Lol (Lots of Love) based on this post
Taking a small break from work and commissions because last week was exhausting (fun, but exhausting) so I need to recharge, and I couldn’t resist o<-<!!
I hope it’s clear to read;;
nobody does panic like chandler bing (source)
(i’m so sorry in advance but come on how could i NOT stevetony this)
So it’s breakfast in Avengers Tower, and everyone’s caught up in their own thing- Bruce is arguing halfheartedly with Tony about their latest potentially lethal science experiment, Natasha is sipping her tea with one of her feet over Clint’s lap, Thor is paying attention to no-one but his beloved cereal, and Steve is finishing up with his scrambled eggs.
Steve has to go into SHIELD, and he’s kind of rushed his way through breakfast, scarfing it down tiredly. He puts his dishes in the sink and says, “Okay, bye guys,” and gets several weary grunts in return.
He hasn’t had enough sleep, the coffee hasn’t hit his system yet, and he’s thinking about paperwork, so he’s on autopilot when he pads to Tony’s side, bends down and kisses him goodbye.
For a second it’s fine, it’s normal, they’ve kissed a hundred times over and Tony goes with it with a pleased hum before turning back to Bruce, who is staring, and then it hits him.
Steve is already freezing in place by the time Tony whirls around in his seat with almost comically wide eyes, and a glance around confirms that yes, everyone is indeed staring at them. Thor has his spoon halfway to his mouth, milk dripping back into the bowl as Steve’s brain goes into hyperdrive.
Steve thinks, shit, which he supposes is a sensible thing to think after you’ve just kissed the man who has been your secret boyfriend for the past three months.
Mostly out of the voice in his head chanting shitshitshit, he goes into parade rest.
Tony is still staring at him along with everyone else, and Steve has this moment of absurd calm through the panic as he straightens up. He’s fought Nazis. He’s decapitated vampires. He’s saved the world twelve times now.
Steve Rogers is a master tactician who, despite what people may think, can lie his way through things as good as the next guy. He can do this.
All eyes still on him, Steve bends again. “Bruce,” he says in the same tone he had said ‘bye’ before, and then kisses him full on the mouth, closing his eyes out of politeness. He thinks he hears a squeak from beside him, like Tony’s trying not to choke.
Steve doesn’t look at him lest he starts hyperventilating, and keeps a straight face that he usually associates with blind panic as he bends again to kiss Thor, who, unlike Bruce, actually kisses back. It’s okay, a bit too bristly for Steve’s taste.
"Good to have you back," Steve says as he pulls away.
Complete silence reigns as Steve makes his way around the table- “Clint,” another kiss to a face who obviously thinks this is a weird dream, and then Steve hesitates before saying, “Tasha,” and kissing her on the forehead, which he considers a very wise choice. The last thing he needs is to show up to work with three stab marks from where she shoved a knife into his hand.
"Always a pleasure," he intones before stepping back, nodding to them all, and leaving.
If it weren’t for his super hearing, he probably wouldn’t be able to hear Clint say, “Okay, what the FUCK,” when he makes it halfway down the hall.
I wanted to color something haha @w@;
i need a fic where derek is bad at carpentry. like he’s a failboat. and despite buying a fixer-uper, he just spends nights reading carpentry books and that hole in the wall is actually a carpentry fix-it gone wrong. so maybe stiles and his hands decide to help
It’s always been Derek’s dream to be a small town Sheriff’s deputy, buy a quaint fixer-upper, and live five miles down the road from his mother.
None of these things are true, but his previous job had started questioning his monthly absences, the local Alpha had been tolerant at best, and Derek’s last relationship had literally caught fire.
He hadn’t been home to Beacon Hills in ten years, but his mother made a few phone calls and got him an interview with Sheriff Stilinksi, a man who’d been serving and protecting Beacon Hills for nearly as long as Derek could remember and who—incidentally—knew all about the local werewolves and was pleased as punch to have one on his force.
Then there was the house. Thanks to Kate, his credit was shit. Derek would have loved a place clear across town from his family—maybe with a moat—but the small, historic homes near the downtown area were more in his price range. The houses could charitably have been called cottages if he squinted.
He wound up with a foreclosed fixer-upper on a quiet, older street.
And the street had potholes. Of course it did.
Derek discovered this the day he moved in and bit straight through his lower lip when his car drove over a pothole deep enough to lead to Hell.
The neighbors were thrilled to have a deputy in their midst, and his mother was thrilled that Derek was back home and only lived ten minutes away.
Derek was less than thrilled about the entire situation.
That wasn’t to say he was ungrateful, he just—he just wanted to bitch about it to a sympathetic ear.
He should have known better than to call his sister.
"Ha ha ha," Laura says over the phone. Derek can hear waves crashing in the background. "You are living the dream, little bro."
She’s in SoCal with her hippy werewolf surfer boyfriend and Mom and Dad don’t seem to have any expectations of her. It’s all ‘Laura needs time to sow her wild oats, she’s going to be Alpha some day’ and ‘We trust Laura can handle herself so far from home.’
Derek resents the implication that he isn’t just as capable.
"It’s not that, honey," his Mom says later that night, patting his hand. She leans over and spoons some casserole onto his plate. "It’s just that we know how you like to be comfortable."
Comfortable, Derek thinks with a grumpy snort, digging into his home cooked meal. Comfortable. He’s a grown werewolf, dammit, and his mother still thinks he’s five years old.
He chews angrily and swallows. The food gets stuck sideways and sends him into a coughing fit that has his mother jumping up to pat him on the back.
"Do you have any milk?" he wheezes, his eyes watering.
"Of course, baby," his Mom says, giving his hair a fond ruffle on her way to the kitchen. "It’s the whole milk kind that you like, too."