Azarai
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Summary
Laura was wearing that white shirt the day of the fire, and Derek took it from the floor of their motel room while she was in the bathroom, after she’d changed into the cheap pajamas they’d had to buy at Walmart when everything, everything was gone. It smelled like smoke and like grief and a lot like Laura, but there, under it all, if he smelled and hoped hard enough, there was his father, still, and Derek balled up that shirt under his nose and breathed it in until he could smell nothing else.
He lost a lot, in those years, lost his innocence and his childhood and his whole fucking family, but he never lost that shirt.
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Cora appears on his doorstep in early September, face determined and belly rounded. Her scent is still familiar, but it’s also changed, somehow: more complex, fertile.
“Cora,” Derek breaths.
...
He thinks the thought in full standing in front of his mirror, brushing his teeth, and the way it drops into his mind unannounced and unwelcome yet ringing with truth makes him freeze, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, toothbrush still hanging askew out of his mouth.
'I want to raise this child.'
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“Derek,” Stiles says, in a faux patient voice that he uses when he thinks that Derek’s being particularly dense. “You think that this option didn’t pop right into my head when you first told me about Cora? Come on, babe, I know you. I was totally prepared for this. I’ve reconciled.”
...
OR: The one where Cora turns up pregnant, Derek decides to raise her baby, and Stiles is (happily) along for the ride.
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And maybe it’s irony, or the universe at work, or maybe it’s just Derek Hale’s shitty luck, but that’s when, at that exact moment (as Stiles will swear later), there’s a knock on the door.
“Laura?” Derek breathes in disbelief, and Stiles feels his own face fall into confused slackness.
Because the girl standing in the doorway? The last time Stiles had seen her—or, well, half of her—she’d been very naked, and very, very dead.
“Hey, baby bro,” she says with a grin.
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OR: The one where Laura comes back from the dead, and it turns out to be bad for Stiles, because he’s suddenly spending a lot of quality time with one of the coolest people he’s ever met, and her brother. The guy that he might be just a little in love with.
He's not okay. -
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Summary
Ilya’s been muzzled his whole life.
He’s been told to sit, to stay, to stand and smile. When to be quiet, and when to speak. He’s been dressed up and paraded around with a high collar tight around his throat. He’s been kicked in the ribs and patted on the head by the same cruel master. Total obedience expected, and enforced by discipline when adoration failed. He was torn from his mother too early, stunted forever, given over to strangers when his limbs were still gangly and he still whimpered in his sleep.
Shane is the first person who’s ever loved him like a human, and not like a beast.
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Summary
Dialect (ˈdī-ə-ˌlekt). Noun: A variety of a language used by the members of a group.
...Shane's been fucking Ilya Rozanov for a decade and yet somehow the more time they spend together the more he realizes how little he actually knows about Ilya, like, as a person. As a partner.
Again, he wishes he spoke Russian. That they had any shared native language besides sex and hockey.