#quick fic

[politenotice]

I want fate to be working OVERTIME if Buck's really putting himself back out there.

Speed dating? Oops, Tommy gets shuffled in. It's kinda awkward between them, and then it's not, and they both feel a little pang when the timer goes off. Tommy moves on with a have a nice night but they both leave without any numbers because something's missing with everyone they meet.

A sweet coffee date with someone Buck met on tinder? Tommy's waiting for order to be called. Buck's date is great storyteller, really they are, but Buck's distracted watching Tommy fiddle with the plastic lid in his big hands as he waits and tries not to look over. They wave goodbye to each other when Tommy heads out and Buck ends up oversharing when his date asks who the buff guy in the Henley was.

A dinner date at the latest hot-spot in town? Tommy's wedged into the booth across from Buck and his date with some friends. They end up bumping into each other in the bathroom, laugh it off and say they have to stop meeting like this. Their eyes catch in the mirror while they're washing their hands; Tommy's smile is small and little shy and Buck wishes he could bump their shoulders together. Buck and his date leave before Tommy and his friends, On the way out, Buck can't help himself — he sends Tommy's favourite cocktail over to the table and rushes out before it's made.

A morning date in a park because his date has a weird shift pattern and a huge dog to walk? You guessed it. Tommy's panting and sweating as he runs towards Buck. Tommy grimaces slightly when he gets close, mouths sorry and speeds up, He must be going for a PB because he loops Buck four times, looking redder and more beat with each go around. That guy's gonna pass out soon if he keeps going, his date says, and Buck replies, Yeah he doesn't usually do more than 5k on a weekday, and ends up having to explain that the reason he knows that isn't because he's a stalker…

Buck and his park date are almost two hours into a date at a restaurant at the top of an LA skyscraper. Buck's genuinely having a good time — he's not sure the spark is there but maybe he's caught in a slow burn. He just needs to give it time. They're settling up the bill when there's a scream. and smoke. and what the fuck, seriously? It's just his luck that he'd get trapped 1000 feet up with a fire underneath him. His date's impressed when Buck springs into action. He does everything right: keeps everyone cool and calm, and gets them evacuated to the roof in an orderly fashion. He gets everyone loaded onto rescue helicopters because he's trained to wait for his own ride, and of course it's Tommy who turns up to whisk him away from the towering inferno. Tommy looks so handsome at the controls, face all lit up by the instrument panel. Going my way? he asks, and Buck yells back, I guess so! and shakes his sooty head in disbelief.

Ok, Buck thinks, maybe I'm cursed but maybe that's not a bad thing? and decides to go out alone just to see what's waiting for him. He puts on a black shirt and black jeans. Shaves close and carefully. Styles his hair in a way even he's impressed by. Presents himself as totally put together even though his stomach's in knots. He requests a table for two and orders a semi-decent bottle of wine (just in case) but no bread (because there's a fine line between giving into fate and tempting it) and hopes he's not about to look like he's been stood up.

He doesn't have to worry for long because in strolls Tommy looking like he's not sure why he's there but glad he is as soon as he sees Buck at the table. I was gonna eat at that new place down the street, Tommy says when he approaches the table, but they had a leak so I came here. Then, when he sees the bottle of wine, says, Sorry, are you waiting for someone?

And Buck, who feels like his chance has been gift-wrapped, gently pushes the chair opposite out with his foot and says, Yeah, and he's right on time.

[itsallyuriagegap]

The Haircut

Baran Al-Hashimi x Masc Reader

Suggestive but no actual smut.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You had been thinking about it for a while and were nervous for various reasons. Baran had offered to go with you whenever you wanted. She'd said she knew you'd look amazing with a more masculine haircut. But you kept putting off. You were still kind of confused sometimes how you came to be with Baran. She's older. Has the steadiest of steady jobs. A beautiful son. She is gorgeous. And sometimes you got in your head about it. A drastic change might make her not want you anymore.

So you went on a day when her son was with her ex and she would be staying late at work. So if it went south you could leave without scarring her son who you'd grown fond of. Or if it went the other way you two could spend time together without scarring her son who you'd grown fond of.

You've just finished up dinner when Baran gets back to her apartment. She's started letting you stay around when she's not there. She knows yours isn't the best. You cooked Morghe Zaferani and went down to the fancy liquor store and got a $120 bottle of wine from 2019 she had pointed out as something she'd get to treat herself when the right moment came up. You have your nicest button up and slacks on. Your ears listen carefully to the sound of her shoes and jacket coming off.

"Azizam, did you cook what I think you did?" Baran's voice calls.

"Yeah! I'm bringing it to the table now." You call back. You rush to get the wine and a corkscrew on the table before she comes in and then rush back to grab the food. You hear her sitting down and a surprised noise, likely seeing the wine.

"Did you get the promotion?" Baran's voice comes not wary but very curious.

"No, just wanted to treat you tonight." You say back as you emerge around the corner into the dining room. Baran's holding the wine when you come in and when she looks up and sees you, her mouth drops open a bit. She's silent. "Uh... I decided to go to the barber shop today." You place a plate down where you'll sit and in front of her then take the wine from her. She's still stunned into silence. "I uh I just got a little angsty and didn't want to think too much about it so I just went." You grab the corkscrew and open the wine with practiced ease. You come back over to her and she's still staring. You place the glass down in front of her. "I... I'm going to go grab a beer. I'll be right back."

You walk into the kitchen and feel stinging in your eyes. She hates it. She hates it. You don't even go to the fridge just to the sink to clutch at the metal in hopes that it'll calm you down. I shouldn't have done it. You let your head drop and allow the tears forming to fall into the sink.

It's not until there's a hand on your shoulder that you realize Baran's in the kitchen. You jump out of your skin and turn around.

She cups your face gently looking conflicted. You're about to talk but she beats you to it. "I love it." She says gently brushing over a front piece. Her thumbs come up and brush away the remnants of your tears. "You did all this because you were worried I wouldn't like your hair." It's not a question.

You nod. Shame running through you. But then a smirk comes to her face. "Azizam, I want to respect that you put in all this effort to cook my favorite dish and spent a pretty penny for that wine I pointed out last year. So let's go sit down. But as soon as we're done eating... You're going to go to the bedroom, strip, and wait for me on the bed. No washing dishes or clearing the table. That can wait. Understood?"

You nod because words don't come to your brain. But you know how to nod. She just smirks more and leans up and kisses you. Her hands stroke at your cheeks but you shiver as one hand makes its way to the crown of your head. There's a pause before her fingers sink into the now short stands and lock in tightly yanking your head back.

The moan that leaves you is surprised and obscene.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to bend you over the dining table as soon as you walked in and then over the sink when I walked in here. You look so fucking hot do you understand me?" She asks, lust dripping through her tone. When you don't answer she pulls at the hair and you can't help but moan again. "Answer me." She coos.

"Y-yes I understand." You say with a shutter.

"Good." She says with mirth. She releases you from her grip and walks back in the direction of the dining room. She glanced back at your now wrecked form. "Come on Handsome" She draws. "We don't want our food to get cold." She beckons you with a single finger and hungry eyes.

You stand awe struck for a good thirty seconds before half running the ten feet to the dining room. "Coming!" You say halfway there.

You don't hear Baran mumble into her wine glass. "Soon Baby, very soon." Before she chuckles.

[obsessivecompulsive52]

You slap Sylus across the face, hand stinging from the impact as he is motionless in front of you, face turned and eyes wide. You both are still, processing what has just occurred. Sylus starts to tongue his cheek, the bulge moving around the skin of his cheek.

"Are you going to do that again?" he asks as those glowering red eyes stare at you. He's menacing, the leader of Onychinus coming out in full force.

You wrench your arm away, the Evol linkage pulling his body only slightly.

"I will if you give me a reason to." You're not nearly as confident as you feel. You refuse to back down.

"Do it again." he's looking down on you now, voice low and deadly.

"What?" You're confused, unsure of what's happening.

"You heard me, Kitten. Do it again. I don't want to ask again."

You hand raises, fear and exciting mixing into one. You have no idea which feeling is dominating the other. You slap him again, less force and anger behind it.

"Oh, Kitten, you can do better than that. Where did that hate go?"

[berryblosom]

SO TELL ME IS THIS LOVE ? •·.·''·.·•

Summary: your friend is convinced Satoru is in love with you, you think she’s crazy.

You’re insane.”

You’re in your usual seat at your favorite coffee place, tucked into the corner booth with your drink and your best friend across from you. As always, she’s on one of her rants, topic of choice? You and Satoru.

“What’s insane.” she says, pointing her straw at you, “is how blind you are. That man is down bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you hear yourself? In what world is Satoru Gojo in love with me?”

This has been going on for months. She’s got this wild theory that Satoru’s endless teasing and constant presence in your life means he’s secretly in love with you. And she won’t let it go. You’ve explained it to her a million times. Satoru is a flirt. It’s like second nature to that man . He’s like that with everyone. You never took his flirty comments seriously, because why would you?

“In the world where he drove an hour just to pick you up from work and take you home,” she counters, sipping her drink like she’s got all the evidence in the world.

You shrug, trying to sound unbothered. “He offered. Said he was already heading home.”

She gives you a deadpan look. “Right. Sure. What about those concert tickets you couldn’t find anywhere?”

“He said his friend didn’t want them. It wasn’t a big deal.”

You can almost hear her brain working, the way her eyes narrow and her fingers drum against her cup. She was not done.

“What about when your cat died, and he stayed over the whole weekend? Then got you a new one just because you just mentioned missing having a cat around?”

Okay. That one’s… a little harder to dismiss.

You were a wreck when your cat passed. Satoru just showed up, no questions asked, and didn’t leave your side for two days. Then, a week later, he handed you the cutest kitten with a bow around its neck.

But still. That didn’t mean anything. Right?

“Will you stop?” you sigh, setting your cup down. “Satoru is not in love with me. He’s just my friend.”

Rei throws her hands up like she’s about to strangle you. You could tell she’s losing her patience with your excuses.

“I don’t get why you’re so adamant he doesn’t like you.”

“Because he doesn’t. I just know. I’m pretty sure he has a date this weekend, anyway.”

She squints at you like you’ve grown two heads. “That’s just a load of shit. He’s gonna do what he always does.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean ‘what he always does’?”

Now she’s looking at you like the answer is obvious.

“He goes on dates to get a reaction out of you. He dates the girl for like a week, tells you all about it, and when it doesn’t get to you? He breaks up her.”

“He does not do that.”

“He definitely does. Remember that girl from his gym last month? She asked him out, and he complained to you about how annoying she was. And when you told him not to lead her on, breakup the next day.”

“He told me she dumped him,” you mutter, frowning.

Your friend just snorts and shakes her head.

“You could tell Satoru to fly to France to get you a single rose, and he’d be on the next flight out. He hangs on your every word.”

You stare at her, heart doing something weird and fluttery in your chest. Could she be right?

“You really think he… likes me?”

But she doesn’t answer. Her gaze shifts to something, or someone behind you.

“Well, let’s find out. Satoru!”

You whip your head around so fast, you’re pretty sure something cracked. And of course, there he was. Satoru Gojo in all his smug, infuriating glory, walking straight toward you.

“Ladies,” he greets, his tone dripping with charm as he slides into the booth beside you.

“Toru, this isn’t your usual coffee spot,” you say, trying to sound casual as you scoot over to give him space.

“Yeah, Rei invited me. Said the cakes here was to die for.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. Traitor.

“Oh, definitely,” she says sweetly. “You know, Y/N was just saying how much she misses those muffins from that bakery that closed down last year.”

Your eyes widen. “I did not say that—”

“Really?” Satoru interrupts, eyes locked on yours. “You want them?”

His arm is draped casually behind your seat, but he’s a lot closer than he was a second ago. You can feel the heat radiating off him. And the way he’s looking at you right now?

It’s not how a friend looks at someone. Your heart is not behaving. Not even a little.

“I-I just said they were good.”

“But do you want them?” His voice is lower now, more serious. Like he’s offering to track down the bakery’s owner and revive the business or even bake them for your himself.

“The place is closed. It doesn’t matter.” You nudge your friend under the table when you hear her snickering.

“It does matter.”

“Why?” The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it and you’re afraid of the answer.

You know Satoru. You’ve known him your whole life. He’s not the boyfriend type. Never has been. He’s dated plenty of girls, all through high school to university, none of them ever lasting longer than a month. You’d always told yourself he saw you like a little sister and nothing more

But then he’s looking at you like this? Like he wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for.

“Because I like doing things for you,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, then starts doing full sprints in your chest. You drop your gaze, staring down at your half-eaten cake on the table.

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Rei says, standing up and gathering her stuff. “I’d hate to leave, believe me, but I’ve got plans.”

You narrow your eyes. “What plans?”

“Dress shopping. Two of my favorite people are gonna get married soon.” She winks, blows a kiss, and practically skips out of the café.

You gape after her. She’s dead. So dead.

“What was that about?” Satoru asks.

“Nothing.” You scramble for a distraction. “So, uh… any special plans for your date this weekend?”

He leans back slightly but stays close. Still on your side of the booth. He casually pulls your plate toward him and takes a bite of your cake.

“Nah. Gonna cancel.”

Your eyes flick to him. “What? Why?”

He glances at you with a small smirk. “I’d rather be with you.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Really?”

He grins, licking frosting off his fork. “Yeah. Really.”

[pearilette]

From a commenter

Straightening Augusts hair with your steamer? How cute!

𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮: curly girl

౨ৎ august quick-fic ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; puppy princess hot freaks

𝐟𝐭 ; august stilza

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐞 ; he hadnt let anyone play with his hair in ages, but considering your credentials, he figured you seemed the most qualified. Those qualifications being your cute fluffy curls.

𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ; fem!reader, curly girl, fluff, august is a flirt, swearing

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐬'𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; as a CURLY GIRL myself i was absolutely giddy to write this. I love August, i love his hair, i love MY hair, AHHHHH.

He was more than content sitting here in front of you on the floor, his back against the sofa and your legs over his shoulders while your steamer combed through his long hair.

It took all of him not to squeeze your thighs, holding your legs like backpack straps, pretending he was a happy toddler on his way to the first day of kindergarten.

“Your hair is so pretty,” you mumbled for the trillionth time, picking up another rope of blonde to steam.

Yes, his hair was pin straight.

No, he didn’t know why you’d put in all these fancy oils and whatnot.

No, he didn’t let that stop him from bathing in the attention.

When you beckoned him over, opening the new hair-care stuff you’d bought, he was more than happy to join you.

And when you told him to have a seat?

Who was he to say no to the pretty lady?

His head was leaned back against your inner thighs, hair splayed around you like an octopus, golden tentacles wrapping around you as you sectioned the steamed from the rest.

And your fingers combing through his hair, gently scratching his scalp with your nails, he was completely limp and pliant under you.

He wished you were under him sometimes, purring for him.

But he’d take this too.

“This is probably the longest youve ever been quiet around me, yknow,” you giggled, combing through another unsteamed section of his hair.

“Oh shit, i forgot i had a mouth,” he mumbled in response, turning his head, his hand wrapped around your thigh so he could press his face into the plump flesh just before the hem of your shorts.

He pressed a small kiss to your delicious skin, “I damn near forgot this wasnt a dream, mama, I could die happy right here,” his words danced over your skin with his face buried against you.

You leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead, “you’re a shameless flirt, Auggie,” you smile.

Just because you weren’t technically together didn’t mean you wouldn’t indulge in his flirty behavior.

He laughed big like always, “you love it, baby, and how can I resist playing with a cute thing like you?” He pressed more quick kisses to your thigh before you could get him to sit still again.

He faced forward like a nice dolly, big shit-eating grin on his face, “Love when you pay all this attention to me, Ma, makes me feel all special,” he let you continue working on his hair with small purrs of satisfaction.

It was evil, the way he likes to taunt you, make you feel all sorts of ways, especially when he was between your thighs.

This was supposed to be innocent enough, just playin with his hair, but now he was playin with you

But you love it.

Especially considering NOBODY was allowed to play with his flawless hair. Nobody but his family, of course.

Well arent you special.

When you deemed him done and dropped your legs from his shoulders he flinched like he was shot. He visibly recoiled, looking back at you like you were actively trying to get away from him.

“Where are you running to, Baby? Come back,” he whined, now crawling from the floor between your legs, essentially pinning you to the couch.

“Auggie-“ you tried to protest before he barrel rolled, flipping the both of you so you were laying on his chest now between his legs.

He smiled at you when you looked up at him, his hands immediately going into your hair.

He was hesitant and gentle, he knew playing too much would make you get all frizzy. His long nobble fingers slipping between each curl, pulling and letting it bounce back like a spring.

But when you leaned in, pushed her head to his palm like a cat in need of pets, that concern flew out the window. His fingers now stroked your perfect hair, nails scratching your scalp just right.

The sensation was angelic, his fingers dancing against your scalp, twisting in locks of your hair, delicate but more noticeable.

You couldnt help the satisfied sighs and quiet purrs you let out, your face against his chest and eyes closed blissfully.

You looked so cute like this, all compliant and soft for him. He could just eat you up. He would too, if given the chance.

He couldnt stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

Now that caught your attention.

Your eyes shot open to seek his, looking down at you with a small cocky smile.

“Couldnt help myself, babe, youre just too cu-“

Before he could finish his tease your lips crashed against his, seeking to either shut him up or get payback for his taunts.

Your lips were so very soft against his, but all the passion of a woman starved followed like a punch.

He took a nanosecond to register before chasing your mouth for more.

Instant need flooded him, his fingers in your hair tightening slightly before immediately softening their grip.

He’d do anything before he damaged your beautiful hair.

When you pulled away to breathe you both just looked at each other for a few heartbeats. Lost in the cat-and-mouse of it.

“Thats what you get for toying with me earlier,” you smiled. Payback so sweet you craved more.

He chuckled, pushing his shades up into his amazing hair, his pink eyes pouring into yours.

“Remind me to do that more often then,”

“Oh you-“

And you were back in yet another fierce kiss.

Long story short, your hair was a bush of pure frizz by bedtime.

𝐓𝐚𝐛 ; MY DRAFT SURVIVED !!! HUZZAH AND REJOICE!!! Oh my god ive been fighting DEMONS to get this out yall but dont ever doubt me.

THERE ARE SO MANY REQUESTS I NEED TO FILL AND I WILL PLEASE GIVE ME TIME LMAO

Okay sorry I LOVE YOU SWEETHEARTS MWAH MWAH

Tags;;;;;;

[leashybebes]

if you’re still doing this! 🌴 or 💔

let's talk vacation! this turned into a mini-fic, more about planning a vacation than actually taking one, oops.

Maybe it's because they're both shift working job-obsessed weirdos, but it takes them a couple of years to stop and think, hey, wait, have we never been on vacation?

They're dropping by Maddie and Chim's place to water the plants and take in the mail while they're off at Disney with the kids and Buck says, "Hey, why have we never been on vacation together?"

"We literally went to Vegas two weeks ago," Tommy says.

"Yeah, for a weekend," Buck points out. "And you had to fly there and back, it wasn't exactly, you know, rest and relaxation."

Tommy's eyebrows go up in a familiar tease. "Yeah? You want a vacation where we sit by the pool and drink mimosas for a week?"

"I mean. That honestly sounds like hell," Buck admits. "But we could?"

Tommy shrugs. "We could also just take some leave and hang out?"

"That's not a vacation," Buck insists.

Another shrug. "Serves the same purpose."

Buck wants to argue, but honestly, now he's thinking about it, he doesn't think he's ever...actually taken a vacation in his entire adult life. Travelling doesn't really seem like it counts, and neither do the long weekends they've spent in places that are no more than a day's drive or a couple hours flight from LA. And, they realize, as they debate it all the way home, neither has Tommy.

"I don't think I even know how," Tommy admits.

"Right?" Buck asks, feeling a little unglued at this apparent blind spot in his ability to be an adult. "Like, do you just...buy tickets and go? Do you need a visa? How do you even..."

"Why don't we know this?" Tommy asks, and apparently Buck's panic is catching because he's also starting to look a little wild-eyed. "Also, is this the time to tell you that flying commercially makes me want to cry?"

"Really? I mean same, but really?"

"I don't know if you know this about me, Evan," Tommy says. "But I might have some issues about control."

"Ha. We could take a cruise?"

They exchange a look.

"Yep, okay, no," Buck agrees. "You and me and a prescription for benzos, maybe a couple gummies, and we can do anything."

"Yeah," Tommy says, sounding doubtful.

"Totally," Buck says, sounding doubtful.

"For sure."

"Uh-huh."

🌴🌴🌴

It takes them months to pull something together, because they're both a little gun shy. Sure, they live together, names on the same terrifying legal paperwork. Sure, they've been looking at shelter dogs for the last six months. Sure, they've had the yes-marriage, no-kids conversation with minimal emotional bloodshed. Sure, they quietly made each other their emergency contacts all of three months after they first got back together.

But what if two weeks in a foreign country is what makes them realize that, all that stuff notwithstanding, they actually can't stand each other? What if Buck is moved to drown Tommy in the canals of Venice, or Tommy is inspired to abandon Buck in the jungles of Borneo? What if their luggage gets lost in transit and they lose their damn minds over it? What if, whatever they settle on out of city break, adventure break, beach break, is the first step to uncovering deep and unfixable incompatibilities?

In the end, they wind up working on a shared spreadsheet that Tommy inexplicably titles EUROTRASH. It gets wildly out of control somewhere around column O, but Buck wrangles it into something marginally less intimidating and they set off.

It's not perfect, because what is? But no one drowns anyone else, no one's luggage goes to the great baggage reclaim in the sky, no fundamental relationship flaws are uncovered.

They're leaving La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, both slightly dazed from juxtaposition of the light and the colors inside and the overwhelming complexity of the nativity facade when Buck reaches out and tangles their fingers together.

"You're the only person I know on this entire continent," he says, sounding as awestruck as he was at the first glimpse of the basilica and Tommy absolutely gets it - the blissful bubble of being somewhere completely unfamiliar with the person who's most familiar in the world, and finding both equally, entirely thrilling.

"I think we have to be vacation people now," Tommy says and Buck nods happily, tugs him towards the third bakery of the day.

For once, Tommy doesn't let himself be towed along and Buck stutters to a halt.

"What's up?"

"I love this. I love you."

Buck smiles and gives him a quick kiss. "I love you too. But if I don't get another one of those fancy-ass jelly roll things in the next ten minutes there's gonna be trouble."

Tommy rolls his eyes, achingly fond, and they head on.

[quinsilie]

More flins cuz like... i think im going nuts over him 👅👅

ノㅤ﹕ft. Flins x psychic medium!reader, reader is gender-neutral, written pre-flins release, probs ooc, meet-cute kinda thing idk man

You approach the graveyard on a calm, cloudless night. The moons silence akin to a cold reminder of what you were here for.

As the most revered psychic medium in all of nod-krai, it was your job to deal with any ghostly encounters all over the nation. Although you werent exactly thrilled to be chatting with restless spirits in the dead of night, duty called.

So here you are now, approaching the grave of some fatui soldier who died on the job. That is what the organization claims though, the soldiers family are convinced that its some form of cover up. They recently offered you a heafty sum of mora to preform a séance and question his spirit on the details of his demise, and with rent approaching you were in zero state to decline.

You sigh as you finally begin to reach the lonely grave near the back of the yard, the snow crunching beneath as you take slow, languid steps. You were not fond of waking the dead, but still you push on, crouching infront of the tomb as you start to prepare what you would need.

Just as you set up the candles and begin to light them up, you sense movement behind you. Just great, you can already tell that these are malevolent spirits. How lovely.

Oh well, shouldnt take too long. But just as you manifested your weapon the presence of the spirits was no more, instead replaced by that of someone else and the gentle glow of a lantern.

You turn around, your gaze meeting that of your impromptu assistant. His dead eyes boring into your equally unamused ones as you silently observe eachother.

"...You really should not wander this place alone, especially at night." The mysterious stranger spoke after a while, keeping a decent distance away.

"...Im aware." You replied after a beat, was this guy the gravecleaner? No, couldnt be. His attire was starkly different to what they usually wore, as it was much more elegant and refined. Perhaps he was some lost noble? "...What brings you here of all places, and so late at night too?"

"Patrol." He replied matter-of-factly, glancing at the lighthouse in the distance.

...Ah. so hes one of the lightkeepers. Well that makes sense. You havent really had any contact with said faction, so you were not exactly acquainted with what to expect.

After a moment of silence he spoke up. "...And you?" He began, glancing behind you at the candles and incense prepared by the grave behind you. "...What business do you have here?"

"Work..." you sigh, "i have a séance to preform here." You state as you turn away from him, focusing your attention on the grave. You turn your head back to look at back at him, your gaze boring into his.

"May i request for your name, sir? It would be rude to not thank you by name." You speak, catching him off guard by your request. He was expecting you to shoo him away, not ask to thank him. Most mediums he had delt with were very conceited, but you seemed much more... down to earth, in some sense.

"...Kyryll Chudomirovich. That is my name." You nod as you crouch down to light the candles. "Thank you, mister Kyryll. I appreciate your assitance." Even if you didnt ask for it, you at least had the manners to thank the guy.

"...It is no issue. Simply a part of my duty, do stay safe." He says as he slowly begins to walk off, the soft crunch of his footsteps fading away behind you into the night.

As always, the séance went smoothly without any issue, you were highly regarded for a reason. Yet even as you communicated with the spirit your thoughts kept wandering back to the peculiar lightkeeper. Something about him drove you in, and left you curious about him and his life.

And, as if by fate, you run into him as you began to leave. You two nod eachother a small greeting, but to your surprise he speaks up.

"...Would you allow me to accompany you as you leave?" He offers you his hand, a gentleman you note. "There could be more danger up ahead."

That wouldnt be much of an issue for you, but you decide to agree. Some company on this lonely night could do you some good, so you nod. You gently place your hand over his. The hold he has on it gentle as he begins to lead you out of the graveyard, the soft glow of his lantern leading the way.

Not proofread + again, written late at night lol, sorry if it makes little to no sense ( T∀T)

As always, i hope you enjoyed reading and any feedback is appreciated<3

Edit: please do not translate or repost my work without credits or asking me before hand. And do NOT feed my work into any AI learning program. Please and thank you <3

[j2h5b5]

When Derek walked in to find Stiles handcuffed to a kitchen chair, he stopped in his tracks and just stared for a few moments. Stiles stared back, his expression defeated, his eyes showing the kind of exhaustion that's unique to someone who has spent a whole day chasing after two hyperactive six-year-old werewolf boys the night before a full moon. Derek felt a growl rising in his throat and fought it down. "Where are they?" he asked instead, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

Stiles sighed. "I would wager they're holed up in the playroom Mario-Karting their asses off since I grounded them from it for the day." He pointedly jingled the bracelet encircling his wrist, which was attached to one of the slats along the backrest of the chair. "Can you...?"

Derek scanned the kitchen and saw the key resting on the counter next to the microwave. He made quick work of unlocking his husband, who immediately began massaging his wrist as Derek leaned in to plant a somewhat distracted kiss on his lips. "Don't worry, I'll handle this," he said.

"Derek."

This had been a point of contention for them in recent weeks, as their adopted sons' behavior had escalated from minor mischief to potentially dangerous hijinks. It was a good sign, Stiles insisted, an indication that after almost seven months of being in their care, the boys were feeling comfortable enough to misbehave. Derek wholeheartedly disagreed, believing that laying down the law was not only important but necessary, lest they end up with uncontrollable twin monsters.

And that was easy enough for him, as the boys had a natural healthy respect for the Alpha, viewing him with undisguised awe and obeying his instructions at least seven times out of ten. (And the other three times, they regretted it but quick.) For Stiles, the average was one in ten, and usually the obedience was coincidental, not intentional. It was depressing him, and, more, it was putting undue stress on their relationship.

"I was handling it!" Stiles had protested one day two weeks ago, when Derek had walked in to see both boys jumping gleefully on their beautiful black leather sectional, blond curls bouncing chaotically as Stiles repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) grabbed for flailing appendages he could use to pull them back to solid ground.

"It didn't look good from where I was standing!" Derek protested. "You're way too easy on them, Stiles."

And true, all it took was one Alpha growl from Derek to snap them to attention, a command to "Get down NOW" and five minutes facing the wall in separate corners before they were sniffling and full of contrition and apologies. Stiles didn't want to be jealous of his husband's far superior child-wrangling abilities, but he was. And it was becoming quite a sore subject.

So now, at Stiles's one-word objection, Derek took a deep breath and a step back, gesturing for Stiles to lead the way to the playroom. He could just be backup, he figured, maybe flashing Alpha eyes at the adorable brats from behind Stiles’s shoulder. But Stiles stopped him from following by placing a hand on his chest. "They'll never take me seriously if you're always bad cop," he said.

It was important. To Stiles, to the boys. To their family. Derek raised his hands in surrender. "I'm here if you need me," he said, and Stiles leaned in for a real kiss before Derek headed back to the living room to perch on the couch and listen from afar.

And what he heard was truly impressive. Stiles was stern. He was authoritative. He confiscated the contraband video game. He doled out early bedtimes as a consequence. He explained in no uncertain terms why their behavior was unacceptable and what would happen if they didn't start following the rules. He didn't even raise his voice. The three of them emerged ten minutes later, one twin in Stiles's arms and the other clinging to his shirttail, both of them looking sufficiently chastised.

Derek raised a questioning eyebrow at Stiles, who was clearly trying to suppress a smirk. "We're all good now," he reassured, knowing full well that Derek had listened to most of the exchange. "But Oliver has a question for you."

The twin at Stiles's side looked at Derek with wide blue eyes and said, "Why do you have handcuffs in the drawer next to your bed?"