totes instead of ten.

Derek could only carry one tote into the house at a time, so Stiles just stacked a few books around the second tote. He hadn’t made much progress before Derek returned. He frowned down at the books.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, disappearing back into the house with the full tote.

Hey, it’s something. Stiles left the tote on the porch and went to grab more books.

He’d gotten about half of the remaining books moved when Derek came back. He took a tote to the books still scattered on the sidewalk and shoveled them into the tote while Stiles hurriedly packed the books on the porch into that tote.

Okay, so it wouldn’t take quite another ten minutes. Stiles carried the last of the sidewalk books to the porch and then brought the chair there too, sitting down and finishing his bottle of water. As soon as Derek poked his head out, Stiles threw his water at him.

“Enforced break,” he said.

Derek didn’t argue.

“How are you feeling after all that?” Stiles kind of wanted to see where Derek was stashing all those books, but he didn’t relish the idea of another panic attack. Maybe now that he kind of knew what to expect he could go deeper into the house?

One look at Derek’s face, and he nixed that idea. He didn’t need to invade more than he already had. Dad’s words of wisdom from last night coming back to him. He couldn’t fix Derek just by cleaning his house. He needed therapy. Lots of it.

And he needed people like Samuel to stop dumping his crap on Derek. Obviously, Derek wasn’t in the right headspace to discard so much stuff.

And here came “mom’s stuff” to drop off even more crap.

Derek glanced up when a beat-up maroon Camry rolled to a stop in front of his house, parking in the same spot Samuel had been in nearly an hour ago.

“It’s Andrew,” Derek said, and the tiredness in his voice dragged Stiles down too.

“Can you tell him no?” Stiles asked, following Derek as he stood up and made his way down his drive. Stiles gaped in shock as three Uhaul trucks came into view. “Seriously,” he said weakly. “Tell him no. You have enough stuff, Derek. You can’t fit more into your house.”

“If I don’t, where is he going to take it?”

“To a storage unit,” Stiles said. “Or to the dump. Derek, seriously, this is not your problem. Please don’t make it be your problem.”

Derek sighed. “I gave him my word, Stiles. My word is the only thing that matters about me.”

Stiles held up his hands. “Okay, dude. Are you sure you want three Uhauls worth, though?”

Derek snarled under his breath, and Stiles resolved to drop it. Derek probably already felt horrible about having so much stuff. He didn’t need Stiles to rub it in and make it worse.

Andrew greeted Derek jovially, throwing in a quick hello for Stiles too. Stiles recognized him. He was a deputy under his dad. It was either his day off or he wasn’t working for the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department anymore.

Andrew also brought along a crew, as if he knew exactly what he was getting Derek into. Stiles stood on the side and seethed at how people were taking advantage of Derek’s nature.

“I can’t watch this,” he said before they got the first truck empty. “Derek, please reconsider this. You have so much more worth than just your word. Please let me help you.”

Derek waved him away. “I’ll catch up with you later, Stiles. Thanks for the help earlier.”

Dismissed, pissed, and more than a little miffed, Stiles stalked to Roscoe, threw his backpack in the backseat, buckled his cake pan in the front seat, and drove to the bakery.

The first bit of good luck he had had all day came in the form of his dad on break, sitting outside and eating a gluten free scone.

“It’s not actually that bad,” Dad said when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. “It got a little burnt, so the owners said we could have them.” Stiles stole the rest of it and gave it back after one bite. “How’d it go with Derek?”

“Miserable,” Stiles said. “This whole town is taking advantage of him. You know the guy that was bringing his mom’s stuff to Derek’s?”

“Yeah.”

“It was Andrew Potts.”

“The deputy?”

“Yes. And you know what?” Before his dad could say “what,” Stiles continued, “He brought three Uhauls worth of stuff to Derek’s house! And you wanna know the worst thing?”

This time Dad did say, “What?”

“Derek’s house is completely full. Like, there’s nowhere to walk in there. I don’t even know how he’s living. And I’m pretty sure he lied to me about having a working fridge. Which explains why he only bought, like, junk food yesterday.”

“Wait a minute.” Dad held up his hand until Stiles fell silent. “Are you telling me that Derek Hale’s house is so full of things that he can’t actually live in it? And someone brought even more stuff to him?”

“Pretty sure he’s living in there,” Stiles said, “but yeah, that’s the gist of it. Like, I’d maybe understand if at least some of the things were Derek’s that he’d picked out. Instead, it seems like he takes crap from everyone. Do you know who Samuel is, gray hair, big beard, white SUV?”

“Samuel Johnson,” Dad said. “I think his son used to go to school with Derek.”

“Yeah, well, he’s an asshole. He dumped a million books on Derek, like, two years ago, and then called this morning to get one author back. Then, after Derek was nice enough to bring his books out to be sorted—which I think he did mostly because there’s no room in his house to do it—Mr. Bigshot cut his time short, claimed Derek had two hours when he barely gave him one, and then left the rest of the books for Derek to deal with.”

“And I’m guessing Derek just took them back into his house?” Dad wrapped his scone in a napkin and tucked it into his lunch box.

Stiles clicked his tongue and pointed at him.

“Stiles, you know you can’t help Derek unless he wants it.”

Stiles deflated, sinking onto a seat next to his dad. He put his head on Dad’s shoulder. “I know,” he said, miserable. “I just hate seeing him being used like that and getting hurt too. He got mad at me when I asked him about the cheesecake.”

“Why would you ask about that?”

“Because he gave me back the pan. It looks washed, but there was a lot of cheesecake in there. He couldn’t have eaten it all himself, so he could have stored it, but he claims he shared it.”

“And you’re not mad because he shared it,” Dad guessed.

Stiles clicks his tongue again. “I’m mad because it was obvious he was lying about being able to store it.”

“I know this hurts, Stiles. I know it hurts a lot. I’ve had a few friends that started hoarding for one reason or another. For a while after your mom died, I thought we’d both become hoarders.”

“And then you stopped drinking as much.”

“Because I had you to think about. I almost let you get away from me, but I couldn’t stand to lose you too, so I cleaned up my act. I’m sure you realize that Derek doesn’t have anyone to do that for him. His only living relatives are so far away or he’s not on good terms with them.”

Stiles suppressed the shudder that always came with the mention of Peter Hale. That was one person Stiles had no desire ever to run into again.

Peter had left town after Kate’s second defeat, probably because he’d tried to take the alpha power from Scott, claiming that no such thing as a true alpha existed and that the power in Scott was really the Hale power, usurped by a chance of fate and the weakness of Derek.

Stiles had stepped in then, explaining that if the power were truly the Hales’, then they could take it back without force.

Scott had felt betrayed, as he told Stiles many times afterward, and also left town because he did not want to give up the power despite still not wanting to be a werewolf.

Things had gone downhill after that because, before Peter and Scott had left, Derek walked away from Beacon Hills.

Now Derek was back, Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott in almost six years, and as far as Stiles knew, Derek was still a beta.

“I don’t want to push him,” Stiles said, “but I can’t stand by and let people hurt him. Why doesn’t he think he has any worth?”

“Maybe he’s spent most of his life hearing that he doesn’t have anything to offer anyone,” Dad suggested. “Stiles, you need to ask him about his relationships. It’ll be hard, but he revealed something to me when I was Sheriff, that I think you need to talk to him about.”

“Will he actually talk to me or will he just push me away?”

“You won’t know until you try. Now, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.” He reached around to give Stiles as much of a hug as he could. “I’ll see you at home. Love you, son.”

“Love you too.” Stiles ambled back to Roscoe, turning to wave at his dad before he went into the bakery.

Stiles sighed, letting his head drop back. He could go back to Derek’s, but that wouldn’t result in anything except maybe another panic attack and definitely another argument.

With no other choice, Stiles started driving, taking the turn to his dad’s house instead of going straight.

He wanted so badly to help Derek, but his dad was right. Unless Derek was receptive to receiving that help, nothing Stiles did would actually help him. In fact, he might end up hurting him worse than Andrew with his three Uhaul trucks or Samuel and his books.

It was hard not to go back, but he decided to wait until tomorrow, unless Derek texted sooner.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles frowned as he got closer to Derek’s house. He could see a cruiser parked a block down, and closer, a code enforcement officer’s car.

Really?he thought. Andrew came to drop off his mom’s junk and turned around and called in Derek’s house? What a fucking jerk.

Stiles parked in the same spot as yesterday and ambled up the drive. He found the code enforcement officer, a woman by the name of Tamara Reiss, standing on the porch, writing on a clipboard.

“I’m sorry to do this to you, Mr. Hale, but this property is unlivable. Until it’s cleaned out, I’m condemning it.”

“The house isn’t in bad shape,” Stiles protested. Derek stood silent, holding what Stiles assumed were tickets from violations. “look, there’s obviously a lot of stuff inside, but that can be cleared out. The house itself—”

“Is a fire code violation,” Tamara said, pure ice. Derek flinched at her tone. “If Mr. Hale were to suffer an injury, no paramedic team would be able to extract him without significant risk to themselves. There isn’t any noticeable structural damage yet. At the rate of accumulation, though, there is great risk of the weight increasing to a point that the house can no longer remain on its foundation. Therefore, I am deeming this property as unlivable until it is either cleaned up or knocked down. Whichever course of action you wish to seek, Mr. Hale, I leave entirely up to you. I will return in two weeks to check on your progress. If there hasn’t been significant change, then I will have no option but to fully condemn your house. Have a great day.”

She signed her clipboard, pulled a red sticker out of her jacket pocket, and slapped a condemned sticker over the front door. Derek didn’t even wait for her to leave his property before he pried it off and slipped inside. Stiles frowned at the door. He was almost positive that it had been able to open completely yesterday. Now it seemed as if something was blocking it, preventing it from opening fully.

He followed more slowly, stopping in the foyer to take a deep breath. There indeed was more stuff. Stiles shuddered, scuttling sideways until he found the extremely narrow path Derek obviously used to navigate around his house. He passed several rooms, living room, dining room, downstairs bathroom, before he found himself in a kitchen. It was hard to recognize it as such because everything was covered in piles of things. Stiles looked around, trying to slow his racing heart. He could barely breathe, everything jumbling together in front of his eyes and closing in on him.

“Hey,” Derek said next to him, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, a shout escaping his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me!”

“I didn’t,” Derek said, put out. “You’re the one that followed me.”

“How the hell can you even find anything in here?” Stiles moved toward where he thought the fridge should be. He was rewarded when he shifted a pile of things and found the handle. He pried at it but could not get it to open. Derek sighed and tried his hand at it too, looking a bit frightened when even his werewolf strength didn’t seem to budge it.

“I guess you were right that it works,” Stiles said, leaning against it and hearing the hum. “But I was right too: you can’t use it.”

“I know I need to clean up.” Derek shrank in on himself, huddling down almost like he was waiting for his things to come and cover him like it had covered the fridge. “Will you help me?”

Stiles looked around at all the things surrounding them. It was overwhelming to say the least. “I don’t know where to begin,” he said. “And anyway, if we just clean it out, who’s to say that it won’t just come back? Three Uhauls, Derek. Is that the most stuff someone has ever dumped on you?”

“No,” Derek admitted without making eye contact. “Someone once dropped off eight Uhauls.”

“Was it Samuel?”

“No.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “Was it Catherine Harper’s nephew?”

Derek didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up a leather purse that looked like it had gone ten rounds with a Chihuahua and lost badly.

“Derek,” Stiles said, “I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to help yourself.”

“I know,” Derek said, almost in tears. Stiles scrambled over the junk to stand in front of him, arms raised until Derek nodded once.

Stiles hugged him as tightly as he could. “I might know someone who can talk to you,” he whispered. Derek nodded against his chest.

“Is it okay if I throw out that purse?”

Derek didn’t answer, which Stiles took to mean no. It was all right. They needed baby steps. Agreeing to see a therapist was enough of a baby step today. There was always tomorrow anyway.

“Do you want to come stay with us until we get your house livable?”

“Isn’t your dad going to mind?”

“We’ll ask him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind at all. We might have some ground rules.”

“No, no one is going to drop things off at your house.” Derek laughed a little. It sounded bitter to Stiles, but that could have just been because Derek’s nose was clogged.

“And we’ll get them trained to stop doing it here too,” he promised, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wasn’t going to be made into a liar.

“Now, what say you go pack a bag of the essentials, like clothes, shaving supplies, anything else you think you might need for at least a week.”

Derek straightened, wiping at his face. “Thanks, Stiles. I’m sorry I’m being such a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Stiles automatically said. “That’s something we’ll have to work on. You have so much worth, Derek. I just wish you could see it.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Derek frowned down at their feet, letting the purse drop back down to the floor. “Do you need help getting out?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just a little too tight for me in here.”

Derek held out his hand, and Stiles took it. Together, they shimmied through the stacked paths, stepping over things never meant to be stepped on until Derek deposited Stiles by the front door.

“Are you positive your dad won’t mind me staying with you?”

“I’ll call him to double check right now,” Stiles said. “Why don’t you go get that bag? I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready.”

Derek nodded sharply and slipped back into the house while Stiles sat on the porch and dialed his dad’s number.

Since Dad was still at work, it just went to voicemail. Stiles filled him in quickly, told him they’d talk more at supper, and then he hung up.

Derek was ready shortly after that, with a single ratty backpack hanging off one shoulder, and they walked across the road to Roscoe. “Thank you,” Derek said softly as they pulled away from the curb.

“Hey, no worries. That’s what friends are for.”

“Are we friends or acquaintances?”

“I’d like to think that we’re friends,” Stiles said. “And I hope you see us that way too. If not now, then soon.”

“I think I’d like that,” Derek said, very quiet. He didn’t say anything else during the drive to the Stilinski house, but Stiles wasn’t worried. It was a lot to take in for one day, to be told he couldn’t stay in his own home, uprooted because people wouldn’t stop dumping stuff on him, thinking that he was going back on his word when really he was very overwhelmed, to having to move in with someone he wasn’t entirely certain was a friend. Yeah, Derek had to be feeling a little rough right now.

Stiles could give him some space and time before approaching him with his therapist’s information. He could only hope that Derek was still as open to help in a few hours or days as he was now.

Dad had called and left a voicemail by the time they got to the house, and Stiles played it, knowing Derek could hear every word.

Dad confirmed that Derek was welcome to stay with them as long as he needed, and that Dad still had some pull on the force if Derek wanted help cleaning up.

“I don’t know if he has as much pull as he thinks he does,” Stiles said, putting away his phone, “or if the deputies think they’re helping keep him out of trouble by doing what he wants.”

“He’s a likable man,” Derek replied. “They probably just want to keep tabs on him because they enjoyed working for him.”

“Ah, there is that. Anyway.” Stiles pointed at the house. “I’m in my old room, but we have a spare room that Dad converted to an actual guest room when I was in college. I’m not sure if he thought I’d bring some friends home with me or what, but it’s there, and now it’s yours.”

“You didn’t have friends in college?”

Stiles shrugged. “I did, but no one I was close enough with to invite home for break.”

“What about Scott?” Derek snapped his lips shut as soon as he said the name.

Stiles shrugged again. “We aren’t really close anymore,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “I mean, we had a pretty big fight the last time we talked.”

“I can imagine.”

Stiles didn’t know how much of what happened after Kate was defeated again Derek remembered. He was pretty out of it by the time they got to him.

“Anyway. Let’s get you inside and settled. Do you want anything for lunch or are you…?”

Derek seemed so small sitting in Stiles’ passenger seat, clinging to his backpack. Small wasn’t a qualifier Stiles had ever thought he’d use in conjunction with Derek, but here they were.

“Do you need some more time?” Stiles asked gently. Derek shuddered, shoving the door open and sliding out.

Stiles jumped out, landing lightly while Derek stood still, like he was waiting for the concrete to swallow him.

He trailed after Stiles slowly as he headed up the walk and unlocked the door. Stiles waved him through and then had to step around him when Derek stopped in his tracks.

“I’m getting some water. Want some?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer. Derek was bowstring-taut, getting ready to fire something, and Stiles thought it might be panic.

The water trick was something Stiles’ third grade teacher used to do when he started having panic attacks in her class. He couldn’t focus on panicking at the same time as drinking.

He returned to the entryway and pressed a cool glass into Derek’s hands, taking his backpack at the same time.

Derek stared at the water like he wasn’t sure how it had gotten there, but Stiles was relieved to see him take a small sip. A few moments later, Derek had finished the water and was looking around the room with more alertness. Stiles put the glass in the sink and then started up the stairs.

He paused halfway, and asked, “Wanna see your room?” Derek nodded, following him up the stairs.

The guest room had been a nursery when Stiles was a baby, then it was his mom’s office, then it was locked up tight while both he and his dad processed their grief, and then, after all of that, Dad had finally unlocked it, aired it out, and painted it light green.

Dad had invested in a queen size bed frame and mattress and bedding that matched the walls. He’d commissioned a desk and chair from a local woodworker, adding a dresser later when he realized that the closet was too small to comfortably fit more than a suitcase and a few hangers.

Overall, the room was nice. And it had been therapeutic for his dad to redo it. Stiles had taken his hint and had repainted his room last summer, changing out some of his Fathead stickers for more sophisticated posters of indie films Stiles had no intention of ever watching, and updating his furniture from the pressboard crap at department stores.

Derek poked his head into the guest room. “It’s nice,” he said. “Like a hotel.”

“Oh!” Stiles ran to the bathroom, digging under the counter until he found the shoebox his dad kept samples in. He came back to the guest room and pressed unopened bottles of shampoo and conditioner into Derek’s hand. He added a tiny bar of soap too.

“I wasn’t sure if you were able to bring any of those things with you,” he said, eyeing the backpack with outright suspicion, “but we have, like, a million of those things, so feel free to use them if you want.”

“Thank you.” Derek closed his fingers around the toiletries. He picked up his backpack and stepped into the room. “Thanks for everything, Stiles.” He shut the door.

Stiles didn’t want to bother Derek anymore, so he headed downstairs and to the kitchen where he pulled out the ingredients to make a pot pie. He’d recently mastered savory crusts, and Dad enjoyed anything with added fat, so supper should go over well.

And if Derek wanted anything else, well, there were a bunch of takeout menus stashed in a drawer by the landline his dad insisted they keep for emergencies.

Stiles was just as insistent that in an emergency, they wouldn’t remember to use the landline. It wasn’t a fight he tried terribly hard to win, mostly because he knew they had the same number they’d always had, and it was one more tie to their past that Dad wasn’t ready to let go of yet.

Derek ambled downstairs after about thirty minutes, freshly showered. He settled at the kitchen table, hunching forward like he wasn’t warm enough. Weird. It was maybe in the upper 70s in here. Stiles himself was over-warm, although he attributed that more to moving around than the fact that his dad didn’t believe in running the AC until the thermometer was about ready to break 90.

“Are you okay?”

Derek began rocking back and forth.

Stiles stared at him, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It took far too long for him to realize that this was another panic attack. He immediately dusted off his hands, abandoning his crust. It would probably be ruined, but that was okay. It wasn’t nearly as important as Derek.

Stiles pulled a chair around to sit next to him, laying a hand first on the table top and then on Derek’s knee after an almost imperceptible nod.

Fine tremors raced up Derek’s legs, jerking the muscles underneath Stiles’ palm. He began rubbing soothing circles while providing a counterpoint by poking at the soft skin of Derek’s wrist.

Slowly, Derek came to a stop, staring down at where Stiles had begun poking him in rhythm to Foreigner’s Hot Blooded.

“Are you playing music on me?” he asked slowly, voice tight with the effort to not let it shake.

Stiles tapped a little faster. “Yes?”

Derek concentrated, his eyebrows sloping down while his mouth opened enough to show off his front teeth. Stiles suppressed the urge to make a bunny joke while Derek worked through the pattern in his head.

“I give up,” he finally said. “I don’t know what song that is.”

“It’s Hot Blooded,” Stiles told him. “Are you okay now? Do you want to talk about it?”

A quick shake of Derek’s head was all Stiles got, but it was more than he would have gotten six years ago.

“Okay. Do you want to help me make supper? We can order something for lunch after.”

Derek held up his hands, claws sticking out and then retracting quickly. “Yeah. I can help. What do you need me to do?”

Stiles smiled, patting Derek’s leg. “I’m making the crust now. It’ll have to rest for at least an hour before we can roll it out and put it in the dish. In the meantime, how do you feel about dicing up some beef?”

Stiles washed his hands again, pulling out a cutting board and a knife for Derek, who also washed his hands.

“This is one of my favorite recipes to make.” Stiles restarted the dough. “I found the recipe online and switched it around until it wasn’t nearly as unhealthy.”

Derek looked down at the beef he was cutting and then at Stiles’ ball of dough he was currently covering with cling-film. “I didn’t know pot pie could be healthy.”

“I said not as unhealthy,” Stiles protested, “not entirely healthy.”

“What do you want for lunch?” Derek asked. “You said something about ordering?”

“Yeah.” Stiles dusted his hands off and then washed them thoroughly, picking at the cruddy paste caked into his fingernails. “There’s a pizza place that always delivers inside of half an hour. Or we could get some Chinese. Oh! There’s a new Indian place that just opened.” Stiles dried off his hands and grabbed the stack of menus off the table where the cordless handset lived. He came back, flipping through the menus until he found the one for Dehli Rose. “Oh, no delivery,” he said, disappointed.

“That’s okay. What else do you have?”

Stiles fanned the menus so Derek could see them. It took a few minutes, but they settled on Italian. Stiles called in the order while Derek finished cutting up the beef and set it aside in a bowl before cleaning up the counter and washing the knife and cutting board.

“The food will be here in about forty minutes. That gives us plenty of time to make the filling.”

Buoyed by the way things were turning out so well, Stiles settled in at the stove, his smile stretching his mouth wide enough to hurt as Derek stood by his side, watching every move with a concentration he usually reserved for mysteries.

It was every bit as flattering as Stiles had ever imagined it to be. Not that he’d spent time imagining Derek studying him. Not at all.

He shook himself and re-focused on the stove. There would be time enough to examine whatever the fuck that was later.

For now, he wanted to enjoy every second he had with Derek before he inevitably pulled away.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Lunch was fantastic. Stiles couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting he and Derek had ever been in. They’d finished the wine, plated the food on the good dishes, and sat at the table, talking.

Well, Stiles kept talking. Derek just sipped at his wine and studied Stiles with that same intense gaze he’d had while they were cooking.

It wasn’t only the wine bringing a flush to Stiles’ skin, but he kept drinking for an excuse.

He wasn’t certain where the sudden flash of heat came from when he noticed that Derek was staring at him, but it was a welcome change in how Stiles usually felt whenever Derek crossed his mind.

That is to say, usually pissed off and vaguely angry. Derek had a talent for eliciting those feelings in people, Stiles included, even if he wanted to climb him like a tree most days. Hey, Derek had inspired more than a few jerk-off sessions in high school and college.

After the second glass of wine, Stiles realized he was fucked when Derek half-rose out of his seat to reach for the pasta carbonara and his shirt rode up, exposing a line of tanned, furred skin that made Stiles’ dick take interest.

Derek sat down with a thump, mouth hanging open, the serving spoon dangling from lax fingers.

“I’m sorry!” Stiles apologized, fanning his hand in the air, like that was going to do anything to disperse the obvious lust pheromones he’d just accidentally smacked Derek with. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Huh?” Derek slowly shook his head.

Okay, that was weird. He didn’t seem to be reacting in any way Stiles had ever seen before. Suddenly worried, Stiles hurried around the table. He reached Derek just as he slumped sideways. Stiles yelped, shoving himself underneath Derek’s side, trying to hold him up.

Two hundred pounds of werewolf was a bit more than Stiles could handle, and he had to let Derek go. At least it was a controlled fall and Derek didn’t hit his head.

Stiles didn’t know what had caused it. It couldn’t have been him, right? So what else was there?

Maybe it was something he’d put in the pot pie? But if that was the case, why would it take this long to cause Derek to react?

No, more likely it was because of the food they’d just eaten.

“Aw, fuck,” Stiles swore. “Am I going to have to make you puke?”

Derek, of course, didn’t answer, too busy being unconscious. Great.

Stiles wrinkled his nose, prayed his fingers were clean enough, and shoved his index and middle finger down Derek’s throat.

Within seconds, Derek was retching, pasta carbonara mixed with wine and garlic bread spewing out across the floor. Stiles jumped back. He didn’t want to leave Derek unattended if he was just going to pass out again, so he sat at his back, rolled him into the recovery position, and just listened as Derek wheezed and gagged weakly for a few minutes.

Once it seemed like Derek was recovering, he stood up and grabbed some rags to wipe away the sick.

“What just happened?” Derek asked thickly when Stiles handed him a glass of water and a tissue.

Stiles shrugged. “You tell me.”

Derek wiped his nose and then blew it, grimacing at the particles mixed in his snot. “I feel like a truck just ran me over.”

“Have you ever been run over by a truck?”

Derek stared at him, any pretense of bravado ruined by the fact that his eyes and nose were still streaming.

“Of course you have,” Stiles answered himself. He sighed. “Either you were poisoned, or you had an allergic reaction. Or you were poisoned to have an allergic reaction.”

“Was it something in the food?”

“Couldn’t take a chance. So, sorry, but I induced vomiting.”

Derek shook his head, tossing back the water like a shot. “Thanks,” he said as soon as he swallowed. “I’m sorry I ruined lunch.”

“No, I’m sorry you had a reaction. I don’t think it was on purpose.” Stiles knew the owners of the restaurant. They were an older couple who prided themselves on their longevity in a town that did its best to keep up with the hipsters of the big cities. They weren’t supernatural, as far as Stiles knew, but he also knew there were a lot of plants that could harm even humans if they were used incorrectly.

“I’m sure you’re right. I’ve never eaten there before. My mom wouldn’t let us, but she didn’t tell us why.”

“Well, that’s on your mom.” At Derek’s incredulous look, Stiles shrugged. “I’m sorry, but who tells someone ‘Don’t eat there,’ but doesn’t tell them why?”

He sighed again and went to the phone in the entryway. He dug through the menus until he found the one for the Italian place. Shame. Dad really liked their Alfredo sauce.

Stiles neatly tore the menu in half and then deposited it into their indoor recycling bin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Derek said. His voice was nasally and he kept clearing his throat. He also seemed a little green around the gills, like he wasn’t quite done purging. Stiles shooed him toward the bathroom.

“Of course I did,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. If we really miss their food, we can go there and get it. Until I know for sure what made you react like that, their food will not pass our doors.”

To make his point, he gathered up the dishes, scraping the leftovers into a bag that he immediately tied off and dumped in the outside trash bin. Then he washed the dishes, sticking them into the dishwasher for an extra sanitation cycle. Derek was sitting at the table again when he mopped the soiled floors with boiling water, ignoring Derek’s shocked face as he poured Pine-Sol disinfectant on it and mopped it with a fresh mop head.

By the time he was done, there was not a single trace of the food anywhere. Nor was there anything left of his lust, but for some reason, there was a strong desire to hug Derek and tell him that things would be okay.

“Are we going to talk about it?” he asked as he sat down again. “Is that something we can do now?”

“Talk about what?”

Stiles blew out a breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but this seems like something we should really talk about. I mean, you just had a reaction to something. Shouldn’t we at least try to figure out what it was before it happens again?”

“It won’t happen again.” Derek ran his hands over his head, scratching at his scalp in a way that reminded Stiles strongly of how he felt after eating something he had an allergic reaction to. He also started sniffling, rubbing at his nose.

“I’m sure it won’t,” he said soothingly, “but still, why would the Cabellos make something a werewolf couldn’t eat? They shouldn’t even be aware of werewolves, right?”

“We don’t know that they did it on purpose.”

“You’re right; we don’t.” Stiles snapped his fingers, pulling out his cell phone. “We can ask them, though. I’m sure they’d appreciate the heads up that whatever they’re doing to their food is making their customers have reactions.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “It could have been an honest mistake,” he argued. “My mom never let us eat there, so I’m guessing she knew about any ingredients they used.”

“That puts the onus back on your mom,” Stiles pointed out. “You realize that, right? If she knew what they did to their food, she should have told you.”

“I guess.”

“Well, that kind of royally fucked the day, didn’t it?”

“At least we know I can eat your pot pie later.”

Small comfort that was, although Stiles bit his tongue so he wouldn’t say it out loud. Derek didn’t need sarcasm. He might need more medical attention, though. “Yeah. Say, how’re you feeling? Are you healing just fine or should we…?” Stiles let his voice trail off under Derek’s weighty gaze.

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. “Thanks.”

Stiles cleared his throat, choking on the awkwardness of the situation. “Well,” he coughed, “I think I should go job search some more. Why don’t you rest, and we’ll reconnect in about an hour to fully assemble the pie?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me already?” Derek smiled, so Stiles thought he probably meant it as a joke. Too bad Stiles’ brain couldn’t accept it like that. Some things were very literal for him, and people joking about leaving or being driven away hitting hard in a way almost no other words could.

“I would never try to get rid of you,” he said. “I-I—” no more words came, and Stiles fell silent, watching as Derek studied him, neither of them moving for a full five minutes.

Finally, Derek shook himself. “Stiles, I know you think you’re falling in love with me, but you aren’t.”

Stiles pointed at him. “You can’t tell me what I am or am not doing.”

He knew on some level that he’d always been attracted to Derek. It was half of the reason he’d asked Scott to confirm if werewolves could smell arousal. Scott had never confirmed, but hanging out with Derek had taught Stiles just how much at least Derek relied on his nose, so in the end, he’d gotten his answer.

He’d also worked to bury any feelings he might have for Derek because at the time it was an inconvenience to be in love with him. Stiles wanted to go back in time and slap himself.

How could he have been so stupid? Derek didn’t deserve people thinking that loving him was an inconvenience. He didn’t deserve the hand he’d been dealt. He also didn’t deserve Stiles sweeping his past actions under the rug while he tried to figure out how to woo him.

“Look, I don’t know where you get off telling me that I only think I’m falling in love with you when I’ve had eight years to do that all on my own.”

Derek’s face twisted interestingly, first with confusion, then derision, and then finally settling into the soft, caring face Stiles had rarely seen before Kate Argent returned from the dead to permanently wipe it off his face.

The fact that it was back and it was being directed at Stiles made his heart trip.

“Eight years?” Derek repeated softly. “You can’t have been in love with me for eight years.”

“Falling in love,” Stiles corrects, weakly. “I know it’s unconventional, but—” Something came over Stiles then, like a wash of cold water, and he spluttered for a moment. When he resurfaced, he couldn’t remember what he was about to say or even what had happened during the last twenty-five minutes.

Derek shuddered too, shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth.

“What was that?” Stiles asked. Derek didn’t answer. “Hey, are you hungry? I think the dough is about ready to be rolled, and after the pie is assembled, we can eat the leftovers.”

Derek wrinkled his nose. “Does it smell like Pine-Sol in here?” He sneezed into his elbow.

Stiles inhaled. “Huh, yeah. I guess it does. Does Pine-Sol always make you sneeze?”

“It’s just the chemical composition of cleaners. I’m okay with natural pine. It takes a while to kick in though.” Derek held up a finger before burying his face into his elbow again and releasing several loud sneezes. He sniffled miserably once he finished and Stiles handed him a box of tissues.

“Let’s go outside for a bit, let the room air out, okay?”

The soft, private smile Derek gave him right before he covered his face with a wad of tissues and started sneezing again made Stiles’ heart give a little contented blip. Huh. Apparently his control was slipping. Normally he didn’t think of Derek in that way because he knew a little of Derek’s past and didn’t want to be as bad as his exes—not that Stiles thought of them as Derek’s ex-girlfriends. No, they were something much worse, and he was glad that at least Kate was back in the ground where she belonged.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you agreed to stay with us,” he told Derek as they stepped out onto the front porch.

Quietly, from behind his tissues, Derek murmured his agreement. Louder, he added, “I’m glad you haven’t given up on me quite yet.”

“Oh,” Stiles laughed, “I won’t ever do that. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“You say that now.”

Stiles bumped their shoulders together. “And I’ll say it ‘til the end of time.” Fervently he grabbed Derek’s face, locking their eyes together, “Derek S. Hale, I will always stand by you. I’ll always be in your corner. If there is anything you need, all you have to do is ask and I will be there. Do you understand?” Derek nodded. “Good.” Stiles let him go. “Now, have I ever shown you my dad’s roses?”

                                                                                          ��                         ~ * ~

Dad came home at 6:00. The pot pie had been cooling for half an hour.

Derek was upstairs in the guest room, dozing. He’d crashed shortly after the tour of the renovated backyard, and had accepted a Benadryl.

Stiles had prepared the pie and baked it. He’d divided his time between job searching, reading up on werewolf physiology, and trying to figure out what ingredient the Cabellos had used that made Derek react that way.

Dad inhaled appreciatively when he stepped into the kitchen to wash his hands and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge.

He drained it quickly, tossing it into the sink for later. “Supper smells good.” He handed Stiles a large bag of food from the bakery. “I figured it was probably a good idea to stock up on food since we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“I’m sure Derek will appreciate it.” Stiles separated the items in the bag and put them into Tupperware. “Why don’t you go get him up? He had an allergic reaction to the Pine-Sol I used.”

“Oh, what’d you clean?”

“The dining room. At least, that’s the only place that smelled like it.”

“And werewolves are allergic to Pine-Sol?” Dad looked between the doorway and Stiles, and Stiles swore he could see his mind spinning.

“I guess,” Stiles said. “Derek mentioned that it was because of the chemicals or something. He also said real pine doesn’t bother him.”

“Interesting. So, what needed Pine-Sol in the dining room?”

Stiles frowned at him. He didn’t remember cleaning anything in there, but it was obvious from the smell. “The floor,” he guessed.

“Why?”

Stiles glared at his dad. “Why are you asking me? I don’t know!”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Oh my God, what is with you tonight?” He waved his hands in front of his dad’s face. “You are not the Sheriff anymore! Stop investigating me!”

“I’m not investigating you,” Dad said calmly. “I’m just trying to figure out why you had to clean something that you don’t even remember. If anything, I’m interrogating you.”

“Stop interrogating me!” Stiles fisted his hands on his hips. “Just go get Derek up.” He sighed, suddenly drained. “I think we might have eaten something too, but I can’t remember. We ordered from Cabellos, but I didn’t find any leftovers or anything.”

“So, I can investigate?” Dad’s eyes glinted and he all but danced out into the dining room. Stiles didn’t think it would be too far to find a deerstalker cap and a magnifying glass and let him roleplay Sherlock Holmes. Dad had missed being the Sheriff. Maybe this would satisfy whatever urge he might still have about running for the upcoming reelection in two years.

Stiles set the kitchen table. Last he’d smelled with his human nose, the dining room still stank of Pine-Sol, so it was going to be impossible for Derek to be in that room. Hell, it might be difficult for him to be in the kitchen. They might have to go all the way outside. Thankfully Dad had redone the back patio and stuck a table and some chairs out there. They’d have to steal a chair from the kitchen, but that would be the least of their problems.

Dad came back, leading Derek. “I think we might have to postpone supper,” he said grimly. Derek was still sniffling, and his nose was rubbed raw and his eyes were swollen almost completely shut.

“Derek?” Stiles’ heart skipped a few beats. Derek mumbled under his breath, wheezing as he lifted a tissue to his nose. “Hey. Um, we’re going to get you some help, okay?”

“It’ll be okay,” Dad said. “Let’s go to the hospital. I’ll drive.”

Derek stumbled after him, and Stiles brought up the rear.

As they passed the outside trash bin, Derek retched. Dad got a hard look in his eyes. “Here.” He tossed his keys at Stiles and detoured to the bin. “Found your Cabellos.”

Stiles got Derek into the passenger seat, buckling him in. “Are you going to drive still?” he asked Dad.

“Uh, no. You go. I’m going to look into this food a little bit more.”

“Why? What’s the deal with the food?” Something was missing, something blocked. It made Stiles’ blood pressure rise. Not being able to remember things he had done, not being in control of his own body still caused nightmares.

Derek groaned, rolling his head to the side so he could stare at Stiles with his slitted eyes. He was starting to shift, fur and fangs sprouting. Stiles swallowed his rising fear and punched the gas.

Traffic was light, and there were no deputies patrolling, so Stiles had them at the hospital inside of fifteen minutes when they lived forty minutes away.

Derek propelled himself from the vehicle before Stiles had it in park. He fell flat on his face.

“I’m beginning to think this is more serious than just an allergic reaction,” Stiles said under his breath as he put his dad’s truck in park and turned it off. Derek was already on hands and knees when Stiles got to him. He shoved his shoulder under Derek’s chest and used his body to leverage him all the way up.

“Some kind of wolfsbane,” Derek said, through his very swollen lips.

“So, poisoned,” Stiles said back. Through the door, the front desk nurse gaped at them, staring at the way Derek’s eyes kept flickering between human and electric blue. Stiles didn’t wait for instruction, moving as fast as he could considering he was hauling Derek’s almost dead weight. “He’s having a severe allergic reaction. He took some Benadryl about three hours ago, and that’s it for meds. We think it might be poisoning but he’s reacting as if it’s an allergy.”

He stopped at the entrance to the emergency room, waiting for the nurse to buzz them through.

“Please! He’s dying!”

The door opened and two nurses took Derek from him.

“Wait here,” he was told as the door shut in his face.

Stiles turned to the front desk nurse, and she shrugged as if to say sorry, flashing beta gold eyes at him. Stiles appreciated her gesture because it meant that Derek was safe here.

“You can have a seat over there.” She pointed at a bank of frankly uncomfortable looking chairs. Stiles didn’t care. He couldn’t sit anyway, he was too agitated. Instead, he patted at his pockets until he came up with his phone. He needed to speak to his dad.

Dad was already calling him by the time he fumbled the phone up to his face. He answered it, trying to ignore the way his finger was shaking.

The panic attack would have to wait. He couldn’t afford it. Not now. Please, not now.

“Dad.”

“Stiles, I’m on my way to Cabellos to find out what they put into the food. How’s Derek?”

“Not good, Dad. He’s inside. I’m stuck in the waiting room. What if he dies? What if they don’t let me in? He said it felt like wolfsbane, but, Dad, I’ve seen Derek when he’s been hit by wolfsbane. It doesn’t act like this.”

“It could be a different strain or maybe a different plant entirely. How often has Derek been poisoned by wolfsbane to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is wolfsbane poisoning?”

“I don’t know, but I do know it’s too many times.”

“Stiles, you ate some of the food too, right?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t react.”

“Or maybe you did, and you don’t remember.”

Stiles froze. His breath whistled in once and then stopped, choking him deep in his chest where his heart was trying to beat despite the absolute fear that had just iced him. Through numb lips, he asked something he couldn’t hear. Dad responded, a burst of warmth against his ear, but it did nothing to thaw him.

“Stiles!” Dad shouted. “Stiles! Put me on speaker right now!”

With no motor function, Stiles wanted to tell his dad that was an impossible task.

“Stiles!”

The front desk nurse’s face snapped into view, and Stiles desperately focused on her blue eyelids and dimpled cheeks. She was holding a paper cup of water, and she pressed it into his hand, guiding it up to his face so he could try drinking a little of it.

As soon as the first sip went down, Stiles grabbed the cup with both hands and sucked greedily at it. The nurse took his phone.

“Hi, my name is Emma. You are? Okay, John, he’s coming around. I’m just going to have him sit down, we’ll get him assessed. What was that? I don’t know, but I can ask. Are you sure?”

Her voice faded out, and Stiles lowered the empty cup. She was still talking, but he couldn’t hear her.

She walked away and came back with another cup of water. Stiles drank it too.

“Can you breathe with me?” she asked, setting both cups on the floor. When had Stiles sat down?

“I…can…try…” Every breath was labored, and Stiles rubbed at his aching chest, wishing his heart would stop trying to pound its way out. He hiccupped and leaned forward, inhaling through his nose for as long as he could. Shakily, he let it out through his mouth.

“Good,” the nurse said. “Again.”

Within minutes, Stiles was breathing normally, but he felt drained. It was like his muscles had decided they needed to go on strike right now. Jelly legs wouldn’t support him and he didn’t think he’d be able to make it far before his head decided a migraine was a nice addition to his shit sundae.

“Can you walk?”

He shook his head and then held it, groaning as his brain rattled around.

“Okay. I’ll get you a gurney. Just stay here. And here, your dad is pretty worried right now. I bet he’d like it if you could talk to him just a little.”

Stiles took the phone and automatically pressed it against his ear.

“Stiles?” Dad sounded like he was crying. “Stiles, are you okay? I’m coming to the hospital. I’m almost there. Okay, son? Hang on.”

“I’m here,” Stiles whispered. “I’m going to be okay, I think. It was just a panic attack.”

“A pretty bad one,” Dad said. “Look, I’m about a minute away. Are they taking you back now?”

“I think so.” Stiles looked up to see the nurse leading another nurse and a gurney toward him. “Can I keep talking to my dad?” he asked.

“For now,” the second nurse said. He stopped the gurney, kicking the brakes on, and helped Stiles up and onto it. As soon as he was securely on it, the nurse unlocked the brakes and wheeled him into the ER and into a bay, pulling a curtain around him.

Stiles pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Dad.”

“I’m almost there, I promise. Just hang on, okay?”

Hanging on seemed to be the only thing Stiles could do, so he just held the phone, listening to his dad breathing on the other end of the phone. He didn’t even realize it was still on speaker phone until Dad burst into the bay. Dad took Stiles’ phone, turning it off and tucking it into a pocket, a feat to be sure because as soon as Stiles saw him, he launched himself at him, hugging him tightly.

“I don’t know where Derek is,” Stiles said into Dad’s neck. “I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“He’ll be fine,” Dad murmured, stroking Stiles’ hair and back with a gentle hand. “I sent a text to Deaton and Argent to get information on what you were dosed with. I also sent Parrish to the Cabellos to get their recipe so we can see if there’s any ingredients on there that shouldn’t be.”

“For now,” the nurse who’d wheeled Stiles to the bay broke in, “we need to get you tested. We also, depending on your symptoms, might have to pump your stomach.”

Stiles clung tighter to Dad. “I love you, Dad.”

Dad ruffled his hair. “I love you too, son. You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, okay?”

Stiles nodded, letting Dad help him lie back. Dad kept a hand wrapped around Stiles’, the warmth of it pulling most of Stiles’ fear from him.

He wouldn’t truly feel okay until he could see Derek for himself, fully healed and telling Stiles that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but for now, he was grateful for his dad sticking around.

Holding onto his father’s hand, Stiles was able to relax enough to halfway drift off, the adrenaline spike leaving him cold and tired in its wake.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles sat up when the doctor stopped in. Dad was texting on his phone, poking at the keys with a single index finger.

“Good news,” the doctor said, handing Stiles a stack of papers. “Your blood screen came back clean. Whatever you ate, you suffered no lasting effects. You’re free to go. I’ll get my nurse to come back with the discharge papers.” He wagged his finger at Stiles. “Now, just because you’ve got a clean bill of health, it doesn’t mean you don’t need some rest. Take it easy for the next couple of days. If you start to feel off again, don’t hesitate to come back.”

“And what about Derek?” Stiles asked.

The doctor frowned. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss another patient with you.”

Stiles wanted to argue, but he didn’t think getting the doctor to violate HIPPA laws was worth his time with his former-Sheriff dad standing next to him.

“That’s fine,” Dad said, before Stiles had a chance to say anything. “Thanks, Doc.” As soon as the man left, Dad held up his phone. “Argent thinks he knows what happened to Derek. The good news is he’ll be fine. Deaton is stopping by with an antidote.” Stiles swiped his dad’s phone. Argent, Chris, in Dad’s phone as Reformed Hunter, thought that one of the ingredients the Cabellos added was part of a love potion. IT’S SOMETHING, Chris added in all caps, THAT WEREWOLVES ARE HIGHLY ALLERGIC TO.

As Stiles went to hand the phone back to his dad, it buzzed. He quickly lifted it again.

 IF ANTIDOTE DOESN’T WORK CALL ME I’M ON MY WAY.

Another buzz

Sorry. Don’t know why my phone got stuck. Coming as quick as I can. Let me know if things change.

Dad took his phone back, tapping an answer. “Okay. So, you wanna see if they’ll let us in to see him if he’s been admitted?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, sarcastically. He couldn’t help it: he may have been six years older since he’d first used it, but sarcasm was still his go-to for defense.

“Does that mean no?” Dad raised an eyebrow. Sheepishly, Stiles shook his head. “All right then, let’s go find him.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

In the end, they weren’t able to see Derek. He hadn’t been admitted yet, and no one was willing to tell them when or if he would be. In the interest of not being banned from the hospital—at least, that was the excuse he used—Dad led Stiles out to his vehicle.

“We’ll try later,” Dad said, reassuringly. Stiles didn’t answer. He buckled his seatbelt and stared straight ahead. It was his fault Derek had nearly died. He’d been the one to suggest Cabellos. He’d wanted Derek near him.

Derek wasn’t the only one cursed to have those he cared about injured.

“Do you feel like talking?” Dad asked when he parked in front of the house and shut off the engine.

Stiles opened his door, unbuckling his seatbelt, and stepping out. He looked pointedly at his dad until he unlocked the front door for him and then headed upstairs. Still not a word had passed his lips.

Dad sighed heavily. “I’ll be down here when you’re ready to talk,” he said. “I’ll get you when Argent gets to town.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Stiles muttered to himself, closing his bedroom door. He didn’t lock it, but he did kick off his shoes and climb onto his bed. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his limbs grew too heavy to move, and he drifted off.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles woke up when his bed depressed suddenly.

He sat up, arms flailing as he panicked, hitting a warm body and recoiling.

“Ouch,” Derek intoned blandly.

Stiles ran a hand over his face. “They let you out already?” he asked.

Derek shrugged. He climbed off the bed and dropped heavily into Stiles’ desk chair. “Once Deaton gave me the antidote, there wasn’t any reason for me to stay at the hospital.”

“So does that mean Chris Argent is in town?”

Derek shrugged again. “I guess. Your dad let me in on his way out. I just assumed he was going to work.”

Stiles studied him. Derek looked haggard, as if the antidote had done only enough to stop him from getting worse. He wasn’t healing, or if he was, it was slow-going.

“Are you okay?”

Derek’s shoulders rolled in a half shrug. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans, worrying at it while he refused to look at Stiles.

“Do you feel up to starting to clear out your house?”

Derek shook his head, jerking on the thread to break it. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger and then tossed it into the wastebasket.

Stiles refused to be impressed. He could do that with a bit of practice. Derek used to play basketball, after all. It wasn’t that special.

“I think I just want to sleep,” Derek said, but he made no move to stand up and go to the guest room.

Stiles rolled his eyes and patted the bed next to him. “Plenty of room here,” he said, nonchalantly. Derek bowed his head before wearily climbing to his feet. He shuffled forward and face-planted onto the bed. Stiles stifled a smile as he grabbed Derek’s shoulders and worked him fully onto the bed. Derek must have taken his shoes off when he got in, because he was just in socks. His shirt was horribly wrinkled, his jeans a little worn, and his hair mussed. Stiles knuckled at his heart, trying to stave off the fondness he felt kindling there.

Derek didn’t need to deal with Stiles’ affection right now.

Derek turned his head, opening one eye to peer up at him. “I don’t mind it, you know,” he said softly.

“Mind what?”

Derek wriggled his visible eyebrow. “I like you too,” he said around a yawn.

“Bold,” Stiles said. He tugged at the blanket until he freed enough of it to drape over Derek. Then, he lied down again, one arm crooked under his head, the other between his and Derek’s bodies.

It was comforting just lying here, listening to Derek’s breaths get slower and deeper. It calmed Stiles enough that he started drifting too. Just before he tumbled back into sleep, he felt Derek’s fingers curl around his loosely.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles woke up alone, his bed still bowed as if Derek was lying there, but the blanket was cold. He’d been gone a while then. Sitting up and stretching helped dispel some of the fatigue still clinging to him, and he slipped off the bed, bending slowly at the waist and letting his spine lengthen until the muscle around it ached in a nice, warming pain. He straightened in the same, slow manner, breathing deeply.

Once that was done, he grabbed a change of clothes and took a quick shower.

His hair was still dripping by the time he dressed and wandered downstairs.

There, he found his dad, Chris Argent, and Derek sitting in the living room. Derek looked a little better than he had before their nap, with more color back in his cheeks.

Stiles pushed at him until he moved over enough to allow him to sit next to him on the sofa.

Dad was in his armchair and Chris was next to him on a chair dragged in from the dining room.

“You won’t have to worry about them doing that ever again,” Chris was saying. His face was set in a grimace, distaste and anger evident. “They fully understand what they did was wrong, and they don’t plan to do it again.”

“If they do…?” Dad asked.

Chris shook his head. “They won’t like the consequences. They understand that they got off easy this time. Next time, they won’t be so lucky.”

“You didn’t maim them, did you?” Stiles asked. He’d gathered that they were talking about the Cabellos and their poisoning of him and Derek.

Chris snorted. “Much as I wanted to,” he said, “I did not. But that won’t stop me from coming back and kicking their asses if they ever try to pull that shit again. They were incredibly lucky that most of their meddling was put down to food poisoning and not actual dosing.”

“So, they definitely whammied us with a love potion?”

Derek shuddered, hard, and Stiles clamped a hand onto his knee, which surprisingly, Derek did not remove.

“Essentially, yes,” Chris said. “I’d heard of it being done before, but usually they need an element of magic and nature.”

“Like a druid,” Derek mumbled, low enough that only Stiles seemed able to hear.

“Like a darach,” Chris continued, shooting an apologetic glance at Derek’s bowed head.

Derek shivered again, hands clenched to his sides. Blood ran from his palms, and Stiles noticed that he’d pierced his own skin with his claws.

Like a darach echoed in his head, and suddenly, he shivered too. All these years he’d thought Derek just had bad judgment when it came to his sexual partners. Instead, he realizes, too late, that Derek had been roofied with magic. Love potioned without the potion. Forced into a relationship he likely couldn’t say no to even if he understood what was happening at the time. And Stiles… Stiles had yelled at him, threw it back in his face. Belittled him for sleeping with the enemy.

He swallowed hard, squeezing Derek’s knee again before drawing back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Derek studying him without truly looking at him.

“So what happens now?” Dad asked into the heavy silence.

“Now?” Chris leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, we wait. Sometimes it takes a while for the effects to wear off even after an antidote has been administered.” He fixed Stiles with a knowing look. “Longer too if there was something there before.”

Stiles’ cheeks heat. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is a horrible way to find out.”

“Find out what?” Derek asked tightly.

“That I’m in love with you.”

“I always knew that.” Derek flexed his hands, wiping blood onto his jeans. “What surprised me was how much I liked you too.” He took a deep breath and finally lifted his head. His eyes were human, a kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and browns, and he pinned Stiles with them. “Sometimes I still see you as a kid, someone I need to watch out for because you’re not understanding the danger you’re in, and then other times, I look at you and see what could be.”

“And what would that be?” Stiles hardly dared to breathe.

“I see a future,” Derek said, softly.

A future with him? Stiles cut a quick glance to his dad. Dad had a perfectly blank face but his shining eyes gave him away.

“You’re okay with that?” Stiles asked him.

“Stiles, you’re an adult. You can make your own choices. Besides, I think you’d be good for Derek.”

“You two do make a pretty good pair,” Chris said, and Dad broke into a big grin.

Stiles turned to Derek. “We still have to clean out your house,” he said. Derek nodded. “We have two weeks minus a day.” Derek nodded again. “And you’re okay with me helping you?”

“I don’t think I’m going to get it done any other way,” Derek said, seriously. “You helped me stand up to Mr. Johnson. I think you’ll keep me motivated enough to finish the project.”

“Okay then. I guess I know what I’m doing with my summer.”

And if it felt a little like he was agreeing to spend all his time with Derek, well, he was. He couldn’t be happier.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The next day, Stiles drove Derek and himself to Derek’s house.

There was a sign on the door with the Code Enforcement officer’s notice that the house was considered unlivable but not fully condemned.

“I don’t get how that works,” Stiles remarked, reading it. Derek shrugged, unlocking the door and pushing his way inside. Stiles took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the piles of junk he was now expecting to find, and followed him in.

The house wasn’t any better, and Stiles fought his rising panic with everything in him.

“Do you know where you want to start?” Stiles asked, climbing over a pile that must have fallen after they’d left yesterday and into the kitchen. Derek stood in the middle of the room, looking around with the same panic Stiles could feel in his chest.

“How about the backyard?” Stiles suggested, struggling over to the door. He got the door propped open, leaning out into the bit of breeze that made its way into Derek’s fenced in backyard.

Here, Derek had constructed a few pop-up sheds and there was a tent tucked into a corner. Stiles had no doubt that the sheds and the tent would be full of things, but other than that, the backyard was clear. Stiles stepped out fully, walking toward the tent. He glanced back after a few yards to find Derek standing in the doorway, just watching him. “Are you okay, Derek?”

He shook himself and flashed a wan smile. Then he squared his shoulders and marched toward Stiles. Stiles waited until he drew level with him before he reached out and wrestled the zipper of the tent open.

“Okay,” he said to the stacks of sleeping bags, camping cooking utensils, battery-operated lanterns, and scuttling spiders. “Okay. So, we can work with this.”

“We can’t,” Derek said, zipping the tent closed again. “That’s Marie’s stuff. She’s coming back for it tomorrow.”

“The spiders too?”

Derek didn’t reply, walking to one of the sheds instead. He slid the door up and stared at the assortment of lawn care equipment jumbled inside. He didn’t say anything before dropping the door and turning away from it.

“Marie’s?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “Daniel’s.”

“Danny Mahealani?”

“No.” Derek glared at him, but he didn’t look mad. “Daniel. He works at the Sheriff’s Department.”

“Is he coming back for his stuff at all?”

“I don’t know,” Derek admitted. He looked around the yard, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can get rid of any of these things. They’re not mine.”

“So why do you have them?” Stiles demanded. “How many people just dumped their crap on you because you wouldn’t tell them no?”

Derek froze, blinking quickly, like he was trying to dispel tears. Stiles rolled back his words in his head, his stomach dropping when he realized what he had said.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologized softly, hand outstretched to brush Derek’s arm.

Derek jerked out of reach, taking several steps back. His eyes were definitely watery. “My ‘no’ means nothing,” he said lowly. “That’s been proven time and again. I don’t need you telling me that too.”

“Your no should mean everything,” Stiles argued gently, aware that he’d unintentionally found a sore spot and did not want to keep pressing on it. “I really am sorry that I said it like that. It’s not your fault that everyone decided to use your good will to just dump their stuff on you.”

Derek nodded tightly, turning away from Stiles to quickly wipe at his eyes. Stiles pretended not to see and just moved back to the door.

“Can we sort anything in the house or do you want to take a break?”

Stiles knew they didn’t have a lot of time to waste like this, but they’d get nowhere fast if he pushed when Derek wasn’t ready. And having already made Derek cry was not part of the plan.

“A break would be good,” Derek said. He still wouldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, but he at least followed Stiles back through the house until they could step out onto the front porch.

Derek offered Stiles the chair on the porch and settled on the steps by his knee.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered to his hands. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“If you don’t, you’ll lose your home,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek shook his head. “Not a home. Not yet.” He glanced back at the house before facing forward again. “It might never be home.”

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles said. Derek started. “No, I don’t mean you. I mean the fact that your house is so full of other people’s things that you have no room for yourself. It’s your house, not theirs. Why don’t they come back for their things?”

“I never told them to?” Derek guessed.

“You shouldn’t have to tell them because they never should have brought it over in the first place.” Stiles made a note of the names he knew that Derek said had things on his property. Marie. Daniel. He only had two other names: Mr. Johnson and Andrew; but it should be enough to track them down and force them to help Derek clean up his house.

After all, this mess wouldn’t exist without their “help.”

“You’re getting angry,” Derek remarked. “I think the break is over.”

“Okay.” Stiles allowed Derek to haul him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Three hours later, Stiles climbed into Roscoe, waiting for Derek to buckle his belt before he started the engine.

They hadn’t gotten anything out yet. Instead, Derek just shuffled things from one room to another, sorting by some arbitrary method he didn’t bother to share with Stiles until Stiles was so frustrated that he’d moved them to another room where Derek just started the cycle again.

Overall, it was a very disappointing day, but Stiles was determined not to show Derek just how upset he was.

“Two weeks minus two days,” Derek said quietly. He stared out the window the whole drive back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

With two full bathrooms, they were able to shower at the same time, if a little quicker than normal since the hot water ran out faster.

After, they sat at the kitchen table while Stiles heated up leftover pot pie to eat.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t any good today,” Derek finally said after Stiles plopped a plate in front of him.

“Hey, not your fault. I get it, your brain got overloaded. We’ll just have to take it slower next time.”

“Will there be a next time?” Derek poked at his food. “Do you still want to help me?”

Stiles nodded. “I just didn’t realize how big of a job it actually was,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to pitch in. In fact, I think we should get more people involved. You know, like a cleaning crew.”

“It’s not my stuff,” Derek reminded him.

“I know. I meant contacting the people who left it with you. How long have you had it?”

Derek shrugged.

“Okay, well, I’ll look into the law on abandoned property today. You try to remember who gave you the things. I think we can get them to take it back without too much trouble.”

Derek gave him a hopeful smile, the first smile all day, and Stiles’ stomach twisted in knots.

He wanted Derek to smile more. He deserved so much more happiness. But as long as they had the junky house to take care of, Stiles knew there’d be more tears than smiles. He hoped they’d both survive the ordeal.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Stiles printed the California Code dealing with abandoned property and then read over it carefully, searching up legal terms he was unfamiliar with. By the end of it, his head was swimming with too much information and he badly needed to pee.

Derek knocked lightly on his door and opened it when Stiles called for him to come in. He was carrying a mug of tea that he offered to Stiles before sitting on the bed and staring intently at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked over the rim of the mug.

Derek shook his head, dipping his head down not quite fast enough to hide the smile curling his lips. “Just you,” he said, “being you. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Stiles drew out the word before setting down the mug and walking quickly to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he went back to his room, wiping his hands on his pants. He’d dried them in the bathroom after peeing, but he hadn’t wanted Derek to leave his room, so he’d hurried back before they were fully dry.

Derek was still on the bed. He was holding the pages Stiles had printed, running a finger down the text, mouth moving as he silently read the words. Stiles sat down and drank more of the tea. This was more his style than the coffee Derek had bought him yesterday, and he finished it in a few swallows.

“How can they be my possessions when they were given to me to store?” Derek asked suddenly.

Stiles shrugged. “That’s what the law says. They dumped it on you, so it’s yours to do with as you please. Even if that means you throw it away.”

Derek grimaced, handing the pages to him. “That seems wasteful,” he said, softly.

“Dude, you’re living like a hoarder. That’s not healthy. At this point, worrying about wasting things is the least of your worries.”

“You’re right.” Derek stood up. He took Stiles’ empty mug and shut the door behind himself.

Stiles frowned at the pages, thinking over the words he’d used, swearing under his breath when he realized that he was accusatory. Derek didn’t need that. In fact, the way Stiles was pushing him, they would be lucky if Derek even managed to toss any of the actual trash in the house.

Stiles needed more help. Derek had mentioned being in therapy. Maybe Stiles should start there.

He turned to his laptop and opened a new browser.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek got an early start the next morning when first, Stiles slept through his alarm, and second, Dad hit him with the classifieds when Stiles tried to inhale some cereal so he could at least start the day with something in his stomach.

So, instead of watching Derek struggle to make progress, Stiles spent a few hours on his computer applying to jobs he was overqualified for. When Dad left for a shift at the bakery, Stiles shut down his laptop, slapped together a few sandwiches, and drove over to Derek’s.

Derek was sitting outside, head between his knees. He didn’t move even when Stiles honked his horn at him, knowing that with Derek’s hearing, he was being obnoxious.

Stiles dropped onto the steps next to him, shoving a sandwich at him.

“How’s it going today?” he asked carefully, biting into his own sandwich. Derek took the food, setting it on his knee and frowning down at the ground.

“It shouldn’t be this hard,” he said softly. “I know you keep telling me that it’s my stuff now, and I can get rid of it, but I can still smell the previous owners.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. He hadn’t thought of that. He just knew that Derek’s house smelled stale and musty. A few things were moldy and stunk, to his human nose, like animal urine.

How Derek could stand to be in his house would remain a mystery, because while Stiles may not have had much tact in high school, always asking the wolves if they could smell things that were better left private, he had grown and learned to bite his tongue.

Derek sighed, poking a hole through the bread into the meat below. “Thanks for coming but I don’t think I can do anything today.”

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said. He crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing as quickly as he could. Once he had swallowed, he took Derek’s destroyed sandwich and discarded it into an empty trash bag hanging on the front door. “Up you get,” he said. “Pick out something. I don’t care what it is. Just pick it. You’re going to give me a list of pros and cons to keeping it. Whichever list is longer determines what happens with the thing.”

Derek shook his head, but he gamely stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “Anything?” he asked.

“Absolutely anything,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek made a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat and grabbed a bent tennis racket out of the junk in the foyer. He held it aloft, studying the chipped paint, frayed strings, peeling tape, and warped rim.

“Can it go?” Stiles asked after a few minutes. Derek pursed his lips, hefting it in his hand.

“I don’t know. I know I don’t have a use for it and it’s almost beyond repair, but it could still be fixed if someone wanted to invest the time in it.”

“Okay, so if that someone is you, are you going to invest the time in getting it fixed?”

Derek shook his head. “May Ehlberg gave this to me for safe keeping. It used to be her dad’s.”

Stiles didn’t know who May Ehlberg or her father were, but he guessed, from Derek’s faltering expression, that they were important to him.

Derek set the racket aside. “Mr. Ehlberg was a pall bearer at Paige’s funeral. May used to sit behind me in history.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Stiles said, and Derek stared at him.

“What?”

“Your loss,” Stiles repeated. “Of Paige. I know she meant a lot to you, and I’m sorry she died.”

Derek clenched his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “I killed her,” he said tightly. When he opened his eyes, they blazed blue.

“Do you want to take another break?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head and grabbed another item, a wax orange that resembled a melted candle more than the fruit it was imitating.

“Can that go?”

“Mrs. Grecke used to make these. She gave my mom a whole set. This was the only one I found in the ruins of our house.”

Stiles felt his stomach drop. If Derek could find a reason to keep everything in the house, Stiles was certain he would. He blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to do this to you yet,” he said, “but I think you need to be in therapy for hoarding.”

“Hoarding?” Derek looked around the foyer as if he was just now seeing it through Stiles’ eyes. He set the orange down carefully and then picked up a plastic cup with a string tangled on the bottom. “My cousins used to make these things all the time.” He tugged at the string for a moment before giving up when he realized it was irrevocably knotted.

“Did your cousins make that particular string telephone?”

“Not this one, no.”

“And you have your memories, right?”

Derek nodded.

“Then, it can go?”

Derek nodded again. He walked to the bag and opened it, dangling the cup in for a long, long moment. Stiles was almost positive that he was going to yank it out again, but Derek surprised him when he let it fall.

Almost as if his strings were cut, Derek sagged. “I think I need a break now,” he said, stepping out onto the porch. Stiles followed, unhooking the bag and stuffing it into the house before pulling the door closed.

“You did a good thing,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“Maybe.” He walked to his car and got in. Stiles watched as he drove away.

They’d only been cleaning for about three hours, and all Derek had to show for it was a sandwich and a children’s toy. At this rate, it would take decades to clear out the clutter.

Stiles sighed. He hoped Derek talked with his therapist about his hoarding.

“Two weeks minus three days,” Stiles told the house. Then he drove home.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Dad was back from the bakery when Stiles pulled up to his house. The Camaro was parked on the street. Stiles was relieved to see it. He’d been afraid that Derek might have decided to take off again. It was nice to see that he wasn’t running away anymore.

“Derek’s taking a shower,” Dad said. He had his feet up on the railing, a bottle of seltzer water in hand. “He wanted to let you know that he’s not mad. And that he hopes you’re not mad either.”

“I’m not mad at him,” Stiles said, sitting next to his dad and propping his feet on the railing too. “I’m mad at everyone who’s taking advantage of him.”

Dad raised an eyebrow.

Stiles sighed, crossing his arms. “A lot of people decided to just dump their junk on Derek, so his house is all junked up. He’s having trouble realizing that he can let it go.”

Dad hummed, sipping at his bottle. “You can’t push him if he isn’t ready.”

“We don’t really have time for him to get ready,” Stiles said quietly. “I was thinking that we could have the people who dumped stuff on him come and get it. I asked Derek to make a list of everyone who had ever given him things.”

“I could see if I can get some volunteers if Derek wants the help.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Dad shook his head. “It’s not your place,” he said. “Talk to Derek about it, okay? I know you have a deadline, but if you push too hard now, the source of the problem won’t be resolved, and in a few months, it’ll be just as bad if not worse.”

“You’re right.” Stiles thumped his feet down and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

The next day, Derek had a meeting with his therapist first thing, so Stiles killed some time by making a chart with a countdown of the days they had left before Code Enforcement arrived to either pass or fail Derek’s house. Derek had hidden in the guest room after his shower and refused to come out before Stiles fell asleep, so he didn’t know what state of mind Derek was in, but he didn’t imagine they would make much progress at the house today.

Still, he could at least find something for Derek to store some items he definitely wanted to save. They could worry about the actual trash later. Dad was right: pushing Derek too hard now would be more detrimental than just giving him a shoulder to lean on when he got overwhelmed. That didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t going to track down every single person who had ever left so much as a dust bunny at Derek’s house and make them take it back.

He dug around the attic until he found an old, empty plastic bin. He washed it out, drying it thoroughly before putting it in his trunk. His dad still had a sports cooler, left over from Stiles’ days as a bench warming lacrosse player, and Stiles filled it with water and stuck it next to the bin. Then, he settled on the porch with the stack of California property laws and a highlighter, marking the sections he thought would be most helpful for Derek to read.

After about an hour of that, Derek returned. He smiled at Stiles but it seemed brittle, like he was stretched a little too thin at the moment.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, capping his highlighter and setting aside the papers.

Derek shrugged. “Mostly, I guess. I talked to Jerri about the house. She wants to see it.”

“Do you want her to see it?”

Derek shrugged again. “She thinks I’m holding onto things because of losing so many people when I was fifteen.”

“That’s probably a pretty good assessment. Come on,” Stiles pointed at Roscoe, “we can at least go look at it and see if there’s anything else you want to save, like that orange.”

“I don’t have anywhere to put things like that,” Derek protested.

Stiles bit his tongue to stop the almost reflexive Could have space if you cleaned your house that wanted to pop out. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I have a bin you can borrow. Just until we find some room for the stuff you want to save.”

“Thank you.”

They drove to Derek’s house in comfortable silence. It was almost domestic, and Stiles caught himself smiling and tapping on the steering wheel while Derek poked at the radio before turning it off when all the stations were too staticky to hear clearly. The only dark spot was when they parked in front of the house and Stiles remembered what was waiting for them. He was tired, and they hadn’t even opened the door yet.

Well, they were here. There was no point in putting it off. The sooner they got in there, the sooner they could leave.

Stiles grabbed the cooler while Derek carried the bin, and they walked up the steps onto the porch.

Derek set the bin down so that he could use two hands to unlock the door.

Stiles happened to glance over as Derek worked his key into the lock and noticed something sitting on the chair by the door. “Hey, Derek,” he said.

“Yeah?” Derek opened the door, picking up the bin and waiting while Stiles slowly picked up the cup with tangled string. He took a moment to steady his voice, furious and not sure why. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to be here. He just wasn’t happy that the tiny bit of progress they had made had been so easily undone.

“Didn’t you throw this away yesterday?”

Derek flushed. “I took it out,” he mumbled.

“When? Why?”

“Last night. My cousins,” Derek said.

Stiles shoved it at him. “Do you want to save it now?”

Derek took it gingerly. He turned it over in his hands, studying it. After a few minutes, he set it into the bin.

Stiles nodded tightly. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t try to save everything. He didn’t want to drag the problem back to his dad’s house. Dad already had thirty years of his and Stiles’ mom’s things and some of Stiles’ things from high school. There wasn’t room for more crap.

In the foyer, Derek found the wax orange and added it to the bin. He picked up the racket and frowned at it for a long moment before carefully replacing it on the stack of dilapidated boxes he was using as a shelf.

“There’s some more sentimental things upstairs,” Derek said. “I’ll be right back.”

He slipped through the narrow pathways and Stiles retreated outside before the press of things made him panic again.

Just as he stepped out, his phone buzzed.

It was Dad.

“Hey, Dad. How are you?”

“I’m great. Listen, I just talked to Parrish. He says he thinks he can get a few of the guys together in the next couple of days to get out to Derek’s place and help clean up. Did you ask Derek if he wanted to do that?”

Stiles looked up, scanning the second floor windows. He couldn’t see Derek at all, but he thought Derek could hear him. “I haven’t but I will. I can text you his answer?”

“Sure, that’d be great. Also, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but Melissa said Scott is back in town for a few days. Apparently he’s taking over Deaton’s practice when Deaton retires in a few years.”

“Oh?” Stiles was not remotely interested in what his former best friend was up to. Nope. Not at all.

“Yeah. Melissa wanted to know if we wanted to have dinner with her and Scott.”

“She does know Scott and I haven’t talked in almost five years, right?”

“I think she’s hoping that you two will reconcile.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles looked up again. Derek was standing in a window now, looking down at him, expression twisted into concern. With a start, Stiles realized that he was able to parse Derek’s different expressions again. He’d missed that element of their communication, but he hadn’t been upset to discover that Derek was more verbal than he had been six years ago.

“I kinda don’t want to drag Derek over there without warning. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

Derek pulled back, and a few minutes later, he was outside too. The bin was half full of things like a singed headband, a pair of gold hoop earrings stuck in a large card, and some books. Derek set it aside and pointed to the steps. They both sat down.

“Hey, Derek, is it okay if some of the deputies swing by and help us clear out things?”

Derek hesitated before nodding.

“He said yes, Dad,” Stiles said into the phone. To Derek, he said, “Melissa wants to have us over for dinner soon. Do you want to come with or…?”

“No, thank you.”

“So does that mean you’ll come too?” Dad asked.

Stiles sucked his lip into his mouth and chewed on it. “No,” he finally said. He wasn’t nearly ready enough to forgive Scott for what had happened. Maybe someday, but someday hadn’t come yet. “I don’t think I can do that. Sorry.”

Dad sighed. “I’m sure they’ll understand. And boys?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you. You’re doing a good thing.”

Dad hung up without waiting for a response. He probably realized he wasn’t going to get one. Derek didn’t look like he believed Dad at all, and Stiles didn’t blame him. When was the last time someone told Derek they were proud of him? Probably not since before the fire.

“Do you want to try cleaning anything today?”

Derek shook his head. “I think I’ll call Jerri and see if she can come out here tomorrow,” he said. “For now, I want to show you what I found.”

Stiles tucked his phone back in his pocket and turned his full attention to Derek as he explained about the trinkets. He had rings from his aunts, one of Peter’s ties that hadn’t burned up, the headband from Cora, the earrings from Laura. Books that belonged to his cousins and to the pack. Derek flipped through a heavy tome.

“This is our bestiary,” he said, turning pages until he came across an entry for kanimas. He traced the tail of the illustration. It looked almost nothing like what Jackson had looked like, less lizard-like and more humanoid. “It’s been in our family for centuries. Peter gave it to me when I moved back to Beacon Hills last year.”

“And where did Peter get it from?”

“He has a stash of things somewhere. He didn’t say.” Derek frowned. “He has the box with the nogitsune and my mom’s claws.”

Stiles shuddered. “He won’t give you the claws back?”

“No. I’m afraid that he’s trying to find a ritual that will give him alpha powers again.” He set the book back in the box and stood up, helping Stiles up. “He didn’t seem happy that I came back. I told him he didn’t have to come back too.”

“Why did you come back?” Stiles asked. “Not that I’m not glad you did,” he hurried to add.

Derek shrugged. “Honestly, I came back because I realized Scott had abandoned the land. My family was its protector for centuries. It needs a guardian. Even if that guardian is an omega.”

“Hey, now, you’re not an omega,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s arm. “You’ll always be a part of my pack. Me and my dad.”

Derek smiled. “Thanks. That actually means a lot to me.”

He pulled the door shut, locking it, and picked up the bin. “Can we go back to your house now? I left my phone there and I need to call Jerri.”

“Sure.” Stiles grabbed the cooler, pouring some water on his hands to clean them before digging out a stack of plastic cups he kept in his car for emergencies. He’d never had to use them yet but he liked being prepared.

Derek set the bin in the trunk and sifted through it until he came up with the cup and string. He handed it to Stiles.

“What’s this for?”

“You can throw it away,” Derek said. “I’m ready to let it go.”

Stiles grinned. “Okay, big guy, if you’re sure. Let me just.” He pulled out a bag he kept in his car for trash and placed it inside, taking care not to crush it more than it already was, just in case Derek changed his mind again and wanted it back before it could be disposed of. “There.” He handed Derek a cup of water and drank one himself.

Then he drove them back to his house.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek rode with Stiles out to the house the next morning, and Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald pulled up behind them. Derek had called to invite her last night, and she hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing, saying that she would meet them there.

Stiles was excited to meet a therapist who knew about the supernatural, had worked with them, and knew how to help them, but most importantly, he was excited to meet someone Derek seemed to trust.

He knew it took a lot for Derek to be able to trust the people around him. One day, he hoped he could be counted among those people.

Derek grabbed his arm before he could get out to greet Dr. Fitzgerald. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I always have since you wouldn’t let me drown. Maybe even before then.”

Stiles stared at him in shock. Had he spoken out loud? Derek tapped his nose, and Stiles signed in relief. It was just the way he smelled to Derek. “Do you trust me enough to know that I won’t intentionally hurt you?” he asked.

Instead of answering him, Derek leaned in closer, fingers flexing where he still held Stiles’ arm. Stiles stared at his face as it got closer, his lips parting, tongue flicking out to wet them. Was Derek going to kiss him? Were they at the kissing stage in their relationship? Did they even have a relationship? They were a mere breadth apart when Derek whispered, “Yes.”

Dr. Fitzgerald knocked on the window, and Derek jumped back. He smiled at her, but Stiles could read the disappointment in his eyes.

Stiles frowned, mind still spinning from the almost-kiss. Derek opened his door, and moved to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Wait,” Stiles said. When Derek turned toward him, he grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss that was too hard, too much teeth, too much Derek’s nose in his eye, and not enough all at once.

As soon as they broke apart, Derek reached up to touch his lips. Stiles’ lips felt bruised but he kept his hand on Derek’s neck, fingers playing with the hair on his nape.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly.

Derek cupped his face, holding his head still as he leaned in and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. “More than,” he said, pulling back and out of Stiles’ reach. “I trust you,” he said, nodding sharply, like Stiles could hear the way his heartbeat stayed steady.

Stiles smiled. “Let’s go show your therapist your house,” he said, and clambered out of Roscoe.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Dr. Fitzgerald said. She smiled at them both. “It’s so nice to see that level of trust, Derek. You’ve done wonderful.”

“We’re working on my communication,” Derek said. “I seem to recall you complaining a time or two that I didn’t use my words enough.”

Stiles snorted. “No one in this damn town did. It was all secrets, secrets, lies, and more secrets.”

“But things have changed?” Dr. Fitzgerald looked from Derek to Stiles and back.

“I don’t know if the town has changed,” Derek said, “but we have.” He shot Stiles a grateful look. “I want to be who Stiles thinks I am.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet.” Stiles bit his lip, adding, hesitantly, “What if I want you to be my boyfriend?”

Derek let out a startled laugh. “Pretty sure that’s what we just did,” he pointed out.

“I don’t mean to be a literal bummer,” Dr. Fitzgerald broke in, “but can we go inside now? I’d like to know how best to help you, Derek, and I can’t do that just by looking at the outside.” She stuck her hand out to Stiles and he took it. “I’m Dr. Jerri Fitzgerald. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dr. Fitzgerald. I’m Stiles.”

“Please, call me Jerri.”

“Okay.”

Derek unlocked the door and pushed it open. If Jerri was surprised by the amount of stuff just packed in the foyer, she didn’t show it. Instead, she studied it thoughtfully. Her braids clinked together softly as she moved forward, the colorful beads woven throughout her hair jostled.

Derek followed more slowly, grabbing the trash bag that still hadn’t been filled as he worked his way deeper after her.

Stiles brought up the rear, trying to see the junk as Jerri would. He didn’t think he succeeded very well because he still thought it could all go, even the melted orange Derek had saved yesterday.

“Okay, so tell me,” Jerri said when they paused in the kitchen, “what do you see when you look at all these things?”

Derek shrugged. “I guess I see it as kindness.”

“Kindness?” Stiles asked. Jerri shot him a look that had him almost swallowing his tongue.

“Yes,” Derek said, tightly. “Kindness.” To Jerri, he added, “When I moved back to Beacon Hills, I had nothing. Just my sister’s car and the clothes I was wearing. I was able to buy this house but I didn’t have a way to bring anything into the house. I had nothing to bring anyway.”

“And how did people start bringing you things?”

“My neighbor, Ms. Bocelli, stopped by one day, saw the state of the house, and offered me some of her mother’s furniture. When I told her that I didn’t have a way to bring it here, she asked another neighbor, Mr. Johnson, to help, and he also brought over his mother’s things.”

Stiles opened his mouth and shut it again when Jerri looked at him. She turned back to Derek. “And that was kindness, wasn’t it? Them bringing you all those things.”

“Yeah,” Derek said. “But it was a lot. Their mothers had a lot of stuff and they brought it all over the next few days. After that, it seemed like someone was stopping by every day and bringing me stuff from their relatives that had either passed away or didn’t want or need their things.”

“And you didn’t feel like you could say no?” Jerri asked, more gently than Stiles could have managed.

“No,” Derek said, quietly, an admission. “I didn’t think I had the right to say no.”

Jerri nodded, as if she hadn’t expected any other answer.

It made Stiles’ skin crawl to think of all the people that could have, did, hurt Derek because he thought his “no” meant nothing.

“I need some air,” he said, and hurried as quickly as he could back outside.

He leaned over, hands on his knees while he puffed breaths in and out through his mouth.

“Hey, Stiles,” he heard someone call, and he looked up to see Jordan Parrish, dressed down in a white t-shirt and khakis, approaching him.

“Heya.” Stiles waved back.

Jordan eyed the house. “Did you still want help clearing it out?”

“Yeah, but it’s not really my call,” Stiles said. “Derek’s in there right now with his therapist. She’s going to see if she can help him be able to let go of everything.”

Jordan hummed. “Okay, well, Sarah, the dispatcher, was able to call for a dumpster. We’re renting it, so Derek won’t have to worry about that. Just let us know when you want it, and we can have it delivered.”

“I think it’ll take more than one dumpster,” Stiles said, thinking of the rooms he had seen and knowing that there were more upstairs he hadn’t been in, all likely just as bad as downstairs.

“You realize that when the dumpster is full, we call them, they take it away, and then they bring it back, right? We’re renting it for at least a week, and if we can move fast enough, we ought to be able to get the whole house cleaned.”

“You say that now.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow before cupping his hands around his mouth and saying, loudly, “Hey, Derek. Can you come outside and talk with us?”

Derek appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, Jerri behind him.

Jordan grinned at Stiles. “Let’s go.”

Derek met them halfway. “Hi, Jordan,” he said, looking between them. “What brings you here?”

“Stiles’ dad asked if any of us deputies wanted to volunteer to help you clean your house,” Jordan replied. “We have a roster worked out. We also have a dumpster on standby whenever you’re ready for it.”

“A dumpster?” Derek shot a panicked glance at Jerri.

“A dumpster might be a good idea, Derek,” she said softly. “But first, let’s try to figure out what’s causing you to hold onto things and how to get you to let go.”

“Oh, hey,” Stiles said, “Derek, did you ever finish that list of people who gave you things?”

Derek pulled out a piece of paper folded into a tiny rectangle. He handed it to Stiles with the resignation of a man betraying his country. Stiles quickly unfolded it, finding nearly thirty names on the paper.

“Some people gave me family antiques to store because they couldn’t afford storage fees. I put a star by their names.”

“Okay.” Stiles refolded the paper, frowning when he couldn’t fold it as small as Derek had. “I’ll contact as many of them as I can and see if they want their things back.” He fixed Derek with a look. “Will you be able to return any items they want?”

“Yes. I don’t want their things if they can take them.”

Stiles shook his head. “You don’t want them even if they can’t take them.”

Jerri stepped in front of Derek. “Let’s get to that point,” she said, glaring at Stiles without too much heat. “For now, I’d like you to go through as many things as you can and pick out the things that are yours.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s all buried right now.”

Jerri pursed her lips, thinking, before turning to Jordan. “Dr. Fitzgerald,” she said, hand out for a quick shake. “Do you think you can coordinate the volunteers to sort things? Nothing is to be thrown away without Derek’s express consent. If he wants to touch things, hold them, keep them, let him. I will work with him to discover the cause of it, but until then, I don’t want you to do anything to make him worse.”

“I will certainly do my best, ma’am ,” Jordan promised. He looked at Derek. “Do you want to start sorting today?”

“I guess,” Derek said. “It’d be nice to actually be able to see the floor again.”

“It would,” Stiles agreed. “So, just so that we’re all on the same page, Derek isn’t throwing away anything today? We’re just pulling things out so they can be sorted?”

“If Derek finds he can throw away some items, he can do that, but only he can do that. If you find something you think is trash, you have to show it to Derek and get his approval before it can be disposed of.” She checked a watch hung around her neck on a lanyard. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment I need to get to.” She took Derek’s hand in hers and patted it gently. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need to. I will clear my schedule as best I can for next week so that I can help you as much as I am able to.”

“Thank you, Jerri.” Derek smiled at her.

They watched her drive off before turning back to the house.

“Okay, so what do we start with?” Stiles asked.

“The foyer,” Derek answered and marched back to the house. Stiles and Jordan exchanged a quick glance and then followed.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Jordan worked quickly and efficiently. By the time a few more deputies showed up, the three of them already had a clear pattern of sorting going. Stiles, human and tired, took a break as Jordan got the newcomers caught up, and called a few names on Derek’s list.

Most of them agreed that Derek could dispose of the things they had given him, and one even offered to bring in a trailer to haul crap away. Stiles thanked him and filed that away in the back of his mind, then went to find Derek and make him drink some water. Stiles updated the list to reflect what people had answered while Derek told him a little bit about some of the things of his family that he had uncovered.

Stiles was thoroughly impressed with how the deputies worked. They didn’t even attempt to toss anything away and they carried all the items as carefully as they could. By the time they were ready to stop for the day, the whole front lawn was covered in distinct piles, all covered in tarps weighed down with rocks found in a box in the kitchen.

The foyer was mostly empty, and although it was the only room they had gotten to, it was also only the first room. They had made significant progress today.

Derek seemed happy, excited and talking more than usual as they drove back to Stiles’ dad’s house.

Dad met them at the door, and Derek immediately stopped talking. He blanched, hands fisted at his sides.

“The Cabellos just want to apologize,” Dad said. “They realize what they did wrong and wish to make amends as best they can.”

“They can stop poisoning people,” Stiles retorted. He had no interest in hearing the Cabellos’ piss-poor excuse of why they decided to almost kill a customer. He was also angry because he still couldn’t remember what had happened after they’d eaten.

Before Dad could tell him to stop being rude, the Cabellos, an older couple with graying hair and twin looks of fear and disappointment, stepped out onto the porch. Derek leaned against Stiles, his arm pressing against his side, and Stiles could feel the tremors racing up and down Derek’s arm.

“We did not realize that you were not human,” Mrs. Cabello said. “We had no idea that we would be putting your life in danger.”

“Are you in the habit of drugging your customers?” Stiles demanded.

Both of them looked stricken. “We are matchmakers,” Mr. Cabello said. “It is our job to encourage relationships.”

“And how many people consented to you mucking about in their business?” Stiles clenched his hands into fists. “One more stupid answer and I will call the cops on your asses for trespassing.”

“Stiles,” Dad said warningly.

“No. Dad, no.” Stiles turned to his dad. “They almost killed Derek and they’re excusing it because they make matches? No, they’re meddlers. That’s what they are.” He glared at the Cabellos. “I hope you fuck up again just so that Chris can kick your asses. Now, get off my dad’s porch and off our property.”

The Cabellos did just that, both of them touching Derek’s shoulder as they passed him, apologizing in an undertone that did nothing to disguise what Stiles felt was insincerity.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. He ran his hand down Derek’s shoulder and arm, doing his best to layer his scent over the Cabellos’ so that Derek could at least have a little comfort before he showered the smell away.

Derek grunted. “I’m okay,” he whispered, “but I think I need to take a shower now.”

“Okay, cool. You go do that. I’m going to get Dad all caught up on what we did at the house today.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand, squeezing tightly. “Are you going to tell him about us?” he asked, and then walked away while Dad frowned at them.

“What’s this about ‘us’?”

Stiles sighed. It wasn’t like Dad wouldn’t have figured it out soon anyway. “I think me and Derek are dating now,” he said. “But also, I stink. We’ve been moving things around, and I need to shower. Talk to you later.”

He jogged past his dad and into the house. Derek wasn’t the only one who could walk away from an uncomfortable conversation.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Because there were only so many places in the house that he and Derek could hide, Dad eventually cornered them in the kitchen while they tried sneaking something for supper.

“I’m not mad that you’re dating,” he said. “I’m not even mad about you yelling at the Cabellos.” He sighed. “I just want to talk to you. Tell me, how’s the house coming? Did the deputies come by to help? How clean is the house?”

“It’s coming along fine,” Stiles said, ticking his fingers. “The deputies did indeed come help us. The house is not clean at all. It’s still really cluttered, and until the clutter is organized, we can’t clean the house.”

“Okay. That’s good. Hey, I’ve got some time off tomorrow. I could come help for a bit too?”

“Sure,” Derek said. He set down the plate of leftover lasagna Dad had made for lunch today. “Are you really not mad that Stiles and I are… together?” he sounded a little strangled on the last word, but Stiles decided he wouldn’t hold it against him. Much. “Do you have any concerns about this?” Derek continued.

“Uh, well,” Dad scratched the back of his head, “I’d appreciate a heads up if you need some alone time, and well, there’s condoms in the bathroom, but if you need a different size—”

“Dad!” Stiles yelped.

“What?”

“Condoms?! Really?”

“What! I want you to practice safe sex. Is that such a bad thing?”

“It is when you just casually imply that we’re having sex!”

Dad frowned at him, confused. “You’re not?”

“No! We just decided to get together today. What, you think we did it already?”

“Can we please stop talking about this?” Derek pleaded, voice choked. His whole face was red, and he refused to make eye contact with either Stilinski. “We’re not having sex.”

“Yet,” Dad added, and Derek made a strangled noise.

“Stop talking about sex,” Stiles said, pointing at his dad. “We’re not having sex, not now, not yet, not until we’re both ready. So, just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Dad said softly. “I’m sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just, well, you’re both adults. You both know what you like. It’s just a natural progression of your relationship.”

“Okay, we get it,” Stiles said. “You’re okay if we start having sex, but you want a heads up if you’re going to be walking into it. Well, guess what? When we get Derek’s house the way he wants it, that’s where we’ll be having sex.”

Derek slapped a hand over Stiles’ mouth. “Can. We. Please. Stop. Talking about this?” he begged between clenched teeth.

Stiles licked his palm, and Derek furrowed his brow in disgust, but he didn’t move his hand.

“Okay, I promise not to bring up the s-word anymore,” Dad promised. “Melissa has extended an invitation to all of us for supper tomorrow night. Do either of you want to go?”

“Will Scott be there?” Stiles asked. Dad gave him a flat look. “Then, no, I don’t want to go. Derek?”

“I think I won’t be in any shape to be good company,” Derek said. “Even though we’re just sorting things, it’s taking a lot out of me.”

“Understandable. So, I’ll help out tomorrow until I have work, and then tomorrow night, you’re on your own for supper.”

“Great. Thanks, Dad.” Stiles grabbed their plates and shoved them into the microwave, pressing in four minutes and staring at it while it heated.

“Okay. I’m going to check on my roses. I think I’ve got a shot at gardener of the year this year. What do you think, Derek? Think I’ve got a green thumb?”

“Well,” Derek said, hesitantly, “you’ve done really well with your wolfsbane collection.”

Stiles stifled a snort, stopped the microwave on one second, and carried the plates to the table. “Go on, Dad. Go do your gardening. We’ll catch up later.”

Dad looked rejected, but he picked up his dirt-stained gloves, kept on a shelf next to the back door, and a hand rake and stepped outside.

“Do you want to have sex?” Derek asked before Stiles could take a bite.

“Now?” Stiles looked at him.

Derek ducked his head. “No,” he said quietly, poking at his lasagna. “Not right now. Eventually, though, yeah. I like sex. I think sex with you would be good.”

“Oh, baby,” Stiles deadpanned, “I’ll knock your socks off.”

Then he tucked into his food, grimacing when he encountered the cold center. Derek laughed at the face he made and heated it up more for him.

Derek washed the dishes when they were done, and they settled on the couch to watch a movie with Dad when he came in from gardening.

As promised, Dad didn’t mention sex again. Didn’t mean Stiles wasn’t thinking about it.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Jordan and about six deputies all dressed in plain clothes were already at the house, taking the tarps off and folding them into a lidded bin so that they wouldn’t blow away in the breeze.

Stiles had grabbed the bin Derek had started of his keepsakes before he and Derek drove out there, so he grabbed it and set it down by the tarp bin.

“If Derek says save and it’s small enough, put it in here,” he told Jordan, trusting him to pass along the message. “Anything that’s too big to fit, put it with the other pile.”

Dad pulled up in his truck then. He’d brought a case of water that he set on the chair on the porch. Derek unlocked the door, and they began pulling put more things.

Sometime around when four of the deputies were maneuvering the non-working fridge out of the kitchen, the same code enforcement officer who had given them two weeks parked behind Dad’s truck.

“Tamara,” Dad greeted cheerfully, “what brings you out this way?”

“Just checking on the progress,” Tamara said. She frowned at the piles of things, watching as the fridge was walked to the curb next to John’s truck. “What’s going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dad waved at the deputies. “We’re helping Derek clean up his house.”

“Can I see inside the house?” She started for the door without waiting for an answer. Stiles hurried to intercept her. Derek was inside, supervising the clear out of the kitchen, but he must have heard Tamara, because he stepped out onto the porch just as she started up the steps.

“Hello,” he said quietly. “Would you like to see the progress being made?” He stepped aside and she walked into the foyer.

“Well, this certainly is an improvement.” She knelt down by a baseboard and tapped on it. “Hmm, still sound.”

“I should hope so,” Derek said, amusement making his eyes light up. “I had the house inspected before I bought it. It wasn’t this full of things until about six months ago.”

“Minimal damage.” Tamara made a mark on her clipboard. “Have you been able to clean any other rooms?”

Derek pointed toward the kitchen. “We’re working on the kitchen and living room today.”

Tamara clicked her pen and stuck it to her clipboard. “Show me.”

Five minutes later, she was outside. “This is good progress,” she told Derek. “Ideally, we’d like to see the whole house and both yards fully clean before the deadline, but with the amount of progress you’ve made, I’m sure we can extend the deadline by another two weeks. You now have thirty days to become compliant.” She marked an “x” on her clipboard and handed it to Derek to sign. Then she signed it and tore off the carbon copy underneath, giving it to Derek. “Good work, Mr. Hale. Keep it up.”

She walked back to her car and drove away.

As soon as she was gone, Derek visibly sagged, and Stiles pushed him until he was sitting on the steps. Jordan called a halt for a break and they all congregated by Dad’s truck with water bottles and a pizza someone had called in for delivery.

“How are you feeling?” Stiles asked. “Do you need to talk to Jerri?”

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much it was. I’d forgotten it was there, I guess, when more stuff just got piled on it.” He looked back at the house and then nodded at the various piles stacked on the lawn. “I don’t know why I let it get so bad.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re working through it. Do you have any ideas on things that could go right now, or are you waiting to see if the people I called will actually show up for their things?”

“That one,” Derek said. He sighed. “I just don’t want to throw something away and have someone come looking for it.”

“I know. That’s your caring nature.”

“I’m not caring,” Derek said, giving Stiles a hefty side-eye.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles laughed. “You always have been as long as I’ve known you. I mean, you had a rough way of showing it, but as much as you threatened to kill us when we first knew you, you never had any intention of doing so.”

“I did,” Derek protested. Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Well, I meant to,” Derek mumbled. “Look, I knew you didn’t have all the information, and that would either get you killed or put you in danger, and I couldn’t let you die because of me.”

“And you didn’t,” Stiles said.

“If only everyone could have been as lucky.”

Stiles knew Derek was thinking of Boyd and Erica. He set his hand on Derek’s knee, surprised when Derek turned his hand over and slotted his hand on top, tangling their fingers together.

They sat for fifteen minutes while everyone else ate and joked, laughing and cheering when they managed to get the fridge up into Dad’s truck.

Dad walked over to Derek and Stiles, handing them each a water bottle. “I’m going to take the fridge to the appliance recycling center and then head home to get ready for work. You’ve done a lot these past few days. I’m proud of you both. Now, remember that I’m going to Melissa’s for supper tonight.” He paused before grinning. “The condoms are in the upstairs bathroom.” He jogged away before Stiles recovered enough to start yelling. Derek ducking his head to hide his smile gave him pause, and he turned to fully look at him.

“Do you seriously want to have sex while my dad is at Melissa’s?” he asked incredulously.

“No, not yet,” Derek said. “I just think he said that because he knew it would rile you.”

“That’s the problem with being his son,” Stiles complained. “He knows me so well.”

“He loves you,” Derek said. “That’s not a problem.”

“He likes you too.”

Derek grinned, tipping his head down so he could butt his head gently against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Get up, ya goof,” Stiles said, tugging lightly at Derek’s hair until he obediently raised his head. As soon as his mouth was level with Stiles’, he leaned in and started kissing him.

Derek kissed back.

This kiss was better than their first attempt, with no clicking of teeth, no poked eyes, and plenty of tongue.

Suddenly, Derek’s head shot up, breaking contact.

Derek’s head shot up. “Scott’s here,” he said.

“Scott?” Stiles looked to the street where there was now a bright blue Mazda parked where his dad had been.

Scott was already out of the vehicle, leaning against it, sunglasses obscuring his eyes as he faced them.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Derek asked as he stood up and pulled Stiles up with him.

“I should,” Stiles replied, but his feet didn’t move. He hadn’t seen Scott in years, since high school graduation. He hadn’t forgiven him for bringing Kate back into their lives. He hadn’t forgiven Scott for what Kate had done to Derek before they’d stopped her.

Anger welled in him and he balled his fists. Scott would probably stand still long enough for one hit, but he wouldn’t be able to surprise him. He didn’t get a chance to do anything, though. Derek grabbed his shoulder to keep him in place as Scott strolled up to them. He didn’t remove his sunglasses, even when they were less than five feet apart.

“Hey, Stiles, Derek,” Scott said. His voice was edged, careful.

Stiles shook his head. He couldn’t say anything because if he started talking, he’d start yelling too, and he didn’t want to waste any more time on Scott than he already had. He’d grieved the end of their friendship a long time ago.

“Hi, Scott,” Derek said, cordially. He offered his hand for a shake, and Scott stepped closer and took it gingerly. He held his hand out to Stiles for a few seconds. When Stiles did nothing more than stare at it icily, he stepped back.

The silence between them was awkward, weighed down by the past.

Jordan herded the gawking deputies around the side of the house to start clearing out the backyard, giving them some semblance of privacy.

“So, I need to talk to you about something,” Scott said.

“Okay,” Derek said. “Stiles or me?”

“You.” Scott finally removed his sunglasses, folding the bows together with a little click and gently sliding them into the front pocket of his jacket. He let his eyes glow red, head tipped down to keep any nosy neighbors from seeing them. “I think it’s time to give you this back.”

“What?” Stiles grabbed onto Derek’s arm in shock. “You want to give Derek your alpha powers?”

“They weren’t mine to begin with,” Scott said. He sighed. “Deaton told me it was possible that I became an alpha after Derek used his spark to heal Cora because it needed more power than he had left. The spark left because if it had stayed, it would have killed Derek.”

“And did Deaton tell you to give it back?” Stiles asked. Derek grabbed his hand, threading their fingers together. Stiles squeezed gratefully.

“No,” Scott said. He opened and closed his hands, staring at his fingertips like he expected his claws to pop out. Disappointingly, he remained fully human. “I found a new mentor. He used to be a werewolf, bitten, like me.” He shot a quick glance at Derek. Stiles followed it. Derek’s face was blank, but his hand, where he was still holding Stiles’ was trembling.

“Deaton didn’t like me talking to Micah, said he was only telling me what I wanted to hear.”

“That you could be human again?” Stiles guessed. Scott nodded. “So, what’s the catch?”

“I have to give the power back to the person I got it from.”

“And you think it’s Derek based on what Deaton told you?”

“Not just Deaton,” Scott said. “Peter, before he disappeared after the shit with Kate, said that my alpha powers were Hale in origin.” He shrugged. “Peter could probably tell that it was his family’s.”

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded.

“Micah didn’t know where he got his alpha powers from, so he asked a witch spark to help track down the same, like, frequency of the power.”

“Electro-signals,” Derek murmured. “Each alpha’s power carries a distinct energy signal.”

Stiles turned so that he was facing Derek. “Does that mean Scott’s power is yours?”

Derek nodded. “I didn’t want to be an alpha anymore. Everyone I loved was dying. Sometimes at my hands. I thought I didn’t deserve it, and Peter still had a lot of rage left after he came back. I didn’t trust him with it subconsciously. That must have been why it went to Scott.”

“And now I’m giving it back to you,” Scott said.

Derek shook his head. “I still don’t want it.”

“I don’t think we can trust Peter either,” Stiles said. “So, what do we do with it?”

“We could put it in the same container we used to store the nogitsune’s powers,” Derek said, slowly.

Stiles suppressed a full-body shiver. If Derek felt guilt for the deaths he thought he’d caused, Stiles drowned in it. So many people had died because of his body, and while he hadn’t been aware at the time of most of the deaths, he’d still felt their loss keenly.

“Wait,” Scott said, “wouldn’t opening the box let out the nogitsune again?” He shot a concerned look at Stiles.

Derek squeezed their hands together. “Chris didn’t trust Peter with the box if the nogitsune was in it, so he made a silver box and transferred the nogitsune into that and buried it somewhere only he knows.”

“So, Peter has the box now?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah. He wanted it back about a year ago, just before I moved back to Beacon Hills.”

“So, where is Peter now?”

Derek made a face. “Oregon. About two hours drive.”

“And he’ll let you take the box?” Scott asked, hopeful.

Stiles snorted. “It’s Peter,” he said. “Do you think he’s actually going to let us take anything?”

“We have to try,” Scott said. “Please?”

“Is being a werewolf really so horrible?” Stiles asked.

“You’re one to talk,” Scott said. “You’re still human.”

“But I wouldn’t have tried to resurrect a fucking hunter to learn how to be human again.”

“Oh my God, is that why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Scott shook his head. “Look, I’m sorry that I accidentally brought Kate back to life. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No?” Stiles could still remember the metallic taste of fear when he’d gone to Derek’s loft because they hadn’t heard from him for a few days and found the door open, blood smeared everywhere. It had taken three days to find Derek chained up in the tunnels under the preserve.

Scott had admitted what he’d done when Derek told them that it was Kate, and then Kate tried to blow them up and absconded with Derek again. She had him for a week that time, and when they finally tracked her down and made sure she was dead and buried in as many pieces as they could tear her into, Derek had walked away from Beacon Hills. He’d taken nothing with him. He hadn’t even washed the blood and dirt off before he disappeared.

Peter, the main orchestrator of Kate’s dismemberment, had left shortly after that.

And Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott since.

“No. I was trying to draw the alpha spark out of me, but I guess Deaton gave me the wrong ritual.”

“So, you’re saying we should blame Deaton now?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Stiles, it may have taken me slightly more time to realize it, but Deaton wanted me to be the alpha.” He shot an apologetic look at Derek. “I’m not sure why he had such a problem with Derek or Peter being the alpha, but I guess he was just trying to make sure I’d stay in charge.”

Stiles shook his head. “You were never in charge,” he said coldly. “Maybe you’re right: you don’t deserve to be a werewolf.” He turned to Derek. “Do you want to drive or should I?”

“You can,” Derek said.

“Are you going to get the box from Peter?” Scott asked.

Stiles didn’t bother to answer him. As far as he was concerned, Scott no longer existed. They would help him stop being an alpha and then Scott could fuck off again.

“Let’s go tell Jordan the new plan,” Stiles said. “Do you trust them enough to keep working while we’re gone?”

Derek tilted his head, thinking about it for a long moment before shaking his head. “The code officer said she’d extend our deadline, so it’s not like we’re going to lose too much progress.”

“True. I think I’m going to have Jordan call all the people who have stuff out on your front lawn and have them pick it up. We’re only going to be gone for as long as it takes to drive there and back and convince Peter to give us the box.”

“Should I come too?” Scott asked.

“No,” Stiles and Derek said at the same time. Stiles added, “Peter might not be willing to give us the box if he knows you’re involved.”

Stiles had been pissed at Scott. Peter had left town because, he explained in a text message he sent to Stiles about a week after he’d gone, he wanted to rip Scott limb from limb like he’d done to Kate, and if he gave in to his need for revenge, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop, and Derek wasn’t around to stop him.

Stiles hadn’t responded, not sure if there was anything he could say to that because he knew exactly how Peter felt.

And now, six years later, Stiles was beginning to feel that same rage again. Yeah, it was definitely not a good idea for Scott to come with them.

“Go see your mom,” he said. “Tell my dad hi when he has supper with her.”

“Okay,” Scott said easily. He put his sunglasses back on and walked back to his Mazda.

Stiles waited until he pulled away before he marched around the house and found Jordan directing the deputies to cover the piles of stuff they’d pulled from the sheds with tarps.

“We’ll get everything covered up and call it a day,” Jordan said. “We couldn’t exactly not hear what you were talking about since we’ve all got super hearing.” He held out his hand for the list. “I’ll get this taken care of while we finish up covering everything. Jenkins has a trailer we can borrow to help people haul their things away if they want them. Is it okay to make a possible dumpster pile if some people don’t want anything back?”

“As long as you don’t actually put it in a dumpster, that should be fine,” Derek said. “Thanks, Jordan.”

“Hey, no worries. Always glad to help out a friend.”

Derek looked startled at that, and Stiles nudged him. “Remember you told me about him being affronted about the shock wand?” Derek nodded. “Yeah, he’s been your friend since then, I think.”

“Yeah,” Jordan said. “For sure. Anytime you need something, just give me a call. I’ll be around. Now, I think you’d better hit the road if you want to have daylight for the trip home.”

Stiles high fived him and then all but pushed Derek toward Roscoe. “We’ll have to stop for gas a lot unless you want to switch to the Camaro?”

Derek shook his head. “Peter likes you more. If he hears your Jeep, he’ll be more amenable to helping us.”

“Your uncle is creepy.”

Derek laughed. “He’s always been like that.” He sobered, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to see him again.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, lying. He didn’t have any fond memories of Peter, but he wasn’t going to hold that against Derek. Besides, if Peter did agree to give them the box because Stiles tagged along, well, all the better.

He flipped his blinker on and took the turn that led out of town, heading north toward Oregon and Peter Hale.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek drove for the second half of the trip up while Stiles dozed in the passenger seat. They stopped for gas too many times, so what should have been two hours was quickly turning into three.

Finally, around Ashland, Derek pulled off Interstate 5. “Peter built a cabin close to Ashland,” he explained. “He wanted to be close enough to civilization because despite his creepy tendencies, he’s very social, but he also likes his privacy. Coming back from the dead does that, or so he’s told me.”

“Peter wasn’t very private when you were growing up?”

Derek snorted. “If Peter could show off or brag about anything, he would.” Derek pulled off the paved road and onto an access road. Five miles by the odometer and he parked in front of a structure that couldn’t be considered a cabin in any sense of the word. He turned off the engine and handed the keys to Stiles.

“Peter built this himself?” Stiles asked, staring at the large, mansion-sized lodge.

“No.” Derek frowned at him. “Peter hired people to help him. If he’s started building things himself, then we’re all in trouble.”

“He’s not an architect?”

“Not at all.” Derek looked a little wistful. “I was actually studying to be one when Laura and I were in New York.”

“Do you have plans to finish your degree?”

Derek shrugged. “Let’s finish one project before we worry about another.”

He opened his door and braced. Peter knocked him down, and they rolled in the leaves by the side of the dirt road while Stiles climbed out and stretched out the kinks in his back.

“Derek, what brings you up my way?” Peter asked when he and Derek stopped moving.

“I need something from you,” Derek said. He let Peter tug him up to his feet and ambled toward Stiles. He slung an arm over Stiles’ shoulders and walked him to the porch. It was larger than Derek’s kitchen, and Stiles had the hysterical thought that they should just pack up all that junk and store it here. Certainly Peter didn’t need as much room as he had.

He stamped the thought down. He was trying to help Derek get rid of his hoard, not dump it on someone else. Besides, Peter wasn’t exactly the type to tolerate encroachment of his territory.

“Oh?” Peter smiled knowingly at them. “Does this have something to do with your little crush on Stiles?”

“Not a crush,” Derek said. “And no. This is actually about the box my mother’s claws were in.”

Peter drew back, studying Derek with an air of suspicion. “And why would you want that?” he asked. “You have your mother’s claws. I thought we agreed I could have the box since you wouldn’t let me have the claws.”

“You wanted to use them in a ritual to regain alpha powers,” Derek said. “You know every hunter will come after you if they realize you’re an alpha again, right? You’re too dangerous for them.”

“And what about you? When are you going to become an alpha again?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want power.”

Peter looked at Stiles, and it felt like he was being stripped of clothes and flesh. “No, you just want a little fuck-buddy.”

“Hey!” Stiles said. “I’m right here!”

“We’re not fuck-buddies,” Derek added. “We’re dating.”

“Hmm. I suppose I should invite you in.” Peter turned on his heel and walked into his house. He left the door open for them, so Stiles followed him in. Derek trailed after, closing the door behind him.

“Want anything? Juice, soda, wine?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” Derek said. “We just need the box.”

“And then what do I get?” Peter asked. “Was she not my sister? Why should I have no mementos of her?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Peter, you emptied an entire vault full of memories. I have the claws and not much else. I am asking you, as my mother’s son, for her box.”

Peter turned to Stiles. “And you? Why are you here? Did Derek think that seeing you again would melt my heart? Well, it hasn’t. If anything, I am now more frozen than ever.”

Stiles reached out and stabbed his index finger into Peter’s chest. “Feels pretty warm to me,” he said.

Peter just stared at him. Derek growled under his breath and stalked away. He returned a few minutes later, the box in hand. “Goodbye, Peter.”

Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and dragged him out of the house. Stiles barely had time to buckle into the passenger seat before Derek had Roscoe turned around and heading back to the paved road, edging up near top speed. He hadn’t even felt him take the keys.

“Easy,” Stiles said as Derek slowed marginally to turn onto the road. “I know Jeeps are good off-roaders, but Roscoe’s old. You’d better treat him better.”

“I thought you’d call your Jeep a she,” Derek muttered, but he did ease off the accelerator.

“Roscoe was my mom’s first. She named him.”

“Oh,” was all Derek said.

It wasn’t until they were back on Interstate 5, near the Oregon-California border that Derek said, “Laura named the Camaro ‘Maura.’”

“Do you still call it that?”

“Her,” Derek said softly. “Yeah. It’s a piece of Laura that I still have.” He patted the dash. “Good, Roscoe. Good job.”

Stiles smiled at him. “You think Peter’s going to try to get the box back?”

“Probably,” Derek said. “Is Chris still in town?”

“Dunno.”

“If he is, I’ll send him to say hello to Peter. I’m sure that’ll keep him away.”

“Not indefinitely,” Stiles pointed out. “Chris is going to leave again, and Peter will probably just come back then.”

“Yeah.” Derek sighed. “I’m just hoping I can decide what to do with the alpha spark if it comes to that.”

“If we can even get the spark out of Scott.”

Derek nodded. “Trade at the next station?”

“Sure,” Stiles said.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

They traded drivers again for the last forty-five minutes before they got to Beacon Hills. Dad texted Stiles just as they hit the city limits sign.

 Scott wants to meet at Derek’s house.

Stiles sent Okay back. “We’re going to your house. Apparently Scott’s already there.”

Derek turned onto his street and passed Scott��s Mazda as he pulled into his driveway.

Scott was sitting on the chair on the porch, his phone braced against his knee. He lifted a hand to wave at them.

Derek paused before shutting the door. “He’s not alone,” he said in a sotto voice as he and Stiles walked up to Scott.

Indeed, as they stepped onto the porch, a man came around the corner of the house. He was tall, taller than even Boyd had been, darker too.

“Micah,” Scott said, “this is Derek and Stiles. They’re going to be helping with the ritual.”

Micah studied Derek. “This is who your spark came from?”

“His family, yeah,” Scott said.

“Him,” Stiles said. “Derek had to give up the spark almost seven years ago.”

“And you are willing to take it back?”

Derek held up his mom’s box. “I think we can store it in here. It’s made from the wood of the nemeton.”

“So it has power,” Micah said.

“Yes.”

He nodded. “It should be a fine container.” He motioned to Scott. “Shall we begin?”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “What exactly does this ritual entail? What do we have to do? Is there any bloodletting?”

Micah laughed just a touch too hard, Stiles thought. “No,” he said, wiping at his eyes. “It is rather simple. All that has to be done is for the parties to stand in the center of a mountain ash circle and renounce the spark.” He looked to Derek. “Normally, you would then accept the power, but since you wish to store it in the nemeton box, you will have to say that you accept it as it goes into the box instead of your body.”

“What are the exact words we need to say?” Derek asked. “I’d like to not accidentally become an alpha again.”

“Wait,” Stiles said again. “What if the spark doesn’t go into either the box or Derek?”

“That’s what the mountain ash circle is for,” Micah said. “It will stop the spark from finding another host.”

Derek stiffened suddenly. “We need to hurry,” he said. “Peter is coming.”

“I’ll call my dad and see if Chris is still here and if he can come over now.” Stiles stepped back, already dialing.

He watched Micah position Derek and Scott so that they were facing each other in arm’s length apart. He then picked up a pouch from the porch and began pouring mountain ash into a circle  around them. If Micah had truly been a werewolf, then he wasn’t one now. Scott was the only wolf Stiles had known to break through mountain ash, but as far as he knew, Scott hadn’t been able to do it again. A one-trick pony.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles said when his dad picked up. “Is Chris Argent still in town?”

“I think so,” Dad said. “He was also invited to have dinner with Melissa sometime this week.”

“Can you ask him if he can come to Derek’s house? We need some hunter muscle.”

“Sure. You need a retired sheriff too?”

“Uh, maybe? Peter Hale is in town tonight.”

“Well, fuck,” Dad said. “Okay, we’ll be there. I’ll bring some wolfsbane bullets for Peter.”

“Hurry please.” Stiles hung up and walked closer to see the ritual. Scott was already halfway through his speech of giving up the alpha spark, thanking it for its power and asking that it serve the next host just as well. As he spoke, his body lifted, wind that Stiles couldn’t feel outside the circle ruffling his hair. Scott closed his eyes, leaning back, arms thrown wide.

Derek opened his mom’s box. “Alpha spark,” he said, “please accept this box as your new host and serve it well.” He said a few more things, but Stiles wasn’t paying attention anymore because behind him, he heard growling. When he turned, Peter stood there, close enough that Stiles could touch him if he wanted to. He didn’t.

Peter was half-shifted, eyes blazing icy blue, fur sprouting along his cheeks as his forehead became more prominent.

“You’d waste it like this?” he snarled at Derek.

Derek ignored him, closing the lid on the box as it jerked under his hands, like it suddenly weighed more than before.

Dad’s truck horn blared, and they all turned as Dad parked haphazardly, climbing out of the driver’s side with a raised gun while Chris calmly leveled a loaded crossbow at Peter.

“Hello, Peter,” Chris called. “Long time no see.”

“Yes, well, it is so hard to keep in touch these days,” Peter said, fully human again. “I suppose you’re here to warn me to stay away from my nephew?”

“You know me so well,” Chris returned. “You have five minutes to make yourself scarce before my finger slips.”

Peter glared. “This isn’t over,” he said to Derek. “I will have that power. It is mine by birthright.”

“If that were so,” Derek said quietly, “it would have gone to you and not Laura. You wouldn’t have had to kill her for it.”

Peter looked stricken. “Of course you would think that I did it on purpose. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were someone else. All I saw was an alpha. I didn’t even realize it was Laura until the police were looking for her body.”

“And that is why you shouldn’t have the spark,” Derek said. “I don’t want it, and you can’t have it. Now, please go. Your five minutes are almost up.”

Peter nodded sharply and turned around. “I would say it was nice to see you,” he called to Chris and Stiles’ dad, “but I don’t want to lie.”

He walked away.

“Huh, well that was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” Stiles said. He stepped up to the mountain ash circle and waved his hand over it to break it. Derek smiled at him before nodding toward Scott.

“It worked. He’s human now.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Scott said. He looked weak, tired. “I’m sorry for what I did before, for bringing Kate back. I should have realized that Deaton didn’t want me to give up the power.”

“I’ll work on forgiving you,” Stiles promised, one hand behind his back, fingers crossed.

Micah helped Scott to his Mazda and set him in the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s seat and pulling away.

Derek looked around the yard at the piles of things still cluttering the yard. He frowned, holding the box out to Stiles.

As soon as Stiles had a good grip on it, Derek walked over to the smallest pile of stuff and pulled the tarp off. He studied the pile before picking up as much of it as he could all at once and walking over to Stiles’ dad’s truck.

“Is this okay?” he asked. Dad nodded. Derek set the stuff in the bed of the truck and went back for another armful.

“Derek?” Stiles called. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just crap,” Derek said. “I don’t want it. Let’s get rid of it. All of it. Please?”

Stiles smiled so wide his mouth hurt and his eyes teared up. “Yes,” he said. “Always.”

And maybe there would be days where Derek would miss the things he threw away, but Stiles would be there to help him and remind him why he didn’t need it.

Stiles carried the box into the house and set it on a shelf above the fireplace in the living room, marveling at the way he could stretch and stretch and not even come close to reaching anything in his way.

Derek joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist as they both studied the room.

“There’s still a lot of work to do,” Stiles said, “but you’ve taken a lot of steps. And we’re all here for you.”

“I know,” Derek said. “But most importantly, you are here.” He moved to stand in front of Stiles, using a gentle finger to tip Stiles’ head up so he could slot his mouth over Stiles’.

“I am,” Stiles said as soon as the kiss ended. “Always.” He pulled Derek down for a dirtier, wetter kiss. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too,” Derek said, and it sounded like a revelation.

Dad cleared his throat. “Not that I want to interrupt this grand display of affection, but I think it’ll be a lot easier to do what you’re about to do on a bed with clean clothes, uh, skin. Come on, let’s go home. You’ll be back here tomorrow anyway.”

“I thought you didn’t want to know when we were having sex,” Stiles said.

“Yes, well, you might not get an STD from Derek, but that floor is another matter.”

Stiles poked Derek’s cheek. “What do you say, should we go back to my place for a little horizontal dancing?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I think I’d prefer to fuck,” he said, and then bodily hauled Stiles up with him.

They made it home in record time. Barely. And took the shortest showers of their lives.

Dad graciously went back to Melissa’s house with Chris, leaving them a row of condoms on Stiles’ bed. They used every last one of them.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

                                                                                                         ~ Epilogue ~

                                                                                        ~ Three Weeks Later ~

Stiles surveyed his handiwork before dipping his roller back into the pan of paint and running it over the wall. He was almost done with the second coat for the living room. Derek was painting the kitchen right now. Everything was clean.

The only things that hadn’t initially belonged to Derek still in the house were a few pieces of furniture that Derek planned to reupholster.

In the end, they’d hauled over 50 tons of trash to the various recycling centers and the dump. The house had taken almost as long to clean since Derek and Stiles were doing it themselves. In fact, this was the last coat of paint that they needed.

With a final swipe of his roller, Stiles finished. He set it down, turning to look at the walls. He wiped at his forehead with his sleeve, mopping at the perspiration soaking his hair and running down his face.

They had the windows open, but it barely made a difference when there wasn’t a breeze to speak of.

Stiles picked up his supplies and carried them out to the shed where Derek had decided to keep his touch-up bits and bobs. By the outside spigot, he scraped as much paint as he could off the roller before sticking it in a bucket and opening the spigot to fill the bucket. He added a few drops of detergent and then used his hands to work the rest of the paint out of the roller, hanging it to dry on a hook Derek had installed for this purpose.

He finished by the time Derek was done with the kitchen.  Derek washed his roller too, hanging it next to Stiles’.

“So, that’s done,” Stiles said. He and Derek were both paint-splattered and sweat-soaked and in desperate need of a shower.

“Yeah,” Derek said. He smiled fondly at Stiles. The past three weeks had seen them consummate their relationship in truly earth shattering fashion. They’d had so much sex that neither of them could walk straight for about a week, and it had made cleaning the house that much more difficult. Neither of them was willing to stop long enough to fully heal though.

“Wanna join me?” Derek asked, cheekily, jerking his head back toward the house.

“For a shower?” Stiles clarified.

Derek hummed. “Among other things.”

Stiles grinned at him. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“I think your dad left us a house warming gift earlier. I put it upstairs. It was for the bedroom.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek before running up to the room they’d picked for the bedroom. Sitting on their bed was a red cellophane-wrapped basket. Stiles poked it, turning it around until he could see the contents clearly.

“Really, Dad?” He laughed. Condoms and lube. They were running low, so Stiles couldn’t even be mad at his dad for it. They would definitely get used. In fact… Stiles pulled on the ribbon and peeled off the cellophane. He picked out a box of flavored condoms and headed to the bathroom where Derek had already started the shower.

“Strawberry or cherry?” he asked, stripping quickly and joining Derek under the spray.

“Strawberry?”

“You or me?”

Derek’s gaze dropped to Stiles’ crotch. “You?” he tried.

Stiles grinned and rolled a strawberry flavored condom onto his dick. “Good choice,” he said, as if Derek could have made a bad choice here.

The smile he got in return was brilliant, and Derek gracefully dropped to his knees, leaning forward to envelope Stiles’ dick in the wet heat of his mouth.

It was good, great, perfect, and Stiles wouldn’t change a thing.

~ End ~

#Sterek Big Bang 2021 #Art by mrkgrl #My Story/My Writing #Heed Warnings #Give the artist love! #Check out the event!

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

L&L - Chapter 8. Story time pt.2 [Alec Lightwood x Reader]

Title: Love and Leather - Chapter 8. Story time pt.2 ➔ Chapter 9. Here! Pairing: Alec Lightwood x Female!Reader Published: 23 June, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Love and Leather Masterlist | Masterlists

"WHAT?" She squealed. At first she was surprised, but then it changed to happiness. She threw her arms around you and pulled you into a warm hug. "Finally he took your feelings seriously? By the Angel, I have been waiting for this for so long. Since we met, I couldn't have imagined anyone better next to my brother. I'm so happy, Y/N. I'm so happy for you." She kept hugging you, almost breaking your bones. You coughed awkwardly, but she didn't seem to mind. You tried again, but she didn't pay attention. You decided to just go ahead and speak.

"You couldn't be any farther from the truth." You stated simply. She let go of you, meanwhile blinking at you with a confused expression sitting across her face.

"What do you mean?" She asked waiting for a reply impatiently.

"We didn't sleep together or did anything you are thinking of." You shook your head. "We did sleep next to each other, because there were no free rooms, I lost my key and basically I harassed him into sleeping next to me, half naked." You explained and once again hid your face in your palms. Embarrassment running through your body again, you felt your face heat up. "And if that's not enough humiliation, I basically served myself to him and he even rejected it." You growled thinking back at what a loser you were. "The worst is, he knows my feelings, he knows the impact his presence is having on me. Why does he always make me feel like a shitty person?" You sighed. "I feel like I'm acting as a complete idiot around him all the time. Even I wouldn't take my own feelings seriously, if I was him." You explained and Izzy gently slapped you on the back of the head. "Hey!" You voiced your frustration.

"What are you talking about?" She frowned. "Yes, you do have your goofy moments, but if I was a boy, I would take you without a second thought." She sighed. "You are an amazing fighter, with skills that half of the institute envy you for. You are really smart, which sometimes makes me feel like I'm nothing next to you. You are gorgeous, and it does make me feel jealous, even though I love you to bits. And your sarcastic remarks make you so much more lovable." You felt warmth inside your body and you felt a small smile crawling its way up to your face. Izzy's words made you happy and even though you didn't believe half of what she said, you were just happy to know that such an amazing person became a part of your life. "And if after all of these, my brother still can't take you seriously, then he is a complete idiot. Period." She said with a reassuring smile. She stood up, pulled you up with her and cupped your face in her hands. "You deserve the best." She winked and gave you a heartfelt hug.

"Thank you, Iz." You replied gently. "I'm lucky to have you."

"Awww... you never said that before." She squealed quietly and you already regretted saying it when she tried to suffocate you with a hug.

"Okay, okay... too much cheesiness for today." You tried to get out of her hug.

"Come on, you are rarely nice to me, let me enjoy the moment." She pouted, but you luckily pealed her arms off of yourself.

"I still love you, but let's love each other from a distance." You winked with a cheeky smile appearing on your face.

"You are horrible." She crossed her arms and started walking towards the institute.

"Come on Iz, you know I love you." You tried lightening the situation, but she didn't budge. "Hey!" You tried harsher, but she didn't listen. She opened the door of the institute and walked in without taking a glance at you. "Hey!" You tried again as soon as you got in the building following the still pouting parabatai of yours. "Izzy!" You called, in a firm tone and she finally turned around from the entrance of the hall. The computer screens were flashing behind her as she stood in the hallway with crossed arms looking straight at you.

"I will forgive you on one condition." She finally realised your existence. However she didn't continue. She was waiting for a reply from you.

"I will not promise anything unless you tell me what you want." You stated firmly.

"Fine, forget it." She said and was about to walk away again.

"By the Angel, Izzy, stop behaving like a baby. What is it? Say it. I will do it." You gave in finally and an evil smile appeared on your friend's face. "That doesn't look good." You said quietly.

"You will have to go on a date." She sang happily, but you could only frown at one of her stupidest ideas ever.

"What do you mean by date?" You asked uncertain.

"I mean, I will set you up with a hot guy and you will have the time of your life with him." She said grinning like a baby getting a new toy.

"Sorry, Iz. Not happening." You stated and walked past her to walk to your room. But she stopped you in the middle of the computer room.

"You will go. And you know why?" She asked, this time her face showing complete seriousness. "Because you are amazing and I want to see someone appreciating you as much as your friends and family do." Her words went deep and you knew you wanted to feel appreciated, you wanted to feel loved. However you wanted to feel that from Alec. And in a way you knew it didn't have much of a chance.

An unexpected quite cough came from the side. Both your and Izzy's head snapped towards the source of the sound. Your eyes met two beautiful blue irises and you were certain that he heard the conversation between his sister and you. He didn't say a word though. He was just looking at you before turning his attention towards one of the screens.

"Let's talk about it later." You replied looking at your parabatai. You saw that she had more to say, but you didn't feel like talking. You passed Izzy and started walking towards your room. You felt very unhappy with the situation. You didn't want Alec to know about it. You tried to convince him so many times, that your feelings were real, even if in a jokey way, but he still didn't believe you. And even if he did, he always used the same excuses. Work and carrier. His definition of fun couldn't be farther from the actual meaning of the word.

You arrived to your room and decided to put your thoughts aside and try to relax for the night. You went straight to your bathroom. The walls were light purple, the bath tub, the sink and the toilet were shining white. You walked up to your bath and opened the water tap. You put some candles around the bath tab and took out a bottle of sweet red wine from your mini-fridge right next to your nightstand. You just wanted to relax and close everything and everyone out of your mind, even if just temporarily. You threw your training cloths in the laundry basket right next to your sink and took out a purple towel, from the towel rack, placing it on the side of the bath tub. You climbed into the hot water right after you placed a pink bath bomb into it, making you feel like you were in the park on a warm spring day. You pulled out the screw cap quite easily as the wine has already been opened. You kept your wine in the fridge and you drank from the bottle. You knew you weren't a princess, but even you were surprised how much you didn't care about the norms. Either way it made you laugh, so you just gave in to the sweet taste of the alcohol and the warm sweet feeling of the water.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to like the chapter. Thank you :)

#alec #alec lightwood #aleclightwood #alec x reader #alec lightwood x reader #aleclightwood x reader #jace x clary #jace herondale #Clary Fairchild #Clary Fray #Cassandra Clare #Freeform #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #tmi #themortalinstruments #warlock #magnus bane #magnusbane #Izzy Lightwood #izzy #simon lewis #Jace Wayland #fanfiction #shadowhunters fanfiction

[theimpossibleg1rl]

Faking It | Mini Series | One.

Actor!Bucky Barnes x OFC Alex Pierce

Warnings: language, angst, smut in later chapters

James 'Bucky' Barnes is one of the most famous, sought after young actors in the world. Alex Pierce is the up and comer with a few credits under her belt. What happens when their PR people suggest a "fake" relationship to boost their images?

tags: @dreams-in-blxck @badassbaker | tags open

“Absolutely not.” Alex huffed, holding the phone away from her ear. She wasn’t that desperate. And he was the last person on earth that she wanted anything to do with. He had quite the reputation. It was no well-kept secret that James Barnes was what the tabloids referred to as a “womanizer.”

That was something she had no interest in getting involved with.

“Lex,” Jane, her agent, sighed into the phone, “you have two big projects coming up and he just landed a role in a big franchise. You both need this. And his reps are determined to clean up his image. You’d be good for that.” James certainly made no secrets of his “extra curricular activities.”

She ran a hand through her long blonde hair before pulling it into a braid. “He’s...ugh, Jane! Why him? Can’t you get someone else if you’re really determined to do this to me? There’s gotta be some other single guys.”

“His people have asked for you specifically, Alexandra. They want you.”

She sighed heavily into the phone. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

****

James Barnes reportedly dating newcomer Alex Pierce. The pair were spotted at dinner in Soho. A source close to the pair say they looked very cozy and comfortable with each other.

“They definitely looked like a couple,” the source commented. “Holding hands, very interested in the conversation.”

“Jesus,” Alex groaned, “I literally haven’t even met him yet,” she lamented to Maria. “I barely agreed and it’s starting.” She stared at the phone, almost unable to believe how fast it moved. “How in the hell was I ‘supposedly seen with him in Soho?’ This is insane.”

“The machine works fast,” Maria hummed, scrolling through her own phone. “On the plus side, he’s fucking gorgeous, Alex. Did you see that scene in The End? Holy fuck. His ass is outta this world.”

Alex had seen it. And as much as Maria was right, that didn’t excuse his off-set behavior. How was his PR planning to make him look like he’d done a complete one eighty? Faking a relationship didn’t necessarily seem like the best course of action here.

****

“She’s gorgeous,” Steve marveled, eyes locked onto his phone screen. Bucky was lounging on the sofa, legs up on the coffee table. His eyes were closed and he merely hummed in response. “You seen her movies yet? They want you to.”

Bucky shrugged. It didn’t matter. Six months to a year. He could fake his way through nearly anything. He did it every time he promised some chick he’d call her as he sent them on their way. He never called them. Why should he? They only wanted one thing.

“You paying any attention to anything I’ve said, Buck?”

“It’s all bullshit anyway, Stevie. They wanna make me a ‘bad boy gone good’. They’re tired of my fucking around. Doesn’t look good for the studio,” he muttered in a mocking tone. He rolled his eyes. He was perfectly happy doing what he was doing. He was a young man, plenty of pussy. Who needed a commitment?

“Well, it’s already all over the gossip blogs. Everyone’s talkin’ about it,” Steve hummed, skimming the comments. “People think you make a hot couple. They aren’t wrong.”

Bucky honestly didn’t give a shit. It was just another acting gig to him.

****

“Barnes,” Tony, his agent growled, ripping the phone from his hands, earning a deathly look. “Pay attention. Look alive. She’s here.”

The door opened and Jane escorted Alex inside the office. Bucky looked up, pushing his sunglasses up to the top of his head. Holy fuck. Steve wasn’t wrong. This might actually be better than he’d hoped. She was gorgeous. A goddess with long flowing blonde hair and a killer body.

Bucky wanted to get his mouth on her.

“James, this is Alex,” Jane introduced and Alex held out a hand. If he was beautiful on screen, it didn’t come close to real life. His blue eyes were piercing. His chestnut brown hair looked soft to the touch. His plump lips were perfect. He made her weak in the knees.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Nice to finally meet you, Doll,” he coped, his voice like honey. Alex melted a bit at his tone. Get your shit together, she reminded herself. It’s a job. Just a job. It’s not real, Alex. He doesn’t give a damn. If anything, worse comes to worse, you’re just another notch in his belt,

“You too,” she replied, keeping her cool, flashing him a blinding smile.

And action.

****

“The paps will be waiting outside the restaurant,” Jane told them both. “Step outside, hold hands, ignore them. Pretend they’re not there.”

Bucky nodded, looking at Alex for a long moment. He wondered what was going on inside her head. She seemed relaxed, that was a good thing. They could do this. Their jobs were to pretend. That’s all this was. In six months, she’d be out of his life. Simple.

****

“You’re all over the internet!,” Wanda squealed, shoving her phone in Alex’s face. “Yeah, yeah. I know what we look like, Wan,” she sighed. She’d seen them. They’d blown up within minutes. And this was only the beginning of this mess.

“You look good,” Maria agreed from her spot on the sofa.

“It’s all pretend, ladies,” Alex reminded them. She tried not to think about Bucky. How perfectly his hand fit in hers. How good he smelled. How he smiled at her like she was everything. He was a damn good actor, there was no doubt about that.

James Barnes and Alex Pierce take a stroll in NYC. Looks like the “bad boy” may have settled down. Sources close to the pair say that he’s telling friends that she’s the one.

*they’re cute!*

*aww! They look happy!*

*super hot together!*

Alex groaned. The one? Really? Who came up with this shit? They’d known each other for a week, not spending more than a few hours together. She didn’t know a damn thing about his private life. She figured she could Google it, but that seemed weird. It was just performance art, right? Nothing more.

****

Bucky scrolled through the comment sections, smiling a bit. “So she’s the one, huh?,” Clint teased, tossing a beer at him. Bucky caught it and laughed. “It’s all bullshit, Barton. Some asshole is actually paid to write this shit. It’s a fuckin’ joke.”

“She’s hot as fuck though,” he grinned, plopping down beside him, popping open his beer. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get something outta it, ya know?,” he added with a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders.

Bucky nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah maybe? I don’t know. I don’t even know her.”

“Never stopped you before,” Sam piped up and Bucky threw his bottle cap at his head. “I’m supposed to be transformed, Wilson,” he said sarcastically, “she’s the one who’s gonna change me, didn’t you know?”

Sam and Clint laughed. It seemed extremely unlikely that any woman would have the ability.

Of course, Winnie Barnes had always pressed him to try and settle down. Find a nice girl. Get married. Have a couple of kids. Be a good man. But Bucky had other plans for his life the minute he got his first big paycheck and the first time some girl recognized him from the shitty TV show he was on.

Settling down was something he’d lost any kind of interest in a long time ago.

No one was gonna change that.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes mini series #bucky barnes smut #marvel au #bucky x ofc #marve series

[lordseochangbin]

seo changbin x reader— enemies to lovers, diss track au! fluff & angst

a/n: ok there were some points where i felt iffy but i LOVE this idea and omg i love this sm im 🥺

in your seventeen years of living, you never enjoyed the number of comparisons your parents made between you and the boy next door.

he was just a few years older than you were, always mocking you for still being underaged and leaving you to spit out bullshit such as “im 18!! if you count the time i spent in my mother’s womb!”

it’s like he purposely did it to rile you up, but of course you got him back everytime. changbin being the most “popular music major” at school made him very much secretive and since you two knew each other from a young age, you were his weakness. you held his secrets, his past. that’s what made you powerful in this relationship stirred up from hate and jealously.

that, and your ability to compose amazing music.

it was another day at the school’s music studio. the professor understood you and changbin had some sort of misunderstanding so it was a priority that you two never shared a room, but mistakes happen i suppose.

you sat on the black leather chair, rocking it back and forth as you found yourself lost in your thoughts. “what should i write this song about...” you thought to yourself, chewing a pen cap between your lips.

you replayed the music over and over again. it was beautifully composed and you were quite impressed with yourself, however it didn’t hit the voices nor the raps of any music majors so you decided to call it a draft.

your cursor lingered towards the “draft” button before the door could burst open, revealing a boy in his usual black tee, sweats and shoes.

“get out” you said with a stern voice, eyes focused on the screen as you could already tell who it was

“geez... okay okay. what are you working on dumbass?” he said, resting his hands on the headrest of your seat as you stared at the screen

“it’s none of your business changbin” you remarked, clicking the draft button before the track could auto-play

you quickly rushed to pause the song before changbin could grab your wrists, staring at the blank page who’s title matched the title of the track

“some shitty music this is” he smirked, slamming the pause button so hard it made you jump in your seat

“try listening to your own music” you said, shoving him to the side and hiding your lyric book

changbin grabbed the desk behind him to regain balance, hurrying over to you as he grabbed the book in your hand

“what’s this? hmm? your love songs about me?” he smirked

your pretend-gagged in your mouth, grabbing the book from his hand and slapping his arm with it.

“stop bothering me you prick!”

“stop bothering me you prick!! mehhh” he mocked, his voice in a high pitched tone as winced his eyes at you.

everyday went like this. was he destined to annoy you? destined to be the only fault in your life with no mercy. he just enjoyed the way you scrunched your nose, the way you punched his stomach, the way you kicked his shin. god, he loved making you angry and he loved seeing you struggle.

changbin dodged your book this time before you could wack him, and assuming he was done with his daily business you went back to your seat. forgetting everything that happened seconds ago before a sudden reminder could be heard tingling down your ear

“you know y/n, why can’t you just like me?” he asked, his finger teasingly caressing the side of your cheek

“every girl wants me, yet you... i just don’t get you” he continued, pointing at you to show how much “you stood out”

you rolled your eyes, not having any of it at the moment. but you had to admit it, your heart was beating out of your chest and something in you was telling you to go for it. he’s right there, just one inch away from his lips and you could-

“exactly, take a hint seo changbin. i can’t, and i won’t ever like you” you spat in his face, forcing him to seperate his hands from your heated cheeks.

“alright, alright chill” he said in a somewhat teasing voice, “but you know you want to be mine. ill make sure of it”

“me? with your cocky ass? bet”

“it’s not like i want to be with you either y/n” he said, leaning against the desk as you looked at you for any reaction. you were as still as a statue however, and this didn’t go unnoticed by changbin. in fact, he was a bit worried when he didn’t hear a response from you.

you simply blinked, your eyes drawn to the floor as his words transcript itself into your head. he never wanted to be with you, he never wanted to be with you.

“hey, y/n you good?” he said, nudging your shoulder a bit

you woke up from your sudden day dream before turning back to your computer and ignoring his presence as you always did. but changbin wasn’t finished, he pressed the play button to your recent track.

“stop it, i can’t figure out the lyrics to this yet” you said. changbin raised an eyebrow at your plain stated response before he could smirk

“ill help you out with that”

changbin waits for the beat to replay, his eyes looking directly into yours as he twirls your chair so you’re looking at nothing more than the “rap god of music school spearb”. your breath increases as you are forced to look at him in his place, where he paced back and forth thinking of lyrics before he could spit something out.

your eyes watched as changbin took over each beat, his hands moving around to fit syllables with notes and his eyes deadlocked on you to make sure you took down every word. yes, it was offensive. yes, it was beyond talented. yes, did he so fucking hot as he brushed his fingers through his hair, his eyes now on the roof as he tried to think of lyrics to continue. but what hit you the hardest was when he pointed out how cold-hearted you were in the middle of your rap.

to be clear, he said “hey y/n youre cold hearted, like elsa farted. ‘let it go’ when you’re around me,your period hasn’t started” (A/N: I AM SO SORRY SKSK I WANTED TO HAVE FUN WITH THIS LMFAOO)

these lyrics made you laugh at first, but when you realized what he meant it remained drilled in your head. as the song went on his lyrics become more and more serious, more and more meaningful. you sat back in your seat, not even paying attention to what he was saying. you just watched him. his every moment. you eyed him from top to bottom as your heart beat started to pace a little faster. 

changbin poured his heart out in this moment. he wanted to let you know of these mixed feelings he was having. i mean, geez y/n, why were you always such a bitch to him? for no fucking reason? that’s why he decided to ignore his own feelings and bully you for now on. you hated him anyways. but as the song went on, he was tired of rapping about your imperfections (that he tried so hard to make up). he wanted to confess his love in words you could understand, and now that he had your attention he focused on doing just that. only until the music could stop.

“y/n... y/n? you pressed the pause button”

you turned around to find your elbow on the space bar. “oh.. oh! my bad i’m... oh what am i saying” you muttered to yourself before turning to him.

“get out!!” you said, standing up to push him out the door.

“okay, okay” changbin put both hands up in surrender

you shut the door in a hurry, your back slamming against it as you clutched onto your shirt. there was a burning pain there, it felt like your chest was collapsing upon itself. you never felt like this before. was it the fact that he was rapping about you? was it the insults? did it offend you THAT much? you rolled your eyes, your back slowly sliding down until your body met the floor as you finally met a steady heartbeat.

“it’s cause i like you, fucking idiot. and you call me cold-hearted?” you said, thinking back on his lyrics.

“we’ll see about that”

————-

a smug expression fit your mood as you walked down the halls, each step pulling you closer to lordseochangbin music school’s courtyard. changbin and his “rap” friends typically hung out around there and girls crowded them in awe of their looks. 

your dark eye circles drooped down low, you spent all night in distress. did he not like you? he liked you? his words hurt your petty heart, to say the least. you wanted to come up with excuses to answer this burning feeling. what was this feeling? 

it came down to feeling confused, amazed, happy, heartbroken. they all seemed jumbled up and all you could think about was throwing it into words. all night you focused on your new diss track dedicated to the one and only seo changbin. you wanted to show him you weren’t just bitching around when you said you hated him. you meant it. in all honesty you loved him, and all he did was bully you around for it. 

god, to call you a bitch like that? that hit different. you pushed through the mob of girls, standing confidently before changbin as he looked up from his laptop to see you.

“y/n...” he said, unconsciously handing his laptop to jisung to give you his attention. his hands rested on his knees before he could stand up, the crowd tensing around you

“god, here goes the typical y/n and changbin stand-off. power of the two rap lyrical writers” someone said behind you.

yes it was a typical scene, you and changbin causing scenes everywhere around campus. but this one felt different. this scene felt like it would leave a rough patch.

“changbin, just wanted to return what you gave me last night” the vagueness in your words threw everyone off, including changbin’s friends

“what? a good night lyrics to complete your song?” he smirked, taking a daring step towards you.

the close proximity made you stutter a bit before you could take out your laptop from your backpack and expose a rough draft, something you found on changbin’s drive

“wait.. isn’t that my draft music?” he asked, his eyes glaring at the screen before turning back to you

“exactly, now im gonna give you a piece of your own medicine”

--------------

you slinged your backpack over your shoulder and you walked away from the crowd. god, that was embarrassing. it was different to say the least, the crowd cheered you on but their support didn’t matter. what mattered the most was the way changbin’s eyes glared at you the whole time. he didn’t bother to make out the words you were saying but he knew exactly what you were doing.

one thing changbin couldn’t get himself to realize was your motive? why were you literally spitting bars at his face? 

he stared blankly as you left thinking not only did you attack his height, his rap style, and his skills-- you attacked his heart.

---------------

the next day he never came around to your studio. to ensure you weren’t sharing this time you checked the schedule for the booked room everyday but you never found his name. you knew he was around because of the gossip about him and his new single with his mates, but you never saw him on campus. 

when summertime came around you were excited to come home as well, hoping to see the same boy next door but you were more than heartbroken to find out the seo family had moved out. his absence was a daily reminder of the mistake you made. you should’ve confessed way sooner.

---------------

a year passed before changbin could find himself backstage, his palms sweaty from the nervousness that had been piling over him these past few days. it was a small debut, but he knew every one of his fans were anticipating this. 

you, on the other hand, had no idea what was going down until a group of girls jumped ahead of you in the lunch line.

“hey y/n! you didn’t hear about 3racha’s debut? i guess changbin was debuting first after all” the girl giggled. your mouth dropped at the sudden statement.

“changbin.. he’s..he’s debuting?!”

“yeah! his stage is tonight!” the other girl replied, “do you wanna join? i have an extra ticket”

you grabbed the palm of the girl’s hands, giving it a squeeze in gratitude. “wow, thank you. thank you dude” 

“you welcome” the two girls smiled before you could exchange numbers. 

today was the special day, huh? you thought to yourself. it was the day he always teased you about, the typical “just wait till i’m famous, then you’ll like me!” he always bragged

you laughed like an idiot just thinking about it.

------------

later that day you decided to pass some time on twitter, searching changbin in the small text box in order to get any information on his debut. luckily, the tag was filled with posts and articles about 3racha. you learned a couple things from this which explained so much about the past year. his disappearance: he was transdered into a popular company called jyp, which was the same company he was debuting in. the company building was also 200 miles away, which may have explained why the seo family had moved. it seemed all too coincidental however, but only left one spot blank in your unfilled answer sheet. why did he never say goodbye? (a/n: bruh “never say goodbye” is the lyrics to the stray kids ost that changbin helped write... anyways continue)

you jumped into a taxi with the two girls, all bubbly and giggly as you chit-chatted inside the car. the girls ensured you wore an outfit that was a bit out of your comfort zone, a red-shimmery bodycon dress that hugged your waist tight. your figure shined the most in this outfit, and earned the top topic in your conversation with the girls as you talked about the usual “where and how” you got your outfit. 

200 miles, it took about two hours you supposed at the steady speed the taxi-driver went in. once two hours passed you couldn’t help but to ditch the conversation, a pit in your stomach slowly building as you anticipated changbin’s presence. what if he forgot about you? you thought about the question for a bit before concluding it would be best if he did forget about you. 

you entered the club, finding a table nearby the stage. as the three of you got seated you noticed a face peek out behind the curtains. if it wasn’t the look on his face, god that look on his face. you could see his shocked expression as he looked at you eye-to-eye. he never expected to see you here, in fact it was the last thing that crossed his mind but instead of making him more nervous your presence made him feel more at ease, more at home. 

three performances went by in a breeze, the crowd cheering on at certain parts that impressed even you. the lyrics were fun, having you jumping in your seat as swaying back and forth to the songs. but before you knew it the solo stages came on, changbin’s was up first.

the second he got on the stage his eyes scanned the crowd before they landed on you once again. a smug smirk fitted his face as the song started, chan and jisung looking over at changbin for the message that inspired the song lyrics.

“this one’s dedicated to the girl that broke my heart. there’s more to the story of course, and now that i think about it.. i think i should probably change my words up a bit” he laughed, taking chan and jisung by surprise before they could find you in the crowd as well.

“this song... it’s to the girl i loved.. and i hated the most. thank you for being there for me, whether you wanted to or not. thank you for.. dealing with my bullshit. for being my motivation and inspiration. you mean so much more than you’ll ever know, this one’s to you”

------

three minutes later you found yourself crying in the bathroom corner. you couldn’t tell if it was tears of joy or sadness. small sniffles was all changbin heard in the tiny room before he could knock on the door

“y/n, can i come in?”

“you would still come in even if i said no” you replied in the midst of tears, trying to wipe some off with your hand

“you’re right” changbin replied as he allowed the door to open by itself. he ran to you in a heartbeat, getting you on your feet and wiping the small droplets on your cheeks

“now why is my babygirl crying right now?” he laughed, leaning down to lock eyes with you 

“did you really have to address me as babygirl?! seriously, you pervert!” you slapped his chest as you continued crying “i’m only three years younger, THREE” you pointed three fingers out as he softly grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer

“ it was all i could think of in the moment, i’m sorry love”

“i mean if i was there to help you-”

“are we seriously going to argue right now” changbin interrupted, resting his forehead against yours. there it was. your heart doing that funky thing again. god your brain cells were just squirming in disgust.. this feeling of excitement, love, yuck! it was disgusting! you thought. but deep down, you really loved seo changbin. with every breath you could never take back the fact that you loved seo changbin.

“no...i just missed you so much” you mumbled, a stutter in the midst as you could feel changbin’s hot breath with the close proximity

“then will you shut up and let me kiss you now? please?” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks before you could nod in approval

“did you brush your te-”

“i said shut up” changbin said with a smile before your lips could meet with his. you immediately fell into his hands, yours wrapping around his broad shoulders as he picked you up by your waist. your thighs met the cold stone counter-top of the bathroom, changbin fitting in between your legs as you pulled him in for another kiss. changbin leaned back to meet your eyes again, “you know how long i’ve been waiting to do that?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath

“im sure you can write a song about it” you chuckled

changbin looked at the mirror behind you before turning around to find his bags on the floor. “actually....”

he leaned down to find his laptop inside. “i kinda already did?”

#i use commas way too much #changbin #seo changbin #stray kids #3racha #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin fluff #changbin fluff #seo changbin soft hours #changbin angst #seo changbin angst #bang chan #bang chan stray kids #han jisung #jisung stray kids

[stovetuna]

Stony for 30 or 40? I LOVE U SO MUCH UR FICS GIVE ME LIFE 💛💛👏

AHHHH YAY LIFE!!! you and an anon both requested #30, so here’s some classic tony!angst and protective!steve :3 — I PROMISE THERE IS A VERY MUSHY, VERY HAPPY ENDING

#30: “You’re not worth it.” (TW: child abuse, references to alcoholism, Howard being a shitty human being [but what else is new]) 

***

It’s Wednesday, and Wednesday means movie night at the mansion. A time-honored tradition that goes all the way back to the Avengers’ inception, back when Steve was still finding his way out of the ice—literally and figuratively—and Iron Man and Tony Stark were two different people. 

It’s been a long time since those early days, Tony thinks, watching the new team assemble on the couches, loveseats, beanbag chairs, and blankets strewn around the in-home movie theater. The screen isn’t excessively massive, per Steve’s wishes, but the sound is as good as it gets, per Clint’s; Tony updates the hardware year over year to keep up with the times, especially as film goes the way of digital (much to Steve’s chagrin). 

But tonight is Steve’s pick for movie, and Tony wonders if it was planned that way the moment Luke Cage asks what they’re going to watch and Steve gets that glint in his eye. The one that Tony can recognize from a mile away now without even trying, the one that screams “Steve Rogers is a little shit” and that very few people seem to be able to hear. 

Tony groans the moment Steve grins and says, “Home movies!” while revealing two armfuls of reels from behind his back, some of which are so dusty and small, Tony wonders if they’re Steve’s. 

The team settles in with enough snacks to put a rhino in a coma while Tony and Steve head to the back of the room where the vintage projector Tony pulled out of storage for the occasion awaits. 

“Next week, you can pick the movie,” Steve whispers conspiratorially, bumping Tony with a friendly elbow. Tony has to hold himself back from leaning into Steve in response, the way his body feels primed to do and has done for literal years, ever since—god, since always. But Tony knows his interest and affections are very much one-sided, and Tony doesn’t need to flagellate himself over it any more than he already does with everything else in his life. Plus, watching Steve with each of his girlfriends is more than taxing enough.

He’s had years of practice keeping his feelings for Steve from the man. He can handle an elbow and a wink. That shit’s practically child’s play. 

“If footage from my sweet sixteen made it into this lineup, we’re watching all three Die Hards,” Tony replies with a saccharine smile that makes Steve blanch. 

“Tony, no.” 

“Tony, yes.”

“The last time we watched Die Hard, Clint wouldn’t stop talking with a fake German accent for a week.” 

“I know! It was hilarious, and I want to get it on camera this time so I can send it to Alan Rickman. He’ll hate it.” 

Tony giggles at Steve’s huff, which is really a laugh disguised as exasperation, another one of Steve’s tics Tony knows by heart. The pain and joy of knowing that secretly splits Tony right down the middle—the joy of knowing Steve is a much bigger troll than anyone realizes, the pain of wanting to grab him and kiss him for it—but he hides it all with an elbow to Steve’s ribs and a muttered “jerk” under his breath. 

He’s spent the past ten years and change like this—halved by a love that makes him feel whole, which is an equation that shouldn’t work, but does, because Tony’s math is always right—so what’s one more night? In the grand scheme of things, not much, and every second of it is more than Tony could have ever hoped for. 

Together in the darkest part of the room he and Steve work in tandem to load the first reel onto the projector and let it run: it’s early footage of the first Avengers team, recorded off of a news broadcast. Down in front, the rest of the team throws popcorn and jeers, laughing themselves hoarse at the costumes, the villains, the dialogue—“‘He’s a real ball of fire!’” Clint wheezes from his beanbag before Natasha pelts him with Milk Duds—while Steve and Tony sit back behind the projector, shoulder to shoulder, running their own private commentary all the while:  

“I miss that armor.”

“Shut up, no you don’t.” 

“It’s true! Anyways, isn’t vintage all the rage these days? You should bring it back.” 

“I’m not bringing back Pointy-Faced Iron Man and his Roller Skates of Doom, Cap.” 

“Not even for me?” 

Tony slides Steve a look out of the corner of his eye, face still directed toward the screen, a classic are you fucking kidding me? if there ever was one. Steve bats his eyelashes in response, because of course he does. Unfortunately for Steve, Tony is mostly immune to that tactic by now. 

Mostly. 

“Let us watch Die Hard next week and I’ll consider it.” 

“Ugh, Tony…”

“Hey, heart-eyes! Next reel!” someone (see: Bucky) shouts. Not for the first time, Tony’s glad to be concealed in relative darkness back here—even Steve’s enhanced vision won’t be able to make out the blush Tony’s knows is all over his face right now. He also gets a reprieve from sitting so close to Steve, hyperfocused on his warmth and all of the sensory trappings of home that come with it, while he swaps out the old reel for a new one. New-er, rather. He doesn’t look at the case or look at any frames before feeding it through the projector. 

“Alright, you rabble-rousers, pipe down,” he shouts as the image on screen flickers to life. 

“‘Rabble-rousers’?” Steve quirks an eyebrow at him as he sits back down. Tony folds his arms over his chest and shushes him. 

“Don’t start.”

“Ooh, is that you, Tony?” Wanda coos from her place on the loveseat next to Vision. 

“Look at all of that hair! Danny Zuko’s got nothing on you, Stark,” Clint laughs. Tony nails him with a popcorn kernel right in the ear.

The footage unspools, harmless—albeit embarrassing—at first: it’s a home movie from when Tony was young, no more than eight or nine. He’s wearing what looks like the remains of what was once a nice suit, something his parents forced him into, probably, but devolved into undershirt and slacks and suspenders hanging down past his knees. He really was a gangly kid, wasn’t he? 

Tony laughs along with everyone else, warmed by Jarvis’ voice offscreen telling “Young Master Anthony” to show off his latest invention for the camera. He feels Steve’s eyes flicker over to land on him whenever young Tony smiles at the camera or laughs at something Jarvis says, but Tony ignores it. Mostly.

“He reminds me of Steve,” Bucky tells the room when young Tony is shown with a replica of Cap’s shield, posing triumphantly to the sound of Jarvis’ delighted laughter. Jess aww’s. 

“He does, kinda, doesn’t he?” 

“How have I never seen these before?” Steve whispers, leaning closer as he does. Tony swallows hard against the shiver that ricochets down his spine hearing that low voice in his ear. 

“A lot of things of mine you haven’t seen, Cap,” he replies, too late to stop the innuendo from slipping out. He looks at Steve after he says it and almost, almost lets out a gasp: when did Steve get so close? And why is he looking at Tony like that? All intense and considering? 

“Oh, here’s someone else I remember,” Bucky laughs. Tony turns away from Steve, grateful for the excuse, and starts to release the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

It gets caught in his chest the moment he sees himself filling up the screen, young Tony standing alone in Howard’s office, having perched the camcorder on the big oak desk to record himself with Cap’s shield—the real one this time, not a toy. On screen, Tony has his back to the camera, the vibranium shield clutched in his too-small hands. He has to perch it on the floor, its weight just enough to counterbalance Tony’s, but holding it…even now, he remembers the thrill of that first time. The cool touch of vibranium humming under his fingers, the knowledge that he was holding his hero’s greatest treasure…his adult fingers clench against his thighs at the memory. 

But then, the image shifts into a sharper memory still, and Tony feels something old and awful claw its way from somewhere deep in his chest, remembering all too well what comes next. It tastes like bourbon and cigar smoke and the metallic taste blood leaves on the tongue after you’ve been smacked in the mouth. Tony’s hands fly out to clutch the sides of his chair and stick there; he can’t move them to stop the projector in time. It just keeps playing out, each frame worse than the one before. 

Of course he remembers this moment. He remembers it perfectly, because it was the first time Howard really hurt him. Not with his hands, although the bruises did linger longer than usual, after. 

This was the moment when Tony, so tender and impressionable even at that “advanced” age, learned what his father really thought of him. 

That old, awful feeling feels a lot like drowning when he thinks of Steve seeing what’s about to happen, let alone the rest of the team.

“I’m Captain America and I’m here to save you!”

“You’re not saving shit, boy.” Howard stumbles into frame like a bad Vaudeville performer, slurring Tony’s name like an expletive. “Put that down, you fucking brat. You’re not worth it.” 

The blood rushing in Tony’s ears drowns out the sound of voices past and present. All he can see is Howard filling the frame in that horrible tan suit, gripping a bottle of bourbon by the neck. The image catches on young Tony’s terrified expression, the way he hides behind the shield that’s almost as big as he is. He watches his own mouth move—Cap will save me, he’d cried, so confident, so certain that his hero would come and put Howard through the wall and carry Tony away to safety—and then down the bottle comes…

“Turn it off! I said turn it off!” 

Something hits the projector hard enough to not only knock it off the table it was sitting on, but send both hurtling across the room. They smash to pieces against the far wall with a noisy clatter that almost stops Tony’s heart in his chest. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the thwap-thwap-thwap of film smacking the floor as the reel spins on and on until coming to a feeble stop. He can hear breathing, heavy and labored and sliding quickly toward panic, and he realizes with a shuddering gasp that it’s him making that sound.

Tony looks up and sees Steve standing where the projector once was, cradling his bleeding hand. The man looks stricken, pale and horrified, worse than if he’d seen a ghost; behind him, the team has inched closer, all of them wearing varying expressions of distress and pity and guilt and sadness, and suddenly Tony can’t bolt out of his chair fast enough. He can’t get away fast enough. He follows his feet out of the room into the corridor and down, down, down to the workshop where it’s safe, where he can’t get in, no one can, not unless Tony lets them. 

Someone is calling his name, but Tony disappears down the stairs before he can figure out who. He bursts through doors he can’t see and staggers over to the closest workbench, sucking in deep, ragged breaths like he can’t catch up to them. Is that a screw loose in his chest cavity, he wonders, gasping, because that rattling sound seems to indicate something has come undone that shouldn’t have. Howard’s dead, Tony reminds himself, over and over again. It’s a fact as true as any algorithm, so why won’t it take? 

JARVIS’s voice moves gently through the noise in Tony’s brain: “Sir, Captain Rogers is asking permission to enter.” 

Steve. 

Tony can’t decide if the thought of Steve seeing him like this helps or worsens the rattling in his chest. Either way he feels like shit, but only one of those ways ends up with Captain America pitying him, or worse. 

He’s so caught up in thinking about all the ways this could backfire he doesn’t realize JARVIS has let Steve into the workshop, regardless of Tony’s feelings on the matter. The realization sets in when Steve’s voice appears close to his ear, soft and low with a frisson of urgency, like he too is slightly out of breath. 

“Tony, it’s just me. It’s okay. I’m going to put my hand on your back.” 

Warmth spreads from Steve’s fingers through Tony’s shirt and into the skin high up on his back between his shoulders. Steve can probably feel how fast Tony’s heart is racing, but spares him his overt concern and instead keeps telling Tony what he’s going to do before he does it: a hand on Tony’s forehead, an arm around his back, asking JARVIS to turn the lights down to thirty-five percent. 

“I’ve got you, it’s okay.” 

Tony sags into Steve’s touch, his large, warm hand cradling Tony’s head like something precious; the deeper dark quiets the room around them, makes it less overwhelming, less full of ghosts waiting to cast their own opaque shadows on the empty walls. Tony and Steve are left standing in a dim light Tony knows makes him look sallow; he wavers on his feet, left to borrow from Steve’s strength because he can’t find his own. Lucky for Tony, Steve is right there, braced and ready for anything. Like always.

The rattling has settled somewhat, but Tony still has to rely on Steve to tell him when to breathe and how deeply. He forgets, sometimes, that Steve has experience dealing with panic attacks, which so often came before an asthma attack. Steve once told him that even years removed from his sickly days, he still remembers what it’s like to lose that grip on reality, feeling the heart too acutely as it beats against too-brittle ribs.

While Steve draws on those memories often enough with others on the team, it’s a rare occasion for Tony to be on the receiving end of Steve’s nursing hand like this. Jokes or angry silence over cuts, breaks, and bruises, sure, but this? Tender hands and a voice pitched low and soothing, lullaby-soft, speaking words of gentle encouragement? Tony’s head feels light with it. 

“Do you want to sit down?” Steve asks. Tony shakes his head against his palm. “Okay,” Steve whispers, his voice the only one in the room, which makes for a funny kind of one-sided conversation. Then, before he can think better of it, Tony turns toward Steve, wraps his arms around the man’s impossible waist, and hugs himself close to Steve’s radiating heat. He’s too gone for shame, and too weak; a soft, gentle Steve is hard to resist, even on good days. And this just became a no good, very bad day.

Fucking Howard.

Steve, for his part, takes the hug in stride like they do it every day. Tony likes to imagine it, touching Steve like this whenever he wants to, but that’s all it is—a fantasy. Just like being with Steve is a fantasy, one Tony has entertained for far too many years to count. He satisfies himself with Steve’s friendship, tells himself it’s enough, and if he happens to sleep with the occasional look-alike, that’s nobody’s business but Tony’s (and JARVIS’s, and in one deeply unfortunate instance, Pepper’s). 

Strangers want Tony Stark, the celebrity; Steve wants Tony as a friend and teammate. That’s all. So Tony steals his nice, platonic hug as he trembles and breathes his way out of a panic attack, being careful to avoid nuzzling the soft notch at the base of Steve’s throat the way he wants to. Badly.

He’s so preoccupied with holding all the disparate parts of himself together and hiding them so Steve can’t see, he doesn’t notice Steve’s hands start to rub his back in long, soothing strokes until Tony is half-melted in his steady arms, weak-kneed at how comforted he feels. Steve doesn’t say anything—just keeps moving his hands, up and down Tony’s back, across his shoulders, along his arms, and over again. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, without motive, ulterior or otherwise; his skin feels warm down to his toes.

“Better?” Steve murmurs. Tony nods against his chest. He doesn’t let go. Neither does Steve, who seems to fold himself over Tony until they’re more like one person than two, standing there breathing together in Tony’s darkened workshop. 

Slowly, thoughts of Howard, of hurt, start to melt back into the shadows. In their place is Steve, filling up all of Tony’s empty spaces with light, even some of the ones he didn’t know he had. For such a strong man, Steve is unbearably gentle, handling Tony the way he might handle spun sugar or thin glass. Tony has never felt so genuinely cared for, and the fact that he can’t pull back and thank Steve with a kiss smarts a little in the face of it. 

That is, it does, up until the moment he feels Steve brush a kiss against where Tony’s hairline meets his forehead, soft and uncomplicated, but lingering, like Steve wants to stay there. To do more. Tony knows that move because he’s imagined doing the exact same thing to Steve, god, thousands of times.

Tony wants so much. Too much. Asking Steve for this would tip things precariously toward the latter. But the question is taken out of Tony’s hands the moment one of Steve’s perches itself under his jaw and tilts his face up.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. 

“It’s ancient history,” Tony replies, maintaining eye contact through sheer willpower when all he wants to do is look at Steve’s mouth, now so close to his. 

“Not to you, it isn’t,” Steve counters, and there’s not much Tony can say to that. “I’ll talk to the team. They might have questions, and you shouldn’t have to answer them. Not tonight, anyways.” 

“I know you’ve got big shoulders, Steve, but you don’t have to take on my baggage on top of everything else.”

As they talk, their bodies never move an inch apart; chests pressed flush against each other, Steve’s fingers splayed along the side of Tony’s neck. All of it—the proximity, the tenderness, the intimacy—feels as natural as the breathing they just did together. Ten-plus years of friendship will do that. But then, the way Steve is looking at him doesn’t really scream friendship. 

It kind of screams I love you. 

Steve gives him that little smirk and says, “Maybe I want to.” Tony scoffs, flicking one of the shoulders in question for good measure. 

“God, how are you still such a horrible liar, Cap? Is there something in the serum that makes it impossible for you to keep a good poker face?”

“This is my good poker face,” Steve replies, and there it is again, the same look Steve gave him earlier before the night spun out like a race car with its wheels blown off: intense, considering, and so, so close. 

Tony swallows nothing but air. Steve, never breaking eye contact, cards his fingers through the hair on the back of Tony’s head and holds them there. 

“If I kiss you right now, will you have another panic attack?” he asks quietly. Not even a blink. The part of Tony’s brain—a scant centimeter, at best—that isn’t currently blasting a hundred sirens at full volume is actually kind of impressed.

“I doubt it,” Tony replies evenly. “I’ll probably just pass out.” 

The smirk becomes a full-blown grin. Steve squeezes his other arm around Tony’s lower back and hums, deep and resonant, in his chest as he leans down to brush his lips feather-softly against Tony’s. 

“You fall, I’ll catch you,” he whispers before dipping in for a proper kiss that floods Tony’s head with incandescent light. It’s chaste and measured and burning with mutual restraint, tastes faintly of the buttered popcorn Steve ate earlier, and the only way it could be better is if it never ended. 

Tony tightens his arms around Steve’s waist, and when Steve pulls away to speak, he doesn’t go far, seemingly content to stand there in Tony’s embrace in the middle of the dimly lit workshop. 

“Still breathing?” he asks. Tony smiles; Steve smiles back. 

“Takes a lot more than that to knock the wind out of me, Cap.”

The way Steve’s eyes darken at that little remark is definitely something Tony intends to investigate further, later. For now, he leans into the hand now resting on his cheek and sighs. 

“We’ll test that theory another time,” Steve husks before leaning forward to press a kiss to each eyelid. Tony hums happily, sinking further into Steve’s arms. “Can I carry you to bed?” 

Tony gives him a look. “I’m heavy,” he says. 

Steve just smiles, kisses Tony like he’s been doing it forever, and replies: “You’re worth it.”

- - - 

see? happy endings. fuck howard. 

#I'm sorry it's been so long!!! #work has been bonkers and then travel happened and now I'm trying not to get sick #so here's fic #stevetony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve rogers #tony stark #avengers #616 fic #howard stark is an asshole #young tony stark #avengers movie night #prompt fic #responses #rachel writes fic