#like yes he uses tablespoons later but i choose to believe that was for angel's benefit

[sollucets]

26 and 41 for asher and babe?? 💞

26 (how dare you) & 41 (comfort food)

hi!!! thank you for the prompt; this was real fun to write and i think it turned out cute. david kind of butted his way into this when i hadn't meant to write him so much, but hopefully there's still enough asher/babe that it counts c:

💜

They wake to an empty bed, a pounding headache, and the faint sound of clinking metal from the kitchen. None of these are particularly auspicious things to wake up to in this apartment.

The headache at least is expected; it's allergy season, and the very air seems to have a personal vendetta against their sinuses recently. They haven't been able to breathe right for days, and the pressure's been awful.

Empty bed? Less expected. It might be their day off, but even so, Asher getting out of bed before them is such a rarity that they're immediately suspicious, worsened by the sounds coming from the kitchen.

With a monumental effort, they drag themself out of bed, stopping to slip one of Ash's shirts on over the pajama pants they’d already had. He may be fine running around in just boxers, but it's still weird for them, and the blankets were so warm.

Actually… on second thought, they snag their duvet to take, too, draping it over their shoulders like a cape on their half-awake journey to the kitchen. They're not sure they're actually equipped to save Ash from his own good intentions if what they think is happening is happening, but they will always try.

Sure enough, once they're close enough to the kitchen, they hear Ash talking over the gentle clank of dishes. "How dare you?" he's saying, voice light. "You can shit talk my cooking all you want, but you can't shit talk my devotion, okay. I toiled over that microwave last time."

If the situation was unexpected, the voice that responds is an actual shock, and they shuffle immediately to the doorway of the kitchen on hearing it. "I can, and will, say whatever I want. This is a favor to you, remember?"

There's an extra werewolf in their kitchen. David Shaw himself is standing over the stovetop, fully dressed in jeans and dark leather and glaring down at a large metal pot like it's insulted his family. He notices them the moment they come in, dark gaze sliding sideways to land on them where they're leaning against the doorframe.

David used to scare the shit out of them, honestly, Ash's assurances about his softie nature notwithstanding. His demeanor at pack meetings is almost completely unforgiving, all business and clipped sentences and pointed glares. It doesn't help that he's nearly a foot taller than them and built like an actual tank. He'd always been respectful, sure, but they hadn't known how to break down the wall there. In the end, it had all come crashing down the first time they'd seen him at home, shoulders around his ears as his mate hit him with a barrage of cutesy nicknames, his protests stifled completely the second they'd kissed him on the cheek.

David's gaze softens when he sees them in the doorway, and he inclines his head just slightly. They smile at him, wiggling the fingers of their left hand in a little wave. Asher, who's busy rummaging in the overhead cupboards facing away from the door, hasn't noticed them yet. Their boyfriend is dressed in his Shaw Security tee, and -- oh, right, they have a job today, don't they? That explains why he's up, but not why David is in their kitchen.

Seeming to find what he'd been looking for, Asher whirls back to face David and catches their eye. It stops him in his tracks for a second before he throws them a patented Asher pout. "Babe," he says, immediately leaving the spice he'd grabbed on the counter to cross the room to them. "What are you doing up? You don't work today, and you're all sniffly. You're supposed to be sleeping in."

"It's just allergies," they tell him, knocking their forehead gently against his shoulder in lieu of the kiss he's obviously gunning for. They haven't brushed their teeth yet. "This is sleeping in for me, anyway. I would've been awake two hours ago if I had to work."

Asher nuzzles gently against the side of their head before pulling away to make a face at them. "Gross. Well. You kind of ruined my plan to have comfort food all ready for you when you got up, but it means I get to see you all cute in my shirt, so I won't complain too much."

"If you keep talking, I might," adds David, but there's no heat in his voice. "This is almost done, Ash. You want a minute before we head out?"

"I'll meet you outside, big guy."

David accepts this without a hint of (further) annoyance, stirring the pot one last time before he breaks away. "Feel better soon," he tells them gruffly on his way out.

Once he's gone, they tilt their head up at Asher. "Did you ask him to come make me soup?"

"Hardly," Ash laughs, looping an arm around their blanket-padded waist. "I said I wanted to leave you some today, since we had to be gone, and he tried to give me his chicken wild rice recipe. I was gonna try it, honest, but I think he saw the look of terror in my eyes when I tried to read it, 'cause he strong-armed his way in here right away on the pretense of saving our security deposit."

They hum, leaning into his side. "Honestly, I doubt it was beyond you, but I get it. David writes his recipes like a grandma who doesn't believe in measuring cups."

Asher snorts, squeezes their waist, and says, with perfect sincerity, "I love you so much, babe. You should say that to his face sometime."

"I will," they say, because that's what you do with family.