#hi yes i promise ill do my best to keep my feet still and toes open

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Spooky Stories to Hold Them Close

Shinobu Kochou x They/Them Reader Modern AU

A/N:  I’ve got camping on the brain so I wrote a camp AU. There is a manga character mentioned in here but I morph them a bit to fit what I’m going for so I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Please enjoy!  Shinobu: If there are any spirits out here tonight tell me, does this sound like Shakira? lolay lolay lo- 

Word Count: 4,821

It was summer again, and (Y/n) groaned as they removed their camp issued baseball cap to swipe at the sweat that had accumulated over their brow. Not even the cheap material could save them from the intense heat of the day. God, they would kill to be back at the counselor’s cabin to enjoy just a smidge of AC but no, instead they were out with the unruly boys of Cabin K, making sure that they carried out their punishment of hard labor after causing a food fight in the mess hall.

“Come on boys, those canoes better be sparkling if you’re going to be taking your sweet time like this.” (Y/n) called, fanning themself with their hat.

“There’s a spider in this one!” Zenitsu cried. “This is so gross, there’s no way anyone’s ever cleaned these before!”

“Don’t worry Zenitsu, I’ll get it.” Tanjirou smiled earnestly.

(Y/n) felt bad for that kid. He was such an enabler though. The others looked up to him and respected him a lot. Who knows how much better it be if he knocked their heads more often. But because of his soft and nurturing demeanor, Tanjirou was always getting caught up in his cabin mates’ shenanigans. Speaking of which...

“Inosuke! If so much as a toe goes in that water you’ll be at the craft table with the junior kids making macaroni art until the only color you know yellow!” (Y/n) warned.

A strangled wail mixed with a roar left the boy’s mouth, the sound didn’t even sound like it could come from a human being. It was like that boy was a feral boar. Given how he’s kept coming back year after year, he may as well be just that.

“It’s hot! I’ll wash the boat in the lake!” He yelled, pulling the canoe closer to the sandy beach.

“Inosuke I’m serious! Macaroni art! That, and I’ll call your mother!” (Y/n) yelled back.

“Damn you and your sick threats!”

“My, still at it are we?”

(Y/n) sighed, turning with a tight smile towards Shinobu as their fellow counselor came up beside them. They tried not to let their eyes wander too long over the expanse of soft looking skin Shinobu’s shorts left exposed.

“Yeah, and as you can see, Tomioka ditched me to go help Sabito with something.” (Y/n) huffed, returning a watchful eye over Inosuke as he dragged the canoe back up to the others.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Shinobu tutted, stepping closer to rub (Y/n)’s back as a sign of sympathy. The proximity brought the scent of sunscreen and damp earth to (Y/n)’s nose. It was an intoxicating scent that (Y/n) had grown to associate with Shinobu always.

“Yeah, are you getting ready for swim lessons right now? Tradesies?” They asked hopefully, mustering up the best puppy dog eyes they could make. They only succeeded in making Shinobu laugh though, which honestly, wasn’t a bad constellation prize.

“Mm, no, sorry. You’re not the only one wanting to get relief from this heatwave.” Shinobu pinched the front of her shirt pulling at it to circulate some airflow. A motion (Y/n) definitely did not follow with their eyes.

“I did grab you and the boys some water though.” Shinobu said, digging into the drawstring bag that was slung over her shoulder and presenting (Y/n) with four bottles of cold water. “And to think I purposfully didn’t get one for Tomioka and he isn’t even here to stare off into the middle distance. Such a waste.”

“You’re such a bully sometimes, you know that?” (Y/n) chuckled, placing all bottles at their feet except for one, “remind me to stay on your good side.”

“You’d really be on my good side if you came to the counselor fire after the kids turn in. The theme is Fright Night, sponsored by yours truly,” Shinobu winked playfully.

Immediately (Y/n) felt a tad ill. “Fright Night?”

“Yes!” Shinobu nodded, a small, yet very excited grin on her face, “it’ll be held at Hangman’s Clearing, of course, a full night of frightening tales and games by the fire... and delicious treats! Provided Mitsuri doesn’t eat them all on the way. You’ll come, right?”

(Y/n) wasn’t particularly fond of the supernatural or chilling tales of murder or other dark themes. In fact, it would be fair to say they loathed them. They hated being scared and this themed get together should have had (Y/n) running in the opposite direction. ‘Should have’ being the key in this situation.

Shinobu looked so hopeful, waiting expectantly for (Y/n)’s reply. It would be impossible to say no to that face. A face that (Y/n) looked forward to seeing every summer and was always desperately looking for an excuse to see as often as possible. It couldn’t be that bad, right? (Y/n) could handle a few spooks in exchange for hanging out with Shinobu all night. Yeah, they could do this.

“It’s not a trick question, (Y/n). A simple yes or no would suffice.” Shinobu teased. “Though if it helps sway your decision at all, it would make me really happy if you would come.”

And with that, (Y/n)’s fate was sealed.

“Okay, sure, yeah, I’ll come.” (Y/n) bashfully agreed, their heartbeat picking up in pace at Shinobu’s delighted giggle.

“Great! I’ll see you at the clearing at ten. Don’t be late or,” she suddenly latched on to (Y/n)’s arm, startling them, “the ghosts will get you!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” (Y/n) laughed weakly. Their skin tingling from where Shinobu had grabbed them.

“I better get to the beach, the kids are getting antsy.” Shinobu said before proceeding to pull her shirt over her head. She was wearing her swimsuit of course, but still. (Y/n) nearly had an aneurysm because of the casual reveal. “See you later, (Y/n).”

“Sssseee you. Bye. Thanks for the water.” (Y/n) then made themselves busy by taking several sips of said water.

“Anytime,” Shinobu’s eyes traveled past (Y/n)’s body before returning to them with a sympathetic smile, “looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Huh?” (Y/n) squinted before their eyes blew wide and they jerked their head back in the direction of the canoes. “Tanjirou, why is there a canoe in that tree! I swear I can’t leave you guys alone for two minutes!” (Y/n) stalked over to the boys and Shinobu watched their back, laughing as (Y/n) ran up to Inosuke and tackled him to the ground before he could scale the tree with another canoe.

***

Night fell much too quickly after a full day of scheduled activities and once all the campers had retired to their cabins for curfew, (Y/n) knew their time to mentally prepare for the counselor fire had run out. At least they hadn’t had to walk to the clearing themself, as they had bumped into Mitsuri and Iguro at the edge of the forest entrance.

Iguro seemed miffed that his alone time with the bubbly counselor had been interrupted but Mitsuri was all too happy to catch up with (Y/n) about their day as they walked to Hangman’s Clearing.

Soon the light of a fire could be seen between the trees and they met up with the other counselors who had decided to join in. Sitting around the fire, (Y/n) saw Kyoujurou and Tengen talking to each other while poking at the fire. (Y/n) frowned, wondering where Shinobu was.

“Boo!”

It took everything in (Y/n)’s power to swallow the scream that threatened to spill from their mouth as arms wrapped around them from behind. Instead it turned into a pitiful and embarrassing squeak. (Y/n) wasn’t sure which would have been better.

“Oh dear, (Y/n). Did I startle you? I’m sorry.” Shinobu released (Y/n) from her hold and patted their shoulder.

“It’s okay!” (Y/n) promised, not wanting Shinobu to feel bad. “Besides, that’s kind of the point of tonight, isn’t it?”

“Right! I’m glad you could come (Y/n). I didn’t know if you liked scary things.” Shinobu said as they followed Mitsuri and Iguro to the fire.

“Yeah...” (Y/n) replied, lying against their better judgment. They just wanted Shinobu to think they were cool, impress her somehow maybe. “Horror is.. great.”

“Is this it?” Tengen asked, leaning his back against a sturdy log.

“Yes. Gyomei is staying behind to keep an ear out for the kids, as are Sabito and Tomioka. Sanemi said the whole thing wasn’t worth his time.” Shinobu explained as she took her own seat at the fire, motioning for (Y/n) to sit next to her.

“Did you even really invite Tomioka?” Tengen snorted.

“Of course I did, but as you all know, Tomioka is a wet blanket so he declined and Sabito decided to stay with him.” Shinobu clapped her hands against her thighs, “Now, enough about them. Let’s get the festivities started, shall we? Mitsuri, you brought the goods?”

“I sure did!” Mitsuri cheered, taking the nearly overflowing backpack she had been toting off of her shoulders. It landed in the dirt with a heavy thud. “I’ve got s’more fixings, jiffy pop, chips, sodas, water, hotdogs...”

“Wow Mitsuri, you really went all out. How did you carry it all?” (Y/n) marveled.

Mitsuri flexed one of her biceps, smacking the muscle with her hand. “Strength, pure will power and an intense love of all things delicious!” She said, her lips curled into an adorable smile.

The counselor fire started out great. For the first hour they all talked and ate, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the twinkle of the stars, laughing with each other as they recalled the memories that they had made over the years.

But like anything else, the conversation dried to a slow trickle and most of the food had been polished off. The once hearty blaze of the fire was now a low flame with glowing embers. Shinobu took it as her cue to begin the main event.

(Y/n) blinked at the sudden brightness that flashed beside them. They squinted against the light and saw that Shinobu was brandishing a flashlight, highlighting her face for a moment before moving the light to cast shadows over the sinister smile growing across her face.

“Anyone have a scary story they’d like to share or are you all content to dive into the main event?” Shinobu asked, placing her free hand confidently over her chest.

“Oo! I got one, Shinobu! Pick me!” Mitsuri called, calling out in her seat beside Iguro.

“Alright, catch!” Shinobu tossed the flashlight to Mitsuri who caught it with an excited squee.

“Okay, so, um.. oh! Once, there was this girl who woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t go back to sleep. She decided that she wanted a midnight snack and remembered that there was still a piece of her favorite raspberry cheesecake left. A perfect creamy treat! She could practically taste it already.”

Mitsuri wiggled on the log, leaning forward in her excitement. Light from the fire illuminated the green tips of her hair making them appear to glow.

“So she got out of her warm and comfy bed and crept into the dark, cold hallway, thump thump thump, and down the squeaky stairs, squeak squawk squeak, until she finally made it to the kitchen.

Mitsuri reached out towards the fire with her free hand and made a motion like grabbing a door, slowly pulling it back.

“She opened the refrigerator door and then—“ Mitsuri slapped her hand down upon her thigh with startling force, “to her absolute horror, she remembered that she had eaten the last piece of cheesecake at lunch the previous day! There was no more cheesecake to be had, and she had to settle for confetti cake ice cream when what she was really craving was the cheesecake!”

Mitsuri shook her head sorrowfully, and Iguro rubbed a soothing hand over her back while she collected herself.

“The end.” Mitsuri finished, clicking the flashlight off.

“Haha! Good one Mitsuri. The emotion behind your tale made it feel so real!” Kyoujirou loudly proclaimed. Shinobu giggled from her seat beside (Y/n) who also couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“It was real!” Mitsuri said seriously. “It happened to me just a couple weeks ago!” she shuddered.

“I don’t know, that was hardly scary Kanroji.” Tengen shrugged.

“I’d like to see you do better!” Mitsuri pouted.

“I could, but I’d rather let Kochou get on with her activities. Her knee is bouncing. Impatient, Kochou?”

“Ha ha! That it is!” Kyoujirou laughed.

“I can wait,” Shinobu countered, her leg ceased its bouncing due to being caught. “Does anyone else want to share a story?”

A chorus of head shakes met Shinobu’s question and she shrugged, a sly smiling curling at her lips.

“Very well then, Mitsuri, the flashlight please.”

“You got it!” Mitsuri cheered, tossing the light back to Shinobu.

Shinobu clicked the light back on, her eyes roamed over her audience one by one.

“Have you all heard of the serial killer Douma the Cannibal?” Shinobu asked.

“Of course,” Iguro spoke up. “He killed at least seventy women throughout the 1910s until well into the 1920s. However, their still connecting cold case murders to him even now. Some experts believe he could have killed well over two hundred. A really despicable monster to say the least.”

“Very true.” Shinobu nodded solemnly, “His parents ran a cult, believing he was some kind of messiah or deity. They let him do whatever he wished. It started with the killings of small animals but quickly escalated once that had lost its appeal. We don’t know much of motivations, but it’s believed he killed simply because he enjoyed it. Famously developing a taste for his victims after he ran out of places to store them.”

(Y/n) shivered, clutching themself in a hug as they waited for Shinobu to continue. This was worse than any old ghost story, the girl beside them was talking about an actual person! Well, at least he was dead right? Right?

“He was apprehended right here in this very clearing actually.” Shinobu said, looking around at the dark forest that surrounded them “The mob hung him, strung him up in one of these trees, hence the name Hangman’s Clearing.”

(Y/n) swallowed thickly. Why here, he couldn’t be dead someplace else? And they made a fucking summer camp here, what the actual fuck? Suddenly the woods seemed much more sinister.

“He deserved it of course,” Shinobu continued with a sigh, “but just think of what we could have learned if they chained him up instead. There are still many bodies unaccounted for. But perhaps,” Shinobu turned to (Y/n), making them jump a little as her hand slid behind them to pick up a box.

“But perhaps tonight, in the field where he gasped for his last breaths, we can learn something from beyond.”

Oh hell to the fucking no. She was holding a goddamn ouija board and matching planchette.

(Y/n) felt the hairs on the back of their neck rise to attention. There was no way, how could they get themself out of this? Calling upon the spirit of a serial killer was not what they had signed up for. Everyone else however, seemed to lean in and stare with excitement at the prospect, even Mitsuri quickly hopped out of her seat to sit on Shinobu’s other side.

“Oo, oo! Shinobu what a good idea!” she cheered.

A good idea? Mitsuri, honey, what is wrong with you, respectfully. (Y/n) held their face in their hand. That girl had been their only chance of escape, but she seemed just as invested as everyone else!

“Thank you, let’s get this set up then, shall we?” Shinobu grinned.

Tengen and Kyoujirou pushed the logs around into a makeshift table and everyone kneeled around it. Shinobu placed the board and planchette neatly in the middle, beckoning everyone to place a finger on the planchette.

(Y/n) jolted to attention as Shinobu placed her hand over theirs, giving them a questioning glance.

“(Y/n), are you still with us?” She teased.

“Yeah, sorry.” They gulped, watching in dismay as Shinobu smiled at them and pulled their hand up to the board, curling all fingers but one and playfully pushing it against the planchette before placing her own over the wood. There was no getting out of this.

Shinobu then went on about how the board worked and what not, (Y/n) didn’t really listen, too busy trying to find their happy place and pretend they weren’t there.

“Are there any spirits with us tonight?” Shinobu asked, pulling (Y/n) out of their head at the most inopportune moment.

At first there was no movement, for which (Y/n) was thankful, but ever so slowly the planchette did move.

“K-Kyou, you aren’t pushing it are you?” (Y/n) couldn’t help but ask.

“Not at all my friend!” Kyoujirou heartily replied as the planchette continued moving in (Y/n)’s direction.

The fact that it was moving in their direction wasn’t the issue, but rather the fact that (Y/n)’s corner of the board had ‘yes’ written on it.

“Ah, a yes! This is so exciting!” Mitsuri wiggled.

“Nice, how flamboyant!” Tengen added, pumping his free fist.

“What is your name spirit?” Shinobu continued.

(Y/n) let out a shaky breath as the planchette moved away from them. Watching with dread as it skimmed across the board.

‘D’

‘O’

‘U’

‘M’

‘A’

Fuck.

“Where are the victims you buried in these woods, you worthless, demonic bastard?” Shinobu tensed beside (Y/n), concentrating heavily on the board, her tone was commanding as she demanded an answer.

(Y/n) would have found it extremely attractive if they weren’t already scared out of their mind. The taunting of a serial killer ghost was the last thing they wanted to be a part of. Especially if they were talking demons, (Y/n) was too young to die like this. Well, they’d never be at an age where death by demon possession would seem favorable, but that was not the point!

The planchette moved across several letters and (Y/n) lost track of what was being spelled out. Which was just as well, ignorance is bliss after all, right? They waited for the others to figure it out with bated breath.

“Follow the sounds of the woods and we’ll find the signs, hm?” Iguro muttered. “Sounds like a trap.”

“What does it matter? Not like ghosts exist anyway. This is all a part of the ambiance, right Shinobu?” Tengen laughed, laying back on his forearms.

“I wasn’t pushing the planchette if that’s what you are suggesting, Uzui.” Shinobu answered seriously. “But if anyone else wants to confess to it, by all means don’t waste our time.”

“I didn’t!” Mitsuri denied while Iguro shook his head.

“I didn’t either.” (Y/n) also spoke up, an undetectable tremor pulled at their vocal chords.

“Nor have I!” Kyoujirou boomed.

“Then there is only one way to know for sure that this is all legitimate,” Shinobu said, brandishing the small lantern she had lit to illuminate the board, “we break off and search the surrounding woods.”

“Break off? Like, search in the dark alone?” (Y/n) couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Couldn’t they all just head back to the cabins together and watch a movie on Tengen’s smuggled DVD player and forget this whole mess?

“No, not alone,” Shinobu smiled, looping her free arm through (Y/n)’s, “that would be too dangerous. Pairs would be better.”

“I’m going with Kanroji.” Iguro immediately declared. Mitsuri wiggled and clapped, happy to go with him.

“Guess that leaves you and me,” Tengen grinned, fist bumping Kyoujirou, “let’s kick some ghost ass!”

“Yes!” Kyoujirou enthusiastically replied.

“Great, then it’s decided!” Shinobu nodded, squeezing (Y/n)’s arm closer to her as she stood up, pulling them up with her. “Meet back here in half an hour?”

A range of approvals sounded and once they synced up their watches (since phones weren’t allowed at camp), the three separate pairs went off in different directions into the dark woods.

(Y/n) used to love these woods, coming back summer after summer, it was one of the things they looked forward to every year. It only took about twenty minutes for them to learn to hate it as Shinobu led them through the bramble and roots by lantern light.

“You’re being awfully quiet, something on your mind?” Shinobu asked after an owl hooted in the distance, startling (Y/n) a bit.

“No, I’m just,” (Y/n) made a vague gesture with their hands, “concentrating, I guess.” They finished lamely.

Shinobu hummed in amusement, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. It is all rather exciting isn’t it? I hope we find something.”

“Mhmm.” (Y/n) forced a smile as Shinobu looked over her shoulder at them. It quickly fell from their face once Shinobu turned to face front again, guiding (Y/n) further down the darkened path.

(Y/n) had never been more tense in their life. They didn’t know if they were thankful for Shinobu’s commentary as they kept walking or if they wanted her to be quiet so they could hear any approaching threat. Whatever the case, they kept their mouth shut. Only answering Shinobu with one word responses, affirming or negative noises or just the shake or nod of their head when Shinobu would look back at them. If Shinobu thought it odd, she didn’t comment on her fellow counselor’s behavior.

After awhile, (Y/n) attempted to pretend they were somewhere else again. Still with Shinobu, but somewhere nice like an amusement park or a beach at sunset... maybe sunrise instead. (Y/n) was jostled from their musings when Shinobu stopped suddenly, causing (Y/n) to bump into her.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered, spiking (Y/n) blood pressure through the roof.

“No.” They squeaked.

“Listen.” Shinobu hushed, pulling (Y/n) down to their knees, they both crouched to the ground, listening so hard their ears were buzzing.

A snapping of a branch in the distance, the rustle of leaves.

“What,” (Y/n) swallowed, “what was that?” They whispered.

“Shhh,” Shinobu exhaled, covering (Y/n)’s lips with her fingers as she continued to listen.

It was quiet again, and as Shinobu gave up on listening and removed her fingers from over (Y/n)’s mouth—

“KYYYYAAAAAHHHH!”

A loud scream could be heard far off in the trees, then everything went quiet again for all of three seconds before (Y/n) absolutely lost it.

“Oh my god!” They gasped, clutching Shinobu’s arm tightly to their chest, their eyes wide and unfocused. “Oh my god, that sounded like Mitsuri! Oh god, oh fuck! Shit!”

“(Y/n)?” Shinobu looked at them, a bewildered expression molding her face as she observed their sudden outburst. She quickly moved to comfort them though, setting the lantern down to hug them, rubbing their back as it shuddered with ragged breaths. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re okay.”

“For now!” (Y/n) frantically retorted. “It’s only a matter of time before whatever got Mitsuri and Iguro come for us!”

“(Y/n), wait—“ Shinobu tried to calm them, but they just kept spiraling.

“Why did I agree to this? I should have left the second you took out that ouija board, but no! I stayed just so I could spend more time with you and now we’re gonna be murdered by a demon serial killer ghost before I could finally work up the courage to ask you out!”

“(Y/n)!” Shinobu tried again, speaking a bit sharper this time, forcing (Y/n) to look at her and hoping to calm them with her attentions. “Hey, we’re going to be alright. You’re alright. Listen to me, okay? I set this all up.”

“Huh?” (Y/n) weakly croaked.

“I messed with the ouija board. We weren’t really communicating with anything. I planned for us to split off into groups. We heard Mitsuri scream because—“

“Who’s ready to die!?” A loud maniacal laugh sounded behind them and a chainsaw roared to life.

(Y/n) screamed, otherwise paralyzed in Shinobu’s embrace. Their head tucked under Shinobu’s with their cheek pressed snugly against her chest as they waited for the chainsaw blade to tear through their skin.

“Sanemi, turn that off right now! Stop, damn you!” Shinobu yelled over the noise.

“Okay, okay!” the false murderer, Sanemi, turned off the whirring blade with a tisk. “I was only following your own instructions, Kochou. Why are you looking at me like I was really gonna... oh damn, are they okay?” Sanemi winced, gesturing at (Y/n) quivering in Shinobu’s arms like a leaf.

“Do they look okay to you?” Shinobu huffed, more angry at herself than Sanemi. She continued rubbing at (Y/n)’s back, trying to coax them out of their tight ball while Sanemi stood by awkwardly at the side, rubbing his neck and looking into the woods.

“I’ll uh, gather everybody up and take ‘em back to camp.” Sanemi eventually spoke up. “You have things all under control here?”

“Yes, please go. Thank you Sanemi.” Shinobu shooed him off, not even looking away from (Y/n) as she did so. As Sanemi lumbered back into the forest Shinobu continued to help (Y/n) calm down.

“It’ll be okay, you’ll be alright. I’m so sorry. It’s all over now. It’s just you and me and I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.” Shinobu promised. “Can you look at me (Y/n), please?”

Ever so slowly, (Y/n) pulled back. They were still visibly shaken and meek which pulled heavily on Shinobu’s heart.

“I’m sorry.” (Y/n) shuddered, closing in on themself as they looked away from Shinobu, “I ruined your event.”

“Hey, you didn’t ruin anything.” Shinobu spoke in a no-nonsense tone. “I should have noticed you weren’t having a good time.”

“I was having a good time at first. I just really wanted to spend time with you, I thought I could handle it.”

“You can spend time with me whenever you want; all you need to do is ask.” Shinobu smiled softly. “And if anything makes you uncomfortable I want you to tell me right away, okay?”

“Okay,” (Y/n) sniffed.

“I think we’ve spent enough time in the woods tonight.” Shinobu stood, holding her hand out for (Y/n) to take.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) chuckled weakly, accepting the hand and rising to their feet. Shinobu kept her hold on them as she picked up the lantern and guided (Y/n) back to the cabins.

Once they reached the clearing, the other counselors involved in the night’s festivities surrounded them, making sure everything was alright. Mitsuri gave (Y/n) a long, comforting hug while Kyoujirou squeezed their shoulder warmly. Tengen and Iguro shared a few kind sentiments and Sanemi grumbled out a sincere apology for scaring them so badly.

As everyone was turning in to their bunks for the night, Shinobu stopped in front of (Y/n)’s bunk as they were pulling back the covers, waving Tengen’s contraband DVD player in her hand.

“Hey, so, I figured you might have a hard time sleeping tonight. Would you want to watch a movie with me?” She asked.

“Yeah, I think that would help a lot. As long as it’s not horror anyway.” (Y/n) added.

“No, I’ve learned my lesson,” Shinobu shook her head making herself at home in (Y/n)’s bunk as she untangled the ear buds, “a romantic comedy is just about as far from horror as one can get I think.”

(Y/n) tried to give Shinobu her own space, but the small bunk didn’t leave much room for that and Shinobu didn’t seem interested in preserving her personal space anyway. Instead pulling (Y/n) to rest against her side after she set everything up.

“Are you comfortable?” She asked, finger poised over the play button.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) nodded against her shoulder, “thanks.”

“Of course.” Shinobu nodded, pressing play.

As the movie played they quietly made fun of it together and commented on the events as they transpired. Once earning Tengen’s wrath for laughing a little too loud while the rest were trying to sleep.

“You know,” (Y/n) whispered during one of the lulls in the story, “if you wanted to watch a horror movie with me some other time I think I could do it if you stayed by my side like this.” They bashfully admitted.

“Well, there is one coming out that I’d like to see this fall...” Shinobu informed with a teasing smile and (Y/n) scoffed lightly.

“I don’t like how quickly you came up with a plan, but I’ll look forward to it.” They said.

“Hey, it’s still a ways off. I hope to have several tamer dates between now and then.” Shinobu casually dropped.

“You do?” (Y/n)’s face grew warm, “With me?” They added just in case, making Shinobu giggle and nod her head.

“Yes, with you. So think of what you want to do for our next free day.”

(Y/n) grinned and snuggled further into Shinobu’s side.

Eventually they fell asleep while Shinobu’s fingers lightly scratched the back of their neck. She turned off the movie and carefully set the DVD player on the floor below. Then she curled up against (Y/n) and fell asleep as well.

[babymilkawa]

HI ITS ME CAN YOU PRETTY PLEASE WRITE SOME HCS FOR SUGAWARA IF HIS GF IS SICK. ALSO I DUNNO HOW MANY OTHER CHARACTERS YOU DO FOR EACH HC POST CAUSS I FORGOT TO CHECK, but if you need like three i’d really love hinata and daichi as well :D REMINDER OF SUGAWARA SUPREMACYYYYYY

HERE ARE SOME THINGS I MADE AS A BRIBE

ILL TAKE IT// but yea I didn’t rly put a limit cos ppl are decent enuf to not request like 10 at a time right?? 😅 here ya go swaglorddd

sick s/o headcanons with:

sugawara koushi, hinata shoyo, sawamura daichi, kenma kozume

gn!reader :)

sugawara koushi

if you show up to his practice wrapped in layers of clothing and a red nose, he’ll excuse himself immediately and force you to sit down on the bench while he goes to coach ukai’s store to get some meds for you

when he comes back, both his hands are carrying two plastic bags

one of them has your stuff, warm food that isn’t greasy and cough drops too

the others are cold drinks for his teammates aww karasuno’s mom

you are forBiddEn to have the drinks too except for the warm water he put in your water bottle

rly wished you’d go home first instead of waiting for his practice to end but it doesn’t seem like you want to

he’ll look to the benches every few minutes to see your sleeping form

during break, he’ll gently move your head onto his lap so you don’t have to lay on the hard bench

as soon as they’re dismissed he’s giving you his jacket cos “it gets cold in the night time” and warms up ur hands

if you try to keep ur distance so he doesn’t get sick too, he’ll joke that you prolly already got the whole team sick

making you pout and him pinching ur cheeks 😖

once you reach your place, he’ll linger outside of your door,,,unwilling to let go of your hands SOB

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning ok? I’ll also bring porridge but you still need to eat something else and don’t forget to drink hot wat-”

“yes, yes I know koushi...now go home so you don’t catch a cold too”

but even when you’re standing by your window, you’ll see him looking around your house, tryna figure out which window belongs to your bedroom

and as promised, he comes back the next day with hot porridge and makes sure that your water bottle is full with warm water

and that your backpack has extra cough drops

he’ll still hold your hand and kiss ur forehead

maybe part of him wants to get sick so u can take care of him djhfjdhf

hinata shoyo

he’ll pout a little once he finds out your sick but he’ll still stay by your side!

he’s still overflowing with energy but doesn’t wanna tire you out too much

you’ll hear him stop by your house in the mornings with a volleyball in his hands and maybe kageyama behind him, eating

he’ll bring random snacks from coach ukai’s store and place them at ur door

you’ll sit by ur window and he’ll sit outside of it, telling you about his day, what he did, how practice was

“y/n no one clapped for me T-T”

cos ur usually clapping for him after every successful hit

“kageyama was just yelling at me saying how my spike wasn’t even that great but I know you would’ve said it was good :((“

“aww shoyo, I’m sure it was! Don’t listen to him, ur trying ur best:))”

pet his hair

yes ur the one who’s sick but he misses u

will stop by ur house everyday

I mean he already does that

u usually help him with hw but he doesn’t think he shud ask u when u sleep

all his energy will just go p o o f when he sees u sleeping

he’ll prolly hear windchimes or smthing hahahah

but he’ll be able to sit quietly until you wake up

kageyama’s like HaaH???

SHH

but hinata’s tryna figure out his hw without u helping ok

once ur better, he’ll give you the bIGGGEST hug and sway you side to side AWW I MISS THOSE HUGS

and catch you up on evthing that’s happened

meaning everything that’s happened in the last 5 mins cos he already tells u everything 🙄

sawamura daichi

he’ll make sure you have everything for school

brings you your hw, explains to you the concepts

will call u during lunch or smthing cos it’s boring w/o you

dating him means ur automatically good friends with asahi and sugawara so they’ll check up on you too

and sugawara will tell you how daichi won’t stop talking abt how he can’t wait till u get better dhhdjfjdjs

sometimes you’ll catch him having tea with your mom on your front porch and she’s tryna embarrass you hahhsjdf

Ok but that scenario is just,,, so,,, hubby material yk

like he prolly came by to drop some food and ur moms making him stay and gushing abt how handsome he is

“so you’re the one making my y/n all happy”

rare occasions that daichi blushes #1

he’ll softly knock on ur door and u quickly pretend to be asleep

places sthing on ur desk then just leaves the s o f t e s t kiss on ur forehead and whispers sweet dreams GAHSJFOEJ

when he’s gone you look at what’s on ur desk and it’s a flower crown from ur first date 🥺

keep him ok

will prolly do sthing like throw paper airplanes at ur window

and then when he sees you open ur window he’ll hide behind a tree and watch as u go outside to pick them up

inside he’s written little notes like “get better!” Or “i miss you!” or “WHAT ARE U DOING AWAKE GO BACK TO SLEEP”

like sir u woke me up with all that tapping 🙄🤚🏻

once ur better, you walk into the vb gym first and u can hear him yelling at Tanaka and noya then when he sees u walk in he’s all “oh, y/n” 😌

PLS TANAKa and Noya WORSHIP U NOW SJDJSKKS

in the first couple of days you’re back he’ll still keep an eye on you and have his arm around your shoulder

occasionally putting his hand on your forehead and sneaking a kith 😚

kenma kozume

u didn’t tell him at first that u were sick but he still found out 🙄

“ur sick, aren’t you”

“huh?? No I’m not :((“

will look at u like this -_-

and yk if u stay home from school, he’ll find excuses to hang out in ur room

kuroo will be calling like “is freaking kenma there?!”

yea he’s spooning u

since ur sick, hE’ll be the one to pet ur hair

if it helps u fall asleep

won’t play games in ur room like he usually does cos he doesn’t want the sound and light to distract u

he’ll most likely bring u take out bc he can’t cook and will prolly burn down ur kitchen cos he got distrayced by the tv or smthing ahHa

will check ur temp like every 5 min I swear

“no- ko i rly don’t think my temp is gonna change every 5 min”

“but just in case-“

-_-

he’s smart ok so he’ll tutor you with late hw if u need it

will sit next to you and wiggle his toes by ur feet :3

once ur better, y’all go back to ur usual gaming and eat the hell out of junk food 🤪

a/n: rly hope u liked it 🥺💕 daichi’s was my fav hehe and TY @ilauvcoldpizza FOR HELPING ME W KENMA <3

haikyu!! masterlist

[tpwkjerii]

as you wish | 4

your one true love was lost in a pirate accident five years ago, and now you’re engaged to a cruel prince. with all your misfortune, you didn’t expect three unconventional thugs and a painfully familiar pirate to save you from a dreadful future. (inspired by The Princess Bride)

pairing: pirate!seokjin x princess!reader

warnings: fluff and angst (!!), reader is forced into engagement and becoming a princess, mentions of death, murder threats, mentions of tourture, cursing, jin isn’t in this part much (but he will be in the next one!!), hobi is the best person ever, dungeon/imprisonment, not rlly proofread 🗿

genre: fairy tale/pirate au, semi established relationship au

word count: 4.2k+

a/n: second to last part oooo. sorry that this is late - exams suck :(( i hope you guys like this part!! pls leave comments/likes as they always help me improve <33

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The silence was deafening. For a while, once both sides saw each other, no one made an effort to move.

You froze by Jin’s side and gripped his arm so tightly you worried it would hurt him, but Jin paid no mind to it as he guarded you with his tall figure.

Donghae and his soldiers rested stone-faced atop their armored horses, their swords hanging idly from their waists or backs. In those few moments, the Prince had an indiscernible facial expression. His eyebrows and eyes were relaxed as if he was nonchalant about the entire situation, but his lips were pursed into a firm line that suggested otherwise.

Another testament to your unfortunate engagement: even after two years of being his “fiancee”, you had no idea how to truly read Donghae. He was terrifying in that sense — the constant unreadability of his face and deceiving tone his voice carried kept everyone around him, including you, on their toes. One word could set off the crown prince, and his power could unleash a fiery wrath that most people trembled at the thought of.

His intense gaze on you and the slight quirk in his brow when your lips quivered in fear signified that he was waiting for you to speak first. Ironically, this was the first time he had ever been so courteous as to let you talk first.

You swallowed harshly and gathered every ounce of will in you to step out from behind Seokjin’s protective body and instead guard him. Pushing his urgent hands, desperate to pull you behind him again, away, you straightened your stance. With a clear and steady voice, you said, “If you promise not to hurt Seokjin, I’ll go with you.”

Donghae smiled terrifyingly at you, ready to unleash the venom of his lips. “You speak and bargain like you have a choice to go with me or not.”

Your eyes met his sharp ones. “You may think that you have the upper hand, Donghae,” you paused, taking a fleeting glance back at Jin, “but I promise you that you will regret every day you spend walking on this planet if you hurt Seokjin.”

The crown prince scoffed and turned to face the soldier next to him. “My bride seems to care an awful lot about another man, doesn’t she?” He turned towards you as he spoke the last two words.

It was your turn to scoff in disbelief. You didn’t even think about the words as they escaped you. “Don’t act like there was ever love in this wretched communion.”

Donghae’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your words. He felt the gaze of his soldiers, who were watching the tense interaction, burning on him. “Fine. Seokjin,” Donghae spit the name bitterly, “leaves freely, and you come with me.”

In one swift move, he kicked the side of his horse, advanced towards you and Seokjin, and tugged you to the side of the tall horse.

“Y/N, no!” Jin cried, instantly drawing his sword. The surrounding soldiers did the same, and the harsh sound of the molded steel brushing against their metal sheaths unsettled you.

“Jin, stop!” Your feet move and your arm extends in an attempt to reach him, but you’re quickly wrenched back by Donghae. “Please!” you shout, your eyes meeting his in a panic as the soldiers circled him, their swords pointed right at him.

The look that you shared told several sentences at once; a connected gaze of pure desperation. You begged him silently, begged him to give up before you lost him and he lost you for good. With great sadness, he understood.

“As you wish,” he whispered, voice barely audible to you, and dropped his arm to his side, his sword swaying uselessly by his legs.

Your eyes teared up when he averted his gaze from you. You desperately wished to reach out to him, to comfort him by saying you could run away with him. But Donghae’s firm hold on you prevented you from doing either.

“Drop him off at the next town over; I don’t want to see him in the capital city.” Donghae’s command was sharp, and amidst your teary sadness you missed the sly glint in his eye as he ordered his soldiers.

You gasped when Donghae harshly tugged you up and behind him on top of the horse. Jin turned at the noise, and you exchanged one last melancholy gaze before Donghae kicked the horse and quickly trotted away. Tears escaped your eyes as Jin’s figure grew smaller and smaller. Only one thing comforted you in this solemn moment: Jin was safe — alive and safe.

“You’ve had an adventurous past few days haven’t you?” Donghae asked, his tone sharp and unforgiving. “Anything you wish to share?”

You kept your face away from him and remained silent.

“Does my bride not wish to speak to me?”

He laughed dryly at your quietness. “You’ll speak to me whether you like it or not come Friday.”

Your brows furrowed at his words. If you counted the days correctly, then today was currently Tuesday.  What did Donghae have planned that would make you talk to him within a few days?

He observed your confused facial expression before continuing, “My father passed away the night of your disappearance.” Your face dropped and you turned to face him. He scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t blame yourself, you weren’t of importance to him. He finally succumbed to his illness.”

Your face screwed together at his apathetic behavior.

“Which means, my coronation and our wedding have been advanced. We are to be wed on Friday.”

All color drained from your face and your mouth dried. The shock temporarily halted your ability to breathe, and you found yourself barely listening as Donghae went on.

“I expect perfect behavior from this moment on, understood?”

You looked away from him — another attempt to show your dismay. But it was no use as his hand instantly raised and roughly gripped your face as he turned your head to face him. “I asked, do you understand?” His voice was low and threatening, and you were sure that if he held onto your face any longer, it would leave a mark.

Your teary eyes quivered. “Yes,” you mustered out.

Your return to the castle was not a glamorous affair.

Donghae ordered the guards to escort you to your room and the maids to give you a bath and get rid of the “stench of another man”. You followed his words obediently, every inch of your body seeped in exhaustion and dejection. It wasn’t until after your hour-long bath and the maids finally left your suite when you were finally able to close your eyes and rest.

Unfortunately, your rest was short lived. A few moments after you laid down and just before you fully submitted to the god of sleep, a heavy knock rang in your room. You groaned and hoped that whoever it was would go away if you didn’t answer, but they only continued knocking.

With great reluctance, you pulled yourself out of bed and opened the heavy doors. Instantly, the disgruntled frown on your face was replaced with a shocked smile.

“Hobi!”

“Y/N!” he greeted back with comforting enthusiasm. Quickly, he pulled you into a hug, but the shock of seeing him again prevented you from immediately responding. “Are you not happy to see me?” he asked with a wary voice as he pulled away, frowning at your still body.

You shook your head. “No - no, I am! It’s just…” your voice trailed off as you inspected his face, which hadn’t changed at all even after two long years. “It’s been so long,” you finished softly.

“Too long; I’m sorry,” he replied gently, taking his hands into yours.

“Don’t apologize.” You smiled at him and gestured for him to enter your room and sit. “Why have you returned to the castle?” you asked once he sat down next to you at the edge of your bed.

“I’ve resumed my old post — well, my old post with a new duty of protecting you,” he answered simply, and the intense focus he had on keeping a straight face immediately told you that his response was a lie.

“You have? Why?” you challenged, crossing your arms.

“Boredom?” he replied weakly. You rolled your eyes at his dishonest response. You knew that Hobi, who was the only son of a powerful lord and had a loving partner at his lavish home, would not return to this castle as the Head Castle Guard out of boredom.

“No one in their right mind would return to this castle for fun.”

He sighed and grabbed your hands gently as he looked into your eyes. “I was worried about you, and it seems I had full reason to be.” You looked down with a flushed face as he continued, “When I first arrived yesterday morning, I was informed that you’d gone missing! At first I thought, good for you, because you were always miserable here, but then the stablekeeper insisted that you’d been taken — kidnapped!” His facial expression conveyed pure alarm, and you instantly felt guilty for worrying your friend, even if it wasn’t your fault.

Hobi’s face relaxed and he brought his arms tightly around you. “But it’s ok now. I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered. You felt the vibrations of his words as your head rested against his chest, and the comforting feeling of his hands rubbing your back like a parent would to a child brought tears to your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he felt your upper body starting to shake. He quickly released you and held your shoulders to look at your face. “Have I upset you?”

“No, not at all,” you started, trying your best to gather yourself and wipe away your flowing tears. He waited patiently for you to continue, only whispering “it’s alright” and “take your time” when you choked on your words.

Finally, after a few minutes, you calmed down. And so, everything spilled out of your mouth. You easily confided in Hobi, who was your only friend when you first arrived at the castle and whose sudden departure after a few months left you even lonelier, and told him everything that had happened the past few days. You talked about the three thugs and how they took you, your reunion with Seokjin and how you almost escaped, and how you had to marry Donghae in just a few days.

Like a good friend, Hobi listened to everything you had to say. He didn’t judge or interject — just listened. And when you finished your long recount of your journey, he comforted you. With his comforting arms wrapped around yours, his soft hands wiping away your tears, and his encouraging murmurs, you finally felt alright for the first time since you’ve reentered the castle.

“I know you were kidnapped,” Hobi started with a humorous smile on his face, “but it seems like you’re more upset about returning.”

You laughed at the irony of the situation. “I was scared at first, but,” you paused, reflecting back to the eccentric thugs you met and your true love, “they — Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin — weren’t that bad. Honestly, I kinda miss them.” You paused again to take a deep breath, bracing yourself to say his name. “And Seokjin… I miss him terribly, but I’m just relieved that he’s safe… It might be wishful thinking, but maybe we can be together again one day.”

“Don’t lose hope, Y/N,” Hobi said reassuringly as he brought you into another tight hug. “You’ll get your happy ending.”

Much to your relief, Hobi was still at your side even as you awoke the next morning. He made sure to dismiss the other guards, who obediently listened to his order as his subordinates, and take your breakfast from the maids so you could have your much-needed space.

“Make sure to eat, you need to keep your energy up,” he scolded you when he noticed that you barely touched the fruits and pastries he piled onto your plate.

You sighed and shoved a strawberry in your mouth to appease him, mumbling as you chewed, “It’s too early and I’m too sad to have an appetite.”

He tutted. “You’re not skipping meals on my watch.”

“You’re too kind to me, Hobi,” you said after swallowing another bite of your toast.

“Only the best for my closest friend,” he responded with a shining smile.

After breakfast, you changed into a day dress and went on a walk around the castle grounds with Hobi. Your unexpected departure from your quarters (and the rare smile on your face) shocked the castle staff members. It was probably the first time you smiled since Hobi left the castle and his post.

Hobi had a miraculous way of brightening everything (and almost everyone) he touched. His infectious smile, heartwarming laugh, and gentle movements were once — and now again — the highlights of your day. Even now, as you coped with the loss of Seokjin and your upcoming marriage, he managed to put a smile on your face.

“Just my thought, but,” you started, a friendly smile on your face as you walked through the colorful gardens with your right arm looped around Hobi’s, “I’m sure that Yoongi would be more than happy to accept a proposal and marry you by now. It’s been, what, nearly three years now since you started courting him?”

The tips of Hobi’s ears burned red as he shook his head. “I still fear that he isn’t ready, and that if I ask too soon it will ruin what we have now,” he admitted honestly.

You sighed and gestured for him to stop walking. He listened, and you took your hands into his and looked up into his shining brown eyes. “Hobi, you are one of the best people I know. Anyone would be lucky to have you, and if you’re really worried about Yoongi not being ready, then talk to him. I haven’t met him, but he seems like he wouldn’t get upset if you ask.”

“He wouldn’t,” Hobi responded quickly, the speed of his words causing his face to flush red as you looked at him with a smirk. “You’re right,” he said after a few moments while resuming the walk.

The two of you continued your walk into noon, during which you ate a small lunch together, and the early evening. Within a few hours, your friendship was the talk of the castle staff. You tried to ignore the glances that a few servants gave you and the growing feeling of dread in your stomach when you returned to your suite and noticed that instead of your lady’s maids waiting outside, Donghae’s personal guard was.

You walked cautiously towards your open door and stiffened when you entered the room, immediately noticing Donghae sitting on the edge of your bed. This was the third time he’s ever entered your suite, and you didn’t anticipate it would be better than his previous visits.

Silently, you walked past him and sat down in front of your vanity. You remained quiet as you removed your jewelry, waiting for him to speak first.

“Why am I hearing whispers that my bride is in an adulterous relationship with her personal guard?” His voice was harsh, and you distracted yourself from flinching by picking up your tub of facial cream.

You eyed Donghae through your vanity mirror, carefully observing his scornful face. “Hobi? Don’t be ridiculous,” you quickly responded and placed your face cream down. Your heart beat faster as you saw Donghae advance towards you from the corner of your eye.

His hand gripped your shoulder firmly. “Ridiculous? I told you I expected perfect behavior. Prancing around with your guard is far from that.”

You turned to face him with a solemn expression. “Hobi is a friend — a friend. I don’t expect you to understand considering you have no idea what friendship even is.”

The prince’s lip curled into a snarl. “Shut up!” he shouted, the volume of his words causing you to flinch in your seat. Donghae turned away from you towards the guard at your door, commanding menacingly, “Get rid of him.”

Your heart dropped and you instantly stood, the heavy stool under you dragging loudly against the stone floor. “No! Don’t you dare!”

“And who are you to stop me?” he snarled.

Your hands balled up by your sides, and you couldn’t contain your anger as you responded, “You can do many things to me - you have done much to me - but I will not let you harm the one person in this castle who has truly tried to be my friend and did nothing but try to make me happy.”

Donghae laughed dryly. “Happy? Do you truly believe you deserve the right to be happy?”

You clenched your hands even tighter, feeling as if you were about to break your own skin, and your voice lowered to a threatening whisper. “If you even think about harming Hobi, I will end you myself, Donghae. I have nothing to lose.”

“You said the same thing about Seokjin,” Donghae replied with a smug smirk, his words causing your face to fall in confusion. “And I still beat you.”

“Wh-what?” you stuttered, a feeling of pure terror seeping through every inch of your body. You couldn’t forgive yourself if Jin was hurt — the mere thought alone brought warm tears to your eyes.

Donghae didn’t respond; instead, he turned back to his guard and pointed at you. “Take her to the dungeons, maybe a few days will knock sense into her ungrateful mind.”

“What have you done to Jin?” you cried, your voice shaky with desperation. You shouted as his guard grabbed your hands and harshly pulled them together behind your back. “Donghae, I’m talking to you!” you screamed at his retreating figure. “Shim Donghae!”

The cruel prince turned the corner and walked away, the sound of his heavy footsteps growing quieter as he walked down the hallway. You waited until the thump of his steps fully disappeared before turning to face the guard.

“I assume you’re not kind enough to let me go,” you mumbled weakly.

He remained stone-faced, and you sighed in mild disappointment. His expression morphed into confusion when you muttered a quiet apology, and his face twisted once your foot made harsh contact with his shin.

You took advantage of his distracted state and twisted your body so your knee could meet his crotch. He doubled over in pain, and you easily slipped out of his grip. Watching his sluggish movements carefully, you reached over for the empty vase on your vanity and, in one swift movement, knocked it over his head.

The guard’s body fell limply onto the ground, and you wasted no time in placing the cracked, bloodied vase back onto the table and running out of your room.

Your heart pounded loudly in your chest as you darted through the long halls and down the stairs. “Please, please, please,” you whispered repeatedly towards yourself as you pushed yourself to run faster.

Finally, after what felt like minutes of running, you reached the floor Hobi’s suite was on. You turned the corner towards his chambers, ignoring the ugly ripping sound your dress made as your feet stumbled, and desperately reached to push open his door.

“Hobi! Hobi! Hurry! You have to leave!” you announced between breathy pants as you staggered into his room.

“What?” He stood up immediately, alarmed by your urgency as you pulled him towards his window. Luckily, Hobi’s quarters was on the first floor and towards the front of the castle, allowing him a relatively easy escape if he moved fast enough.

“I - there’s no time to explain!” you cried, pulling his window open. “Don’t gather your belongings! You must leave now!”

“Why?” he asked, grabbing your frantic hands and holding them securely in an attempt to calm you down. But it was no use as you shook them off and continued to push him towards the window.

“Donghae’s out for you! He can’t harm you when you’re in your own home! Please go now!” you explained rapidly, praying that you wouldn’t hear the familiar sound of heavy feet running down the hall towards the room.

Hobi’s face fell. “If he’s out for me then he’s out for you,” he noted softly. In another non-life-threatening situation, you may have found his selflessness endearing, but right now, you wanted nothing more than for him to leave safely.

“Please… leave. I won’t let you get hurt.” Your voice was reduced to a quiet, frantic whisper. “You have a family.”

Hobi shook his head and squeezed your hand. “Go with me! I can protect you!”

The idea was tempting, but your thoughts immediately returned back to Donghae’s cryptic words about Seokjin, and you instantly knew that leaving with Hobi wouldn’t be the right option. “I can’t. There’s something I must confirm.”

Hobi’s face faltered, and you knew he wanted to argue more, but urgency began to flow through his veins when a distant shout rang through the castle. Both of you knew then that he was running out of time.

Hobi wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you reassuringly, whispering, “I’ll come back for you, please stay safe and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise,” you responded, but you both heard the uncertainty behind your words.

With that, he pulled back and gave you one last look, your teary eyes meeting his. You knew it was difficult for him to leave you at a time like this, but both of you understood that this was for the best.

Quickly, Hobi slipped out through the window, and you could barely see his dark shadow as he ran away from the castle and towards the open gates. You watched from the open window, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw him easily walk through the gates and towards the bustling town.

Only a few seconds later, the distinguishable sound of footsteps pounding against the floor rang from the hall. Closing your eyes to brace yourself, you sat underneath the window and waited for the guards to storm in.

Their steps grew louder, and you mentally counted down the time.

3...2...1

The door burst open, and you kept your eyes shut as the soldiers entered.

“Where is -”

“He’s gone,” you answered abruptly, your eyes still shut. “By now, Hobi will be safe at home with Lord Jung and Viscount Min.”

“Prince Donghae ordered us to-”

Your eyes flew open in anger. “I don’t care what Donghae has ordered you to do. Everyone knows that no one, even the royal family, can’t touch Lord Jung and his family.”

The front guard’s jaw clenched in anger, and you could see the frustration building in his eyes.

Despite the anxious nerves bubbling in your stomach, you continued to provoke the guard. “Isn’t it frustrating?” you asked with feigned innocence. “When things don’t turn out the way you want.” You laughed bitterly. “Did you really think I would just stand still?”

The guard walked towards you and aggressively pulled you up, not wasting any time to tie your hands behind your back. “You’re going to regret your foolish actions,” he muttered darkly as he harshly tugged you out of the room with him, the other guards following closely behind you.

You laughed emptily. “I regret nothing.”

“Enjoy your time rotting here, bitch.”

You whimpered as the guard roughly shoved your body into the dark dungeon cell. Stumbling to regain your footing since your hands were bound, you cursed as you heard the metal gate closed and locked behind you.

Once you were fully upright, you whirled around and walked to the steel bars, placing your hands on them before declaring, “I would like to speak with Donghae.”

The guard in front of you scoffed. “Prince Donghae is occupied this evening.”

“I don’t care,” you uttered. “Tell him I must see him now.” You slipped your arm through the bars in an attempt to grab him, but the guard spun around and moved out of the way before you could touch him. You grumbled as he started to walk away. “Don’t you dare walk away!” you screamed. “What have you done with Seokjin?”

The guard halted in his steps before turning back to face you with a menacing smirk. “Trust me, Princess, your lover is having anything but fun as we speak.”

At his words, you felt your heart drop and your head spin. A cold, suffocating sensation spread across your chest as your knees buckled underneath you. Hot, angry tears rolled down your face while you clutched your knees to your chest.

Your head throbbed as you thought of Jin and what they could be putting him through. Donghae’s torture tactics were not unbeknownst to you, and you often cringed in horror when you overheard him talking about them. It was one of the things about the Prince that truly made you question if he was really a human.

As you shut your eyes, you could see and hear Jin screaming in pain. Hurt and betrayal swam in his teary eyes — a stinging reminder that this was your fault. How could you have been so foolish to think that Donghae would really let Jin go freely?

“Oh, Jin,” you cried quietly with your head down. Your chest heaved as sobs started to wrack your body. “Please… please be ok,” you begged softly.

[pinktintedmonocle]

Dedicated Followers of Fashion - A Cobra Kai Lawrusso Fanfic - Chapter 3

“Do you still have yours?” Daniel asked.

Johnny blinked in confusion.  “My what?”

Daniel inclined his head towards the tournament gi on the wall.

In which Daniel is not on fire, Johnny performs a heist and they finally attempt to deal with their feelings for each other with the help of two iconic outfits…

Trigger warning: some references to outdated and ill-informed views on homosexuality and bisexuality.

1981

“Mr Lawrence.  Stay behind for a moment, will you?”

Kreese’s voice cut through the air, and although it was framed as a question Johnny knew that it was a command rather than a request.

“I’ll see you later”, Johnny murmured to Bobby, and hung back while the rest of the class shuffled out.

When they were alone Kreese surveyed him for a moment, his cool gaze sweeping Johnny from head to toe, and Johnny forced himself to stay standing straight up, head high, shoulders held back rather than turning tail.  He knew that gaze, not just from Kreese but from Sid as well, knew that it almost always preceded a sneer followed by a torrent of insults carefully constructed to inflict the most pain possible.

But no insults were forthcoming; instead Kreese just nodded, once, and walked past Johnny into his office. He emerged a few seconds later, a pile of black cloth held in his arms, and crossed back over to Johnny, holding out the bundle.

“For you, Mr Lawrence”, Kreese said smoothly, and Johnny’s jaw fell open when he realised what it was.

“A tournament gi?” he whispered, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice just in case he was mistaken.  “For me, Sensei?”

Kreese smiled indulgently and inclined his head down, indicating for Johnny to take the uniform.

Johnny picked it up, sucking in a deep breath as he did so.  He’d just been a spectator at the All Valley tournament for the last two years, sitting in the front row and cheering his fellow Cobras on, hoping against hope that one day it would be him up there, leading Cobra Kai to victory.  He ran his fingers over the patch on the front of the top, scarcely believing that he was seeing his own name (his own name!) printed above the motif of a fist.

“Do you really think I’m ready, Sensei?” he asked quietly, and Kreese’s smile widened as he laid a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Yes son”, said Kreese. “It’s time for you to get out there and show everyone what a true champion is made of.  I have a feeling that gi is only the first of many.”

Johnny felt his chest swell with happiness as a grin spread over his face.

“I won’t let you down, Sensei”, he promised fervently.  “I swear it. I’ll never, ever let you down.”

 December 20th, 1984

“Johnny?  Johnny, are you OK sweetie?”

Johnny burrowed deeper under the bed covers, ignoring his mom.  His throat was throbbing painfully and he desperately needed to pee, but he didn’t want to move from his dark cocoon.  After a minute his mom stopped calling his name, and he thought she’d gone away when he heard his bedroom door open softly and feet pad across to him. He felt the bed dip as she sat down before her hand landed on his back, rubbing soft circles into it through the covers.

“Hey”, she said soothingly. “It’s OK, Johnny.  I know you did your best.”

“How?” croaked Johnny, voice muffled by the blankets.  “How do you know what I did when you weren’t even there?”

His mom’s hand stopped moving.  “I’m so sorry I missed it sweetie, but Sid had a work dinner and I had to go-”

“You always choose him over me”, Johnny said hoarsely, shifting across the bed out of his mom’s reach.

“You know that’s not true, Johnny”, Laura said quietly.

Johnny didn’t reply, and a few seconds later he felt his mom stand up and start to walk away.  He heard her footsteps pause, and then a rustling sound; the crinkle of cloth.

“Where do you want me to put this, Johnny?” she asked, and Johnny didn’t need to look to know that she was holding the gi that he’d torn off and discarded on the floor when he’d got home.

“I don’t care”, he said, curling up further under the blanket.

Laura sighed.  “OK, well I’m going to keep it if that’s alright with you.  I’ll put it with the others.”

Johnny was silent, and after a minute he heard his mom leave, the door closing behind her.  He held his breath for a moment, making sure she wasn’t about to come back, before he let himself cry, the tears running down tracks still present on his cheeks from the night before.  He didn’t care what his mom did with the gi; he never wanted to see it again.

 2019

They won the tournament, Miguel delivering the winning kick against Robby in a nail-biting final, and while the kids celebrated Johnny and Daniel had hotfooted it out of the All Valley Sports Arena, desperately searching for Robby and Kreese.  They eventually found them around the back of the building, Kreese having apparently learned his lesson from last time and avoiding the crowded parking lot.  He had Robby in a headlock, second place trophy in pieces on the ground, and for a sickening moment Johnny felt as if time had rewound thirty-five years and it was all happening again.

They had acted as one, Johnny sweeping Kreese’s leg while Daniel delivered the kick to his face, and while Daniel had pulled a shaken and spluttering Robby out of the way Johnny had stood over his old Sensei, mouth set in a hard line.

“Now get the hell out of here and never come back”, he had growled.  Before Kreese had a chance to respond Johnny had turned away, attending to Robby.

After an exhausting few weeks of sorting out the mess Kreese had left behind (“A lot of those kids he was brainwashing are going to need many years of therapy”, Daniel had said) and making sure Robby was OK (he had let Johnny and Daniel take him to hospital after the tournament, but had barely talked to either of them since, opting instead to move back in with Shannon who was fresh out of rehab), Johnny and Daniel had decided to keep their new dojo open, with them both teaching evening classes while Johnny managed most of the day sessions solo when Daniel was at the dealership.  (“Just try to be nice, OK Johnny?  No inappropriate nicknames.”  “Define inappropriate.”  “Anything you would’ve used in the 80’s.” Daniel answered drily.  “Then what the hell am I supposed to call them?” Johnny protested. “Their names, Johnny.”)

They had also managed to avoid being alone together for any length of time; Miguel, Sam and Hawk had begun to join them for lesson planning and nights out always included Amanda and Carmen.  Johnny was starting to think that Daniel had either forgotten or decided to abandon their plan to talk about The Thing between them (Johnny had started to refer to it as The Thing in his mind, even though that also made him think of the Kurt Russell film, which was confusing at times.  But he didn’t know what else to call it; what was the appropriate terminology for the overwhelming urge to kiss the face off your childhood karate rival turned reluctant co-sensei?), when he’d received a Facebook message from Daniel one night after practice.

Dinner.  My place. Saturday night, 7.30pm.  Amanda out and the kids at sleepovers.  And get a damn cell phone, Johnny.  I’m sick of having to wait for you to turn on your laptop before you pick up my messages.  (Johnny had rolled his eyes and responded with the middle finger emoji, followed shortly after by yeah, whatever, see you then.)

On Saturday night Johnny tried on the entire contents of his wardrobe, searching for just the right outfit in which to discuss what to do about The Thing.  After several hours his bedroom looked like an explosion in a thrift store and he finally settled on his dark suit and yellow shirt combo, telling himself as he adjusted his tie and slicked his hair back that he was going to Daniel’s to deal with the business of The Thing between them, so what better outfit than a business suit?  They would drink (there was no way Johnny was doing it sober), they would talk, they would eat, they would try and come up with a solution to their feelings which didn’t end with Johnny just pushing Daniel up against a wall and ramming his tongue down the other man’s throat.

The outfit selection had taken so long that it was well after 7.30pm by the time Johnny headed out of his apartment and drove round to the LaRusso house, but even after he arrived he still stayed in the car for a while, hands clutching the steering wheel as the Valley darkened around him.

Eventually he took a deep breath and got out, grabbing a bag from the passenger seat and locking the door before squaring his shoulders, walking purposefully up to the front door and ringing the bell.  He shifted nervously from foot to foot, and when Daniel didn’t come to the door after a minute he pressed the bell again, keeping his finger held down on it for a good ten seconds before letting go.  After there was still no response, Johnny started to feel a little uneasy.  What if something’s happened to him?  Johnny had a sudden vision of Daniel trying to cook some overly complicated recipe that involved a blow torch like Johnny had seen on the Food Network and setting fire to himself.  Or maybe he’d tripped over those ridiculously long legs of his and fallen down the stairs and was lying in a crumpled, broken heap at the bottom.  Or what if Kreese had returned despite his promise to stay away and had finally gotten his revenge?  Johnny’s heart started to race as he thought about what it would be like to live in world without Daniel LaRusso.  He felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down as he found his feet carrying him swiftly around to the rear of the house.  He was making for the back door (rapidly formulating a break-in plan in his mind, which largely consisted of just kicking the door until it opened) when he saw that there was a light on in Daniel’s home dojo; he hurried in, shoes squeaking on the floor, half expecting to see Daniel’s lifeless body spread out in front of him.

“Johnny?” asked a familiar Jersey-accented voice, and Johnny turned to see Daniel sitting on a bench pushed up against a Japanese style screen, a wine glass raised halfway to his lips.  “Are you OK?”

Johnny breathed a huge sigh of relief, and then felt like an idiot.  His cheeks reddened.  “What? Er, yeah, I’m fine.  I just thought you might be on fire or something but you’re not, so we’re all good.”

Daniel frowned. “Johnny, why the hell would I be on fire - ” he started, before he cut himself off and shook his head.  “You know what?  I don’t want to know.  He shuffled along the bench, making room for Johnny, and gestured to a bottle of wine. “You want a drink?”  

“I’m good”, said Johnny, holding up his bag as he sat down and pulling out a crate of Coors Banquet.

Daniel rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, instead reaching out for the bottle of wine and topping up his glass.  Johnny stared at him; he was dressed in corduroy pants and a fleecy blue sweatshirt, hair product-free and sticking up in fluffy tufts as if he’d been running his hands through it.  Johnny tore his eyes away, feeling a little hot.  He shrugged off his suit jacket and undid his top button, pulling at his collar. He took a bottle of Coors of out its cardboard container and twisted the cap off, taking a big gulp of beer.

“You missed dinner”, Daniel said.

“What was it?”

“Pesto and arugula linguine.”

Johnny pulled a face. “Sounds green.”

Daniel huffed, although Johnny thought he saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.”

“Yeah, well.  I did”, Johnny said.  He was just close enough to Daniel that he could smell the smaller man’s aftershave (clean and fresh with just the slightest hint of musk).  He took another swig of beer.

“Yeah”, said Daniel, leaning in ever so slightly.  “For some reason you’re dressed like a detective from the 1970’s and you were over an hour late, but yeah, you came.”

Johnny reached out and shoved Daniel’s shoulder playfully, but rather than pulling back he left his hand there, fingers gently stroking Daniel’s arm through the soft fabric. Daniel bit his lip and Johnny realised he was about five seconds away from giving into temptation and kissing Daniel until his own lips were too sore to form coherent sentences.  He let his arm drop and glanced away, shifting on the bench to put a little more space between them, looking around the room for a distraction.  His eyes settled on the framed gi hanging on the wall.

“Of course you framed it. Bet you look at it every day and get a little thrill thinking about how you beat me.”

“Actually the reason I framed it was because Mr Miyagi gave it to me for my birthday”, Daniel replied. “The bonsai was embroidered by his wife before she died.”

“Oh”, Johnny said awkwardly, but then Daniel’s mouth quirked up in a smirk.

“But yeah, it does also remind me of kicking you in the face.”

Johnny picked up his discarded bottle cap and threw it at the smaller man.  It landed softly in Daniel’s hair and he scowled, plucking it out and throwing it back at Johnny who caught it easily.

“Asshole.”

“Twerp.”

They drank in silence for a minute before Johnny finally asked the question that had been bugging him for weeks.

“Why is blue my fault?”

Daniel didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard Johnny, instead fiddling with a loose thread on the sleeve of his fleece.  He drained his glass and then picked up the bottle to re-fill, and Johnny was about to repeat the question when Daniel finally spoke.  

“I- I liked you in high school.”

Johnny snorted in derision. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

Daniel sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “No, I mean I liked you in high school, Johnny.”

It took Johnny a moment to realise when Daniel meant; when he did, he blinked in surprise. “Oh.  Shit.”

Daniel swirled the wine around in his glass.  “Yeah. After the tournament I started having these dreams about you, and when I saw you at school…”.  He paused, taking a sip of wine and staring down at the floor. “There wasn’t any information about it in those days, you know?  About men who liked men or men who liked both men and women.  Not useful information, anyway.  The news just said it made you sick, and my neighbour Freddy told me he’d once seen an Al Pacino movie about it and that it meant you had to wear a lot of leather and might be murdered.”  He took a big gulp of wine and stared down at his feet, not meeting Johnny’s eye, and when he spoke again his voice was somehow both soft and brittle.  

“So I just tried to ignore it and hoped that it would go away, but of course it didn’t.  So the next time I needed new clothes I just bought everything in blue, because – I don’t know, it just seemed like a safe colour. Like people were less likely to know…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Oh”, Johnny said again.  (He felt that he should probably have said something else, but had no clue what that would be.)  “And then what?”

Daniel shrugged.  “And then, eventually, there was more information and I learned that it was OK to like both men and women, but by that time I was already with Amanda and I didn’t want anyone else.”  He went to take another sip of his wine but then seemed to change his mind, placing the glass down on the bench and running a hand through his hair.  

Johnny realised his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.

“And what about you, Johnny?”

“What about me, LaRusso?”

“Did – did you like me too? Back then?”

Johnny had a sudden, vivid memory of the day they first met, of looking down at Daniel playing with Ali on the beach and feeling an odd swooping sensation in his stomach at the sight of long legs and slim hips that he hadn’t fully understood and had masked with anger.

“Maybe”.  He went to take a pull on his Banquet, but the bottle was empty.  He cracked open another and took a long swig from it.

“We would be terrible together”, Daniel said bluntly.  “We’d argue over everything and we’d probably try and kill each other within a week.”

“Yeah”, Johnny agreed. “It’d be a fucking nightmare.”

“And yet –”, said Daniel, gesturing at the space between them, at the thirty-five year old heart-shaped elephant in the room.  “-there’s this”.            

“Yeah.  The Thing.  Our thing, I mean, nothing to do with Kurt Russell.”  Johnny looked down at his feet.  “I don’t know what to do about it, LaRusso.”

“No”, Daniel said miserably. “I don’t either.”

They looked at each other, and Johnny was suddenly overcome with the urge to just get up and run out of there at full pelt (he could be in his car and on his way home in under a minute if he moved fast).  He hadn’t expected it to go this way; he thought that Daniel would have some carefully constructed five-point plan for how to deal with their feelings, or that he’d get some sudden flash of inspiration (damn business suit had been no help at all). Instead he breathed deeply in and out and shifted just a little closer to Daniel, holding out a hand.  Daniel hesitated for a fraction of a second before he took it in his.

“Do you still have yours?” Daniel asked after a while.

Johnny blinked in confusion. “My what?”

Daniel inclined his head towards the tournament gi on the wall.

“Oh.  No.  But it might still be at Sid’s with some of my mom’s old stuff.”

Daniel nodded slowly. “You think you could go round there and see if you can find it?”

“Maybe”, said Johnny, frowning.  “Why?”

**********************************************************************************

Johnny loitered outside the house, watching as Sid clambered into his car with the help of Rhonda. The chauffeur got in and started the engine and Johnny ducked behind a bush as the car swooped down the driveway. When it was safely out of sight he walked briskly up to the front door and rang the bell (he knew better than to try and sneak round the back; Sid’s home security systems had always been state of the art and he’d tripped the alarm more than once as a teenager, creeping back home after an all-night rager).

When the butler answered the door Johnny walked straight past him, talking fast.

“Hey, is my step-dad home? It’s just that I think I left something here last time I visited and I wanted to see if he’d found it.”

The butler hurried behind Johnny as he walked into Sid’s study.  “Mr Weinberg is out at the moment, Mr Lawrence, but perhaps if you come back another day after you’ve made an appointment-”

“Ah, it’s OK, I think I know where I left it”, said Johnny.  “I’ll go grab it and be out of your hair in just a sec.”  He looked at the butler again.  “Well, actually, you don’t have any hair, but you know what I mean.”

“Mr Lawrence, I must protest-” began the butler, but Johnny stepped around him and back out into the hall before turning left and taking the stairs two at a time.  He ran along the corridor to his old bedroom (now a storage room) and began to search for the boxes with his mom’s name on them. He could already hear the butler talking to someone on the phone and he reckoned he had about three minutes before the burly security guards that Sid kept on site found him, and a further two minutes before Sid arrived back home (Johnny knew that he would order his chauffeur to turn right back around as soon as the butler told him what was going on; his step-father would never miss an opportunity to kick Johnny out of his house).

After a minute of searching Johnny found the boxes marked ‘Laura’ and tore them open, pulling out high heels and floral dresses, some of which still smelt faintly of his mom’s perfume. His stomach clenched at the scent, memories flooding back; he shook his head, forcing himself to focus.  He opened another box, and then another, and was just starting to think they weren’t there, that Sid must have thrown them out, when he found them folded up neatly at the bottom of the last box. Four black gi’s with yellow trim. He pulled them all out and held them up one by one to determine which was the biggest, which was the one from 1984. When he’d identified it he quickly stuffed the pants, top and a belt into the backpack slung over his shoulder and sprinted back down the corridor and the stairs.  As he barrelled out of the door he heard heavy footsteps behind him and several deep voices shouting at him to stop, but he kept running, breath hitching in his chest.

Sid’s car pulled back into the driveway as Johnny ran out of it, and as Johnny raced down the road, the security guards puffing along behind him for a few paces before giving up, he heard Sid shout.

“And don’t you ever come back here, you good-for-nothing schmuck!”

Don’t worry, Johnny thought, slowing his pace a little as he turned a corner out of sight.  I won’t.

**********************************************************************************

“Good work today everyone!”, said Sam, clapping her hands together, and Johnny smirked as Daniel raised an eyebrow at his daughter as their students began to talk amongst themselves.

“You know that’s my line, right?” Daniel asked.

Sam grinned.  “You snooze you lose, Dad.  Maybe it’s time for you to start thinking about stepping back a bit, let the new guard take the lead.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Hey, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.  Plenty of life left in this not-so-old dog yet.”

“So what’s the plan for tonight, Sensei and Mr LaRusso?” piped up Miguel, taking a slug of water from his bottle and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “More lesson planning?”

Johnny and Daniel exchanged a glance.

“Ah, no, not tonight kid”, said Johnny.  “Me and LaRusso have got some stuff we need to work on.  Just – er – just us two.”

The teenagers frowned.

“What is it?” asked Hawk. “Some kind of secret new move?”

“Paperwork”, Daniel replied quickly.  “Although if you really want to stay and help out-”

Sam, Miguel and Hawk all made noises of protest, muttering vaguely about needing to get home.  Sam gave Daniel a quick hug while Miguel and Hawk chorused “See you later, Sensei” at Johnny before all three of them joined the other students as they trooped out of the yard.

Robby smiled tightly at them as he passed.  He’d shown up a few days prior and stood at the back of the class, joining in with kata but abstaining from sparring.  He hadn’t talked to Johnny or Daniel yet, but it was a start.  

Then it was just the two of them.  Johnny stared down at his feet, scuffing his shoes against the grass, before raising his eyes to look at Daniel.

Daniel’s tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously.  “You hungry?” he asked.

Johnny took in Daniel’s appearance, skin flushed and hair mussed from training.  Not for food.

“Ah, no, I’m good. But if you wanna go get something for yourself-”

“No”, said Daniel.  “I just – I just want to get on with this. Did you bring it?”

Johnny nodded, and together they walked inside.  Daniel gestured around the dojo.  “I’ll get changed in here.  You take the office.”

“Alright”, agreed Johnny, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice.  He walked into the next room and snagged a bottle of Banquet from the refrigerator before opening up his gym bag.  He pulled out the black uniform, freshly washed and neatly folded.

“It’s important it looked how it did then”, Daniel had said. “Don’t show up with it all smelly and crumpled.”

The plan had appeared to make something resembling sense when they were drunk.  Johnny, remembering Ali’s words (“Sometimes it’s good to visit the past to know where you are now”) had agreed to it, but sober (or at least as sober as Johnny ever was) the idea seemed more than a little bat-shit crazy.  But if it had even the slightest chance of helping them process their feelings for one another he was willing to give it a shot. Besides, Johnny had always felt most clear headed in the midst of a fight; adrenaline singing through his veins, blood pumping, everything appearing just that little bit sharper and brighter.

He pulled off his workout clothes and sneakers and held up the black gi pants, wondering if he was even going to be able to get them past his thighs.  He pulled them on very slowly, just about managing to get them all the way up without busting a seam, and then leaned down at an awkward angle to grab the rest of his uniform.  He put on the top (was it really a good idea to be showing so much chest around someone who was madly in lust with him?  Probably not), tied the belt and walked stiffly into the dojo.

Daniel was standing on the opposite side of the room, fiddling with his sleeves.

“You haven’t even changed yet!” Johnny protested, gesturing towards him.

“What?  I have!”, Daniel replied, pointing towards an identical heap of white cloth on the floor.

Johnny shook his head. “Of course it still fits you.”  He walked towards Daniel, trying not to bend his knees too much.  Daniel just stared at him.

“Jesus, Johnny.  How did you even get that on?”

Johnny shrugged, still moving robot-like across the room until he was in front of Daniel.  Close up Johnny could see that Daniel’s gi was not quite identical to the one he’d worn in class; it was slightly more worn, frayed around the edges, and it was also quite snug.  His hand crept out and he touched Daniel’s chest (fully covered unlike Johnny’s, no exposed nipples in sight), and let his fingers glide down the fabric, coming to rest low on Daniel’s stomach, skimming the softness there.

Daniel shifted, but didn’t pull away.  “Why do you always touch me there?”, he asked.

Johnny felt a smile pulling at his lips.  “Only place you’re not perfect, LaRusso.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m perfect?”

“Well you’ve spent enough money tying to still look like you did in high school”, replied Johnny, gesturing with his free hand to Daniel’s carefully dyed hair and moisturiser-softened skin.

Daniel scowled, but then his eyes drifted down to Johnny’s hand, still resting on his stomach.  “So it’s my imperfections that you like, Johnny?”

“Maybe”, Johnny said. He thought back to the night of the pink shirt, of the brief glimpse of Daniel’s bare torso.  He would only have to move his fingers a little to the left to reach Daniel’s gi belt; one tug and the top would fall open, exposing Daniel’s body, just like opening a present on Christmas Day.  Instead he stepped back, arms dropping to his sides.

Daniel cleared his throat. “You remember your moves, Johnny?”

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah, I think so”.  (Of course he remembered them; that fight was part of him and always would be, whether he wanted it to be or not.)

“Just go easy on my knee this time, yeah?” asked Daniel.

“Ditto, but for my face”, countered Johnny.

They got into position and Johnny bowed, deep and deliberate, locking eyes with Daniel as the smaller man mirrored him.  Then they straightened up, getting into fighting stances, and began.

Johnny lunged forward with a jump kick and heard a tearing sound as the too-tight material of his gi pants gave way.  “Oh shit”, he muttered.

Daniel sidestepped Johnny’s leg, avoiding contact, “You alright there?” he asked, inclining his head towards Johnny’s crotch.

“I’m fine”, Johnny replied, feeling his cheeks redden.  He dived straight back into the fight with a flurry of kicks and Daniel landed a blow to the chest (“one point LaRusso”), his knuckles skimming over bare flesh.  Daniel went in for a punch and Johnny pushed him to the ground, hand lingering for a second on Daniel’s chest before Daniel flipped himself up (not quite as gracefully as the last time, Johnny noted a little smugly) and they circled each other, panting heavily, before Johnny kicked out and Daniel went low, pulling Johnny down with him and tapping him on the back (“That’s two for LaRusso”), and they both lay there for a moment, legs tangled together (those legs, what Johnny wouldn’t do to stay wrapped in them), before they clambered up, parting reluctantly, getting ready to face off again.

“You need a time out, Johnny?”  Daniel asked lightly, but there was an edge to his voice and his body was braced, ready for attack.

“I’m good.  Didn’t bust my nose this time, LaRusso.”

Daniel nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and suddenly it was as if it was 1984 again and they were in the All Valley Sports Arena, the crowd roaring around them and Kreese standing to the side, arms crossed, confident that Johnny would obey him no matter what.

“Sweep the leg.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No Sensei.”

“No mercy.”

Johnny’s leg went up, his body moving by itself as though he had no control over it, like a puppet on a string.  Daniel tensed, waiting for the inevitable blow to his own leg, and Johnny wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when it never came.  Instead the kick struck Daniel’s chest, a fair kick, not targeting a known weakness, and the smaller man fell back onto his ass, blinking in surprise.  They stared at each other for a moment, panting heavily, and then Daniel’s face split into a grin before he got up again, and Johnny felt his own lips pull into a smile as they continued.

Johnny fought the rest of the fight with his own moves, every kick and punch shredding the material of his gi a little bit more, and he found that he felt lighter with every ripped seam as if shedding a too tight skin that he hadn’t realised he was still wearing.

“I won’t let you down, Sensei, I swear it.  I’ll never, ever let you down.”

“You’re nothing, you lost, you’re a loser”.

“I did warn you about this.  I told you not to show weakness.”

“I will never let my students lose.  Even if they have to learn the hard way.  One day you’ll thank me for this, Johnny.”

Rip

Tear

Pull

Break

Johnny kept his eyes trained on Daniel as they sparred, on the man who Johnny had blamed for so many things that were never his fault, weren’t Johnny’s fault either, but instead were entirely the fault of someone who had seen Johnny as an impressionable young kid and decided to warp him into a solider.

Johnny didn’t grab Daniel’s leg, didn’t ram his elbow into the back of his knee.  Instead they danced around each other, Johnny’s cheeks aching from the smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his face, and then Daniel raised two arms and a leg, preparing for the crane kick. There was a moment of stillness and Johnny stared at the person in front of him; this tiny, forceful creature who had crashed back into his life after thirty odd years, and he felt that same swooping sensation in his stomach that he had that night at the beach.  Then Daniel’s leg flew out, or at least it almost did; Daniel’s gi pants pulled tight around thighs that were just a little thicker than when he was a teenager, and as the material restricted his movements Daniel’s eyes went wide and he fell over backwards, landing on his ass.

Johnny felt something rise up his throat and into his mouth (for a second he thought he was going to barf all over Daniel’s precious gi, which would have kept him amused for weeks after even if he did have to pay the dry cleaning bill), but instead what came out was a snigger followed by a chuckle, and before he knew it Johnny’s body was wracked with laughter and he dropped to his knees next to Daniel, chest heaving.  For a moment Daniel stared at him as if he was mad, but then Daniel’s own shoulders started to shake and soon they were both laughing uncontrollably.  Johnny felt that lightness again, both wonderful and dizzying (“the unbearable lightness of being Johnny Lawrence”, Daniel said, years later, when Johnny tried to recall the feeling.  Johnny just rolled his eyes and threw his bottle cap at Daniel, grinning when it landed in the other man’s greying hair).

When they finally stopped, guffaws subsiding into giggles that eventually petered out into silence, Johnny felt limp but happy, as if all the tension had been drained from his body. He looked at Daniel sat on the floor before him, sweaty and out of breath but with his white gi still pristine and perfectly intact while Johnny’s black one hung off him in tatters (and if that wasn’t a perfect representation of their relationship then Johnny didn’t know what was).  He shuffled forward and raised a hand to Daniel’s face, thumb rubbing against a soft cheek where just the slightest hint of stubble had appeared.  

“Johnny”, Daniel murmured, leaning into the touch.

“Daniel”, whispered Johnny, the name unfamiliar on his lips, and they locked eyes before closing the distance between them and pressing their mouths together.

Johnny had never really understood the act of kissing as something in and of itself before; for him it had always been a means to an end, and that end was usually sex or at least a good grope (Dutch had taught him that; always try to put a hand on a girl’s boob while making out), and he had imagined it would be like that with Daniel; a desperate, frantic mashing together of lips and teeth as they ripped each other’s clothes off.  But although Johnny could feel lust coiling in his belly the kiss was nothing like that at all; it was slow and sweet, Daniel’s soft lips moving gently against his, his mouth warm and inviting.  It was somehow both too much and not enough, and Johnny didn’t know if it was the first kiss or the last, the beginning of something or the end.

Eventually they broke for air but stayed close, breath mingling, foreheads pressed together.

“It’s getting late”, Johnny said, pulling back and nodding towards the slight gap in the screen doors where a sliver of inky black sky was visible.  He gestured between them.  “We should – ah – we should probably get changed”.

“Yeah”, Daniel replied, glancing at Johnny’s ruined gi. “We should.”

But neither of them moved, and Johnny found himself wondering what would happen if they just stayed there forever, curled around each other in that little house (he could get Bobby to send food parcels).  But his legs had started to cramp and so he got up reluctantly, holding out a hand to help Daniel to his feet.  They smiled at each other for a moment longer before they both nodded in silent agreement and turned away.  Johnny started to walk into the office to gather his clothes, but only took a few steps before he turned, drinking in the sight of Daniel’s bare back as he carefully removed and folded up his gi top, muscles shifting.  Johnny tore his eyes away and forced himself into the next room, firmly closing the screen door between them.  Maybe there would be time in the years to come for him to explore Daniel’s body, maybe not, but whatever happened at least the past was finally behind them while the future stretched out in front, unwritten, a blank page ready to be filled with whatever story they chose for themselves.

[harrypotterthehufflepuff]

Sick

This was requested by: Anon !

Request:  Can you write something where George is sick with a really bad stomach flu and his S\O takes care of him but his really embarrassed because this is the first time his S\O has seen him so sick and she’s living with him now?

*

This was so much fun to write, thank you!

Okay, so I just wanted to say that I don’t think George would feel bad for staying home from work, but I decided to go for it and I do think that George (and Fred) must have felt very powerful and more important when they succeeded with their business so I decided to include a bit of that ! And I hope that it’s readable! Also a dirty-minded George has arrived.

(I also spent like 15 minutes trying to find a GIF or photo to go along with the story... It had to be this one...)

*

Warnings: Dirty jokes (lol)

Pairing: George weasley x reader

Words: 1k

If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and i’ll try and fix it for you !

~ ~ ~ ~

"Merlin, you're burning up, George!" You said, removing your hand from his feverish forehead.

He grunted, adjusting himself on the sofa. "Mmm, It's okay."

"You say that is if you haven't just emptied your guts into a bucket."

His eyes were starry and he kept his hand clutched on his stomach. After days of feeling ill, he had finally come to the senses that it was best not to work for a while.  You have been able to keep him at home for four days now.

You draped a blanket over him that Molly had given you on the day you had moved into your new home together. It was brown with red squares. His attempts at playing everything off had become harder and harder as he has become more fatigued. Not being able to keep his food has drained him of all colour he had left.

"Do you not want to move over to the bed?" You asked, looking down at his flushed but somehow still pale face.

"Oh, Darling, you really know how to make a guy feel better." He smirked and winked at you, lazily reaching his hand out for you.

Pushing his hand away, you put your hands on your hips. "George, honestly. You act as if you're dying and you're still somehow a prick. You know what I mean. The bed is more comfortable."

"I feel fine here."

You rolled your eyes at him, feeling defeated you went to make tea. The kitchen was connected to the sitting room and made the house appear more like a little cottage. It was small but it was all you two needed. It had felt right and it seemed as if was the last puzzle piece to make your relationship whole.

You put the kettle on and waited for it to heat up. The sound of the kettle brewing and Georges shallow breathing filled the room. It was however broken by Georges's voice.

"I told Fred I could come in tomorrow."

You immediately snapped your head back to look at him. His face was serious but a small shy smile was playing at his thin lips.

"You did what now?" Your voice was harsh and you hoped he could sense every infuriated particle you put into your words.

Playing with the fringes of the blanket he responded, "I do feel better. And he can't work at the shop alone."

You looked at him impassively, "He's not working alone. He's got Ron with him."

"Hermione is about to give birth any day now, and he won't be able to stick around the shop anymore. Y/N, I've only puked two times today. That's my new record!"

"Don't try and twist this into some funny article." You trotted over to him and sat down by his feet. "Why can't you just stay home? You're working your arse off. You'll infect other people too."  

He didn't answer, his eyes focused on his toes. It was true, he has gotten better over the last few days. But he's still sick and going to work would be foolish.

You laid your hand on his naked ankle and ran your thumb over the curve of the bone. "Stay home." You whispered, a hint of pleading came with it.

Still fiddling with the fringes he said, "I feel useless just sitting around all day."

"You're sick, darling."

George shook his head and sighed. "No, just that... lolling around all day without working is making me feel useless. I don't want to feel like that again."

Now it was your turn to frown, "Again?"

"Well, yes. Growing up in a household with no money, and having six siblings to share what we had, was tough. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park." He admitted, not looking up at you.

Having stopped rubbing his ankle you now just looked at him. You felt sad for the man sitting in front of you, but that doesn't mean that he can weary himself.

"I know. But you can't go to work, George. It's a hard and very energy draining job. You need all your strength back." You reassured him, although, he didn't look very reassured at all.

"Y/N, when Fred and I opened this business, and it went well, I felt powerful and important. I now had a steady, and very good, income for the first time in my life. I don't want to sit here and feel like shit while my brothers work." George looked on the brink of crying, which took you by great surprise. Is this sickness making him more emotional?

You proceeded to caress the curve of his ankle in a calming manner. "Oh, George. It's alright. I promise the shop will be standing there when you've recovered from this shit, as you like to call it." You said, trying to make him smile.

"I know." His eyes were glassy and his cheeks flooding with a bright scarlet hue. "I've gotten used to working now. And I'm not a big fan of you pampering me, either."

Pretending to be offended you said, "Excuse me? I think my pampering is a payback for all the things you do for me - even when I'm not sick."

"But you're my girlfriend, I'm the one who's supposed to pamper you all the time."

"What's so wrong with a girlfriend taking care of her boyfriend? A very vain argument you have there."

George smiled and reached out his hand for you again, and this time you took it. He pulled you down to him on the narrow sofa and laid his chin atop of your head. He heaved a great sigh and took in all of your perfumes.

"Nothing, love. It's just usually the other way around." His head bobbed up and down on yours uncomfortably as he spoke.

"Are you stating that I don't ever pamper you? Cause that's a big fat lie, George, and you know it." You exclaimed, your nose against his chest.

"No, no," He demurred, "You please and pamper me very much and I'm very, very thankful for it."

You chuckled and poked him in the chest which made him stir, "Mmm, poke me again."

"You're a sick bastard." You joked.

George nodded approvingly. "Yup, sick in every way"

[fleckcmscott]

The Knot

Summary: Arthur and Y/N finally have the wedding they discussed on their sprint to City Hall.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,238

A/N: This was requested by @sweet-nothings04​. It is the fluffiest thing I have ever written. Special thanks to @ithinkimawriter​ for the support and beta-reading!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The nightly routine Y/N had developed over the years was a simple one. Her barely-there foundation, neutral eye shadow, eyeliner, and light mascara would be washed away with soap and water. After changing into a nightgown, she'd brush her teeth and hair. Moisturizing cream would be dabbed on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. (A couple of thin lines had formed at the corners of her mouth, and she hoped to prevent more.) She'd crawl into bed beside Arthur, they'd talk and cuddle, then she'd kiss him good night and wait for sleep to take her. It was a relaxing end to the day that didn't require a lot of effort.

But this evening was not routine. What Patricia seemed to have planned for it put Y/N's habits to shame. Peeking into the mint green satchel she'd brought caused a grimace. It was possible the clay and honey cosmetic masks wouldn't be too bad. The toe separators and nail polish and pumice stones didn't interest her. And the floral, spray-in hair perfume was pungent. God. All this fuss prompted Y/N to pour the both of them the rest of the wine.

"This is too much for me." Y/N frowned in the bathroom mirror and examined the mud on her face. "How long do I need to keep this on?" she asked, the alcohol making her grumble.

"Ten minutes." Patricia set a timer and placed it on the sink. "And don't whine. This stuff is why no one knows I'm over fifty."

"And here I assumed it was your vibrant personality." After taking a sip from her glass, Y/N turned to the tub. There were about five inches of hot water in it, topped with pink foam that smelled like artificial roses. It reminded her of the dusty, scented candles her grandmother had kept in the bathroom, but never lit. Patricia sat on the edge, dipped her feet in and waved for Y/N to join her.

Patricia started scrubbing the ball of her foot. "Are you excited?"

Y/N made a thoughtful noise. When she and Arthur had gotten married at city hall a year ago, she hadn't needed a wedding - she'd needed to be married to him. He'd wished for one, though, and she'd promised him that. "The wedding I had before was stressful. I could go without it." A gentle smile came across her cheeks. "But I am for him." She sighed contently as she submerged her feet. "When we were filling out the invitations a month ago, he was so happy. He pasted one in his journal - he showed me the page - and put exclamation points all around it."

That wasn't all he'd done. Arthur had convinced her to practice a slow dance to one of his mood music records. It hadn't taken much effort for him to talk her into it. ("I've imagined this a lot," he'd told her.) She figured she'd gotten pretty good, having learned to let him lead her instead of trying to anticipate his steps. His generous encouragements and the pleasure in his eyes had helped.

Snorting, Patricia grabbed a nearby smoother and began working on her heel. "How did a hard-ass like you end up with a sweet man like him?"

"He thinks I'm sweet." Y/N shook her head, splashing around with her toes. "Don't tell him he's been had."

At the buzzing of the timer, Y/N sprung up and went to the sink. Getting the mask off was as annoying as she'd suspected. The packaging said to use a cloth, lukewarm water, and circular motions. But the clay was stubborn and didn't want to leave her face. Patricia apparently found it hilarious, laughing all the harder when Y/N looked at her with indignation. Three washrags and an empty glass of wine later, her skin was clear. Irritated, but clear.

Patricia gestured over her shoulder as she dried off. "There's a present for you in my bag. You said no gifts, but it's nothing. And I didn't want to give it to you in front of Robert and Matt tomorrow."

Intrigued, Y/N retrieved the bag from the floor and sat next to her on the tub's edge. Matt, Y/N's former boss, she could understand. But what would Patricia give her that she didn't want her own husband to see? It only took a little digging to find the box, slightly bigger than her hand, with a red ribbon around it. "You shouldn't have." She opened it and pulled out what was inside. Her best friend had given her a black, satin thong with side ties. She stared at it a moment, then burst out laughing. "It's so tiny," she exclaimed, the triangle front barely large enough to cover her palm. "I don't have the ass for this!"

Winking, Patricia nudged her upper arm. "It won't stay on long enough for Arthur to notice."

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Arthur was at a pub with a friend for the first time in his life. He'd been to comedy clubs plenty of times, and Y/N had introduced him to numerous restaurants. But his general lack of interest in drinking and absence of companionship had never made bars a desirable destination. It had been Gary's idea, though. And with his company, Arthur was part of the crowd instead of apart from it.

They were seated at a small booth near the kitchen, away from everyone. Their conversation was sparse. Despite his overall increase in comfort, Arthur still had a hard time with social situations. Granted, Y/N had told him he was steadily getting better at them. And now, with the effect of the Fuzzy Navel in his hand, he was doing all right. There had been no forced laughter (which only happened a few times a month), no bouncing of his legs, and no nail biting. He was proud of himself for that, especially given the hint of nervousness he felt.

Tomorrow was their big day. The wedding was going to be at their apartment. There would only be four guests: he'd made it clear Penny wasn't welcome, and the elderly woman Y/N had invited, Ms. McPhee, had declined with an apology and cookies, saying she was too ill to go anywhere. Dinner would be potluck style. Finally, he'd fucking have what he'd dreamed about for years. Although it was implied every time he touched Y/N, he'd get to vow, publicly, to stay with her forever. To take care of her, no matter their circumstances. To love her ceaselessly. And, he reflected, she'd promise to belong to him, too. He grinned around his cigarette as he smoked, looking into his drink, joy rushing through him at the thought.

Gary took a swig of his porter. "Are you looking forward to tomorrow?"

"Yes." Arthur answered without hesitation. "But I don't know why Y/N wanted me to spend the night out. We're already married."

"You can't sleep with the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."

Tradition. His chest tightened at that. Tradition hadn't meant anything most of this life, anything besides futile yearning. He couldn't remember if he'd been read to as a kid. Lost teeth probably ended up in the garbage. Holidays had always been too expensive to take part in, and with Penny's apathy and all the hours he'd worked, he hadn't had the energy to try. He was glad to be making up the deficit with Y/N. Still. This was an odd custom, and not really applicable to them. "But I've been sleeping with her for two years." Almost as soon as he spoke, he realized his double entendre. He brought a hand to his forehead. "Shit. Sorry, Gary."

A sly smile crossed Gary's face, but he didn't seem upset. Which made sense - filthy jokes and dirty tales often flew around the locker room at HaHa's. The shorter man reached into the breast pocket of his striped shirt, then held out a small package. "Here. I got this for you."

Curious, Arthur examined the cellophane enclosed carton. The teal box of NoDoz said it would keep him awake, was fast acting, and safe as coffee. And there was a sentence, written in a cursive font on the bottom edge: "Number 1 with Newlyweds!" Oh. Oh. He knew what they were for. Once in a while he'd come across The Honeymoon Game when flipping through channels. The tablets were often mentioned, along with comments about "being busy all night long." The burning in his cheeks only amplified his giggles as he tucked them in his pocket. "Thanks. For letting me stay over, too."

"You're welcome. It's just the sofa." Gary gave a shrug. "What time did you want to get back home?"

Arthur recalled the list of errands Y/N had helped him make. He had to stop at the flower stand near their place and get a white carnation for himself and a bunch for her. Garlic bread needed to be ordered at Marchetti's, to go with the lasagna Y/N was attempting. He wanted to give himself a good half hour to change, fix his hair, and practice saying what he'd written.

Gary agreed getting back to the apartment in the early afternoon would be fine. Arthur wasn't expecting his follow-up question. "How'd you know she was the one for you?"

Trying to hide the embarrassment behind his answer, he sipped his cocktail. "Gary, no other woman ever wanted to be with me."

"I'm sure that's not true," Gary replied. Arthur didn't move to correct him. Maybe he'd successfully hidden his prior failures from his former co-workers by simply not joining in when they all talked about women.

It took time to come up with a response. When he gave it, the words were quiet, his tone almost reverent. "She never acted like there was something wrong with me." The corner of his mouth quirked up as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. "No one else ever did that. Not even my mother." Realizing he may have insulted Gary, he backtracked quickly. "You- You were always nice."

Gary visibly brightened and waved at a waiter to order them both another round. Arthur sat back against the torn cushion of the booth, already slightly dizzy from the first one. It was going to a long, hopefully good, night.

~~~~~

The preparation for the 4:00 PM ceremony did not go as smoothly as planned. The dish Patricia brought, which she had wanted to keep a surprise, was macaroni and cheese. Y/N ran out and bought three salads from the deli so there'd be an option besides pasta. She'd made a small tear in the hem of her light blue wedding dress, one she'd picked up at a consignment shop, when she'd gotten caught on a doorway. And Arthur insisted on not seeing her in her dress beforehand, so she spent most of the time cooped up in the bathroom. She could hear Arthur's hushed tones as he paced the living room and spoke to Gary ("I'm gonna fuck up. What if I start laughing?"), and Gary trying to reassure him ("Arthur, just read it.").

But those snags were nothing compared to the issues at her first wedding. The flowers had never arrived. The cake topper had fallen, splitting the groom's head in half and breaking off the bride's arm. And, about halfway through it, she'd realized she was making a mistake. Presently, standing in front of the mirror while she fiddled with her high, split neckline and waited for Patricia to get her, she knew she hadn't erred. Doubt never entered her mind when it came to Arthur - only love, happiness, and gratitude.

When the door opened, Y/N ran her palm along the embroidered lace of the dress's bodice, smoothed the chiffon of the full-length, A-Line skirt, pulled at the wrists of the long, translucent sleeves, and took a deep breath. Her heart quickened when the faint notes of Arthur's favorite, sentimental Jackie Gleason Orchestra LP reached her ears. She stepped out. All the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, leaving space in the middle of the room. Their four friends stood there expectantly. Then she looked at Arthur, and the excitement she'd told Patricia she felt for him suddenly became her own.

He'd slicked back his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be formal, curls loose around his ears. The white button-up he was wearing was a tad large around the shoulders. But the likely second-hand black vest and trousers he wore fit perfectly. The carnation in the waistcoat's breast pocket was a nice addition. He was wearing his red and yellow tie, still the only one he owned, in spite of it being part of his Carnival outfit.  As she approached him steadily, she studied his face. The affection in his soft expression caused her breath to hitch, as did the drawing together of his dark brow as he admired her. She giggled, hoping he liked the nontraditional dress.

There was no need for the question, however. As soon as their hands met, he clutched hers and smiled. The autumn sun, which was already halfway down the sky, brought out the deep chestnut undertones of his brown waves. And the clear green of his irises glistened beautifully in the bright light. If it would have been acceptable, she would have kissed him on the spot. Instead, she settled for mouthing, "You're gorgeous." The blush that resulted, the way he lowered his head as he grinned happily, and his silent, "You, too," made her stomach flutter.

Listening to what the yellow-pages officiant said was nigh impossible. And from the expression on Arthur's face, he couldn't concentrate, either. But they managed to get through the basic vows, those same, time-honored words spoken at nearly every wedding she'd attended. (Except for "worshiping" and "obeying" - she'd insisted those parts be removed, explaining they were equals.) They'd each come up with their own short pieces, too, and at his insistence, she went first. "I didn't come to Gotham to find love. I just wanted to leave everything behind. Then I met you. You made getting remarried the easier decision I've ever made."

What Arthur said in return, reading softly but clearly from a worn piece of paper, had her beat. "People think I'm weird. But you don't." His Adam's apple bobbed and a slight tremor entered his voice. "You're my one and only person that can understand me." His rasp turned into a hiccup at the end, and he sniffled and scoffed while he tucked his notes away. The clench of her throat was immediate, and she threw her arms around him, not waiting for the words "you may kiss the bride" before joining their lips.

~~~~~~

​​​A wedding day was supposed to be special. Out of the ordinary. Exceptional. Anything but regular. But Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt normal for as many hours in a row as he did today. The flash of a pocket-camera when he'd cupped Y/N's face and kissed her after she'd lunged at him. Their short dance, with the shallow dip they'd practiced and her stepping on his foot only once or twice. The gentle "I love you" he'd murmured against her lips. The acceptance of her friends when they congratulated them both. All of these extraordinary moments coalesced into a warm, tender, soothing ache that, in spite of his doubts, confirmed he was a real person, worthy and capable of love.

The glass door opened behind him, and, expecting Y/N to drag him back inside, he flicked his cigarette away. But upon turning he saw Patricia, drink in her hand. They'd spoken briefly a few times since initially meeting a couple years ago. Arthur didn't yet have a clear impression of her. Y/N and she were close, he knew, and they often met for lunch. And Patricia had helped her try to stop the Wayne Foundation case from going forward. Observing the older woman, he noted the gray scattered throughout her hair, the lines on her face that were less prominent than his own, the minimal rouge on her cheeks. She reminded him of Penny before her health had declined. Before everything had changed.

"Could I have a cigarette?" she asked, indicating the pack he was holding.

He blinked at her. "Sure."

She stepped to him as he retrieved one for her. After she plucked it from him and placed it between her lips, she took his lighter. "Y/N doesn't know. Keep it that way. You may not have picked up on it yet, but she can be bossy."

Chuckling, he cocked his head. Y/N had warned him about her bossiness early on, but it wasn't as bad as she'd claimed. Sure, she was assertive about certain things. But smoking was the only thing she was overly pushy about. The reason for her nagging prevented it from being more than a minor annoyance, though: she wanted them to spend a hundred years together, she'd said, instead of him dying prematurely of lung cancer. Blunt to a fault, as usual, with an inkling of sweetness underneath.

"Y/N was crazy about you from the start," Patricia said, pulling him out of his musings.

A glow blossomed in his chest and he dropped his gaze bashfully. "She talked about me?"

She smirked up at him, as if she was about to reveal a secret. "She gave me a note with hearts and exclamation points on it after you slept together."

Eyes widening, he turned back towards the street and focused on a manhole cover. It shouldn't have surprised him - he'd spoken with Gary about Y/N - but it did. And meant the world to him. But he was beginning to wonder what else she'd disclosed. Christ, was Patricia aware he'd been inexperienced? Had Y/N said he'd done a good job? Had she...Could she have talked about his body, the way the men at HaHa's described the women they were seeing? Those notions were laughable, he tried to tell himself, and attempted to push through them amid his growing discomfort.

Patricia gave his forearm a maternal pat, allaying his unease. "It was because you were gentle with her." He watched her angle her body towards the window and peer inside, and he followed her gaze. Y/N was pointing at a spot in the living room for the folding table they'd rented, along with six chairs. "She's gritty - she's been through a lot. I'm glad she has you to let go with."

Nodding slowly, Arthur understood. He was a good partner, a good husband to Y/N. And it wasn't only the woman he loved more than his own life saying it - it was her closest friend, her confidante. Intermittently, his conditions made it difficult, particularly on those days when he needed repeated validation, or the fury he carried deep within him threatened to bubble up. (Though it had gotten better with treatment, the stability his life now had, and Y/N's support.) Patricia recognized that he was trying and believed he was doing well. Accomplishment wasn't a sensation he often experienced, but the foreign sensation creeping into him must have been it. "Thanks," he said, clearing his throat. "I love her a lot, too."

They went inside and put up the chairs and set the table. There wasn't a table cloth, but Y/N had taken out their "good plates," with gold filigree on the rims. One of their cotton napkins went missing, so Y/N put a paper towel under her cutlery. After he lit the two cream taper candles he'd found in a drawer, everything looked perfect.

The food and drink were something else. The only macaroni and cheese Arthur had ever had come out of a box. Patricia's tasted savory rather than salty, but he wasn't sure if he liked the tomatoes it had in it. Although the pasta was too soft, Y/N's lasagna was good, if a bit heavy on the sauce. The garlic bread helped with that. The salad was mostly ignored; he only ate the small serving she stuck on his plate. The scotch Gary brought was passed between himself, Matt, and Robert. Arthur did try a sip, but it was exceedingly strong and stole his breath. He decided to stick with wine.

As the evening went on, Arthur grew pleasantly warm and drowsy. Y/N and Patricia had taken over most of the banter, guffawing and being mildly foolish. Matt had brought a chocolate sheet cake for twenty-four instead of six, and Y/N had to hold her stomach to quiet her tipsy laughter when it was sliced. Arthur's hand crept to her thigh and squeezed lovingly, his eyes locked on her with adoration. The depth of his feelings, his keen awareness of her, her presence at his side, was drowning out the rest of the room. It didn't take long for her to turn to him and mouth, "Let's say good night."

Y/N sent everyone home with leftovers and a hug, and forced Matt to take most of the cake with him. Gary gave Arthur a wink and a nod as he left, and Arthur snorted as he shook his head and shut the door. Propping himself against it, he sighed, trying to clear the fuzziness from his head. She came up behind him and kissed his shoulder. "Patricia's going to have the photos developed in triplicate and give us the negatives."

He twisted to face her and put his arm around her shoulders, slightly dizzy. "Does that mean we'll get copies?"

Giggling, she pressed into him and nuzzled his cheek. "Yes. We'll get three copies." She looked up at him as she leaned back. The ardor in her gaze made his pulse skip a beat. Then she lead him to the bedroom without preamble, blowing out the candles on the way.

He'd read and seen enough to recognize what was expected of him. This was their wedding night. It was when the music would swell and the screen dissolved to black in the old movies he would watch. He was supposed to take charge and make love to her. And he wanted to. Truly. But he'd eaten more than he usually did in two days. That combined with only having slept a couple of hours the previous night, anticipation having kept him awake on Gary's couch, lead to the tiredness he now felt.

Her hands were everywhere, though, roaming his back as their mouths melded together. Arthur slid his tongue between her lips, and he could taste the wine they'd toasted with and spent the rest of the night drinking. Breathing raggedly, he swallowed her moan and held the nape of her neck. When she presented her back to him, he paused before caressing the lace on the back panels of her dress. He took the dainty zipper between his thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled it down. The intimacy of what was happening, of Arthur Fleck unfastening the dress of his bride, made him shudder. Once the bodice was completely undone, he pushed his forehead to her and kissed the soft skin at the top of her back.

The dress fell slowly, catching on her breasts and hips as she brought it down. When she turned to him, his brows lifted. She was wearing the smallest pair of black panties he had ever seen. They barely covered her sex. He huffed. "Where did these come from?"

A grin broke out across her cheeks. "Patricia was convinced you'd love them."

Smirking, he gave a little nod. "I do." They were tied at her waist. If he just pulled the string, she'd be revealed to him. "You're so pretty." His fingers teased a bow, trying to will himself to perform. But he wasn't feeling it. "Um." He chuckled sadly, knowing he was about to disappoint her. "I ate too much. And I think I'm drunk. I'm sorry." He winced and looked away from her.

Y/N stared at him, then laughed throatily and squeezed him close. "Oh, thank god. Me, too. It's been a busy day."

His grasp on her tightened. "But a good one?"

"A wonderful one." She pecked his mouth and moved towards the bed, not bothering to take off her bra before slipping beneath the blankets. "You can untie me in the morning."

As Arthur undressed, he folded each piece of clothing and placed it on top of the vanity. He'd take care of it whenever they got up. By the time he sat on the bed in his briefs to take off his socks, Y/N's breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm. Sleep always seemed to come easily to her. Carefully, he got in beside her and stroked her hair back. Not wanting to wake her but needing to touch her, he kissed her brow bone faintly, gliding his fingers along her cheek. Then he ran his hand down her side and teased the string on her hip, loosening the knot until he could whisper his fingertips over her without obstruction. She mumbled quietly but didn't stir.

Smiling, he breathed against her temple. "I hadn't been happy one minute of my entire fucking life before you." He sniffled and swiped at his nose, sighing contentedly. "Sometimes I am now. Like today." He rested his head next to hers on the pillow, his arm going around her waist to tuck her back against him. "Thanks, Y/N Fleck."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @ithinkimaperson​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​

[ikesenhell]

American Dream

AMERICAN DREAM, Chapter 1. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: HOLY SHIT IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE. Thank you so much to @missjudge-me, who commissioned this whole piece. You have them to thank. I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back up, but being homeless and in grad school and working and getting formally diagnosed with an autoimmune illness and being in a pandemic and moving kinda takes it out of you. This was very fun to write. Enjoy!

---

Masamune wasn’t used to his childhood bedroom anymore. His mother had converted his loft bed desk into her scrapbooking station. That was fine, in theory, except that it meant two things: one, she hadn’t changed the sheets in actual years, and two, the loft bed was still there. 

“Sweet!” He announced with a laugh, scaling the ladder in a single bound. It’d felt so tall once. He ducked low against the ceiling, pressing his back flat. “Holy hell, I was smaller then.”

“Duh.” His brother, Kojiro, smirked from the door. Time changed everything. Masamune felt so big when he was in high school himself, but looking at his teen brother changed his perspective. “You’re a big lunk now. You eat like The Rock.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Masamune kicked off his boots and army-crawled into the loft. 

“How much clearance you got?”

“Eh. Six inches from my chest to the ceiling?” He tried to roll onto his back and failed, laughing against the drywall. “Did you know about the time that I knocked myself out up here?”

Kojiro’s luminous blue eyes appeared over the lip of the bed. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Got too excited freshman year of high school, bolted straight up when the alarm went off.” He motioned at a dent in the ceiling. “I was late. Dad didn't stop laughing for about, I dunno—”

“—the whole ride there.” Kojiro chuckled. “Yeah. Sounds like him.”

The funeral wasn’t so far behind them that it didn't hurt, but it sure as hell hurt less. Masamune checked his knuckles into the dent. It was the whole reason for his coming home. His mother needed someone to sort out all of the old things, all the memories and bills she couldn’t bear to look at. It didn't matter that they’d never gotten along. Kojiro was her favorite; that was obvious (and Masamune couldn’t blame her for that, Kojiro was a joy by anyone’s standards). Even then he couldn’t let her hang in the lurch. His dad taught him better than that. 

Damn. He missed his dad. Everywhere he looked in this old town, in this old house, were reminders. There was the trashy diner where they used to get the world’s best milkshakes once a week. There was the old stove with the broken burner they’d never replaced (because it was ‘perfectly good’) where he’d learned how to cook. And it wasn’t just his father he felt the absence of. Masamune fingered along the space between the wall and the loft bed where he’d pasted all the pictures and keepsakes from his friends. Him and Nobunaga, posing in a picture by the beach with matching glasses. Hideyoshi and Mitsunari peering at homework, Mitsuhide poised to drop an ice cube down his shirt. (Nobunaga was a broker in New York City, conquering Wall Street with Hideyoshi. Those two shared an apartment in SoHo, all the way across the country on the other coast. Hideyoshi worked with Nobunaga now, and no one knew what Mitsuhide did. Mitsunari was off in the Peace Corps.) There was a snapshot of Masamune and Ieyasu squished together in the back of an old 1960s Volkswagen Beetle his mom had for decades, Ieyasu frowning over a mouthful of jalapeno poppers. Ieyasu was a doctor in Maryland now. He was terrible at texting back, too. Masamune made a mental note to call. 

And then there was Her. 

Even after all this time, he missed their friendship. He fingered the worn photograph; After-Prom senior year, her in a bikini that made his stomach somersault, him holding her on his shoulders. She was laughing. He still wore the fake eye back then, and it sat oddly in the socket, but even that didn't take away from the sheer joy as he gazed up at her. When she lived with her parents in the little green house across the street, he used to build paper airplanes with stupid jokes scrawled in the folds and fling it at her window, hoping that they’d hit and knowing they never would. They’d measure how far it got from his front door and compare their poorly-kept notes, misremembering all the numbers. 

Now she was out there in the world. 

Kojiro craned his neck over the loft edge. “What’cha got up there?”

Masamune didn't answer that. Instead he wondered if she was happy. “If I’m gonna stay here for now, we gotta fix this situation. I’m too manly and brawny to fit up here. Wanna swap beds?”

“No! This thing is so uncool, you can’t get—” And the teenager furtively checked the doorway, lowering his voice. “You can’t get anyone up here with you.”

As an adult, Masamune rolled his eyes. As a brother, he snapped back, “I promise, you can.”

“Gross, why the fuck would I trade with you now—!?”

Downstairs, their mother shouted, “Who is swearing up there!?” Kojiro paled. Masamune, bolstered with smug elder brother energy, kicked him from the ladder. 

“Move, punk! Run for your life! You fucked up!”

His mother, louder now. “Who said that?!”

“That was Masa!” Kojiro bellowed, fleeing the scene of the crime. “Masa said it that time!”

“That time!? Kojiro—!”

Masamune finally wriggled himself free from the narrow confines of the loft. On the way down, he pocketed the picture of Her. 

---

The only reason he remembered the day his dad bought the ‘85 Camaro was his mother was well and truly pissed about it. It wasn’t a pretty looking thing then. Masamune later sussed out that his dad had picked it off a side road out in the country because it was ‘a nice looking car’ and ‘could be fixed up’. Of course it could. Maybe it was his time in the military, but there wasn’t a damn car under the sun that his dad couldn’t fix. The Camaro was better than new, but his mom drove a newer Hyundai, so it sat neglected in the garage, shiny and electric blue and begging for a test run. When Masamune backed it into the driveway, his mother sighed ragged. 

“I ought to sell that thing,” she announced. 

Masamune bit back his reflex answer of ‘not on my watch’ and replied, “Kojiro’s gonna need a car when he can drive.”

“I’m going to get him something new. A nice car. That one is too old for anything now.”

“I could take it.”

“You already have that infernal death trap.” She thumbed at the Harley parked in the grass, right where she hated it most. In the name of getting along, neither of them had mentioned it. “You don’t need another car payment. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do right now? We have all sorts of things to settle with your dad’s estate.”

“Ma, the car is paid off.” But she was right in one way; he did already have a vehicle, and paying the taxes and insurance on both was a waste. It was sort of pointless, keeping the car in the garage forever. “I can’t do anything until I get the extra copies of his death certificate, and that’s gonna be a minute. I ordered them today. Did you want me to put the car on Craigslist or something?”

She gazed at it, her steel expression softening. Ah, yes. There was his mother. His parents loved each other dearly. It just took moments like this to remember it. 

“Would you?” She replied. Her feather soft voice broke his heart. “I can’t bear to do it.”

“Yeah, Ma. I’ll get it to a good home.”

---

All it really needed was a wash and an oil change. The guys at the auto parts store whistled enviously when they handed over the filters. No; it wouldn’t be hard to sell at all. No doubt he could post it on some Reddit forum and get a hundred hits in an hour. 

Masamune was about to post the listing when fate intervened. 

The driveway was warm on his bare back, the first chill wind of autumn cooling his shoulders. His phone was stark against the sharp blue sky, his shirt rolled under his hair. 

A shadow fell over him. “Masa?”

He blinked his only good eye, floundering against the sudden contrast. The woman murmured an apology, stepped away, and blinded him with sunlight again. 

“Hey!” He laugh-yelped, rolling onto his stomach. “Goddamn!”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He clutched at the Camaro’s bumper and pulled himself up, blinking sundots away. “Gimme a sec, hang on.”

And then—she swam into view, all bright eyes and curves and nothing like she used to be and everything like she used to be and so much better. Was this his friend, this fully grown woman with a face like all his best memories? Where his words? He was usually so good with them. 

“That you, Masamune?” She asked, the ghost of a smile on her mouth. 

“Well, hell.” SAY SOMETHING, YOU STUPID BASTARD. He forced a grin back—but then it arrived all on its own. “Wow. Damn. Where have you been this whole time, Kitten, Hollywood? You runnin’ everyone out of a job out there? Puttin’ those Hadids out of work?”

Her laugh was the same. Good God, it sent shivers all the way down his spine and into his toes. Her eyes crinkled and he wondered if he could bottle that expression. “You’re still calling me Kitten, huh?”

“Your fault for wearing cat socks all the time. I don’t see a reason to stop now, ‘specially now that you blinded me in my own driveway.”

Even her eye roll was a shot of nostalgia to the veins. What now? Did he shake hands? Masamune stared at his oil-slicked palms from changing the filter. “Well, if you don’t mind me smearing grease all over you… Shit, what am I asking for?”

“Oh my God, Masamune, do not rub motor oil on me!”

“Too late!” He charged forward. She squealed but didn't run; he caught her around the waist and squashed her against him, bringing her feet from the ground. Those eyes were wide with surprise and delight and so much joy. Something smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “God, is that your shampoo?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s great. You look great.”

She batted against his chest, wriggling in his grasp. “And you bulked up. What, you one of those CrossFit junkies or something now?”

“C’mon, don’t insult me like that. Their form is terrible.”

“And you ditched the glass eye.”

“It was hurting. Figured I might as well let the lid close up and deal with it. Not like I could see from it anyway.”

But she laced her hands around the back of his neck and tapped just above his brow. Such easy physical intimacy. Oh, how he’d missed that! They’d always been the most handsy of the friend group, never shying away from each other. “I wasn’t complaining. You rock the pirate look, Captain.” 

Masamune snickered and clicked his tongue. “I’ll own that. I love some booty.”

With a roll of her eyes, she let the comment slide. “You busy? Wanna catch up?”

At last he let her slide from his arms, setting her feet on the ground. Why was the world so much colder when her body parted from his? “Hell yeah. Let me make you some gyoza and we’ll chat.”

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 54

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Fifty-Four CHILL-ax during Happy Horse Week!

The decorations were approved by other clubs while the few votes against them were roundly ignored. It helped that gave everyone a goodie bag and had a snack table set up with their treats and cups of apple cider mixed with ginger ale. The marble balloons had been turned into arches and pillars. She’d borrowed the flag banners from Jorvik Stable to show off what things would look like complete with hay bales.

The Councilman hadn’t been too happy about the hay bales, but Kate had promised to clean.

Everyone was relieved that Lily was okay. And they were more than willing to take shifts at the council house in order to help make the decorations they needed between breaks in training. Training that was more important than they realized.

In fact, it was Herman that clued Lily in as she waited her turn to run through the show jumping event set up in the Arena.

“Really looking forward to seeing all you girls at the County Fair this year,” he said with a big grin on his face. Leaning against the fence of the riding arena he looked almost lazy as he watched the girls.

Lily looked down at him and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “Herman, I think you’re forgetting that most of us have never lived here before. Or should I be asking Linda or Pauline?”

Herman glanced up, the grin didn’t fade. “Didn’t forget. Didn’t know you didn’t know.”

Lily rolled her eyes. Her stallion tossed his mane.

“There’s an eventing contest held at the County Fair every year. It’s the first qualifier for the Claymore Challenge. Every club comes and tries out. Course, last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, was just the Bobcats and the Bulldogz. Be nice to see them have a bit of competition.”

Lily’s brow furrowed. “But we’re collecting ribbons,” she said slowly drawing it out.

“Gotta train your horse and get it into condition so it knows what it’s doing. Practice is one thing, Lily girl, doing exhibition is another. The lights, the crowds, you don’t know how your horse is going to react. Depends on the crowd too.” Herman sucked his teeth. “Yep, some mighty fine riders in practice can’t make it through exhibitions.”

Lily pressed her tongue to her back teeth and looked off to the side as her brows furrowed. “Qualifiers,” she said after a few moments and not coming into any conclusions.

“Yep, helps me winnow it down. I know you’re all doing well in your ribbons. You can’t all go to the Claymore Challenge as much as I’d like to send you all. One Club per county. Thems the rules.”

Lily looked down at him. “I wasn’t given any rule list when I made the club. How many members are we allowed to have maximum anyways?”

“Fifty.”

Lily blinked. There went the plan to merge clubs to get around that pesky rule. “Well, we’re a bit beyond 100 people, Herman. I think we’re hitting closer to 200.”

Herman grinned. “And you wouldn’t believe how proud I am of that, all of you choosing to leave Moorland and form clubs to help out the district. Brings a tear to me old eyes, it does.”

Lily snorted. She shifted her attention. Tracey rode around the track keeping her posture upright as her stallion took the turns.

“You’re doing good things,” Herman rocked back and forth on his feet.

“If you say so,” Lily glanced back at him.

“You don’t think so?”

“I think I’m doing what needs to be done whether it’s good or bad, I can’t say.” Lily gripped the reins in her hands turning them over between her fingers. “I’m doing the best I can or we are, or I hope we are. One never knows. You have a lot of things you don’t tell newcomers, like, qualifiers being at the County Fair.”

Herman chuckled. “You’re revitalizing this county.”

“You didn’t need me for that, you just needed to act.”

“Mrs. X of CHILL wants to meet you,” Herman said.

“Fancy that,” Lily said in a dry voice. “I’m not surprised.”

“Alone.”

“Of course,” Lily murmured. “Because what other way do you meet the leader of a secret organization that,” she paused. “What does CHILL do?”

“Put nails in the road for G.E.D.,” Herman said.

“Your horse idioms are so lovely, Herman,” Lily said. “Where is she?”

“Observatory 12 in Epona.”

Lily backed her stallion away from the fence. “And let me guess, she wants to see me as soon as possible.”

“You know how this works.”

“Way too many crime shows, way, way too many.”

Herman laughed.

“How cliché can you get?” Lily muttered and nudged her horse into a trot. The nearest transport to the Observatory was in Crescent Moon Village she thought. Hillcrest and the Dews Farm in Epona were getting transports set up still. Hillcrest’s was in need of a major repair since someone had tried to use the truck to ram the wall. (It hadn’t worked.)

She took the transport to Crescent Moon Village and went directly down the road through the Marsh and up the side of the mountain to the Observatory perched on the edge of the Cauldron opposite of Hillcrest.

Dismounting, she opened the huge doors of the observatory a crack and slipped inside.

It wasn’t as dark as she’d thought it be. Sunlight streamed in through the small windows illuminating the place.

“I’m glad you came,” Mrs. X said from the middle of the room. She smoothed the skirt of her ankle length green dress, but a deep hood obscured her face.

Lily stepped closer. Mrs. X’s face was also covered with a mask. Crossing her arms, Lily stopped. “I don’t deal with people who hide their faces.”

“My identity is a closely guarded secret, one I’d like to keep that way.”

Lily pressed her lips together. “You’re either trying to recruit me. Or, you have a message for me. Spit it out one or the other.”

“You’ve impressed me.”

“Funny, you don’t sound impressed.”

“You’ve interfered with a major operation. Hillcrest is only a small part of the G.E.D.’s plans for the Harvest and Epona Districts. You’ve set me back months of work.”

“You, lady, are a vigilante.” Lily lifted a finger off of her arm. “You run around in the shadows not sharing information with the authorities, and causing more problems than you solve because you won’t work within the boundaries of the law.”

“The law has failed us.”

“So, Bernie Winterwell didn’t want to leave his house and was happy to be bribed. Was it a moral failing? Or is House of Winterwell in dire straits? Or is there another reason? I don’t know. I don’t care. If Baron Winterwell isn’t doing what you need to do, you go to Count Marchenghast.”

“He’s ill. The Countess is overwhelmed. They’re too young and inexperienced to handle the G.E.D.”

Lily’s lips parted. “Really? Because, Mrs. X., I’m what, sixteen, and I’ve handled them just fine by oh, seeing that they don’t have the proper paperwork or you know, put people in actual danger and taken this to the people in charge like the Rangers and the nobles who run this county and they’ve managed to take care of things with the information me and my girls have provided them. I do not feel that the people of Hillcrest are an acceptable sacrifice so you can try to stop the grander scheme and get the higher ups.”

“You are too young to understand.”

“I understand that right now you’re no better than the druids, most of whom, also wear hoods and also, who I will not have anything to do with unless they show their faces. Here’s my message to you, it’s the same one I gave to Elizabeth Sunbeam. You lead and take action instead of observing and waiting. You follow. Or you get the hell out of my way. The people of Hillcrest will not thank you for standing by and watching.”

“Jarlaheim is in great danger. You don’t understand how great.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes. We know. You remember Mayor Elaine. She was in Hillcrest. She knew what Ms. Drake was up to. Ms. Drake has been arrested. Given her lawyers, she probably won’t be in there for long. But it’s a good way to stall them and give time for Mayor Elaine to recover and take control over Jarlaheim.” Lily turned on her toe and grabbed the door. Pulling it open, she looked over her shoulder. “Come out of the shadows, Mrs. X, and into the light.” She walked out shutting the door gently behind her.

“People,” she said to her stallion.

He whuffled.

Lily mounted and turned him around down the mountain. “Vigilantism, peh.”

He nodded his head.

“Jarlaheim is in great danger,” Lily mocked. “Gee, you think? I mean, there aren’t four dig sites around the place, probably illegal dig sites, run by the G.E.D. if it’s not in great danger. Like, I don’t have girls in every stable and town and farm in this county by now. And do you know what we teenage girls like to do?”

He knocked his ear back seemingly interested.

“Share information. People might call this gossip. Because they only hear about who is dating who and who is fighting and what embarrassing thing happened to so and so this week. But there is important information among the trivia.” She patted his neck. “Sometimes, if the mare is fat, it’s not that she’s actually fat, she’s pregnant.”

He whinnied.

“Exactly, you get it.” Lily let him trot down the road. “Diabolical corporations. Aliens. Witches. Ghosts. Aliens running diabolical corporations. Druids. Chipmunks and squirrels as spies. Magic horses. Now vigilantes.”

He nodded his head.

“Nahnahnahnahnahnahnah, Batman!”

Her horse whinnied again.

She quieted as she got out of the marsh and into the village. She hummed “Spider-man, spider-man, does whatever a spider can,” under her breath as they passed Hayden’s house.

She took the transport back to Jorvik Stables.

When Herman asked her how it went, she replied with, “It went.”

--

The decorations were ready in time for Happy Horse week, if barely. Barney had helped them by using the vinyl wall art to make plywood versions of the horse silhouettes with his wooden scroll saw. He’d also made them horse heads to vary up the horse shoes and hang their smaller horse garlands from. They weren’t allowed to touch his saw. They could lose fingers if they weren’t careful. Plus, he was making the silhouettes five or six at a time to save time. Each stable and town had at least one of each galloping, show jumping, and dressage silhouette. Carney Summers had been busy making race signs for everyone.

But everything was painted, glittered, glued together, whatever needed to be done in time to decorate for the week. Metal and plastic buckets had ribbons and bows on them. Plastic helmets also had bows and rhinestones and gold trim. They wrapped fancy striped ribbons in Jorvik national colors around every extra haybale they were strewing about for decorations. (And handy seating for the tired parents.)

So, the day before Happy Horse Week was also busy instead of training, they were decorating and making sure everything was out and just so. They’d put together plenty of snacks for the tables and had decided that mint candies went in predominantly blue favor cones, and granola went in predominantly green favor cones.

Putting together the selfie walls had been a bit easier now they were at the third time around. They used the triangular and horse shoe garlands to drape the circle. Put plenty of championship ribbons on the upper left hand side. Put together a pillar or arch out of marble balloons and made sure there were hobby horses and stuffed plushies (fresh from Fort Pinta) out for people to use as props.

Agnetha has pursed her lips at the arches of balloons in front of the rose archway and on each side of the bandstand, but she hadn’t said anything dire.

Thinking ahead, they set up the pavilion so people could decorate their own buckets and helmets if they wanted to do so. They even had championship ribbons for name badges.

They had to rearrange the jumps in the riding arena. (That gave them time to decorate it.) Though the Rose Arches remained firmly in place. And put together the special race tracks for the cross country races through the grape fields.

It was a good thing that they had extra decorations and banners, because just in time for Happy Horse Week, the Silverglade Oval Track was ready to open and it needed to be decorated as well.

Pia and Ingrid sent pictures of the Art Show and Flea Market respectively. Everything was horse themed! Pia had plenty of exclamation points. She never asked for it to be that way!

They had to help transport the cake from Ma Anna’s Pastry Shop in Firgrove all the way to Moorland. They transported it in separate tiers thank goodness, but they still wanted an escort for some reason. When it was put together, the bottom three tiers were sold colored, there was a blue tier, a green tier, and a white tier. Then the top two tiers, one had stripes, and the smallest was white with green and blue polka dots. They stuck a large golden harp in the top of it as a topper.

The tables for the Moorland feast were set out. And there were extra tables so they could set out the grab bags, horse masks, party hats, and horse ears for the kids. The Farmer’s Market bustled with happy people who were more than happy to put up another tent for the Carnival games of bobbing for apples, pig pen, horse shoes, hobby horse races, and pin the tail on the horse. They had a special spot for the pinatas (and plenty of them.) And a booth all set up so everyone could get their face painted.

Realizing they’d forgotten prizes for said games, Kate and her club ran to Jorvik City to get more of the prizes like they had in the grab bags. (Because why not try to collect them all, according to Regina. She was roundly reminded, again, that this wasn’t Pokemon!)

The Timber Wolves escorted Andy’s petting zoo down and helped him set it up at the same time they brought down the cake.

It was quite the whirl of activity.

No one was sure who exactly hid the Golden Horse Shoes, only, that they were hidden.

So, everyone was excited the first day of Happy Horse Week, despite the fact that they’d had to make a schedule so there were people minding the races, giving beginning riding lessons, doing the lunge informational event, the craft pavilion, and the snack booth.

“Where do we want to go first?” Was the biggest question. Firfall was having a jousting demonstration at their medieval fair. There was the County Fair to check out too with all the food, and booths, and games, and they had to keep an eye on the competition up there with the eventing qualifiers. Or, they could go to Moorland and get a slice of carrot cake or apple spice cake (or both) and go straight to the Farmer’s Market to do games there. Or, they go to Fort Pinta and grab Token Takes Jorvik, buy a horse plushy if they didn’t already have a stuffed lovie of their own and start on the different challenges, plushy vacation pictures, Andy’s Geocaching, and Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

More than a few of them though were bowing out of Hayden’s Spider Hunt.

“No thank you,” they said.

They knew they’d see all of it. It was a matter of did they want to watch a pie eating contest at the County Fair or not? There was going to be a demonstration of a flat track oval race too that sounded interesting. They all agreed that they wanted to see the horse rubber duck race. That sounded too funny not to see.

The last day was the Light Ride.

It was with light hearts that they made their schedule and took to explore the county during Happy Horse Week. (They had Golden Horseshoes to find!) The first place they had to go was the Silverglade Oval Track ribbon cutting ceremony!

--

Loretta shifted her weight on top of her white stallion, the pink of her showjumping jacket setting off her fair complexion. Lily cynically thought that was the reason why the Bobcats colors happened to be pink. Loretta looked good in it. Loretta glanced over at her. “What are you doing here?”

Lily tugged down the sleeves of her own showjumping jacket, light purple. (Thought she’d the option of a dark purple or mulberry color.) “Same as you, I suspect. Claymore Challenge qualifiers.”

Loretta’s eyes widened. “No. No. You can’t. Your clubs are too,” she trailed off.

“Too what? We’ve qualified. We’ve earned the ribbons.” Lily looked down her nose at her. Had Loretta forgotten about the fact that more clubs meant more competition?

“You haven’t been around long enough to train your horses to be competition ready,” Loretta curled her lip. “You’ve been too busy doing other things.”

Lily leaned forward a bit resting her weight on her folded hands. “Not for the last month, month and a half. You don’t want to train for more than a couple hours every day and risk hurting the horse.”

“But you couldn’t have earned enough ribbons.”

Lily smirked at her. “I did.”

“That’s not right.” Loretta frowned.

“Take it up with Herman.” Lily shrugged. She tilted her head.

The Announcer’s voice rang out. “President of the Bobcats, Loretta.”

“You’re up,” Lily told her.

Rattled, Loretta nudged her stallion into a trot to take the arena.

Lily narrowed her eyes and watched. Either Loretta wasn’t as good as she claimed to be or Lily’s appearance as the next competitor after her had truly rattled her. She missed several jumps knocking down the bars.

When Loretta came off the field she looked furious. She stopped her horse by Lily. “If someone like you who isn’t even from Jorvik keeps me from going to the Claymore Challenge again,” she started.

“Again?” Lily raised a brow. “Last I checked the rules, Jorvik citizenship wasn’t required to compete, only belonging to a Riding Club in Jorvik in good standing.”

Loretta sucked her cheeks in and trotted off. “I won’t be defeated.”

Lily watched her go and put a hand on her horse’s neck. “And President of the Silverglade Equestrian Center’s Silver Drakes, Lily,” The Announcer said.

Lily squared her shoulders. She had an event to do. She could wonder who had beat out Loretta last time. Lisa. Linda. Or Anne?

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

[kitsunebaba]

Just a Little Change

Rei stared down at the body at his feet, the butt end of his dagger still raised from the strike. Ryu stared at him in shock, gaze slowly drifting down to focus on Teepo's unconscious form. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed it but his brothers had been so focused on one another and Rei had seen the opening and before he could really think it through, he was moving.

 And now Teepo was out cold on the grass.

"Oh good thinking Rei!" Nina exclaimed, the first one to move. She went straight for the pack on Ryu's back muttering "rope, rope," to herself.

 Everyone else seemed to jump out of their stupors, with Nina breaking the silence: Momo riffling through Teepo's pockets, Garr interjecting the best way to restrain one of the brood. Rei couldn't quite follow the conversation, his ears still ringing from this whole mess of a situation. For years he'd been consumed by nothing but revenge and now to find that not just one, but both of his brothers were...

 Teepo was alive... Teepo was alive!

 A grin was slowly stretching its way across his face and when he looked down at where Ryu was fixing Nina's knots, he saw a smaller but just as bright smile on his face, too.

 Rei wasn't quite stupid enough to think this was going to be easy. Whoever this God was, they'd really done a number on Teepo's outlook. All that nonsense about the brood, his self righteous attitude. Teepo had never been particularly kind, but this just wasn't who he was meant to be.

 Well, whatever he'd thought of this pilgrimage before, it was personal now. No one did something like this to his family and got away with it. No one.

 With Teepo wrapped head to toe in rope, Rei hefted his little brother over his shoulder and on they went. On to meet God.

 ---

 Teepo didn't wake up until after God was dead and they'd escaped to the desert.

 Garr had finally found his peace and they'd lost track of Peco in all the chaos of their escape. Their victory was bittersweet at best but that was just how vengeance tasted, he'd learned. Rei wouldn't kid himself into thinking his own participation was anything but. Ryu was the selfless one in the family.

 There was a gasp to Rei's side, a groan and instantly he was kneeling to turn Teepo over. His brother squinted against the harsh desert sunlight and Rei shifted to shadow his face.

 "That was a dirty trick," Teepo murmured, voice deeper than before but cadence much closer to what Rei remembered. Then Teepo tried to move his arms and froze. Eyes narrowed and flicked intensely to his with so much venom it made Rei's heart jolt.

 "You dare-?" Teepo hissed and his teeth were already extending, his skin turning purple, scaly, face elongating.

 Before Rei could so much as move, Ryu was there, sitting down hard on Teepo's chest. It knocked the wind out of him, the shock enough to stop the transformation. They glared at one another, two obscenely powerful beings vying for dominance.

 Teepo looked away first.

 Huffing, Teepo glared at the sand instead. "So you bested me and removed me from my sanctuary. Does the safety of the world mean nothing to you? Our God Myria has-"

 "We chose freedom," Ryu murmured, interrupting.

 Those words confused Teepo more than anything and he cast his gaze around to the others, as if they had the answers, as if he'd forgotten how to read Ryu and everything he didn't say.

 "He's saying we killed your God," Rei couldn't help but clarify. It was petty and not worth the devastated way Teepo's face fell. His brother's breath caught and, alarmingly, his eyes began to well with tears.

 "Myria is...?" his words were barely sound.

 "Yes, I'm sorry," Nina replied when no one else did.

 Rei couldn't watch the clear grief on Teepo's face but nor could he hide from the sounds, all the more heartbreaking for their restraint. Small sniffles and whispered denial. Each one struck home in Rei's chest until he felt ill. He couldn't regret what he'd done but there was always a price and once again it was Teepo who had to pay it. Yet another way Rei had failed.

 There was no giving up this time, though. Rei had people to fight for again and he wasn't letting them go without one.

 ---

 They almost lost him on their way to the oasis.

 Teepo had refused to eat or drink. Occasionally they could get some water down his throat, with Ryu coaxing or Momo forcing but that hadn't stopped his lips from cracking or his cheeks hollowing out. They couldn't afford to untie him, either. When Teepo wasn't catatonic with grief, he ranted.

 Rei was ashamed to say he left Teepo to Ryu when he got like that. There was something stalwart to Ryu that Rei could never even hope to emulate, so he didn't even try. To Teepo's threats, his fanatical recitation of God's rhetoric, Ryu kept a straight face, silently stoic as he held his brother down and waited it out.

 By the time they reached the oasis, Teepo hadn't woken in at least a day and his breathing had begun to get laboured. They couldn't just leave him with the head man's wife like they had with Nina, either. That first night, they'd all been exhausted. Ryu had taken first watch regardless, making sure no one was hurt in Teepo's lucid moments as he was tended to.

 Eventually, though, even Ryu couldn't keep his eyes open.

 A shout woke them all, then a scream and they all clambered to their feet in alarm. Rei could feel his rabid side start to stir, eager for a fight, but pushed it down. The head woman had scrambled backwards, Ryu trying to hold back a struggling Teepo, free from his bonds.

 Unable to think of anything else, Rei punched Teepo in the face and his brother slumped in Ryu's arms, his form shrinking, changing until he was a tiny, purple dragon. The look of disappointment that Ryu gave him for that made him want to shrivel to the size of a mouse and hide for the rest of eternity.

 They got Teepo back into bed, tied to the posts, and Ryu went to sit back down at his side.

 Rei didn't let him. He finally had to admit to himself that he'd been avoiding this new, heartbreakingly unfamiliar Teepo. Rei had promised himself there was no giving up, yet he'd almost done so to spare himself more hurt. So Rei swept Ryu into his arms and lay him down gently along Teepo's winged side, then took up the chair himself.

 It was one of the longest nights of his life, watching his brothers sleep on that bed, one struggling, again, to hold onto life. When morning came, his eyes itched with tiredness and his muscles screamed from sitting for too long, but Teepo was once again in human form and Ryu smiled at him and that made it all worth it.

 ---

 Teepo started eating again, a few days later. It had taken many, many hours of nagging and begging and pleading (and a few guilt wrenching tears from Ryu) but they'd managed to convince him to continue to live, at the very least. While his brother's ranting had stopped, along with his attempts to escape, he hadn't started speaking normally again, either, or at all.

 Instead, Ryu talked. It was more than Rei thought he'd ever heard him say in his entire life, let alone at one time. He spoke of their journey, their lives, why he'd come to the decision he had. Ryu talked himself hoarse and then some until Rei took up the slack. There was only so much he knew, so much he'd been there for, but he could reminisce on their time together, at least.

 Rei spoke of their lives before Ryu, reminders of the people they'd been, the ways they'd changed after they'd adopted their third family member. That one, near perfect winter and early spring where they'd been accepted, well fed, happy. That one season of bliss before everything had fallen apart.

 And then Rei confessed how he'd gone off the rails in his quest for revenge. How devastated he'd been to lose his brothers to one mistake.

 Teepo listened, at least, even if he never said anything in reply. He listened and Rei hoped he was taking it all in, considering their perspectives instead of clinging to a dead god's dogma.

 ---

 Once they were all well enough to walk, about a week later, they resupplied and made their way north. They didn't need the ropes by this point. Teepo was silent and submissive, following along when asked.

 It was Momo who tried to strike up a conversation this time, as they made their way through the debris of old technology. She asked a stream of questions about Eden and the space station, though the whole thing went over Rei's head. Teepo watched her, wary, but he must have understood because once she was done with her rambling hypothesis he either nodded or shook his head. One time Rei swore he heard a response but it could have been his imagination.

 A few trips by Portal Drive later and they were emerging from the hut hear Mount Levett. Why they'd gone here, he wasn't sure. This whole place left a bad taste in his mouth, memories blurred from spending such long periods transformed but certain moments horrifically vivid.

 "I... um, don't want to go home yet," Nina offered when he asked.

 It was understandable. The prospect of possibly being confined to one place for your whole life... Rei wasn't sure he could do it. Certainly after the trick they'd played on the king and queen, she wouldn't be allowed to leave for a good long while, even if they didn't just lock her in her room.

 There were other reasons she didn't want to go home. Nina still had to work out what she would fight for now. At least Rei didn't have that problem anymore.

 Down the path towards the Yraall Region, they reached the road in good time. Across the bridge and they quickly came to the edge of the farmland that marked the area. A sense of unease passed over Rei the closer they got to the place they used to call home. The girls sensed it, too and the whole party remained subdued as they trekked. It was by far the easiest terrain they'd navigated in months but the tension in the air ruined any relief.

 It was at the junction where the Yraall Road split towards McNeil Village that it happened.

 Nina screamed as Teepo shoved her back and in an explosion of power he transformed. Momo was already aiming her weapon as he spread his wings, taking to the air. Rei jumped forwards to push the bazooka towards the ground and they were both flung backwards as it went off.

 Rei picked himself up with a groan, grumbling a few choice swear words. It took a few moments to get all his senses back in alignment and by the time he had, Ryu had transformed too, staring at him, waiting.

 The dragon tilted his head, indicating his back and Rei didn't have to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he didn't even consider what he was about to do until he felt muscles lurch below him and the ground began to lift away. Rei's eyes widened and he wrapped his arms in a vice lock around his brother's neck.

 They shuddered and shook as they climbed altitude and Rei had to wonder how they weren't just dropping out of the sky. At last, though, they evened out. The turbulence stopped. Wind still whipped about his ears, pulling at his clothes and tail, but slowly he pried one eye open to look down at the ground below.

 It was like a patchwork quilt he'd seen some of the women in town making; all greens and browns with the occasional patch of colour. He couldn't see any people, though with the roars he could hear in the distance, it wouldn't be a surprise if they'd all sought shelter.

 With a jolt of surprise Rei found himself able to pick out landmarks. There was the farm near town, the village itself not too far off, McNeil manner. Already they'd travelled what would have taken hours on foot. He watched as it all passed below them, turning into the forests he'd once known like the back of his hand. A glimpse of Bunyan's hut, the mountain close by, then they were descending and Rei had to bury his face in Ryu's neck again or risk being sick.

 When they landed, Ryu shrank back into his human form, collapsing to his knees, breathing rapid. Rei rested a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment, long enough to know he was okay, then he was moving again.

 Teepo stood at the base of the burned shell of their hut. The smell of ash and smoke had long since been washed away but Rei could still remember them, phantom scents in his nose. He came to a stop three steps behind his brother, staring up at what remained of their home.

 "Sometimes I was half convinced this was just a dream... but then that would mean you had simply abandoned me."

 "What?! I would never-!" Rei cut himself off, nails cutting into his palms with the effort.

 Teepo shook his head, "no. You're petty and self severing like everyone else, but you wouldn't do something like that."

 They were quite for a while, lost in their own memories.

 "You know, Ryu said he looked for you after," Rei gestured vaguely at the burned building. "Me? I just assumed you were dead and went off to get revenge but... He went all the way to Wyndia. Would have gone further, I think, if he hadn't been caught up in all that Brood shyte."

 Teepo frowned. "Wyndia...?" The frown deepened and he crossed his arms. "I... perhaps I reached it? I remember being hungry and stone walls. It wasn't long before Myria saved me, gave me a home, clothes, food, love."

 "If you'll remember, so did I. And I didn't lock you in a damn cage and feed you self hate for ten years," Rei growled.

 "Myria has good reason to think the way she does... did..." Teepo turned his face away, swallowing thickly before he continued. "How many people died for Ryu's cause? Just defeating her you lost two of your number. Can that be justified?"

 Rei snorted, "oh, so when she kills thousands of people, it's for the good of everyone, but when a few people sacrifice their lives willingly, it's not justified? Well don't that just beat all. And here I thought we had numbers on our side."

 "We are dangerous!" Teepo spun, one fist raised threateningly but Ryu was already situating himself between them, a hand on each of their chests to keep them apart. He still looked worn out from carrying someone on his back, using muscles he wasn't used to for so long, but the colour had returned to his cheeks and he wasn't winded any longer.

 "So am I," Rei countered, sounding much calmer than he felt. "Sure I don't hold a candle to you guys but I slaughtered an entire crime syndicate in cold blood. It was easy. Should I be put under lock and key?"

 Teepo scowled, "yes."

 "Okay, so what of God's Guardians then? I know for a fact that Garr alone killed, what was it, Ryu?"

 "Two hundred and ninety nine," Ryu replied softly.

 "Two hundred and ninety nine Brood members during the war. That's way more than a measly crime syndicate, I'd say. And he only did it because he was told to, not because they killed his family or something."

 "That was God's power-"

 "So should God be locked up then? Why is her power okay but yours isn't? What gave her the right to dictate what we can and cannot do? Who lives and who dies? Since when is genocide something the good guys do?!" Rei snarled, breaking away from Ryu's restraining hand to pace, prowling the path.

 Teepo rose to his full height, clearly trying to look regal. "She saved the world."

 "Does it look destroyed to you? Has Ryu gone on some monstrous rampage and killed everyone? Blown up any mountains lately? Because let me tell you, he's had the motives. Half of this crap isn't even what he wanted, he was just dragged along because he was being hunted or someone else wanted to know the truth! He lost us, he lost friends, he lost years of his life and he's never destroyed anything that wasn't asking for it!"

 "And what if I do?!" Teepo screamed. "What if I... I hate everyone. I hate what the world did to us! I hate how petty people are, how self serving, how no one will ever share just because they... No one ever deserved what Myria did for us, not even me!"

 The silence in the clearing could have been cut with a knife.

 "What if I'm the one who destroys the world?"

 "You won't," Ryu said, clear and confident, "because we won't let you." Slowly, like he was touching a wild animal, Ryu lowered his hands to clasp one of Teepo's gently between them. "Just like you won't let me."

 For a long moment it seemed like Teepo would pull away, whole body tense. Then he slumped, head bowed. "Is it that easy? I don't want to be around people. I don't want to go back to a society that would let children, orphans just- just starve. I don't want to-"

 Rei let his hand fall heavily on Teepo's shoulder. "So we live in the woods, away from everyone else. Heck, that's pretty much what we did here before Ryu came along, just without all the stealing. Maybe we try grow our own food or something? We got friends and resources that we didn't have as kids, yeah?"

 Teepo's gaze was unreadable as he looked from Ryu to Rei.  

 "Not here," he said at last, raising his free hand to rest on top of Rei's. "Not here."

 ---

 They met Nina and Momo back in McNeil Village but didn't do more than pass through after joining back up. The frightened rumours of dragons in the sky effected both his brothers negatively and Rei had to suppress the urge to take his rage out on the villagers, too. They'd never wanted help, but they'd been children. Someone should have given it regardless.

 Nina didn't try to pry like Rei had expected. One look from Ryu and she looked more relieved than anything. It was odd, seeing someone else able to read his brother so well but slowly Rei was coming to see Nina as family, too, and well maybe they needed a little sister to balance them out.

 Reluctantly he had to admit that Momo felt like family, too, but that was dysfunctional at best. Not all family could be sunshine and roses, he'd learned. Well, one out of four wasn't so bad.

 Conversation picked up when Rei voiced their intentions some time later. Nina was eager to offer locations and Momo building advice. She'd had to fix her own equipment often enough that she was handy with a hammer or a welding torch. After all, if they built with metal and brick, they couldn't be as easily burned out of the home again.

 The process wasn't as difficult as he thought it might be. The forests surrounding Wyndia were vast, so before they parted ways with Nina and Momo they all ventured into them to find a good spot to build. Officially this would be Nina's vacation cottage, since the forests were technically royal hunting grounds. Hopefully they were deep enough that no one ever noticed they were there in the first place.

 Momo threw herself into the building with as much enthusiasm as she did new machines. Confusingly enough, after the initial distrust, Teepo and Momo ended up getting along well. She was oblivious enough she didn't notice the way he talked down to her and he was knowledgeable enough in machinery that she was endlessly pumping him for details that he was now willing to give.

 Nina, for her part, could only come by extremely occasionally. The king and queen hadn't locked her in her room but she was under strict guard whenever she argued an outing was legitimate. Slowly she was amassing a following of soldiers more loyal to her than her parents, however, and sometimes she could slip away.

 When they were finally done, Momo and Nina had tentative permission to visit on occasion, though Rei could see Teepo only agreed with Nina doing so because Ryu always looked so sad when she left. It probably helped that she was their main source of supplies and Teepo could easily use that as an excuse if anyone ever confronted him on it. He'd always been unwilling to admit how soft he was where his brothers were concerned.

 Rei mused on Nina's situation and how he'd thought he didn't ever want to be confined. Funny, how he didn't feel like he was locked away staying here, even though technically they were. Perhaps it was the self imposed nature of it... though Rei would put more zenny on his brothers having something to do with it.

 They had to be careful with hunting in the area but they had a neat little vegetable garden going by now and a book on pickling to get them through the winter. Nina had even visited bearing some fruit tree saplings yesterday. Rei had left his brothers to plant them while he'd gone to find them some meat to celebrate.

 Coming home, Rei heard them before he could see them.

 "Ryu that's not how you dig a hole. No you have to- No use your- Oh, just give it here!"

 Holding back his mirth, Rei rounded the corner of their house to see Teepo instructing Ryu on the proper technique for digging a hole, complete with demonstration and short, sharp directions.

 Rei caught Ryu's eyes and his youngest brother flushed. Then Rei noticed there were quite a few holes already done, perfectly created, and couldn't quite hide his amused smirk as Ryu once again failed to dig a hole in the most dramatic way possible. Teepo promptly snatched the shovel back again and dug two more holes. They'd have too many at this rate.

 Dropping the rabbits he'd caught by the house, he strode forwards to clap a hand down on top of each of their heads, grinning ear to ear. "I may not be very good at math but even I can see we have eight fruit trees and seven holes." Grabbing the spade himself, he dug the last one quickly, before anything could escalate. It was a little sloppy but deep enough that Teepo only scowled a little at it. He didn't even try to fix it when Rei handed the spade back.

 Ryu moved off to start putting the saplings in the ground and Teepo only looked alarmed for a moment before he realised Ryu was doing this part right, at least.

 Turning back to Rei, he said, "I see you're getting bolder with your kills."

 "Their Royal Pains In The Butts aren't going to notice a few less rabbits in spring, Teepo."

 "Early Spring."

 Rei waved off the concern. "Whatever. I think we got enough tomatoes for a stew, at least. Momo better bring us more spices when she comes next. I got used to fancier food on the road than we ever had as kids. Who knew salt could do so much to a hunk of meat."

 "You're getting careless. If we're-"

 "Relax, Teepo."

 Teepo scowled but they lapsed into silence, watching Ryu move from plant to plant, carefully placing them in the ground. For someone with the power to literally destroy the world if he wanted to, Ryu was the gentlest soul he'd ever met. Even plants were treated tenderly.

 "Do you still think he's dangerous?" Rei asked softly.

 Teepo watched Ryu as he answered with a shake of his head. "I don't think I ever did... not really. The kid that cries at the drop of a hat? With too much empathy for his own good. That's not someone who wants power."

 "But...?"

 Teepo sighed, "but I still don't trust myself. All I've had time to do is think and I know who I am. I don't want to leave, but I don't want to keep him here, either. If he wants to go..."

 "And what if he wants to stay?" Rei murmured.

 Ryu looked up from his work and waved, Rei waved back with Teepo reluctantly doing so too a few seconds later. The grin on their youngest brother's face was heartbreakingly bright.

 "All he ever wanted, was be with his family, and that's us, Teepo. Ain't no way you can change that." He swung an arm around Teepo's shoulder, drawing him in close. "Maybe one day we let him go, yeah? But he's gonna come back. No matter where he goes without us, he'll always wind up back here sooner or later with a new story and some new friends. Probably a few new scars the way trouble finds him."

 "Then maybe we need to go with him to protect him..."

 "If we ever do, I'm sure we can go wherever you want..." Rei replied, giving him a squeeze.

 "...Except Wyndia. We're wanted criminals there."

 "You're what?!" Teepo squawked.

 From where he was planting, Ryu looked up to watch Teepo chase Rei across the clearing and smiled.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Froggydarren!

To Jen: Merry Christmas!  In this story I hope you find a few of your favorite things.  May your holidays be filled with love and joy, great food, relaxation, and GREAT FIC!  

Title: stepping out of body

Rating: T

Word Count: 7K

Tags: Hypothermia, Hurt/comfort, Bed sharing, Accidental baby acquisition, alternate reality, parallel universe, dreams, hallucinations, Hobrien, Tyler Hoechlin/Dylan O’Brien, swearing, sexual innuendo, kissing  

Read on AO3

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steppin out of body

Stiles is ninety-seven percent sure he’s going to die out here.

The violent shivers and chattering teeth ceased ten minutes ago, and not even the line of Derek’s werewolf heat down his right side makes any difference. It turns out the discount boots he bought last year from Bob’s Bargain Bin aren’t such a bargain; frigid water seeps through the seams, turning his toes to ice, to fire. He wiggles them regularly as they trudge through the thickening carpet of heavy snow, fearing the numbness he could easily succumb to.

Stiles isn’t stupid. He can decipher the messages his very-human body broadcasts loud and clear.

“No,” Derek commands, slapping at his cheek with a gloved hand, the impact dull and muted against his frozen skin. “Eyes open, Stiles. Stay with me. Stay with…”

Damn the Nemeton, screaming out to every worthless supernatural pain-in-Stiles’-ass. This time it called down a Chenoo, a man-eating ice giant from the Great White North. The demon slid down the west coast like an avalanche, bashing through the border, ushering in plummeting temperatures, a torrent of wind-driven snow and sleet slashing Stiles’ face like werewolf claws.  Vicious gusts of icy wind followed, slithering inside Stiles’ thin jacket to coil around his heart and crush his lungs. Stiles would have preferred it brought Kraft dinner and Molson Canadian, like a typical tourist.

A California boy born and bred, his genetic makeup lacks an adoration of arctic temperatures. He’s ill-equipped for a blizzard in November.

Even Derek’s nose glows Rudolph-red from the chill.

“You can kill a Cheeno by melting its heart with salt,” Deaton supplied earlier that afternoon, “but a few legends claim you can save the man within the monster.”

“Save a cannibal? Yeah, fuck that noise,” Stiles had said, tossing down the magazine he’d been reading and grabbing the cannister of Morton’s Iodized, slipping his feet into his crappy boots. It seemed like a good idea at the time, he and Derek against the latest monster of the week. Nothing new. But now a blanket of white makes it impossible to see ten feet in front of them, flakes floating down from the sky like errant feathers, dancing in front of his eyes like a whirl of stars. It blinds him, envelopes him. Every minute lasts an hour.

He should have taken the FBI assignment offered when he attended the academy. Memphis. It didn’t snow in Memphis. Why hadn’t he taken it? Oh yeah. Scott. His father. Derek.

The sun dips below the horizon, adding insult to injury.

Stiles can’t feel his nose anymore, or his toes. He inhales broken glass with each breath. The longer he stares into the white void, the more everything starts to feel peaceful and pointless. Stiles closes his eyes.

“Do you hear that?” Derek hisses. Stiles’ eyes snap open in time to see the breath billowing out of Derek’s windburned lips in rolling clouds of steam. “It sounds like…”

Stiles hears the violent wind rattling dry, bare branches of winter-dead trees, and the random song playing on repeat in his head. Going down with my wings on fire, guess I’ll see you in another life. He prays that in a few years, in a decidedly less stark and frozen landscape, the lyrics will blast through Roscoe’s shitty speakers, and Stiles will stop and listen, say “ah yes, that time I almost froze to death,” just another moment unfolding in the supernatural shitstorm of his life, and not the soundtrack to the end of it.

But Derek cocks his head, eyes narrowed into slits, frost clinging to his bushy black eyebrows, so Stiles tugs up the ear flaps on his hat, strains to hear past the snow’s white noise, so like a chorus of howling werewolves. Yowling, squalling, wailing…

“A baby,” Stiles gasps, voice rasping through blue-tinged lips, knees threatening to buckle in shock. Who would ever bring a baby out in this storm? He was tired, drained, and dispirited before, and now, a thin film of desperation stretches over it all like saran wrap. “I hear a baby crying.”

Derek pulls Stiles impossibly closer, abruptly turning them to the left and floundering through calf-deep snow mounds and crushing darkness. Derek blunders toward the cries with steps as uncoordinated as a newborn foal, his confident gait lost to the storm. Stiles grits his teeth and slogs on.

Mother nature pummels him into a Popsicle.

“Oh,” Stiles says some indeterminable time later, “I see something.” Up ahead, a small cabin materializes, rising from the bleak isolation like a desert mirage, windows alight with a dim glow. Every blink of his heavy eyelids brings the cabin into better focus; green tin roof, stainless steel chimney pipe puffing out grey clouds of smoke, two rickety steps leading up to a narrow porch laid with red cedar planks.  

Derek takes Stiles under the armpits and hauls him up over his left shoulder, heading toward shelter with Stiles bouncing clumsily into Derek’s back with each step. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, going statue-still.

“Wha?” Stiles mumbles toward Derek’s ass.  

A moment of hesitation. “I only hear one heartbeat.”

The desperate mewling raises in pitch. “Derek, can we please go inside? If the damn Cheeno has somehow lured us here, at least I’ll be warm when I die.”

Derek drags them both through the front door, leaving a track of icy puddles and slushy clumps of snow as they stumble over the threshold. Stiles finds himself dumped unceremoniously onto an oriental rug in front of a slowly dying fire. “Get your clothes off!” Derek barks at him as he kneels in front of the weak flames, pulling off his gloves and reaching for the stack of wood next to the stone fireplace.

Stiles always wanted to hear Derek say those words, and he’s honestly a little pissed they’re wasted on a life-or-death situation.  

Stiles isn’t capable of finesse on his best days, but his numb fingers fumble pathetically at the snaps and zippers of his clothes. Each new piece of blue and purple dappled bare skin he uncovers sets alarm bells peeling inside his skull. “Wh-wh-where is the b-b-baby?” The chattering teeth return, his neck swollen and stiff as he turns it this way and that until his gaze lands on a bassinet in the corner.

“Fire first, then I’ll get the baby,” Derek says, blowing on the growing blaze. “Take everything off. All your wet clothes.” He closes the wire mesh curtain across the hearth and stands, shedding his own clothes piece by piece as he crosses the small living space. Derek blows warm breath into his cupped hands before he reaches into the bassinet, pulling out a wiggling red blanket and clutching it gently to his bare chest. It’s a sight to behold, but Stiles can barely keep his eyes open.

Unable to stand, Stiles reaches for the corner of a quilt thrown haphazardly over a worn plaid couch, dragging it down and pulling it across the floor. Derek keeps the baby in one strong arm and hoists Stiles’ limp body onto the quilt with the other, settling down next to him on the carpet.

“Come here,” Derek says, reclining with one arm around Stiles’ shoulders, maneuvering him, so Stiles’ backside faces the fire, and Derek’s werewolf body heat blazing down Stiles’ front, the baby a warm weight on Derek’s ribs.

“The parents?” Stiles slurs, imagining the bloodbath that will ensue when an unsuspecting mother and father find two butt-naked grown men cuddling their kid.

“I can’t detect any other scents. It’s just us.”

“Hmmm.” The heat of the fire and the safety of Derek’s body make Stiles’ eyelids very heavy.

“Don’t go, Stiles,” Derek orders. “Stay with me. Please.”  For a brief moment, a white halo frames Derek’s beautiful face.  He cups Stiles’ jaw, and Stiles could swear his fingers feel like scratchy wool mittens.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles replies and promptly falls asleep.  

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Stiles wakes with the luxurious Saturday morning feeling of having slept in with no alarm, despite early dawn light seeping into the room through sheer curtains, casting everything in soft dream-like shades of gray. He’s so warm and content he buries his face back into the plush pillow under his head, determined to retreat once again into sweet oblivion.

“You know I adore your mom, but she was wrong about this co-sleeping thing. Best decision we ever made,” murmurs a tender voice behind him. The words get emphasized with some semblance of a kiss, all hot, soft lips and tongue leaving goosebumps in their wake as they travel lazily down the back of Stiles’ neck. The easy-going morning disperses like mist as Stiles blinks open his eyes to see the tiny, angelic face of a baby–presumably the same one from the cabin–wrapped in a thin red muslin blanket and sleeping next to him. It lies in a strange contraption attached to the bed with three breathable mesh sides, atop a fitted sheet adorned with fluffy dancing sheep wearing nightcaps. As Stiles watches, the baby’s tiny bow mouth makes adorable little sucking motions.

Wait a minute.

Stiles knows he’s in trouble when the baby makes sense, but the king-sized bed he’s woken up in doesn’t.    

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Stiles has run with wolves since age sixteen and can keep a tight lid on a furiously beating heart. “Pretty sure this place did not look like this last night,” he says, words falling from his mouth in a smooth line as his stomach ties itself in knots.

A huffed laugh. “I’ll do the laundry today, I promise. Who knew a baby could go through so many clothes?”

Not me, Stiles thinks, sitting up in bed and kicking away a blue sheet. He’s wearing unfamiliar light-gray sweatpants and a maroon t-shirt. The man next to him grunts at the loss of body heat, and Stiles glances over. Yup, it’s Derek, black hair sticking up every which way like he stuck his head in a blender.  

Stiles crawls to the foot of the bed, tip-toes to the sliding glass doors leading to a balcony, and parts the curtains an inch. Pre-dawn light paints the curving facade of the U.S. Bank Tower mellow orange. Stiles has only ever seen it in movies. Free from alien encounters and earthquake damage, the staggering architecture looks like a staircase up into the pink morning clouds. He puts his hand up to the cold glass. “We’re in L.A.”

Another grunt behind him. Stiles’ head pivots back and forth between the skyline and the majestic view of Derek sprawled on his stomach, broad shoulders tapering down a smooth, naked back. He follows the line of Derek’s spine to his boxer-brief clad backside on full display. The cotton clings to every dip and curve of Derek’s perfect ass.  

“How did we get to L.A.?”

Derek’s head rises from the pillow. “Huh? Come back to bed before you wake Conor.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing.” He scrubs a hand down his face, huffs out a breath. “The bed. That wasn’t here before. Or the fancy baby crib, or your underwear, or the god-damn city of Los Angeles.”

Derek twists, sitting up in bed and rubbing crust from his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks. Then he does something so crazy Stiles thinks he just may have died out in the snow.

Derek smiles.

Not just any smile. Stiles’ has seen Derek produce some mean ones, some faux-flirtatious ones, some blood-thirsty ones, but he’s never seen one like this: huge, happy, full of white teeth. It lights up Derek’s whole face, makes his green eyes go adorably squinty.  

“No, nope, uh uh.” Stiles tries to take a step back, but his shoulders collide with the slider. What imposter wears Derek’s flawless butt and happy face? Stiles has a mini heart attack.

“Who are you?”

Now the smile falls away, leaving behind comically-wide green eyes and an arched brow. His Derek would never show this level of befuddlement. He’d school his face into an impossibly hard mask.

“Dylan,” he answers, very slowly, “I’m your husband.”

———-

Imposter-Derek’s name is Tyler, and he remains unfailingly patient and positive in the face of his husband’s epic freak out and insistence that a mythological creature in an alternative universe cursed him.  ”I should have paid more attention to Deaton when he talked about annihilating the Chenoo, but there was a fascinating article in Entertainment Weekly.”

“This better not be a ploy to get out of diaper duty,” Derek-Tyler says with a smile.  Honestly, the guy’s demeanor baffles Stiles. This level of sweetness doesn’t exist outside a candy store.  

Baby Conor wakes up with a chortling wail, demanding food and a clean butt, which Tyler supplies as Stiles does a convincing imitation of a lost puppy and follows him around.  “You’re good at this whole thing. At parenthood,” Stiles praises. The sight of Derek–or a Derek look-a-like–gently cradling a tiny infant in his massive beefcake arms, holding a warm bottle of formula in his meaty fist, makes Stiles want to swoon.  Even the greedy pig-like noises Conor makes causes a strange effervescent bubbling behind Stiles’ ribs. What in the world is happening to him? Gas? Or did he show up in this parallel universe with a uterus and a biological clock? He pulls the waistband of his sweatpants away from his torso.  Well, at least the equipment on the outside remains the same.

Stiles and Tyler get dressed, and migrate into the kitchen through a narrow hallway and spacious living room; walls painted the color of buttery suede. Books and baby toys litter the floor, framed family photographs, and baseball paraphernalia hanging on nearly every wall of their home.  Upon closer inspection, Stiles finds one of the pictures is of Tyler in a Sacramento River Cats uniform, mid-run, right arm slung back, ready to throw.  

“Dude, do you play professional ball?” Stiles asks, impressed, fingertips tracing the edges of the black wooden frame.

Tyler blushes, becomingly, one muscular arm cuddling the baby closer to his broad chest.  “Yeah. I played baseball in college and got drafted, but I injured my hamstring a few years ago. I doubt I’ll ever get called up to the major leagues. Want some water?  Juice?”

The seamless transition of conversation, the quick, subtle deflection onto Stiles and away from himself is such a Derek move it leaves Stiles dizzy, struggling for balance as he straddles two worlds.

“Water,” Stiles croaks.

Tyler opens the refrigerator, reaches for the Brita with his free hand, and at least twenty glass bottles stacked on the door shelves clink together like Christmas bells. “Uh, why do we own so much root beer?”

Tyler shrugs.  “You’re a big root beer guy.”

Huh.  Stiles can’t remember the last time he had root beer, but his mother adored root beer floats “Actually, I’ll take one of those.”  

At the kitchen table, Tyler leaned his chin into his hand, gazing at Stiles while he sips his carbonated sugar. A shaft of late-morning light catches the fizzing bubbles surging up the neck of the bottle, sending little sun sparks dancing across the wood between them.

“I don’t know how you can remain so calm in the face of all this,” Stiles says for the millionth time in the few short hours they’ve been awake.  “Does your husband typically try to convince you that he’s someone else?”

Tyler props Conor on his shoulder, gently rubbing and patting his back. “Only when we role-play.”

Root beer sprays from Stiles’ mouth in an inelegant arc, splattering all over the tabletop.  Fantastic, now his overactive brain supplies him with enough jerk-off material to last a century.  It’s just his luck to land in a universe where Derek smiles and laughs and is kinky to boot.

“But seriously, Dylan, we’ve been through worse than a little memory lapse.”  Stiles lays his head down on the wet surface, resolutely refusing to ask. He doesn’t want to know.  Knowing would mean caring. “Though I do wish you’d reconsider going to the hospital. They could run some tests and-”

Stiles holds up a hand.  “No. No tests. At least, not today.  If we wake up tomorrow and nothing has changed, then yes, I promise I’ll go to the doctor. Just…” He remembers having an MRI, the fear and panic before rolling into the claustrophobic tube, the loud clunks and bangs, of what bad news the results will bring.  Because it’s doubtful skipping universes like a pebble on a lake produces anything positive. “Not today.”

Tyler nods.  “Okay. I have an idea.  Here, hold Conor.” He passes Stiles the baby and walks into the living room, opening the doors on a TV stand and pulling out an old DVD player.  Stiles watches as he fiddles around behind the flat-screen television, plugging it in and powering it up. “I’m going to grab our wedding DVD,” Tyler says, heading toward the bedroom.

Stiles is left alone with Conor for the first time.  “Hi, little man,” Stiles whispers into the crook of the baby’s warm neck.  He smells sweet and powdery, and the unique scent kind of makes Stiles feel high.  He’s adorable and small, and fragile, and now that Stiles thinks about it for half a second, completely panic-inducing.  Who in their right mind would leave Stiles in charge of a baby?! He breaks everything. Hopefully, this Dylan guy is a bit less accident-prone than Stiles.

Tyler pops in the video, and they lay the baby on a blanket in the living room with a few toys, and Stiles gets to watch two hours of footage of himself marrying Derek.

Half-way through the reception Erica and Boyd waltz by, and Stiles sees Isaac in profile, standing at the bar laughing at something Jackson says. He desperately wants to ask, but doesn’t think he could handle it if these pack members, lost to lies and danger and that merciless bitch the Grim Reaper, are just phantom faces with different names.

“That was sweet and kind of funny,” Stiles says after listening to himself recite his vows.

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees.  “You’re pretty amazing.”

Is this who Derek would be if there’d been no Kate? No Jennifer?  No Paige? Seriously, it’s like a case of the body snatchers. Fuck Stiles’ life (but not this one! This one’s pretty perfect).

“Did it jog any memories?” Tyler asks when the TV goes black.  

Stiles hates letting down someone so earnest.  “Sorry, man.”

“It’s all right.” Tyler squeezes one of Stiles’ shoulders in a firm grip.  “I have one more idea if it’s okay with you. Then we can give it a rest until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.  But first, do you mind if I shower?”  A phantom layer of dried sweat from his trek through the snow yesterday still sticks to Stiles’ skin.  

Dylan and Tyler’s shower has soapstone walls, duel jets, a rain massage showerhead, recessed lighting, and a cedar plank ceiling.  If he ever gets home, he’s convincing Derek to build a replica of this shower, and let Stiles use it any time he wants. Derek’s trust fund should go to something other than tight pants and dark colored shirts. Something that benefits Stiles directly (since the clothes benefit his eyeballs indirectly).

After he’s dressed, Stiles leans against the sink, wiping the fog from the mirror with the corner of his damp towel. He studies his reflection—same number of moles on his cheeks, same wide amber eyes.  Fingertips poke at his cheeks, eyebrows, forehead. A hand rubs between his eyes. Why do you get to keep him in this universe, but not your own? his reflection asks.

Hushed voices filter in from the living room, and he sneaks a peek around the door jamb. A pretty middle-aged woman stands by the front door, shooting a frown at Tyler, her head tilted.  “What do you think it is?” She asks, shrugging out of her cardigan sweater and draping it over the oversized recliner. “Stress? PTSD?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler replies.  Wait, PTSD over what?  “If the memory loss persists, we’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.  I thought maybe seeing you would help him.”

Stiles steps into the living room, capturing their attention.  The woman isn’t familiar, he’s never seen her in his life, but he knows her face the minute she looks at him.  Stiles’ father has filled his life with love, but there’s no substitute for a mother. And that’s who this woman is, his mother.  No one’s looked at Siles this way since he was eight years old. A razor edge of pain cuts into his heart.

His eyesight blurs, and red, blotchy heat creeps up his cheeks. Stiles swipes a thumb under one eye and tries to make it look like he’s scratching his cheek.

“Oh, Dylan, sweetheart,” she says.  “I’m your mom, Lisa.”

—————

Halfway through Lisa filling him in on Dylan’s early life growing up in New Jersey, their move to California when he was twelve, and his stint in a band, Stiles’ stomach lets out a growl loud enough to rival a werewolf.  

“We haven’t eaten anything all day,” Tyler says. “Root beer doesn’t count.”

“Why don’t you both go out for dinner,” Lisa offers.  “I’ll watch Conor.” She makes kissy faces at their son, who yanks at her brown hair, and warmth swells in Stiles’ chest.  He’s missed being part of a family, and this one sits gift-wrapped like a present just for him.

They walk outside, shoulders bumping. “We could drive into downtown,” Tyler offers, “but the traffic will be terrible, even at this time.”

Stiles shoves his hands into the pockets of his borrowed jeans, scoping out the view of the city skyline in the distance. “Whatever, dude. I’m game for somewhere local.”

Tyler eyes him, weighing the options, then graces him with another one of those megawatt smiles. “I think this day calls for The Coop.”

Stiles finds himself at a hole-in-the-wall, family-run pizzeria, scarfing down the best-tasting pizza ever. They split a large pie, ordered off a red menu adorned in green and white writing that makes Stiles think of Christmas.

Tyler wipes the grease off his lips with a paper napkin and leans back, resting his elbows on his chair arms. “You love eating here,” he tells Stiles. “We don’t often come here because I’m usually trying to stay in decent shape for baseball, but when we get here, we always order the works, hold the pineapple. You’re known to demolish an entire pie by yourself.”

At least this Dylan guy has good taste in pizza.  Slow roasted tomato sauce and melted cheese punched him in the nose as soon as he walked in.  

Stiles throws down his napkin, a white flag signaling his defeat to the single slice left on the pizza pan. He picks up the red plastic cup half-filled with root beer–turns out this stuff is pretty addicting– and gnaws on the cardboard straw between sips. “So, how’d we meet? Did I accidentally traipse across your yard, and you tell me I was trespassing?”

Tyler blinks. “That’s weirdly specific.” He picks up his beer bottle, takes a swig. “No. You’re a sports broadcaster, and you came to one of my games to interview me.”

“Love at first sight?” Stiles inquiries, tongue chasing his straw across his lips.

Tyler raises a brow, gesture a mirror-image of Stiles’ Derek. “That’s very distracting. Who taught you to use a straw?”

Stiles places the cup back down on the lacquered tabletop. “Sorry. D-” he pauses. “My friend back home complains about that too.”

“This friend who looks suspiciously like me?”

“Yeah. Him.”

Tyler laughs. “I’m sure he finds it distracting, too. Give the poor guy a break.”

“Anyway…” Stiles doubts he’s ever the person to steer a conversation back on track, but today is a day of firsts. First time I woke up in bed with Derek.  There’s more, but his brain keeps getting stuck on that one. “Was it love at first sight for you and your husband?”

Tyler’s eyes go soft, unfocused. “We clicked right away, but no. Every date we went on just got better and better until we eventually moved in together.”

“When did you know he was the one?” Stiles asks, trying to imagine a world where he and Derek didn’t immediately clash like oil and water.

Tyler’s cheeks bloom apple-red. Oh, there’s a story here, and I want it.  “I knew the first Christmas we spent together when I watched you hump an artificial tree. I said to myself, ‘Tyler, you’ve gotta keep this one.’”

Laughter bursts out of Stiles’ mouth. “Please,” he wheezes, “tell me more.”

Tyler does.  

“How’d we end up an old married couple with a kid?” Stiles asks as they push through the doors of the restaurant, spilling out onto the warm pavement. Stiles thinks of the freezing temperatures of the blizzard he trudged through with Derek the day prior and shivers despite the sun’s heat.

Here Tyler hesitates, shoulders pulling high and back, spine lengthening. It’s Derek’s ’going into battle’ pose. Stiles has seen it enough times to know it by heart, his own body reacting on instinct, stepping closer to Tyler, creating a united front.  

“We were going along great,” Tyler says, “having a good time. We both figured we’d get married, eventually. Our careers kept us busy; we didn’t rush into things. But one day, I’m in Sacramento, practicing at Raley Field, and my manager calls me off second base to tell me I’ve got to get home; you’d been in an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Stiles asks. Just as disaster-prone, I see.

Tyler’s hands clench at his sides. “A car hit you at work.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, stupidly. I’m usually the one running over people.

“You had a terrible concussion, the doctors worried about brain damage, and pretty much the entire right side of your face needed reconstructive surgery.”

“Jeez.” Stiles presses fingertips to his right cheekbone. “I can’t imagine your terror.” Derek’s reactions every time Stiles gets hurt is bad enough; he can’t imagine what Tyler must have gone through watching the man he loves lay injured in a hospital bed.

“All of a sudden, things didn’t seem so carefree. The thought of losing you was-” Tyler stops, takes a deep breath. Before he registers the movement, Stiles grabs Tyler’s hand, entwining their fingers and squeezing reassuringly. Tyler smiles shyly, presses back, and air stalls in Stiles’ lungs. Quicksand paves the road they’re walking down; the more Stiles flails around in memories of a life that isn’t his own, the deeper he sinks.

“We got married a year later after you’d recovered from surgery. We know we’re lucky to have this nearly stolen life, and we wanted to share that with someone. Now, we have Conor.”

Tyler stops walking, turns to face Stiles—to face Dylan. “It took us a long time to get here.” He pulls Stiles into a tight hug, and Stiles willingly goes, lets himself get wrapped up in arms he never thought he’d feel around him. “But we got here.”

———-

They dismiss Lisa with a round of hugs and promises to call in the morning if nothing has changed. Conor gets a bath in a tub they place in the ample kitchen sink, gurgling happily over the plastic bath toys Stiles flies around his bald head while Tyler scrubs him down. “My mom used to wash the Thanksgiving turkey in the sink,” Stiles tells them.

“Are you comparing our son to overstuffed poultry?” Tyler honest-to-god giggles. Did Derek ever giggle? Could Stiles help him find that much joy?

Stiles pokes at one of Conor’s adorably chubby legs, earning a gummy smile. “The resemblance is striking.”

Tyler does the bedtime routine, and they eat a quiet, amicable dinner of grilled chicken and baked potatoes at the kitchen table.

“I don’t know about you,” Stiles says around a yawn, “but I’m freaking beat, man. This day has been an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Agreed,’ Tyler replies, rolling his shoulders. “Sleep?”

“Totally.”

“I can take the couch?” Tyler offers when they walk into the darkened bedroom. Stiles eyes the bed between them, bathed in the milk-light of the moon streaming through the curtains. Conor is a tiny lump in his bassinet, soft snores echoing around the room.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. It’s totally fine. Married people sleep in the same bed.”

Tyler smiles, shoulders dropping from where they’d migrated to his ears. Stiles has stared at that smile all day, but he’s still not immune. It’s a flash of lightning, bright and dazzling, rolling through him like thunder. He’s shaken. “I’m glad. Honestly, I always sleep better when you’re with me.”

I’m always with you, dumbass.

Stiles can see why. As soon as they slide under the covers—Stiles in the sweatpants and T-shirt ensemble from the morning, and Tyler in his boxer-briefs and nothing else—Tyler cuddles up next to him, sighing deeply. He’s a comforting line of heat and weight, and Stiles turns toward him, instinctually. Tyler’s already drifting off, blinking sleepy half-lidded eyes at him.

“Goodnight,” Stiles whispers.

“Mmm, goodnight,” Tyler replies. He leans forward, rubs the tip of his nose against Stiles’, and brushes his mouth against Stiles’ lips, tongue lazily surging, tasting like mint, fresh and sharp. Is this wrong? It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Tyler threads his fingers into Stiles’ hair, pulling him closer, cradling the back of his head like he’s something precious, beloved. Large, strong hands skim across Stiles’ skull, cup his face, thumbs brushing featherlight over his cheekbones. Stiles hums contentedly into the kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler slurs, pulling away just far enough to look into Stiles’ eyes. “I know you don’t remember, and I-”

“Tyler, kiss me again.” The next few moments simmer between them, threatening to boil over, but they dial back the heat, let it cool until their foreheads pressed together, lips and noses gently rubbing.

Stiles closes his eyes and lets himself believe that Derek Hale, the king of drawing lines in the sand and chasing Stiles back to the other side, cards long, gentle fingers through Stiles’ hair as he falls asleep. Stiles could get used to this; he wants this. And because Stiles lies to himself on the daily, he refuses to acknowledge that he has desired this for as long as he can remember knowing Derek.  

Would it be so wrong to stay here and keep this life? It’s a luxury he hasn’t dared to allow himself to ponder since he woke up in this alternate reality.

Conor lets out a couple of guttural, cranky sounds. Tyler grumbles and starts to stir, jerky, half-asleep movements, “Shh,” Stiles says, running a long-fingered hand down Tyler’s back. “I’ve got this. You sleep.”

He carries Conor—his son—to the changing pad atop their dresser, and flicks on the lamp. It casts the little corner of their world in a soft golden glow. “We got this, buddy,” he tells Conor in a sing-song voice. “I’ll be a diaper changing expert in no time.” Conor blows spit bubbles at him. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles answers. “We’re both doomed.”

Changing diapers is a little more involved than Stiles realized, and he ends up with baby pee all over his shirt and Conor’s onesie. He divests Conor of his wet suit and takes a moment to plant a few raspberries against the soft soles of the baby’s feet, earning delighted squeals and flailing limbs. “This little piggy went to the market, and this little piggy stayed home,” Stiles recites, wiggling Conor’s tiny toes. “This little piggy ate roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little p—”

Stiles rubs his eyes frantically, blinks hard a few times. Counts. Counts again. One, two, three, four, five…

Six.

He studies the other foot. Six toes. Heart in his throat, he takes Conor’s grasping little hands in his and counts. No, no, no. Six fingers on each side.

How do you tell if you’re awake or dreaming?

Your fingers. You count your fingers. “You have extra fingers in dreams,” Stiles tells Conor, and then he wakes up.

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Stiles wakes in a panicky stupor, faces of nurses, doctors, and the Sheriff, who looks like he’s aged ten years, staring down at him, blurring together like paint on a canvas.

He flings out one hundred-pound arm, reaching for his child, for Tyler, for a world where his pack is alive and well and happy.  I’ve only had the perfect life for a day and a half, but if anything happened to it I’d kill everyone in this room and then myself. A giggle hiccups out of his dry throat.

“…nerve damage…dead tissue,” the surgeon explains, but some morphine-derivative courses through his system and he listens to it all from the deep end of a warm tunnel. “The bad news is, you lost the one toe to frostbite, but I saved the others. And the loss of a pinky toe doesn’t impede balance at all.”

Stiles nods. The conversation hangs around him like a dense fog. “That sucks,” he croaks out, words lengthening as the drugs pull his tongue like taffy. “But…where is my husband?”

Behind the doctor, two nurses exchange glances, eyes wide over their surgical masks. His father shakes his head back and forth. “Stiles… you’re not married.”

”I am, ” he insists.  ”And my baby. I have a baby.”

“Completely normal,” the doctor consoles. “Nothing to worry about. Some patients experience hallucinations and dreams as the anesthesia wears off.”

Oh yeah. Conor’s happy squeals, Tyler’s glorious smile, having a mom again. None of it was real.

“Recovery time typically takes between two and six weeks. You’ll have to keep the incision clean diligently and the stitches covered, but before you know it, you’ll walk again,” the doctor tells him. “You’ll run.”

Laughter gallops up his throat like a wild horse. He’s shaking again as he did in the snow, bones rattling and teeth clicking audibly together even as he desperately tries to clench his jaw and keep them still.

I’ve been running since I was sixteen. I don’t want to run anymore.

His father plucks a Kleenex from the box on his hospital tray, hands it to him. The thin tissue is sandpaper between Stiles’ raw fingertips. “Wh-why are you g-giving me this?” Stiles asks between gasps of air.

“Son,” his father says softly, “you’re crying.”

———-

His hospital room smells like a funeral parlor. Lily of the valley, morning glory, and peony. Scott charges in the moment Stiles can receive visitors outside the pathetic roster of family members, carrying a vase of blue dicks. “Get it?! Because you had hypothermia! You were freezing your-”

“Yeah, buddy. I get it.”

Get Well Soon the generic message on the flower card commands, but the problem is, Stiles isn’t sick. He’s grieving. But how can I mourn a life I never had?

By lunchtime, the snow stops, the sun shines, and Derek saunters into his hospital room as if he owns it. He looks stoically handsome in his black leather jacket and signature scowl, calm and composed, and smells like fresh air. Stiles’ emotional state soars dangerously from elation to despair, settling somewhere in the realm of weary acceptance.  

“They obliterated my toe,” Stiles tells Derek when he approaches the bedside, pulling back the sheet to reveal his foot wrapped up in a mountain of gauze.

“I know,” Derek replies, pulling up a folding chair and falling gracefully into it. He props his sneakers up on top of the room’s air-conditioning unit. “I brought you here and stayed until your Dad could come. The doctor said he’d try his best, but…” Derek shrugs. He knows all about good intentions.

“Scott told me you went back out after I got out of surgery, killed the Chenoo.”

Derek grimaces. “I have salt in crevices where salt should never go.”

“I’m ah, I’m sorry I was wea-”

Derek holds up a hand. “Stiles, stop. Never apologize for your humanity.”

But it’s more than physical feebleness.  It’s the mental weakness that settles on Stiles’ shoulders like a villains cloak—stitched with shame, edged in anger, dyed red because he looks damn good in red, and no one can tell him otherwise.

Stiles pulls a flat hospital pillow into his arms, holding it across his chest like armor, curling tighter around it with each word. ”Scott said you know about the hallucinations.”  Might as well get this over with now, when the wound is still fresh enough to heal with a minimal amount of scarring.

”I do, ” Derek replies.  ”Did Scott tell you I stayed the entire time? I only left this morning to kill the Chenoo.”

”He may have mentioned something along that line.” It’s the sole reason Stiles is brave enough to tackle this conversation now.  Dude, Scott had said, Derek stood outside the ICU for hours.  Your dad totally thinks you’re boning him.

“Derek?” Stiles fidgets with the sheet covering his leg. “I need to ask you something.”

Gold-flecked green eyes bore into him. Lacking Tyler’s delicate laugh lines, they feel sharper than a knife. “You can ask me anything, Stiles.”

He already grilled his father in every detail, but he needs to hear it from Derek’s mouth. “Did we find shelter from the storm in a cabin in the preserve? Was there a…” He stumbles; Conor’s face flashes before his eyes. “Was there a baby there? A baby boy in a red blanket?”  

Derek’s punctuates his gentle but firm statement with a shake of his head. “No, Stiles. You passed out, and I carried you here.”

“From the preserve? Dude. That’s like… Miles.”

Derek nods. He doesn’t say it, but somehow Stiles can hear the unspoken And I’d do it again because he’d do the same for Derek. Sadness surges like a wave, sudden and powerful, the words pulled from his mouth in the tide. “I dreamt we were a family.”

“We are family, Stiles. Pack is family.”

“No.” Stiles bites his lip. “I imagined it all, made it up in my head, but it felt so damn real. We were a family; you, me, and our son.”

Derek’s feet drop back to the floor, his spine a tautly pulled string. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me more.”

Stiles tells him everything.

“Wait,” Derek says after Stiles finally stops speaking. “This sounds vaguely familiar.” Derek unfolds from the chair and moves toward the hospital room door.  

“It does?” Stiles asks, hope igniting inside his chest. Maybe Derek’s dreamed about this before too.

“Stay right there,” Derek commands, eyebrows furrowed as he walks out of the room.

“Where do you imagine I’m going to go?” Stiles calls. “My foot is—”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded familiar!” Derek declares as he rushes back into the room, waving a magazine in front of Stiles’ face.

“What the heck, man?” Stiles struggles to sit up. “Did the nurses at the desk see you using werewolf speed?”

“Look,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles as usual. “Your surgery took two hours, and your father was scrambling for coverage so he could get over here. I sat in the waiting room, reading every magazine they had. I read this one.” He flips open an Entertainment Weekly and holds it under Stiles’ nose. There’s a handsome, dark-haired man in profile on the cover, looking down at a baby in a red blanket nestled in his arms. Another man flanks the infant; a smiling face turned toward the camera. The cover line reads, Tyler and Dylan may have ended their run on Teen Wolf, but their story is far from over.  

Oh my god, you are such an idiot.

“Oh my god, I am such an idiot!” Stiles squeals, snatching them magazine out of Derek’s hand. No. No, it can’t be. Stiles did not almost die of hypothermia just to imagine he Freaky Friday-ed with a couple of actors.  

“I knew Tyler and Dylan sounded familiar. They’re those actors who got married in real life, the ones on that stupid teenage werewolf soap opera you and Scott loved. And then they—”

“Adopted a baby last month,” Stiles finishes, flipping through the familiar pages. He’d perused the same magazine in Deaton’s clinic while they discussed how best to destroy the Chenoo.

“It makes perfect sense, Stiles,” Derek says, laying a hand down next to him on the bed. “Your brain latched onto the last thing you focused on before we left to hunt the Chenoo. It’s almost like that one episode of the show where Dylan’s character ends up in the Phantom Train Station between dimensions.”

“Hey,” Stiles gives Derek the stink eye. “You swore you never watched the show.”

An overly exaggerated eye roll. “I may have caught a couple of episodes.”  

Stiles’ eyebrows smugly say, I told you so, and Derek’s answer, shut the fuck up, Stiles.

“Which one were you again?” Derek asks. “Which guy?”

Stiles looks at the happy face of the actor. “Dylan.”

“So I was Tyler?” Derek grimaces. “That guy looks like he’s thirty-five.”

“Yeah, but in the best way,” Stiles insists.

He huffs, but Stiles sees the tips of his ears burning bright pink. Derek looks down, rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “You know I’m not him, right?” Derek asks, pointing to the handsome, besotted face on the magazine cover. “I’m not some happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine.”

Stiles tosses the magazine to the window ledge, where it falls between two flower vases. “Yeah, I know,” Stiles softly replies. Butterflies flutter in his stomach; they tingle at the ends of his ten fingers and nine toes. “Doesn’t stop me from loving you, though.”

Derek climbs into Stiles’ hospital bed, presses his face into Stiles’ throat and sighs, warm breath fanning over Stiles’ skin, words vibrating. “The entire trek to the hospital, I was terrified.”  Derek brushes an errant lock of hair from Stiles’ forehead. “Then we got here, and they wrapped you up in this insulation, trying to raise your body temperature. It took hours, and I spent every minute thinking I might never get the chance to tell you…I don’t know for sure what’ll happen; marriage, kids, all of the above, none of the above. But I know I never want to lose you.”

And he remembers Tyler, standing on the busy streets of Los Angeles, looking like a lost little boy when he talked about almost losing his husband.  It’s the same face Derek wears now.

“I’m always with you, dumbass,” Stiles answers.  Why did he think this would be hard? It’s as natural as breathing. “Important question, though.  This might make or break everything, so think hard before you answer. How do you feel about bathroom makeovers?  I have some ideas.”

“I feel strong to very strong about dual shower jets.”

“Dude,” Stiles says.  “There’s a definite possibility we’re soulmates.” And then, Derek smiles. It’s not as big or as bright as Tyler’s, not nearly as all-consuming as his subconscious conjured, but Stiles thinks, with time and love, it will get there.

They’ll get there.

[aaronhart93-archive]

discord II text Roman & Aaron

Discord thread featuring: Aaron and @romanbeckett​

Mentions: @davieslandon​ @malakhai-ozera​ @jayceelynd​ @alison-haynes​

Where: Aaron is at his house and Roman is at his house.

When: evening of May 26th-monrning of May 27th, 11:30p-2:30a

Description: Roman texts Aaron and they talk all night until they both fall asleep

Trigger Warnings: smut, what I would imagine harry’s peen to look like, really cute shit

Roman.

Hey.

Aaron.

hi

Roman.

Khai broke up with me, so. With us.

with Jay and I. And he left.

Aaron.

oh my god...im sorry Ro

Roman.

Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.

Aaron.

what did he say? Like why...?

Roman.

He told us that he loved us but needed time to work on himself or whatever.

Aaron.

I don’t know Khai that well but it does seem like he’s got a lot of shit to figure out

how are you doing with it?

and jayc? Should I reach out to her or....does she not know we’re talking

Roman.

you can talk to her if you want. I think we both just don’t really know how to feel to be honest.

Aaron.

im sorry

i hope he's okay

and i hope you and Jayc are okay too

Roman.

don’t be lol honestly Aaron, I set myself up for it the second I agreed to close myself off, knowing all of the issues I need to work through as well

contrary to popular belief, I’m far from having it all figured out.

Aaron.

that makes two of us

that was quick tbh

Roman.

Yeah. I just feel like an idiot.

Aaron.

what no....thats not what i meant

Roman.

anyway.

how are you

Aaron.

okay....no please dont feel like an idiot. its his fault not yours

im....okay....getting better than i was last week

miss you though not gonna lie

Roman.

I miss you, too. A lot.

Aaron

:(

im sorry

idk why i am i just feel like i need to apologize

Roman.

you have nothing to be sorry for lol at all

if anything, I’m sorry.

for bringing you into all this drama

and making you eat at a Chinese buffet lol

Aaron.

making me eat at a Chinese buffet is the only thing you have to be sorry for

also

i inserted myself into this mess as well. and didn't pull out once i realized who you were to landon

Roman.

does it make me immature if I laugh at you saying you didn’t pull out once?

Aaron.

RO

YES BUT IM HERE FOR IT

Roman.

I might just be high, but now I can’t stop laughing lol

Aaron.

sksjks

im sober and laughing so

well not sober

i had a few drinks

Roman.

everyone knows you’re a lightweight Aaron, stop tryin’ to be sly lol

Aaron.

who you callin a lightweight, lightweight?

Roman.

only when I haven’t eaten anything LIGHTWEIGHT

Aaron.

https://tenor.com/view/uncalled-gif-5394176

michelle tanner voice

Roman.

You miss me. Just a reminder.

Aaron.

you miss me

another reminder

Roman.

I’m not the one calling you rude lol

Aaron.

you called me out for being a lightweight and i retaliated

forgive me

Roman.

you’re in denial is what you are :fingerguns2:

but I’ll forgive you.

Aaron.

idk you'd think for how much i drink i'd have a higher tolerance

i need therapy

Roman.

probably lol I’ll go with you

Aaron.

lol couples counseling?

jk

jk

Roman.

I actually think it would be quite funny to see what they have to say about US

Aaron.

i need a therapist to tell it like it is

then again i do have ali

that woman calls me out on my shit literally daily

maybe shes just a free therapist

Roman.

LMAO that’s...amazing. I like her already.

Aaron.

she do be driving me up a wall

but

shes family

Roman.

Ah, family. I’ve been trying to get my sister here, but she’s being an ass lol

Aaron.

asshat

who wouldn’t want to move to New York

Roman.

satans demons.

Aaron.

exactly

whats keeping her from coming?

Roman.

she’s not as hellbent on big cities as I am lol

Aaron.

weird

city life has always been for me

arent you from manchester? is that not a big city?

Roman.

it’s not New York lol

she lives in the country now though.

Aaron.

no city is new york

Roman.

exactly lol

Aaron.

what are you doing

besides getting high

Roman.

I’m naked on the couch eating cherry gilato while watching good mythical morning on YouTube

Aaron.

i would very much like to be naked on a couch with you

Roman.

I painted my nails and did a facial first lol i could do yours as well

Aaron.

ill take the facial

i couldn't pull off the nails though

Roman.

you’d look so kickass with some black nails

Aaron.

you think?

Roman.

hell yes. Even a sky blue, like those eyes

Aaron.

i blush

maybe we can try the toe nails first

in case I end up hating them

Roman.

OH, I’m also trained in Swedish massage, head to toe. If you want a personal spa day

Aaron.

that would just give me a boner

Roman.

well, it’s a FULL body massage after all.

Aaron.

sksjsks

dont tempt me

Roman.

Aaron. I just.

is it bad that I don’t want to stay away from you anymore?

that’s a dumb question

I know it’s bad.

Aaron.

its not dumb

I don’t want to stay away from you either

but I promised Landon

Roman.

I know. So did I.

You’re right, I’m sorry.

Aaron.

he’s my best friend

dont be sorry

im glad you’re being honest with me

I just don’t see Landon being okay with this anytime soon

Roman.

I know! I know. He’s mine too, and I care about him more than I care to admit. I shouldn’t be like this.

Aaron.

damn this is fucked up

Roman.

I shouldn’t have said anything

Aaron.

I wish this could be easier

im the one that started with the boner references

Roman.

Not really. I offered you a massage

Aaron.

okay yes but

I told you I wanted to be naked with you

Roman.

because I said I was naked

Aaron.

I just don’t want you blaming yourself that’s all

Roman.

I know, but it is what it is. I made a mess of everything, and now everything I had is ruined lol I deserve it.

Aaron.

Ro

I’m sad you think so little of yourself

Roman.

I don’t. It’s just consequences. I made bad decisions, and now I have to deal with the consequences. That’s all. It’ll all be okay.

Aaron.

I wish I could make you feel better

Roman.

you already do. I promise.

Aaron.

I just smiled

Roman.

show me?

Aaron.

sure

Roman.

omg bad idea my heart

Aaron.

oop

Roman.

you’re so fucking jahshsbzjdndjendj

Aaron.

AKDJDJAKALhdja

Roman.

I’m mad at you

for looking like that

Aaron.

Well i can’t stop thinking about u

Roman.

let me just

Aaron.

yeah I kept drinking

and as we’ve established I’m a lightweight

okay I showed you a selfie now you should be a selfie

Roman.

oh yeah? Trying to boss me around again are ya?

Aaron.

do what daddy says

Roman.BOTToday at 2:02 AM

yes daddy.

Aaron.

brb gotta go jack off

Roman.

stoppppp

Aaron.

not kidding

Roman.

you don’t need a better picture than that to do the deed

??? Lolll

Aaron.

I mean....you could send me some

Roman.BOTToday at 2:09 AM

Does this help?

Aaron.

holy fuck

ugh I wanna fuck you so bad

and put all of you in my mouth

Roman.

I want it too. I shouldn’t, but I do. I want you to fuck me with my hands tied behind my back, and you pulling on my collar from behind.

Aaron.

fuck don’t put those thoughts in my head or I’ll act up

I wanna tie you up so bad

and punish you for being so naughty

Roman.

I’d want to call out your name so loud, but you’d have to let me.

Aaron.

you can’t do anything without my permission

Roman.

I’ll do my best daddy. You know I like to make you proud.

Aaron.

Ro I just came into a sock so hard

I want you so bad but the fact I can’t have you makes that even hotter to me

Roman.

forbidden fruit, hm?

Aaron.

you’re my forbidden fruit for sure

Roman.

wish I could have been there to help

Aaron.

you did enough helping trust me

Roman.

are we terrible people lol

Aaron.

I know

we are

im trying though

so that’s gotta count for something

Roman.

I hope it does, for both our sakes lol

Aaron.

if this doesn’t work out we can always be together in hell

Roman.

that sounds like a rightful ending

at least I’ll be tan.

Aaron.

we’ll both be hot and tan chilling in hell together

and we can fuck all we want

Roman.

sounds like the next big Netflix series.

Aaron.

could you imagine a Netflix series about us

Roman.

no, I’m scared to lol it would be more insane than Tiger King

Aaron.

you think our lives are more insane than Tiger King?!?

Roman.

scary, right??

Aaron.

thats definitely...quite the comparison

Roman.

I would have loved to have seen your face watching it for the first time

Aaron.

watching that together would have been so fun

I can picture us watching that and freaking out together

Roman.

maybe one night we’ll trip acid and watch it again

Aaron.

confession I’ve never tripped before

Roman.

whaaaaaa

do it with me!

Aaron.

I mean yeah I used to do a lot of coke when I got drunk and sometimes still do but that been the extent of my drug use

hahaha I will trip with you, Roman Beckett

Roman.

aces! Just tell me when and where, and it’s a plan!

Aaron.

”aces”

but yeah let’s do it this weekend

Roman.

I’m British you knob. Shut up lol

Aaron.

I know MATE I was making fun of you

Roman.

sends long audio clip making fun of Aaron’s New York accent

Aaron

brooooo

I do say that though

Roman.

I know, I’ve listened to you talk enough

it’s cute though

ready for bed?

Aaron.

just about

I was gonna go to bed a while ago but wanted to keep texting you

Roman.

same.

tuck me in lol

Aaron.

do u want me to tell you a bedtime story

Roman.

yes, but make it snappy

and I want warm milk

Aaron.

damn

so bossy

but okay

Roman.

you know I’m spoiled.

Aaron.

that must’ve been my fault

okay Des like this one:

By the African river, know as the Nile The sun fell away and it rested a while The rhinos had braved all the smoldering heat They lay down to sleep as they wiped off their feet The elephants marched to their elephant beds And gently they rested their elephant heads Slowly the hippos sank into the river The water so cold that it gave them a shiver (Hippos can't swim, like the pelicans think They also can't float, they could easily sink) The hippos went bathing in cool, shallow pools Thinking the rhinos and elephants fools Underwater, they fell to the soft river bed On darkish green plants with a smidgen of red They strolled on the bottom, then bounced up for air They did it for hours, without any care The fish followed closely, and wove in an out Under their belly, and up to their snout Each of the hippos came up to the shore To feed on the grass by the river once more They dried off their bodies by shaking and stomping And took bites of grass, chewing and chomping With night fading fast, they were full from the feast The sun returned back, rising up form the east The hippos crept off to collapse for the day While rhinos and elephants got up to play Enjoying the warmth of the sun and its light Never knowing the story of hippos at night

just read it in my New York accent you’re so good at

goodnight Lois

Roman.

that was perfect. Goodnight Clark.

[lihikainanea]

Ohhhh, BFF!Bill you soft sweet giant. How I do love you so. This one is fluffy. I needed BFF!Bill to be fluffy. Because let’s face it--I don’t know about you all--but I have never had a good morning after. It’s usually filled with awkward stares or wrong-name-calling or both. But BFF!Bill? Nah uh, you ain’t getting away with that, tiger.

Part 1+2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

As always, fueled by that nani ask to @ill-skillsgard in Parts 1 +2. Bless you nani. Bless.

***

It was the warmth that woke you, first. The heat radiating like a furnace all around you, enveloping you, beckoning you to stay in your semi-conscious state. You would have thought nothing of it, but the feeling when you stirred--that sharp pain in your spine, the pinched nerve in your shoulder, the ache between your legs--tipped you off in remembering that this morning was something...slightly out of the ordinary.

The contact wasn’t abnormal for you. You usually shared a bed whenever one of you slept over at the other’s because it was just easier and neither one of you were really concerned at how you’d wake up like a koala around him, or how all of his long limbs had somehow locked themselves around you.  But something felt different this morning, the heavy weight around your ribcage, the sturdy legs tucked up under yours, the broad chest at your back. His lips were at your shoulder, his nose tucked up towards your neck, and you wondered how he could even breathe with the mop of your hair surrounding his face. But his rhythmic breaths, warm puffs on your shoulder, let you know he was out cold.

You peeled your eyes open, willing the fog in your brain to clear, as you took in your surroundings. Bill’s arm was tucked solidly around you, coming up between your breasts and his hand near your face. You realized now, somewhat confused and rather embarrassed, that his thumb was resting snugly in your mouth. You groaned, reaching up to gently remove it and depositing his hand back on the pillow.  You didn’t know what to do. You knew that you had promised--you both had promised--that things wouldn’t get weird between you. But you had no idea. You didn’t know that when your best friend, this gigantic tower of a man who was the softest and gentlest human you had ever known, had offered to help you with your predicament--you didn’t know that he in turn would give you the best sex of your life. Sex that had you feeling like you got hit by a truck, but that still had your body buzzing and humming happily from releases--multiple releases--that were so intense.

You didn’t know what to do, but you knew one thing: you had to go. You had to go, now, and you would figure out the rest later. You chalked it up to routine, there was nothing unusual about you splitting after a one night stand. Bill knew this.  He’d laughed at the scrape on your brow, the branches in your hair, when you’d met him for brunch after one rousing morning-after that had you escaping via a window and landing in a thorny bush. Bill knew you never stayed. In fact, he’d probably be grateful to wake up without you still hanging around so that he, too, could process it all.

You stirred a little, gently detaching his arm from around you first and depositing it ever so slowly behind you. You put some distance between your back and his chest, unsticking his lips from your shoulder.

“Mmmmmprhgh,” he groaned, stirring. You stilled, not even daring to blink, until you heard his breathing evening out again. You resumed your attempts at escape.

“Jesus, you fucking octopus,” you whispered quietly to yourself, moving to detangle your legs from his. His limbs were everywhere. You managed to get one leg free--when the hell had you put gigantic wool socks on?-- but then a long arm was wrapping back around your waist, dragging you a small distance across the pillow and tucking you back firmly into his chest. A warm pair of lips traced from your shoulder to your ear, his nose inhaling softly, and he pressed a soft kiss to your earlobe.

“I know,” he started, his morning voice much deeper and raspier than his usual one, “I know you’re not trying to sneak out of here without me knowing.”

SIlence. Dead silence. You stiffened considerably, and he burrowed his face deeper in your neck.

“Relax kid,” he whispered, “It’s just me. It’s still just me.”

You had no idea what to say, shrinking your shoulders and hunching in on yourself a bit. Bill sighed, loosening the grip he had on your waist and reaching his hand up to scratch at your head instead.

“If you want to leave, you can,” he said, keeping his voice low, “I want you to stay. But if you don’t want to, you can go. Just use the fucking door like a normal person, and not the window.” He reached around and laid a gentle kiss on your cheek, returning his face to the crook of your neck.

That earned him a small chuckle from you, and you felt his grin at your ear.

“I just planted that peony bush downstairs. it looks better without a you-shaped imprint in it,” he continued. 

You laughed at that, and he felt your body relax, your muscles letting go of their tension. You turned in his arms to face him; his hair was stuck up everywhere, his eyes hooded, his lips puffy. You gave him a small smile.

“Hey, tiger,” he smiled too, stroking his thumb across your cheek where the creases from your pillow case had indented. 

“Hey, Billy goat,” you replied, “It’s too fucking early to be awake. And for the record, I’m only staying because you make a killer breakfast.” 

You tucked your face into his chest as he chuckled, his chin resting on top of your head as his arm wrapped back around you and he tangled your feet together.

“Noted,” he said.

“And because peony bushes have thorns.”

“Yeah, that didn’t work out too well for you the last time,” he said, and you groaned in agreement.

He dug a hand in your hair, lightly scratching at your scalp. His other hand came up, thumb resting lightly on your lips.

“You want this back?” he teased, tapping his thumb against your mouth.

You pinched his ribs and he squealed, laughing, and drew you in closer to his chest. You smushed your face further into him, wrapping your arm around his torso, as sleep took hold of you again.

When you roused again, it was because his chest was vibrating with a poorly stifled laugh, his hand still in your hair and scratching softly. You huffed angrily, smacking your lips.

“The fuck, Bill,” you groaned. More poorly controlled laughter.

“You uh....you drooled on me. It tickles.”

Your eyes flew open and you unpasted yourself from his chest, mortified at the wet patch that was in his chest hair.

“Oh my god that is....that is so gross. I’m so sorry,” you scurried further away but he was quick to loop a long arm around you, pulling you back in.

“It’s fine tiger,” he laughed, “breakfast?”

You closed your eyes and just groaned, diving face down into your pillow.

“I need to caffeinate you, don’t I?”

“Yes, fuck you,” your answer was muffled but got your point across, as the sheets rustled and he stood. Stretching his arms right up to where they almost touched the ceiling, he cracked his back and grabbed his sweatpants on the way out the room.

Right, you should probably start looking for your clothes, too. Sitting up, you quickly located your jeans. You underwear were trickier, but they ended up being at the foot of the bed under the comforter. You slipped them on. Your shirt was on Bill’s side. And your bra, you realized with utter terror after searching for several moments...your bra was hanging from the ceiling fan directly above you.

Scrambling up, you reached as high as you could on your tiptoes on the bed, but you still didn’t come close. You would try jumping, but your knees were already wobbly at being up higher than on solid ground. You whined, reaching desperately in hopes that maybe your arm would grow about 14 more inches.

“Oh. Here uh....let me,” Bil stood in the middle of the room, placing two cups of coffee on the nightstand while you quickly covered your chest with your arms. Ever so elegantly, he reached up, just a tad onto his tip toes, and plucked your undergarment from where it hung. He handed it to you, giving you a wink as he took a sip of his coffee. You hurriedly put your bra and shirt on, hopping down from the bed and wincing slightly as you moved your legs more. Concern took over his features.

“Are you okay?” he asked. You nodded.

He walked slowly to you, grasping your chin softly and forcing your eyes to his.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you answered quickly, “you didn’t hurt me. I promise. I’m just a little uh, sore.”

“Do you need Advil? Or an...ice....pack?” he released your chin and you laughed, loud and genuine.

“An ice pack? Really, Bill?” he shrugged at your teasing, embarrassed, “ It’s nothing a solid breakfast can’t fix,” you assured as you grabbed his elbow, leading the way.

You boosted yourself up onto the counter, taking a seat by the stove as you watched him work. Despite being so tall and gangly, there was always something...fluid about the way he moved. He was elegant. Clumsy at times, but also smooth and purposeful in the way he moved, particularly around things and places that he loved, like his kitchen. You watched him work, sweatpants slung low on his hips and a kitchen towel draped across a bare shoulder. He moved lazily but efficiently, stirring a bowl, flipping pancakes, shaking a pan. When he knew you were watching, he’d start waving his arms wildly, changing his voice in that of the Swedish Chef and speaking gibberish. That one always got you, Bill was so good at impersonations and the character was so perfect. You laughed at him, happily sipping your coffee and swinging your feet when the socks caught your eye. Right, those socks. You had been meaning to ask him.

“Hey, Bill...” you started. He hummed, his mouth wrapped around a finger that had just tasted a sauce bubbling away. He reached for his pepper grinder.

“Where the fuck did these socks come from?” You motioned to the wool socks on your feet, thick and furry and very obviously much too big for you.

“You woke me up in the middle of the night with those icicles attached to your shins,” he said, “I jumped a mile. Fucking lizard feet.”

“You put socks on me when I was sleeping?” Bill paused, turning to you and quirking a brow in challenge.

“Of all the things I did to you last night, that's what strikes you as odd?”

He grinned at you then, your face turning beet red as you stared at him. He turned back around, leaving you in your shock, continuing to season the various elements of breakfast he had going. You hadn’t quite recovered by the time he was plating everything, handing you a dish with 3 pancakes on it while his dish had 5. You frowned.

“Why do you get more pancakes?” you asked.

“Short stack for the short stack,” he shrugged, booping your nose and walking to the table. Picking up a lemon from a nearby bowl, you flung it at his head and guffawed loudly when it beaned him perfectly and bounced off.

“Vurt da FURK!” his arms flew up, continuing his earlier impersonation, and you launched into a fit of giggles.

“You’ll pay for that one,” he said. You hopped off the counter, plate in hand, to join him at the table.

“Just keep in mind, Billy goat,  I’d much rather be in a thorny peony bush right now. But you begged me to stay,” you retorted.

“And you begged me to--” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“Don’t you dare,” you threatened.

He just winked at you. 

[toosicktoocare]

It’s been, what feels like, eight years since I last wrote, so forgive me if this is rough. 

After looking at the response from the post I made asking what people want to see, I’m going to go with Spider-Man because a lot of people asked for him, with a lot also asking for Tony or marvel in general. 

There was a lot for DBH as well, but I’m going to go with Spider-Man (Irondad and Spiderson) for tonight. I hope that’s okay!

The snow crunching under Peter’s boots as he approaches Stark Tower only serves as a reminder of his buddy aggravation at the cold, at winter, at his poor immune system that gives out the second the temperature drops below 50 degrees Fahrenheit. 

He picked up a cold a few days ago, but it wasn’t-- isn’t-- bad; it’s just a pesky annoyance really, the sneezing, the back of his throat throbbing lightly, the coughing-- all just enough to have Karen using some sort of advanced technology Peter has yet to crack to keep him from donning his suit. 

“Karen, what the hell is this? Why can’t I grab my suit without getting shocked?”

“You’re ill, Peter.”

“It’s a cold.”

“You have a fever.” 

“It’s just a cold--”

“Peter, you don’t exactly have a great track record when it comes to illness and patrol. Now, unless you want me to tell Mr. Stark that you’ve been neglecting rest to catch up on homework, you will stop pushing and leave the suit alone until you’re well again.”

Peter rolls his eyes as the argument burns in his mind, and a gust of wind has him shivering with a hiss. He quickly hugs himself with a low groan. No suit means no heater, and no suit means he had to walk the twenty-five minutes to the tower because Ubers are expensive, and Ned’s mom won’t let him take the car out alone despite having his license now. 

He tugs on his hood, ensuring it covers his face as much as possible, and coughs weakly, breath clouding in the cold air as he starts up the long flight of steps. 

The doors whir open as soon as he approaches them, and the sudden shift from icy wind to engulfing heat has his nose twitching until he’s turning to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm. Groaning he swipes his sleeve under his nose as his eyes shift around-- it’s empty, quiet, but if he listens, if he taps into his senses, he can hear faint arguing-- one distinctively British accent against a quiet, tired voice.

He follows the voices until he slips into the second floor lounge, where Loki is leaning against a door-frame across the room with crossed arms while Tony is curled up on one couch, a pile of tissues littering the floor around him. 

“You’re a disgusting pile of snot, Stark,” Loki gripes out before dragging his gaze to Peter. “Good luck with this one.” 

He spins on his heel, stalking out of the room, leaving only Peter and Tony, the latter propped up on one elbow to hack barking coughs into his fist. 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter drops his backpack and coat to floor and rushes to Tony’s side, hovering but not touching-- he knows how Tony is. “Are you okay?”

Tony looks up once he catches his breath and sighs quietly. “Yeah, kid. Caught a nasty cold-- that’s all.” 

With furrowed brows, Peter holds one hand up in silent question, and when Tony shows no signs of objection, he slides his palm across Tony’s forehead, lips dropping into a pressing frown at the alarming heat. 

“Mr. Stark, you’re burning up. FRIDAY--”

“It’s 102.3, kid,” Tony cuts off, voice sounding an octave lower than usual as he shivers slightly from Peter’s cold palm. “FRIDAY’s already informed me, and I’ve already got medicine pumping through the system. Now I just have to wait and rest.” 

Peter gets to his feet, frown still playing prominently on his lips. “Mr. Stark, if you’re sick, why did you ask me to come? We could have--” 

“It’s three days until Christmas, Pete. All we’re going to do is watch stupid Christmas movies. I can handle that.” 

Hesitance plays on Peter’s face, and Tony rolls his eyes through a muttered series of coughs. “Don’t give me that look. Go sit on the opposite couch so you don’t catch this plague and cue up Netflix.” 

Quietly, Peter turns toward the other couch, but he pauses half way, a pesky tickle forcing him to turn and sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm. 

“Unless you’ve already fallen victim?” 

Sniffling, Peter turns back to face Tony with a shake of the head. “No, just the temperature difference from outside to inside. It was a cold walk--”

“You walked?” Tony sits up slightly, his turn to frown at the young boy. “Why didn’t you just swing over? I put that built in heater in your suit for a reason, you know.” 

Peter swallows back a small pit of panic. “N-no, I know, Mr. Stark. I just wanted... I wanted to clear my head. I get carried away with all this hero stuff when I’m in the suit.” 

Unconvinced, Tony sits up a little more. “You sound stuffy.” 

“Everyone is stuffy this time of year, Mr. Stark.” Peter turns back around, grabbing the remote before he flops down onto the couch across from Tony. “I promise I’m fine.” 

Tony holds Peter’s gaze for an extended moment, as if picking the kid apart, but Peter knows that look far too well, so he does his best to look relaxed, at ease, like he didn’t just lie to Tony’s face. 

“Fine,” Tony says before turning to sneeze into the blankets. He glances at Peter, eyes shifting to his own mound of blankets before looking back to Peter’s bare couch. “You warm enough over there? I had FRIDAY raise the heat a little because I’m freezing.” 

“Yeah, I’m good, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, shifting his eyes to the TV. Another lie-- he, too, is freezing. His bones are aching to shake against the chill settling against them, yet his face is far too warm. 

“Good. The Grinch?” 

Nodding, Peter arrows over to the movie and presses play. He keeps his eyes to the screen while his focus is on Tony’s persistent coughing and sneezing. Worry pulls at his stomach, but then Tony grows quiet, and Peter spares a glance to see the older man has nodded off, looking at ease in a light slumber. 

Without eyes on him, Peter presses his mouth to his shoulder and coughs harshly, muffling the cough into the fabric of his hoodie, before he lies down, curling onto his side as a shiver whips like an electric shock across his body. His eyes are drooping, and it’s somewhere between the Grinch’s backstory that he, too, nods off. 

*****

Tony’s pulled awake not by the end song from the movie, but from the sound of harsh coughing coming far too close and not from him. He pries tired eyes open, but the sight of Peter curled into a shaking ball and coughing loudly in a fitful sleep has him shooting up with wide, alarmed eyes. 

The kid looks far too pale, and his brows are furrowed in his sleep. He’s shaking from head to toe, teeth clacking together in between painful coughs, and Tony gets to his feet, swaying slightly but blinking past the sudden haze as he crosses the room to Peter. 

“FRIDAY?” 

“His current temperature is 103.2 degrees, sir. Karen’s patched over his vitals over the last four days. Would you like me to read them to you?” 

“Let me guess,” Tony starts, voice almost a groan. “He went from okay, to bad, to worse?” 

“Yes, sir. He caught a cold a few days ago, and his temperature has been steadily climbing since then due to lack of proper rest. I’m afraid his walk here may have pushed his cold to bronchitis.” 

There are words Tony wants to say, but Peter’s starting to stir awake, and when he blinks slowly at Tony, Tony only cocks his head to the side with a frown. 

“M-Mr. Stark?” Peter rasps out, trying to sit up. “Why’re you up? You should be--” 

“Taking care of your ass apparently,” Tony starts, turning away to muffle a few coughs. His head is throbbing, but the kid looks positively miserable. “103.2 degree-fever, kid? What was that nonsense about being fine?” 

Frowning, Peter presses one shaky hand to his cheek, the heat warming his finger tips upon brief contact. “It’s just a cold--”

“Not anymore, it isn’t.” Tony doesn’t mean to sound as harsh as he does-- it’s a spark of concern that comes out as a wave of anger. He gets to his feet with a sigh, and when Peter tries to stand as well, Tony bends over to gently push him back down. “Stay put, kid. I’ll be right back.” 

From heavy-lidded eyes, Peter watches as Tony leaves the room while chatting with FRIDAY. He tries to follow the fleeting conversation, but the fatigue is pulling him back under, and he slips off again. 

He recalls waking up once to drink something that tasted terrible, and he faintly remembers some rustling, possibly some moving, but the fever keeps his mind hazy and drifting back to sleep, until he wakes a few hours later, a frown playing on his lips because he’s sitting up-- sort of. He’s no longer lying flat on his side, he’s pressed against something-- no. 

He’s pressed against someone because he’s warm, no longer feeling as if he’s close to freezing to death. There’s a blanket over him, and there’s an arm draped around his shoulders. He peers up to see Tony sitting up right, his head tilted back against the back of the couch as he snores softly. 

He can’t remember much, but he doesn’t want to wake Tony to ask. Yet a soft voice, one just barely above a whisper, comes from across the room, and Peter shifts his gaze until he sees Loki perched in an arm chair with one leg crossed over the other. 

“He’s fine,” Loki says quietly, and when Peter mutters a weak “how,” Loki cuts him off. “You're easy to read, kid. Tony’s fever is already going down. Yours, however, is still high enough that I’m forced to sit in here and play babysitter to you two sniffling imbeciles until Rogers gets back.” 

Peter holds Loki’s gaze, blinking slowly, tiredly. “Thanks,” he whispers before dropping his head back against Tony’s side. He thinks he hears a scoff; he’s not surprised, but he drifts off with a smile when he hears a mumbled “you’re welcome.”

[beemichelle7]

I’d know you in this world or Elseworld...

“Barry. Barry? BARRY!”

Oliver shook his head, trying to escape the confusion clouding his thinking.

“Iris....” he started slowly, “I’m not Barry. My name is Oliver Queen.”

She actually chuckled before picking up her plate and heading for the kitchen sink. “You’re being so weird this morning.”

Unsure of himself, he changed tactics. “I mean, I just... I haven’t seen Oliver in a long time... I should probably catch up with him.

She scoffed at his explanation, but asked, “Are you gonna give him a call or run over?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m just trying to plan our day. If you’re running over to Star City, I’m gonna head to the lab... if you’re just making a phone call, I can wait for you.”

“I’m gonna.... run.... over.... because I’m... The Flash.”

“Oooookay. See you later, weirdo. Tell Felicity hi for me. Oh— and eat your pancakes! You’re gonna need the fuel!” She yelled behind her as she disappeared into the bedroom.

—————————

Oliver skidded to a stop in front of his apartment. He felt like he should take some deep, gulping breathes but he wasn’t even winded. He could really go for some Big Belly Burger right about now though... Iris was right, he should’ve eaten his pancakes. But he had more pressing things to deal with at the moment than hunger.

Oliver knocked forcefully on the door. “Felicity?” He called out as he knocked again, impatient. “Felicity!”

The door swung open to a frazzled looking Felicity. A few pieces of her hair were perfectly curled and the rest was still falling around her face in those soft, messy, morning curls. His fingers flexed as his side as he tried to resist burying them in the silky strands, pulling her close and —

“Hey Barry.”

Oliver grimaced.

“Is everything... okay?”

“Felicity- I... is Ba... Oliver home?”

The set of her brow told him she knew something was up. “No. He’s training with Digg. Are you sure everything is okay?”

“I need your help, Felicity.”

“Come in.” She stepped back and held the door wide for him to enter. He forced himself to walk past her into the house when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms. He’d been separated from her for the last 7 months; what was this cruel twist of fate after he’d just gotten her back that he would lose her again?

______________

“You’re telling me that you’re Oliver Queen?”

“Your husband. Yes.”

She smirked slightly at his possessiveness. “I am married to Oliver Queen.”

“Felicity... I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to believe me. There’s no one in the world I trust more than you. You’re my partner in everything. Please. If we’re going to fix this, we need to do it together.”

She sighed and glanced out the window thoughtfully. He watched her worry her lip between her teeth and knew she was running a million possibilities through her brilliant head. She turned back to him and their eyes locked. The rest of the world faded away, just like it always had when their souls had a conversation their mouths could not.

“What’s... going on here?”

Felicity startled and a hand flew to her chest “Oliver!”

“Barry,” Oliver grumbled out a correction to her exclamation through clenched teeth. Felicity shot him a look and Barry smirked.

“Hey hon.” She pushed her hair behind her ears nervously. “Do you... uh. Do you feel like yourself this morning?”

“Never better. Why don’t you come give me a kiss?”

Oliver growled low in his throat and was on his feet in an instant. “Keep your hands off my wife, Allen.”

“I’m just messing with you man! Although... where did you wake up this morning?” Barry asked looking slightly ill.

“She thought I was you.” Oliver said in defense.

“What does that mean?!” They both looked over at a fiery Felicity.

Oliver smiled at his wife. “I swear baby, I did not kiss her back.”

If looks could kill...

“Owww! What the hell, Barry?” Oliver rubbed his arm where he’d been sucker punched.

Barry shrugged, “you kissed my wife.”

“She kissed m—“ Barry took a step forward, but not as fast as Felicity.

“Ok. Enough!” She stepped in between them and gave them both a glaring look before demanding “what is going on?!”

Barry shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“Felicity,” Oliver started, “how do you see us?”

“What?”

“How do you see us?”

“Who has bigger arms?” Barry asked.

She looked hesitant as she glanced between the two men. “Do you really want me to answer that, Oli— Barry?”

“So you look like you,” Barry sighed, gesturing to Oliver, “but everyone thinks you’re me.”

“You guys need to get to Star Labs.”

Oliver took a small step toward Felicity, his entire being screaming at him to stay close. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you again.” He mumbled softly.

“You really are Oliver, aren’t you?” She said softly, bringing her hand up and carefully touching his face.

He immediately leaned into the touch, his eyes closing and his body drifting closer.

When he opened them again, he saw affection and a touch of uncertainty in her gaze as she stared at him for a few more heartbeats before looking over at Barry. Her gaze bounced from Barry to their wedding picture on the end table to Oliver and back to Barry again. “This is so confusing. My heart believes you, but my eyes—“ Her voice was small and as Oliver brought his hands up to frame her face and comfort her, Barry cleared his throat, “I’ll ah- I’m gonna wait outside.”

“Felicity...” Oliver started, running his thumbs along the slopes of her cheeks, “you told me you weren’t sure what was best for you was best for us.” He watched a small light of wonder and a hint of pain flash in her eyes. “You’re what’s best for me. You. All of you.” She looked at him like she could see HIM. In whatever reality this was, they were finding each other. Her hands come up to hold his wrists and for a moment he feared she’d pull away, but she held him to her. His breath stuttered when she rubbed her thumb along the inside of his wrist. It was all the encouragement he needed to continue. “I will always love that IT girl chewing on a red pen, you were a bright spot of light when I’d been living in darkness.” He pulled her infinitesimally closer and breathed, “you still are.” A small tear escaped her eye and he brushed it away with his thumb. “I will always love Overwatch, your voice in my ear gives me confidence and strength and... hope. You give me something to fight for. You protect me and guide me. There is no Arrow without Overwatch. And there’s no me without you. I love you, Felicity. My wife. My best friend. And I will love every version of you forever.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Her hands tightened around his wrists and her breath caught. He lingered for a moment, before pulling back to look in her eyes. “But Felicity,” he swallowed and looked at his feet before capturing her gaze again. “I want to be what’s best for you. I am going to go to Central City and get my life back so I can come home and get to know the you you’ve become over the last seven months so I can show you how much I love her. How much I love YOU and always, always will.”

He didn’t even bother to wipe away the tears that were falling in earnest down her cheeks now. “Oliver,” she breathed. He smiled hearing his name fall from her lips.

“It’s me.”

She nodded slightly and a small sob escaped her. “It is you... and it’s always been you. It will always be you. You are what’s best for me. I know there’s so much we need to talk about, but please never doubt that. I love you, Oliver.” She pushed up on her toes and he met her halfway, their lips pressed together and a gasp escaped her, “Oliver.” With her eyes closed and his heart beating beneath her fingertips, there was no question. She knew him. Her hands left his wrists and she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He tilted her chin up slightly, pulling her bottom lip between his own and....

A throat cleared. Oliver growled and the reverberation against her mouth made her chuckle slightly.

“Sorry man, we gotta go.” Neither of them had heard Barry come back in. Felicity lowered her feet back to the ground and pressed her forehead to his chest, her fingers going from gripping his neck to a light caress. He sighed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He felt her nod. He pressed another kiss to her head and turned to go before she pulled him back. Her lips found his and she gave him a long, hard kiss and then a few playful pecks. “What was that for?” He murmured, looking at her softly.

“Only kiss me.” She said. He smiled, but didn’t dare laugh.

“I love you.”

“Come home soon.”

[secret-rendezvous1d]

D E C E M B E R  9 T H

REQUEST First Christmas together and Harry is under the weather trying to act healthy.

Here we go.

I’m back in the swing of things; a little something sweet to make up for not being able to post properly over the last two days.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

Enjoy! x

It was rare for Harry to fall sick.

But whenever he did, it seemed to come along with a string of bad luck.

He was awake earlier than usual on Christmas Day. He’d beaten his alarm clock, had beaten the sunrise and he seemed to have beaten the tweets of the birds, that had nests in the trees of their front garden, and he seemed to have beaten his early-bird girlfriend who had told him, back on their fourth date, that Christmas Day was the only day she would wake up early on. His bedroom still consumed with darkness, different shaped silhouettes decorating his walls and there was a spooky, rather ominous glow filtering through the gap of his curtains from the street lamp outside. He could hear the gentle snores escaping YN’s parted lips, puckered from how her cheek had been pressed against him, with warm puffs of breath flushing over the bare skin of his collarbone and adding to the excess heat that seemed to radiate off his sweating body, and he was surprised at how she hadn’t woken up from the unfamiliar, slick coating that has started covering his skin.

The last thing he needed, on Christmas Day, was to be ill. And, because he only just woken up, he had only hoped that he hadn’t been taken victim of a gross nasal cold or an aching chesty coughing - he mentally prayed that it was just a build-up of bodily functions that had occurred during his sleep and that a quick blow of his nose and a hearty yack into the crook of his elbow would be all he needed to feel better again.

And being ill on his first Christmas Day spent with you, and only you, wasn’t what he had in mind.

A heavy grunt pushed out from his wheezing lungs as he tried to wriggle free from beneath his snoozing girlfriend. Her head slipping across his shoulder and into an awkward position, neck stretched up one side as her head hit the mattress, and his heart pounded in behind his ribs because, even though she had told him she would be up early (and that she would most likely wake him up, too), it was still too early for her to be rudely roused from her sleep. She looked peaceful. Beautifully peaceful and tranquil and he wanted to see that until he was no longer able to. His fists pushed the plush duvet away from him and, unusually, he didn’t shiver as the chill of his bedroom came into contact with his skin. He was far too warm to even comprehend the tingle of his cold toes and the goosebumps that rose on his forearms.

His boxers felt sticky against the fuzz of his thighs, his t-shirt smelt funny, like his musky cologne and sweat that had dried into the material, and his eyes were misty and bleary and he used the end of the bed as a guide towards the en-suite bathroom. And he must have only brushed over her ankle, from above the comforter, because her voice broke the silence of the room.

“Harry?”

“S’only me, yeah. Just going for a quick wee. I’ll be back in a mo’,” he hummed lowly with a heavy rasp in his speech. He took a cough into his fist and kept on grunting until his throat felt clear. “Go back to bed. It’s early.”

“Told you I get up early on Christmas Day.”

He could hear the grin in her voice and he chuckled, wheezily.

“Not this early though, baby. It’s only six. Don’t need to be up for another few hours, do we?” He let his feet take him across the carpet and stretched his fingers out to flick on the bathroom light. Flickering once, twice and waiting a few seconds before a third flicker that seemed elongated lit the room up. “I’ll be two seconds. I promise.”

She rolled onto her back and stretched out down the mattress, tiny mewls hitting the walls as she flexed her fingers and fanned her toes out behind the thick socks she stole from his drawer, and, with one glance at his hunched figure, she could instantly tell Harry wasn’t feeling himself. That his excuse of him ‘just going for a quick wee’ was an escape so he could blow his nose into a tissue, empty his bowels from an aching build-up and spit phlegm into the loo until he was free of mucus. Under the bright light of the bathroom, his cheeks seemed to have lost their natural pink colour and had been overtaken by a slight yet visible green pigment that homed upon the apple curves of his cheeks. His usual pink lips looked dry and chapped, ready to bleed as soon as they stretched around the words he wished to speak, and his hands and knees were shaking and quivering under his weight and in a way that made him look like he was about to collapse.

His breaths, that were usually soft and almost inaudible (apart from the odd whistle and high-pitched tune that caught up his nose) through his lips had intensified and become harsher to her ears, sounding pained from his throat and sounding unhealthily rough and wheezy.

Harry was sick.

Yet YN had no idea how he had taken such a turn for the worse. He looked, and sounded fine, when she arrived with a shoulder-bag slung over her shoulder and comfy clothes upon her body, and he had greeted her with a deep kiss that didn’t show any worry of passing on any sickness to her; he was fine when they ate dinner and had a snuggle on the sofa, soon after, under a blanket and before the fire as they watched Christmas movies on the Christmas channel; and he was perfectly okay when they went to bed, offering sex left, right and centre because he was excited for the following day and he needed something to make him drift off to sleep.  

But he was too proud - that wasn’t even the right word and YN knew that; ashamed, maybe? Embarrassed? - to admit it.

In the two years they had been together, she had grown to understand that he hated being seen as vulnerable. Yes, he shed a few tears to the public eye, but he never portrayed himself as the kind of guy who wanted people to feel sorry for him - he was a strong fellow, solid when it came to emotion, and left the vulnerabilities and the naivety to the people he felt closest to. And even then, when he let his walls down, it was limited.

“Are you feeling okay, baby?”

“M’fine, yeah. I think m’just a little tired. It’s early, innit?” He mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a deep breath, “go back to sleep, baby. It’s okay. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Harry-”

“YN, I’m fine. I’m just going for a wee and then I’ll be back, okay?” He disappeared behind the door and let it close with a click - he didn’t bother with the lock and he wasn’t one-hundred percent sure on whether the door was close properly but he was eager to blow his nose. “If you’re not asleep when I come back in then I’ll go and hide your presents from Santa.”

“I’m not a child,” she hollered and he smirked, looking down at the ground, “don’t treat me like a child.”

“You’re my baby, baby.”

*

He’d been feeling off all day.

He tried his best to look enthusiastic as the morning progressed; a lip-splitting grin when she tore wrapping paper off of a present to reveal the one thing she had had her eye on throughout the year, kissing her when he saw just how spoilt he had been with the gifts she had gotten him - new boots from Yves Saint Laurent, new shirts from Gucci and Burberry, a brand-new watch (because he had been non-stop complaining about how his kept stopping and how it ticked too loudly when he was trying to concentrate), room decor for his bedroom since he had been thinking of making it a room that showed he was happily loved up and little gifts and trinkets that made her think of him when she saw them - and singing, rather lowly because his throat was scratchy and he wanted to hide the croaks and the rasps from her, along with Christmas songs that broke free from her mobile phone as they prepared vegetables and stuck the chosen meat (turkey, gammon and beef) back in the oven for their last few hours.

But no matter how many black teas he knocked back during breakfast and now matter how much water he drank, nothing seemed to help.

His throat was beginning to sport a light rasp whenever he spoke, his nose never seemed to stop running and he was sniffling and sneezing into a tissue more often than he seemed to be breathing normally, his head was beginning to ache and throb by his temples and it knocked his balance off, a few times, when he was least expecting it. His chest was beginning to wheeze more often, more so when he took deep breaths and exhaled them with elongated sighs and his eyes felt heavy and hooded, he was having difficulty keeping them open and they felt sore whenever he blinked... but he was determined to make it passed dinner. He needed to make it passed dinner.

Food might do me some good, he thought.

YN knew that he was just trying to give the day a good go and that he was trying to power through for her sake but, even if he was sick, she didn’t mind if he turned around and said “I’m not feeling so great”. As long as she got to spend the day with him then that was all that mattered... and that’s all he wanted him to understand.

He was worn out and exhausted, after such a busy year (from a tour to album promotions to photoshoots and television appearances) and it was only in due time that the consequences were going to show and it was only expected that he was going to fall ill. The sleepless nights he endured because of jet-lag, the stress build-up when something never went to plan, the endless nights in the studio when the album’s deadline date was in sight and there were songs that needed changing and adapting, and the long travels home when he had breaks that he never seemed to use. Because the word ‘break’ was never in Harry’s vocabulary.

*

“Harry, don’t force yourself to eat the food if you can’t eat it, baby,” YN informed him. Her naked toes dragging up his calf, her other foot tucked underneath her thigh and resting upon the seat of his dining room chair, a dribble of gravy drying on her chin that she wiped away with the back of her hand. His hooded eyes lifting from his lap to look at her and she noticed just how tired he was. “Harry-”

“I’m hungry, yeah? I’m okay,” he whispered. Except it came out as a grumble and it was low and sounded rough and scratchy and her guilt shot through the roof; he really was sick and she was just sitting there, eating a dinner and paying no mind to how he actually felt, despite him keeping things to himself. It was Christmas Day but, really and to them, it was just like any other day of the year - the only exception being that the day meant you could have a roast, no matter what the day was. “We spent all morning on this. It’s good. I’m really enjoying it.”

“I am, but,” he looked at her with eyes as she planned to speak her rebuttal. Her fork being placed down on the table, her knife left dipped in the gravy on her plate and nudging a potato to the side, turning in her seat to look at him. “Harry, you’re sick. It’s okay to admit you’re sick, yeah? I know this is our first Christmas spent together but I’m happy just to spend a day with you. Yes, I was looking forward to being festive but you’re much more important than a roast dinner or presents or Christmas specials on the telly. I love you and I’d much prefer you feel better than you pass out because you were too ashamed to tell me,” his face falls and she reached across to squeeze his hand. His skin clammy and cold, wrapping her fingers around his and holding it tightly, “do you want to spend the rest of the day in bed?”

He shook his head and reached for his glass of water, taking a sip before resting it back on the table top.

“The sofa?” He suggested and she grinned, “‘cause then we have the kitchen close by, the television to watch the telly on and loads of biscuits and and chocolate and crackers to eat when we get hungry. Got a warm blanket, n’all.”

“I like that idea,” she cooed, “I love that idea, yeah.”