#thanks you guys for just chatting some smaller/lighter questions with me while i work out some health stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunnyramen · 4 years ago

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I just would like to give a big Happy Birthday to @kalofi , shes officially an old woman we shall plan accordingly on which nursing home you have to go to.

All jokes aside, it’s a been good year as your friend and uh. I hope you like this! Happy birthday!!💕💕

——-

A figure rose up out of a bed that wasn’t his own.

Josuke didn’t sleep on a bed covered in a queen bed spread, his was Prince and the under sheet was purple.

“What the hell?” That wasn’t his voice either, it was a bit lighter than his own but still had a sort of gruffness to it.

He looked at his hands and noticed they were smaller than his longer piano fingers, and covered a bit more scars than his own.

Josuke looked around the room with eyes that also weren’t his own, well eye since one seemed to be blind.

There were some Bruce Lee, Prince, Queen, Elton John and Selena posters hung around the room.

And despite the gaudy curtain and muscle clock, whoever this was had some taste.

He pulled the covers off of someone and someones feet touched soft carpet, rising out of someone’s bed.

God, was this what it was like to not be 6 feet tall? Small like Koichi?

He touched at the hair framing his face, some of it white and some of it a bright red.

And he ran a tongue over the teeth in his mouth.

They were razor sharp!

“What the fuck?!” A voice screamed and the wall next to him was punched, telling him to shut up.

He didn’t recognize the voice.

Ok, he felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

Speaking of attack, was this the work of a stand?

Where was the bastard? He had to neutralize him before he did some serious damage to Morioh!

But he couldn’t go anywhere in pajamas that weren’t his.

He went over to where presumed the clothes were, the dresser that had a boom box and plenty of boxes of tapes next to it.

He opened the first drawer and grabbed a white t-shirt with green accents.

He looked up on the wall and saw a picture on the wall, one of the kids in it was presumably the body he was inhabiting, judging by the hair and teeth.

Next to him was a angry blonde kid, who kind of looked like he got hit in the face with a hot shovel by his standards.

Maybe it was just the really ugly face he was making.

Luckily they were wearing school outfits, so he was able to figure out what he was supposed to normally wear.

A pair of green pants came onto his body next, a belt then a pair of purple socks.

He looked near the small closet in the room, seeing a pair of red Velcro shoes in front of them.

He figured it was time to brush his teeth and wash his face, and see what the hair situation was like,

He saw a large jar of hair gel sitting on the desk next to the bed and he grabbed it.

“Thank god, I didn’t wanna walk around with this hair all day.” His-er the kids inner voice said.

This was going to be weird since not only was his mom not here but there seemed to be more than one person on this floor.

Was he in a apartment or something?

Or some kind of dorm?

While he was thinking, he located the placement of a face towel and pulled a toothbrush from the boxes and boxes of toothbrushes in the kid’s closet.

He opened the door, peeking out into the hallway and seeing an empty get colorful looking ceiling and flooring.

He closed the door behind himself, thankful that he could be on his own while his mind was racing about where the fuck he was and who the fuck he was.

He went down the hall and got to an elevator.

“Must be some rich kid school or something.” He pushed the button for the second to last floor, figuring that was where the bathroom was.

Hopefully.

——

After asking another person than the original 2 he asked (that seemed to wanna chit chat), he finally located the bathroom.

He got in front of a mirror and finally got to see what the hell was he was working with.

He had to admit, the guy he was pretty handsome, at least he wasn’t stuck in someone ugly.

Like that Guy with that surface stand.

Or that little purple dude that he came across that kept chatting up with the girls in a gross way, he socked him one good with some kind of rock hand on his way here.

And it was weird since Crazy Diamond didn’t show up to punch the fucker for him.

Anyways, he did his hair in his usual pompadour, pretty much a second nature that it he got it done in less than 3 minutes.

While he waited for it to dry, he brushed his teeth and washed his face, having to periodically spit out bristles since they kept coming out when he gave these teeth a full cleaning.

He walked out of the bathroom but held the door open for some kid with a lightning bolt in his head since he was coming while he was trying to walk out.

“Woah! Trying a new look, Kirishima?” A pink girl with black eyes asked and he’d almost mistaken her for some kind of alien stand user but he didn’t sense anything from her.

“Uh haha, yeah! I’ll catch you later, Pink girl.” He laughed awkwardly, patting her on the back before he started to walk away.

He seems to be walking through a dining room, judging by the multiple people eating cereal.

God, he really missed his mom right now. He wondered what the other kid was like towards her. He hoped he got switched with someone nice.

“Your hair looks even more shitty than usual.” A low voice said from the end of the table he was walking past.

He looked to see the kid in the picture, hot shovel face.

“The fuck did you say about my hair?” A fire lit in his gut but it was pure hot red anger from himself , instead of the anger from him and his stand combined.

Bakugo took that as him not hearing what he said, so he said it again.

And that really set in stone was this body was about to do to him.

He punch him directly in the face, knocking over the cereal that was balancing in his spoon and ignored the gasps of the bystanders.

He would’ve went back for another but he was being pulled away by this really tall dorky guy.

He admitted to himself that the guy was pretty handsome.

“Eijirou, what has gotten into you?!” He pulled him away further as the blonde stood up with anger written all over his face.

“No one insults the hair of the man that saved me! No fucking one!” He tried pulling away from the nerdy dude but boy was he strong.

The lighting bold guy seemed to have to hold the other dude back from trying to let off some kind of explosion near him.

“Who saves you?” Mina looked confused.

“Look, My name is Josuke and that hot shovel faced asshole insulted the hair of the person that saved my life!”

“Josuke? Wait hold on, you’re saying your not Kirishima Eijirou.”

“No! I got switched with him by some kind of stand user or something! Now let me go so I can pummel him!”

“A stand?” Mina looked at him weirdly.

“Fuck.” He was hoping this “Kirishima” kid wasn’t doing anything weird with his body or messing up anything.

——

“So this is what it’s like to be tall!” Kirishima ran down the stairs of a house he didn’t at all recognize and was greeted by a rather tall purple haired woman when he reached the kitchen he presumed.

Maybe tallness ran in the family.

“Hello, Ma’am.” He waved at her nervously, not sure of who the woman was or who’s body he was in.

The lady picked up a knife, holding it towards Kirishima threateningly, the boy backing away.

“Who are you and where is my baby?” She said darkly, the knife glinting in the light.

“Huh?”

“Josuke never calls me ma’am. And he never comes down those stairs with his hair undone unless it’s a weekend.” The knife was getting dangerously close to his neck.

“I’m sorry but I’m not your son. I’m Kirishima Eijirou, and I’ve switched bodies with him, I think? I don’t what’s going on or who you are.” Either this Josuke kid could sweat a lot, or his sweat glands got transferred to this body.

“Switched? But where’s my baby?” She wasn’t holding the knife to his neck anymore but she still looked prepared to slice and dice him.

“I think he’s in my body. This could be the work of a quirk user or something, I’m not too sure.”

The lady fainted suddenly, the knife coming out of her hand and clattering to her floor.

“Oh fuck!” He was about to approach her to try and see if she was ok but a new figure bursted in, the door being unlocked by an outside force, probably a key.

“Josuke?” The new comer asked, his eyes shiny as he took in the scene in front of him.

“Hey man, it’s not what it looks like! She fainted, and I don’t know what’s going on!” God, was everyone the type to fight first and ask questions later here?

The guy came over in a few strides and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, the motion alerting this really big pink guy that smelled oddly like strawberries.

“Crazy D, you know who this guy is?” The guy was really strong or something since he just shook him like a limp rag doll.

‘Crazy D’ looked at him with a weird glare, and the guy shook his head, shrugging with a confused “Dora.”

“What is that?” He pointed behind the guy, The Hand having been summoned at the mention of Crazy D.

“You’d know that if you were Josuke, and so since I don’t wanna cave my own boyfriends face in without giving whoever you are a chance, you got five seconds.” The guy robot he summoned looked ready to slice him in half too.

Normally, Kirishima would fight back but since he had no idea who he was, where he was, or what he was working with in terms of fighting back, he decided to bitch out just this once.

“I’m Kirishima Eijirou, I go to U.A, Im from Musustafa, I’m 16 years old, and my quirk is Hardening!” He flinched away when he felt that his explanation wasn’t good enough, but the punch didn’t come.

The guy let go of his collar.

“Alright, a stand user trying to actively kill us wouldn’t give himself away like that but I swear to god if you try anything funny, you’ll be having a talk with the hand.” The boy glared at him, making sure that hand thing was on stand by.

While the guy helped Tomoko onto the couch, Kirishima went to the nearest phone and dialed the number in.

There were a couple rings before he heard an energetic ‘Present Mic speaking!”

“Daddi-o!”

“Eijirou?”

“Yes!”

“Thank goodness! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m in this Josuke kid’s house and I have like no idea where I am!”

“You’re in Morioh.” The guy said from the couch, where he was helping Tomoko wake up.

“This guy said I’m in Morioh!”

“My names Okoyasu.”

“I’m with Okoyasu. Luckily, he let me speak before he tried icing me out.”

“At least we’re know you’re safe! The kid in your body, his name is Josuke and he’s actually a pretty nice kid when he stopped trying kill Bakugou. Something about his hair, it’s actually pretty cool, you should see it-”

There was a struggle over the phone and a brief ‘hey!’ Before he recognized his dad’s tired voice being put on the phone.

“We captured the villain. Luckily it wasn’t what this Josuke kid calls a ‘stand user’ otherwise it’d be up to you and you’re not able to control his stand.”

“Thank goodness. Dad, How soon can I get my body back?”

“Well, actually the quirk only lasts for a few hours and it should end right about now. Brace yourself.”

Kirishima dropped the phone from his hand and blacked out, he doesn’t remember hitting the ground.

“Hey, Kirishima!” He felt someone patting his cheek, trying to rouse him from his sleep.

He blinked his eyes, a blurry vision of pink and yellow coming into view.

“If your really Kirishima finish this phrase.” Sero said from above him, he could presume he was probably on the ground right now.

“Precisely.“ Kaminari started, Kirishima’s eyes lighting up.

“Damn, I’m late for school!” He sat up, actually seeing that the arms he was fist pumping were his and the friends he was looking at were his.

“Woah, hold the phone!” He looked up at his forehead and saw something blocking his view. “What is this?” Kirishima grabbed his pocket mirror, because he’s he owned a pocket mirror for just such occasions of keeping his spikes in order.

But it wasn’t spikes.

It was a pompadour.

“Yo Daddi-o, can I borrow your phone?” Kirishima asked Present Mic after his friends helped him off the floor and into a chair.

He called the last number, and it rung for a second before a voice he recognized answered the phone.

“Tomoko speaking?”

“Hello Mrs. Tomoko, I’m the kid your son switched bodies with. Sorry for the uh..trouble.” The redhead coughed.

“No trouble at all, as long as I have my son back in his rightful place and you back in yours. Would you like to talk to him? He says he’d very much like to talk to you.”

Kirishima heard Josuke whine to his mom to stop embarrassing him.

“Hello?”

——-

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sam-writes · 6 years ago

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Unexpected, Not Unwanted.

Cherry Smoke series

Roger Taylor X Original Male Character

Word count: 1841

Links:

Part 1 / Part 2

Aesthetic Moodboards

Note: heyyy so here's a part 2 to Cherry Smoke! I hope you enjoy!

I'm slowly becoming worse and worse at naming things. Forgive me.

Also!! BIG THANK YOU FOR 1300 FOLLOWERS!!! That's such an insane number!! Thank you all!! Please feel free to drop by my inbox and chat! I love chatting!

_________________________________

It's a couple weeks since they last saw each other, and this encounter was completely accidental.

Both Queen and Cherry Smoke had been invited to a party held by some famous person who just wanted them there to brag about it. Both bands weren't the type to turn down free drinks and a party, so they went along.

Nicholas hadn't even been at the party for longer than five minutes and he had already downed two shots and had a half-finished beer in hand. He was aimlessly walking around the big open space of someone's huge house. It obviously cost a lot and he felt quite small being in such an expensive place. He was stopped a few times by people who considered themselves fans of his band, but he didn't think of his band as big enough to have fans. It was a shock to the system that so many people had recognised him. Once or twice someone would mention the news article of Roger Taylor and himself. Whenever it was brought up he would deflect any questions, not wanting to make the whole situation worse. For the both of them. So he took his drink and stayed away from anyone who wanted to talk about the paper and Roger. He wanted to forget Roger.

Nicholas had been heavily distracted since the run in with Queen. His mind kept ticking over the fight and the drinking the next day. The rage he felt when his band had been dissed. How taken aback he was when Roger had definitely checked him out, maybe he was just imagining it, wishful thinking and all that. How his fist burned with pain after he punched Roger. He kept thinking of the way Roger had smiled at him while they drank together the next day. The drunken smug smile that made his eyes squint and the laugh that came deep from his chest when Nick rambled off a joke. His feelings were very confusing and he didn't want to put effort into figuring it out. One side of him wanted to never see Roger again. The other side wanted to make things better because he looked up to him, though he'd never admit it to Roger. He didn't need that going to his head.

It was like Roger was two different people. When he was around his band he was the protector. Needing to keep up their already high reputation. But when he was alone, with Nicholas, he was completely different. More free? But maybe that was just the alcohol. He wanted to blame it on the alcohol.

Nicholas watched as his bandmates talked with other party guests. Michael had struck up a conversation with someone who was currently miming playing a piano, so they'd both be fine for an hour or two. Pianists always seemed to be able to talk about their skills for long periods of time without break.

Miranda was leaning against a wall talking animatedly to a cute girl, who was paying close attention to everything she said.

Damien was unsurprisingly surrounded by a crowd of girls. Nick rolled his eyes but couldn't help but breathe out a laugh, "Of course." How typical of him.

Eric caught Nicholas' gaze from across the room, he was a wallflower when it came to parties. He never really wanted to stand out and he did whatever it took to avoid conversation. Nick gave him a sad smile as he noticed a nice looking guy walk up to Eric. He shot him a thumbs up with a half hearted smile and looked away before Eric called for his help. As much as he loved and admired Eric, he wasn't in the mood to go rescue him.

Nicholas was stuck in his own thoughts when he felt a hand land on his shoulder making him jump and he looked up quickly.

"Nick. As your frontwoman I command you to get out of this funk you've been in and go mingle." Miranda tried to shove him but he only took half a step back.

He noticed a phone number scrawled sloppily onto her arm, but didn't bring it up. "I'd rather not."

"Well, stop looking sad at least. Here," she handed him a sealed can of something she had been holding, "I was going to drink it but it looks like you need it. Enjoy!" And she was gone. He stared at the drink, knowing he had already maybe had a bit too much as he had lost count.

Nicholas contemplated opening the can for exactly half a second before finishing off the dregs of his beer and cracking open the can with a satisfying hiss and pop. It was alcohol and it was strong, but maybe that is what he needed.

He had been involved in multiple halfhearted conversations with strangers and people who had sworn to have met him before - he didn't remember them, but maybe that was just the booze.

He was currently letting a sweet girl ramble while he stared into the crowd, hoping to see someone he knew to get away. That's when the long bleached blond hair caught his eye. It seemed familiar and he just couldn't put his finger on who it was. He excused himself and decided to follow before he lost it into the crowds.

Time seemed to slow as he navigated the masses. Ducking past other guests, he was always just too far away to call out to the blond, who never looked back. He would lose sight of him for a moment before seeing him reappear a few metres away. The house hadn't felt bigger than when he was chasing the blond. It seemed to continue on forever, but maybe his drunken state wasn't helping. Finally the blond came to a halt outside on a patio, leant against the railing and lit a cigarette. It was very dark outside, but there were orange fairy lights strung from tree to tree which slightly illuminated the surrounding area. Nicholas wondered when it had gotten so dark.

Nicholas was entranced. The long hair pushed back behind one of his ears and the smoke gently rising, twisting and curling in the air. The still burning lighter left a pale orange glow on his face and twinkling in his eyes as he watched the flame dance in the breeze. There was faint bruising on the bridge of his nose and it brought great satisfaction to Nicholas to know that it hadn't completely gone away yet.

Roger Taylor was a sight. Even Nick had to admit that as he stood, almost starstruck, in the doorway. He was agape and his eyes roamed and traced the faint red marks on his collar bone and neck. He felt something roil inside him, he couldn't put words to what that feeling was, but it burnt white hot.

Sadly the whole moment was ruined when he looked over at Nicholas and groaned. "God damn it. You again?"

Nick almost turned and left but couldn't make himself move anywhere but forwards. It's like his feet knew his destiny, even if mentally he wasn't ready to confront it.

"I'm not happy to see you either, Taylor." Which could be a lie but at this point Nick wasn't sure. Those marks on Rogers neck had imprinted themselves in his mind. What if he could make marks like that on Roger. He shook his head, immediately stopping that train of thought.

There was a long pause filled with an extremely tense silence before it was for broken by Roger offering Nick a cigarette, who accepted it.

He put the cigarette between his teeth and leant in close as Roger lit it for him. He looked at the man, realising now that Roger was slightly smaller than him. He almost laughed.

Roger continued looking out into the large yard and Nicholas had his back against the railing and looked back into the building.

People mingled and it seemed that no one noticed that they weren't in there. It was nice to not be bothered.

"Want to get another drink?" Nick offered, after mentally going through all possible answers to that questions Roger could have given him.

"Why the hell not. Free drinks, after all."

Roger and Nicholas weaved through the crowds and successfully acquired two beers each before heading back outside and sitting on the deck chairs.

They drank and talked again. Roger was retelling an anecdote from his tours and Nicholas was staring at him with great interest. His gaze dropped to his lips. He watched as he spoke, how his lips moved and curled around every word.

Roger must have noticed because his speech slowed and he looked at Nick, raising an eyebrow with a smug look on his face.

The lips on his caught Nicholas off guard. That's not to say he didn't kiss back, but he was startled by the sudden closeness of Roger. His mind was a mantra of "it's just the alcohol, it's just the alcohol..." As he tried to blame yet another thing on drinking. Maybe he was just imagining this? God, what would Miranda say of she knew...

Roger was pulling away quickly. "Sorry. It's just... I... I'm sorry." He was going red and looked away, avoiding Nicholas' eyes, which were desperately trying to catch his gaze.

In a very soft voice, still trying to believe that that had just happened, Nicholas spoke, "Don't be sorry..." And Roger's eyes snapped back to Nicholas'.

Taking his chance, Nicholas initiated the next kiss. He moved slowly, making sure Roger had enough time to pull away if he wanted, he even paused before he made contact. Quickly Roger's hand was in his hair and Nick was pulling him closer. His touch was like cold static on his scalp. His fingers pulling on his curls was driving him mad. Breaking apart for air was almost painful. Nicholas didn't know how badly he had been wanting this. He knew he had wanted it but not to this degree. He wouldn't let himself admit it. But here he was. Here they were. Together.

It was all so sudden, so fast. Soon they were finding a spare room somewhere upstairs. He hoped no one had caught on to what was happening as they locked the door.

Nick had Roger against the door as soon as he could. He kissed him quickly, intensely, before he began to work his way down to his collar bone and claim him for himself. Fresh hickies contrasted with the more faded ones. Roger almost whimpered at his touch.

Nicholas knew what he wanted, and he wanted Roger Taylor. It was just by luck that Roger Taylor wanted him as well.

________________________________

Reblogs are appreciated

Permatag: @siriuslymooned @siriuslymooned @benhardysvoicee @onceuponadetectivedemigod @hotspacedeacon @fastidious-and-a-mess @moonvinyls @horribly-unstable @andtheytoldustotellyouhello @writingsthegame-dylansthename @rogerandhishair @ironqueen98 @rogerinatrash @rogerlad

@queens-n-roses

Cherry Smoke Taglist: @itsanarrum

Feel free to ask to be tagged in anything or changed to a different taglist

#sam writes #leon writes #cherry smoke #roger taylor #nicholas hayes #roger taylor x original male character #fanfiction #queen #borhap #bohemian rhapsody

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ghoulboyboos · 6 years ago

Note

Magic = bad. Now Steven and Andrew have to look after smol! Ryan and Shane who have a crush on each other, while trying to hide the fact that they also have a crush on each other (or vice versa)

I woke up on cold sweat I know you’ve done a smol!aubefore I meant child ksjfks

I gotcha Anon no worries ;D

“Oh my God isn’t that a precious little guy!” Freddie exclaims, bending down to look into the face of the kid Steven’s carrying on his hip. The maybe five-year-old boy beams at Freddie with a huge, white smile before giving Steven a look she could almost interpret as smug and Steven rolls his eyes.

“A relative of yours?” She asks, when Steven doesn’t answer and the kid stays quiet. That question gets her offended glares, funnily enough from both Steven and the boy.

“Really, Freddie? Because we’re both Asian? I expected more of you.”

“Uh, no?” She gives him a judging look. “I’m asking because you’re carrying him around and I don’t assume you stole someone’s child. You also don’t strike me as someone who has a secret baby, so I figured he might be a cousin or something.

“Oh.” Steven deflates. The kid is giggling.

“You really didn’t have to make eyes at Freddie, you know.” Steven grumbles as he continues his way towards the Buzzfeed “Kiddie Corner” where employee’s with children can leave their kids in careful hands.

“I would have talked to her if you didn’t tell me to keep my mouth shut,” Ryan complains. It’s weird. The vocabulary and cadence is still the same, but Ryan has the voice of a little kid now and his tongue is clearly stumbling over a couple of words. He doesn’t have a lisp, but he sounds like he still has to get used to having a smaller mouth and less teeth and whatever other changes he went through when he got turned into a kid. Steven always told him not to mess around locations too much, but Shane was a bad influence on him. At least Shane got cursed as well. Steven briefly wonders how Andrew is doing. That thought makes him nervous, so he answers Ryan instead.

“I had to. You sound nothing like a little kid, Ryan. People would notice something’s up.”

“I doubt that. People usually are as stupidly dismissive as Shane is. They love to think up the dumbest of explanations.”

“Will you stop talking about Shane for five minutes, Jesus. You’ll see him again in a few.”

“I’m not- I didn’t-” Ryan starts stuttering and under normal circumstances, Steven would sit back and laugh at Ryan’s dumb crush on his co-host, but right now he is busy.

When he hands Ryan off to the caretaker and she asks for his name, Steven freezes. He can’t call the kid Ryan, people would notice how much he looks like Buzzfeed Unsolved’s Ryan Bergara. Ryan of all people saves his ass:

“I’m Ricky!” He calls out, childlike voice surprisingly believable as he holds out his hands towards the lady who just laughs and takes him out of Steven’s arms.

“He’s a cousin of mine…” Steven mumbles, but he is mostly ignored because the lady has started to chat with “Ricky” about the games they could play.

Not for the first time that day, Steven wishes that Andrew was with him.

Shane is a little bored. He likes kids, they are fun, but usually he is in some form of “authority” or at least intimidating in whatever way kids consider a very tall dude. Now, he is barely taller than the children around him. The other children because he is a child as well. It’s been a long time since he’s been one and he is sure he is acting suspicious. At least this places has Mega Bloks, even though Shane would have preferred Lego.

He is building aimlessly and without a real plan, when suddenly he’s tapped on the back. He squares his shoulders, preparing to discourage whatever kid is trying to join him when he spots a familiar face. It’s not quite as familiar as it used to be, but he can still see Ryan in this kid. Even if not, they woke up together on location yesterday, turned into little kids and panicking. Ryan looks a bit better now.

“Oh. Hey. Steven’s here, then?” Shane keeps his voice low so nobody listens in. Ryan nods.

TJ and Devon had transported the “kids” home and - in lieu of a better place - left one Ghoulboy each with one of the Worth It Boys. Adam was spared because he is currently assisting with another shoot for a couple of days. Andrew and Steven both thought they were being pranked for a Buzzfeed video, but eventually admitted that no child actor could reproduce Shane’s completely insane and off-track ramblings that well. Ryan had complained a lot about being handed off to Steven but Shane understood. They couldn’t just go home. Sure, they still had their adult minds so it wouldn’t be exactly like leaving children unsupervised, but a lot of things were way too dangerous to try alone and at their current height. Shane really doesn’t want to get smashed in the head with the microwave because he can’t reach it properly, so having Andrew for assistance had been really helpful. Shane made a point of telling him so.

He doesn’t know how Steven and Ryan spent their evening but he had a relatively normal night in with Andrew, except that Andrew insisted to bring him to bed at eight because at the moment, Shane looks to be about six and it eight is a normal time to go to bed for someone of that age. He had tried to protest, but realized that he was actually close to passing out when Andrew put him on the couch and tucked him in. That last part was so unnecessary, but Shane fell asleep before he could complain. Apparently, his body very much had the metabolism and inner clock of a little kid because he slept for ten hours and woke up feeling refreshed and energetic. He hadn’t felt like that in forever.

Ryan looks like he did yesterday. For someone who knows him well, it’s very obviously Ryan, just a little different. His hair is even messier than before and his cheeks are a little rounder, but his eyes and his smile are as big and as bright as before. Well, minus the constant bags Ryan usually has under his eyes. He looks a lot more fresh faced now.

“Wanna play?” Shane asks, indicating towards his half-finished whatever the hell he is building. Ryan looks at it before shrugging and dropping on his knees on the play mat, scooting closer. They are dressed in kid clothes now, thanks to Devon and TJ making a quick stop to buy them proper clothes yesterday. Until then, both he and Ryan and been wrapped in their ow (now way too big) shirts. Shane has to admit that Ryan looks adorable in his blue overalls. It’s a strange thought and it’s also weird to see such a close friend as a little kid. Well, weird and intrusive in a way that makes Shane uncomfortable.

“I’m glad I’m not alone in this.” He mutters, because he feels like he should say it. Ryan is looking at him but Shane keeps his eyes fixed on the blue block he puts on top of the little wall he set up. “Not that I want you in the same mess as I am in. Just… you know. Helps to keep sane when you’re not the only one.”

“Nah man, I get it.” Ryan looks around to make sure nobody is listening. “I just hope this isn’t permanent.”

“Otherwise we have to create “Buzzfeed: Kids” and milk this mess for all it’s worth.” Shane grumbles and he hears the first real wheeze from Ryan since they woke up in this mess. It turns into a full laugh and Shane finally looks over at his giggling friend. It makes Shane laugh as well. Sure, Ryan’s smile is still the same. But their laughs sound lighter, softer. More innocent, he thinks and immediately makes a face at that.

“What’s up?” Ryan rubs the corner of his eye as if he actually laughed himself to tears.

“This is weird.” Shane mumbles. “I feel like I shouldn’t see you this way. This is something that is kept to our childhoods and our family and stuff. Not your co-worker who probably got you into this mess.”

“I highly doubt it was just you.” Ryan rubs his nose. It’s kind of runny. Someone will probably make him blow it soon. “And… I don’t know. It’s kind of fun. We kept finding out about obscure stuff that we both did despite never meeting before. But now we kind of… get to be childhood friends. Because for some reason you don’t have five years on me now.”

“True.”

Shane sits back and looks at the building they made. It looks horrendous.

“We will never be architects.” He says sadly and Ryan laughs again.

Andrew and Steven pick them up after work and decide to just grab dinner together. It’s easier than cooking and being in public will force them to not rant and panic about what happened to Ryan and Shane. It’s supposed to be relaxing. Really.

It’s only when the four of them are seated around a table in a nice little restaurant with Shane and Ryan placed on extra big cushions and the kiddie menu in front of them, that Steven realizes what this must look like. A sweet gay couple and their equally sweet little boys. Fuck. He only hopes Andrew hasn’t noticed. He glances over.

Andrew has his elbow on the table and his chin leaned into his palm. His gaze is on Ryan and Shane, who are playfully squabbling over the menu. Ryan tells Shane that he is ridiculous for wanting chicken nuggets in dinosaur shape while Shane fires back that if there ever was any time appropriate for that kind of stuff, it was now. Andrew is smiling softly and Steven stares, not realizing he does until Andrew’s gaze drags over to him and they both start, returning to their menus. Steven is sure he can hear muffled giggles from the “kids” but he won’t address it

The waitress is very fun and sweet and chitchats with the “children” about their favorite foods. Steven thinks that Ryan and Shane lay on the “cute little kid” stuff a little too thick but she seems completely enchanted by them, so he can’t really reprimand them in front of her.

“Oh he’s not my brother.” Shane says when Steven tunes back in. “He’s my best friend. My ghoulfriend!” With that, he takes Ryan’s hand, completely oblivious to Ryan’s face lighting up and turning red at the same time. The waitress giggles and mutters something about them being cute before she finishes taking their order and leaves. Shane seems fine with keeping Ryan’s hand, but the other boy winds his fingers free after a while, muttering something about Shane’s hands being sweaty.

Steven rolls his eyes and looks over at Andrew. Andrew is looking at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. The smile he’s directing at Steven is careful and soft and Steven is about to ask, but finds that he can’t. They all eat in a strangely awkward silence.

Shane sits on Steven’s couch while the “grown ups” are busy in the kitchen and looks at Ryan. They picked a Netflix movie to distract themselves and nearly got into a fight about it. Shane had seen no reason why they shouldn’t watch a horror movie as always but Ryan had insisted that it felt weird to him to watch one while he looked like he was five. Sure, he wasn’t actually that young, but still. Shane thought it was dumb, but he had conceded to watch Coco instead, which was more “age appropriate”.

“Did I overstep earlier?” He asks out of nowhere after staring at Ryan for a while.

“What?” Ryan blinks at him.

“When I took your hand, I mean. I didn’t... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I just felt like doing it.”

“I don’t know.” Ryan frowns at him as if he’s suspicious. “Do you always want to do that or just because I’m... I dunno, small and adorable right now?”

Shane laughs.

“You’re always small and adorable, Ryan.”

“Fuck off!”

“Language!” Andrew calls from the kitchen.

“Shut up, Andrew!” Ryan shouts back. “I’m not a little kid! Not really at least!”

Shane takes a deep breath when Ryan turns back to him.

“Would it be okay if I wanted to hold your hand sometimes? Or maybe... do other things?”

“What things?”

Ryan has leaned in a little. His hand is brushing the back of Shane’s hands and he seems a little apprehensive at what might happen. Shane can’t really tease him when he looks like this. A scared little kid, even more vulnerable than usual. So he shrugs.

“Once we figured this out, I mean. I would like to take you on a date or something.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean. I figured life is really weird.” He gestures to their situation. “And I’m not so scared about making things between us weird anymore.”

Ryan looks at him for a moment. His bottom lip is pushed forward as he is thinking and his brows slowly pull together. Then, as if he made a decision, he leans in and kisses Shane’s cheek. It’s just a quick peck, but Shane feels his face light up anyway.

“Okay, big guy. Once... once you’re a big guy again.”

They both wheeze.

When Steven and Andrew check on “the kids��, they find them asleep. Curled together on the sofa with Ryan’s head on Shane’s shoulder and Shane leaning against Ryan’s head, they snore. Andrew is smiling again, the soft, domestic expression that Steven has seen on him a lot the past few days. It makes his stomach flutter all funny and weird. They each carry one of the boys to bed and watch as they immediately curl on their sides, faces towards each other.

“I’m sure things will not be the same once this is all over.” Steven says, as he closes the door behind them.

“Yeah, I think the same. I don’t really mind, though.” Andrew is glancing at the floor when Steven looks at him.

“What do you mean?”

Andrew shrugs.

“It’s kind of... fun. Playing house with you and all.”

“Really? Playing house? That’s what you’re gonna call it.”

Andrew shrugs and chuckles to himself.

“Okay. What is so funny?” Steven puts his hands on his hips. “You keep smiling and laughing and looking at me all weird since we have this whole kid debacle. What in the world is going on?”

Andrew leans closer, almost caging Steven against the wall.

“I just think... you’re really sweet like this. Even though you and Ryan keep calling each other names and stuff, you’re really caring and you want to help them and I think that‘s admirable. And also really cute.”

“Oh.” Steven blinks. “Well, okay.” He doesn’t know how to deal with this information but he definitely knows that his face is warm and his heart is doing funny things in his chest. He kind of feels like he should take Andrew’s hand or something. So he does. Andrew links their fingers and smiles his weird little domestic smile again. Okay then.

Ryan and Shane wake up in Steven’s apartment, curled into each other and the stretched out versions of kid’s pajamas straining over their bodies.

“Thank fuck.” Ryan mutters as he tosses the too-small t-shirt aside. He’s about to get out of bed when an arm sneaks around his waist and Shane pulls him back against his chest.

“Shane!” Ryan hisses. “What if Steven checks on us or-”

“He’s busy.” Shane mumbles into Ryan’s hair, forcing the other man to settle into bed again. “Heard them talking last night. Stuff happened.”

“What stuff?” Ryan asks, but he lies down again, curling up against Shane’s side.

“Later.” Shane yawns and cuddles closer to Ryan, rubbing his back. “Sleep now. You’re much cuddlier like this.”

“Fine.” Ryan rolls his eyes.

He could ask later and mock Steven for whatever happened.

#Anonymous #ask #prompts #shyan #standrew #listen I'm not good at standrew I apologize if this isn't that good #I did my best

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olicitysecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

if the fates allow (olicity, g, 10k+)

Summary: And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you. –Chaos of Stars, Kiersten White

For @crazycrystal10 . Happy holidays, Ridhi! I took your “canon” and “meet cute” likes and kind of ran a marathon with it? At any rate, I hope you enjoy, and more importantly, I hope you have a wonderful festive season with friends, family and fellow shippers.

Eternal thanks to cheerleader/idea bouncer-offer/fellow multiverse sufferer @theshipsfirstmate for existing, and thanks/blame to Google for the research I did that is probably entirely incorrect, but hey, it’s the holidays, you can forgive my cut and paste.

Title from “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” (traditional, with a shout-out to my favorite version by Martina McBride.) Set pre- and during 6x09, featuring AUs that include basically everybody and their literal mothers.

——

This time around, he’s actually learning from his mistakes, and it’s why he takes some time to take in his wife – those words will never not resonate in his head, a quiet dream now improbably being lived out loud – as she gets ready for their wedding reception. He knows the minute they enter the room, she’ll be pulled away – something he finds he doesn’t mind so much this time around, because he knows with a certainty he hasn’t felt in a very long while, deep in the heart she helped fix and the soul she helped save – because at the end of the evening, they’ll come together and head back home, toward tomorrow.

He sits on the edge of his bed – their bed; wherever she is is where he not only wants to be but is supposed to stay – and watches as she does her hair and makeup but stays in a pair of black leggings and one of his dress shirts tied at the waist. When he raises a questioning eyebrow, she just shrugs teasingly. “It’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony.”

He’s physically incapable of remaining on the edge of the mattress across the room, and comes up behind her at the little area she’s commandeered for herself on his vanity. “So it is a dress.”

“You can speculate all you want, Mr. Smoak, but you’re just going to have to wait and see.”

He sighs dramatically and then delights in the happy color that rushes to her cheeks as she meets his gaze in the mirror and grins. “I think you might just be worth the wait, Mrs. Queen.”

He kisses the side of her head and gives in to the urge to slide his left hand down her arm, the band of his wedding ring moving easily across the fabric of the shirt sleeve, and they breathe together when she covers his hand with her own, the simple silver of their bands resting together almost like an infinity symbol.

It would be easy to think this was destined or fated; it would be easy to be caught up in the whirlwind of their vow exchange and coast on the adrenaline of yet another bad-guy invasion that put things into badly-needed perspective, but something else he knows with certainty is that they have earned this. They have fought for it, hard, and have given up as much as they are taking now.

He’s wasted so much time throughout his life, and if he makes one more promise to her, it will be that he refuses to do that again.

She brings his knuckles to her lips and kisses his wedding ring reverently, and then catches his eye in the mirror again. “Thanks for doing this.”

She reads his confusion easily – she’s read so much of him effortlessly, and yet somehow still waited for him to tell her things he didn’t even know were true – and she leans back, her still-setting curls resting against the breadth of his shoulder. “I know you would much rather just hang out here with William and a pepperoni pizza.”

He squeezes her hip. “Pepperoni’s your thing, hon.”

“Okay, fine, I would much rather just hang out here with William and a pepperoni pizza and you giving me a footrub, but –”

He shakes his head gently and then, just as delicately, turns her in his arms and rests his forehead against hers. “I’m happy being wherever you are.”

“You say that now,” she replies in a teasingly hoarse whisper, tapping his chest with her index finger, “while my mother is still at her hotel. But God forbid Hava Nagila starts.”

“Hey.” He curls a finger beneath her chin and tilts her face upward, pausing momentarily because though she’s the wordsmith, he wants – and desperately needs – to get this right. “After the island, there wasn’t much….life in my life. I thought I started to build one when I put on the hood. But you – you showed me the possibilities, Felicity. You showed me there was so much more than what I was doing, and not only did you help make me want it, you made me feel like I deserved it.” He brings her hand and rests it above his heart – because for the placement of his Bratva tattoo and all the other scars he carries the weight of, the press of her wedding band into his skin makes him feel lighter than he ever has before. “So if I have to dance to Hava Nagila twelve times tonight and at our children’s bat or bar mitzvahs, I will do it, and I will do it happily.”

She makes a happy noise in the back of her throat and goes up on her toes to kiss him before stepping back and wiping the trace of lipstick she’d left on his mouth. “Just do me one favor?”

“No mentioning bar or bat mitzvahs to your mother. Got it.”

***

Getting into a towncar still brings up many memories, even as it makes their course – the lives they had and the life they’re building together – run full circle. They’ve done this too many times for his taste, blood and back seats, but as William settles across from them, informing them of a Mathelite competition at his school, and Felicity takes Oliver’s hand in hers, that warmth from earlier – the warmth he’s crawled to time and again when faced with what seemed like a coldly inevitable end, only to find an unbelievable beginning – spreads through the winter evening and he relaxes into the feeling of family that surrounds him.

He sees his world moving and shifting around him as that family and his future define, and as Felicity and William chat happily away, it again makes him reflect on his earlier thoughts – not to mention the earlier deeds that brought her to him and vice versa. Maybe there can be a marriage between fate and choice; everywhere he’s been, there she is – standing right next to him, or up to him, whatever that version of him needs.

All he can hope for for this version – this woman, this life – is to be everything she thinks he already is.

But it still makes him wonder; pulls him from the now into the what if, and because he’s got the reality right next to him, he lets himself fall into the unknown.

What would be true in another life? What would be different in the erstwhile elsewhere?

Tommy’s stealing fries from Laurel’s basket as they take a dinner break at Big Belly; Oliver smiles at Carly, the waitress, as she sets a milkshake in front of his customary perch at the counter.

Giving his best friend a moment with his new girlfriend? Something Oliver Queen, excellent friend and dedicated wingman, is well trained to do.

Giving his best friend a moment with his new girlfriend, who happens to be Oliver’s own ex-girlfriend?

Yeah, it’s a shame Carly has none of her brother-in-law John’s whiskey on hand, because that one takes a little liquid courage and a lot more time.

It’s still funny to him that Tommy and Laurel getting together is throwing him for such a loop; he spent the majority of his teenage years and quite a few of his twenties enjoying whatever trouble came his way; the stranger, more often than not, the better.

That all ended on a Tuesday night in an alley in the Glades, with his father and Tommy’s mom and a knife-wielding someone who didn’t like them poking their noses in other people’s business.

It had been Tommy who had sought out the discipline in a time of crisis and chaos; Tommy who had gone to Laurel’s dad about being a cop at first, before becoming interested in working in ambulances. It had been Tommy who picked Oliver up at his lowest, soaked in regret and cheap liquor, and it had been Tommy who had pushed him to start both EMT and hand-to-hand combat training with Digg. It had been Tommy who graduated first, but Oliver who, after putting mind and effort into every aspect of not only his training but his life, excelled and moved on to paramedic school, and it had been Oliver who had been able to first request Tommy join him on his rig.

They’re brothers by choice and blood spilt, and as weird as Tommy and Laurel being together feels at times, he can’t begrudge them the shared whispers and delighted laughter – even if their relationship had started the inevitable questions from his mother about “settling down” and “finding a nice girl to do that with.”

No, he’s happy in other parts of his life: he’s closer with his sister than he’s ever been, he’s proud to hold a job helping people and protecting his city, and making his own way rather than coasting on the family name.

The radio on his hip crackles to life; the SCPD code for a one-vehicle accident just a few blocks away on the edge of the business district comes across the mic, with dispatch asking for paramedics to roll too. Tommy hears it from his own shoulder, and presses a fleeting kiss to Laurel’s forehead as Oliver leaves Carly a tip and a smile.

Since the Glades tend to be deserted this late into the evening, they make the scene quickly. A lone officer is trying to control two parties, a tiny blonde and a taller black man – though as Tommy throws the truck into park, it looks to Oliver like the two men are trying to corral the much smaller woman from taking off at a run through the small park adjacent to where she’d run into the curb.

“Drunk or high?” Tommy asks as he opens the back doors, readying their stretcher for a possible transfer.

“Drunk, easy,” Oliver replies, grabbing his bag and hauling it over his shoulder before walking to the stopped car.

“Just as long as they don’t pee on the cop car like the last one,” Tommy replies before nodding to the patrolman already at the scene. “Hey, Eddie.”

The officer doesn’t even get a chance to reply to the pleasantry, let alone inform them of the situation, because the woman spins in a high-heeled pivot, ponytail swinging in a defiant arc, a small but persistently bloody cut on her forehead. “Oh, thank the Google gods, will you gentlemen please clear me as perfectly unharmed so I can go make sure the dog is okay?”

“Felicity, the dog is fine. You swung from the other side of the street to miss him,” her friend says, leaning against her Mini Cooper and rubbing at his forehead.

“Wait, you…pulled a 180 degree Fast and Furious u-turn to miss a dog?” Tommy asks, half incredulous and half amused.

“I sincerely hope you’re not suggesting I should have hit it,” the semi-hysterical woman replies.

“Talk about hitting things,” her friend mutters, not fully to himself as he looks Oliver up and down for a minute. He seems to catch himself, darting his eyes away. “Paul is on his way, and we’ll take you home, okay?”

“The car’s fine, and so am I,” the woman – Felicity – insists. “It’s the dog I’m worried about.”

“What kind of dog was it?” Oliver asks, stepping forward with his pen light to try to shine it in her eyes. “Can you take your glasses off for me, ma’am?”

“A husky, I think,” she says, throwing the frames on top of her head and following the beam. Her next words are soft enough that only Oliver really hears them. “Skinny and scared. I need to know she’s – it’s – okay.”

There’s something to those words – to her tone – that has Oliver taking a moment to really look at the woman in front of him. Her hands are shaking, but somehow he just gets the feeling it’s not from the accident or the slight impact she seems to have made with her steering wheel. Her eyes are bloodshot, but not from alcohol or illicit substances. There’s something…deeper there, an answer he doesn’t know the question to yet.

A mystery that needs to be solved.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Oliver asks softly, resting a hand over where hers are folded in front of her. Even in the dim streetlight, he can see the robin egg blue of her nail polish, and the hue matches her eyes when she looks back up at him.

“I’m fine,” she insists again, though it’s quieter now, more…tired. Resigned. And it bothers him, in a way things really haven’t since he came to this job – came back to himself. “It’s just been a long day.”

“Let me guess, your boss is an asshole?”

She laughs at that, the sound both hollow and surprised. “Well, seeing as I’m my own boss – Curtis and I are trying to start a start-up – I really hope the lack of money for minorities in STEM isn’t also my fault, ‘cause that would…suck.”

She glances away then, and so he does a quick check of her neck and presses as gently and lightly as he can around her face to ensure she doesn’t have any cracked facial bones. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, but asks the questions anyway. “Headache? Nausea? Blurry vision?”

“No, no and –” she pulls her glasses from atop her head, and he can’t help it, he smiles. Something warm slides through him when she returns it. “No. All good.”

“Well, your car looks driveable,” Tommy says, completing a circle around it and looking at Eddie for confirmation. “Though, does your lease cover blood stains?”

“Ugh,” Felicity says, her chin dropping so quickly that it almost hits Oliver’s chest instead of her own. “This is the worst day ever.”

Oliver chuckles again, and places a light hand on her bicep, which she glances at before looking up at him like she’s trying to figure him out, too. “You’re sure you don’t need a head CT at Starling General?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” she replies with a nod. “Please go back to being our best and bravest, and leave the overtired, barely employed computer nerd to search for a dog that’s probably halfway to Central City by now.”

He doesn’t even think to tell her not to; he just blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “I’ll help you look.”

She should probably be looking at him like he’s crazy, which, frankly, isn’t out of the question, but he just somehow knows she needs this. She needs this win, she needs this belief upheld, and sure, chasing stray dogs through the city at ten til midnight wasn’t part of the training, but sometimes the biggest victories come from the smallest moments.

He knows what it’s like to be first on scene, to be pulled by the idea that you and you alone can fix a problem. And more than that, it’s a call he’s answered, Tommy at his side. Some days, it’s that connection that is the sole thing that keeps him going – someone else who believes.

He knows all too well that it doesn’t have to be your fault for something to break you. And if he can help that – even if he can just be there to make sure the pieces don’t scatter to the four corners – then that’s what he’ll do.

He glances over at Tommy and nods his head back toward the diner. “Go hang out with Laurel for a little while. You can swing by and pick me up if we’re 10-8 again.”

Tommy blinks at him for a moment, and then nods. “10-4.”

A Toyota Corolla flashes their headlights and pulls Felicity’s attention from Oliver back to Curtis for a moment. “Go,” she says before her friend can even open his mouth, “and tell Paul I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

Curtis nods, but looks between Oliver and Felicity before resting his gaze on her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good,” she promises, with a tired but sincere smile. “Thank you.”

Within a minute, they’re standing on the side of the road alone, the ambulance, the police car and the civilian vehicle all taking off slowly into the night, and as he clears the scene to his own satisfaction, he can see in his peripheral vision that Felicity’s tilted her head and is…not sizing him up, necessarily, but maybe trying to figure out what game he’s playing.

That’s just it, though; he’s not playing any game. Not anymore, but even separate from that, not with her.

He cups her elbow again and leads her to step off the road and onto the sidewalk. “Which way did the dog go?”

She motions to the open green space in between the tech giants’ headquarters, and he takes two steps before realizing she’s not with him. He turns, the crease of his pants brushing against his knee at the quick movement.

“You good?”

She purses her lips in confusion, shaking her head slightly, sending that ponytail in motion again. “What…why…you don’t have to do this.”

What comes out isn’t his normal deflection or protection; he’s started to realize his verbal responses are just as well-timed and plotted as the hand-to-hand techniques he’s been learning. With her, though, that defense seems to go right out the window. It’s puzzling. It’s terrifying.

It’s invigorating.

“I know,” is all he says in reply. “I’d like to, though. If it’s okay with you.”

She licks her lips and sizes him up fully, openly, and he lets her – why, he doesn’t know, but he’s more aware that it’s actually okay with him that she is.

He is scarred and broken, tortured in his own way.

Something just tells him she is, too.

She squares her shoulders and pulls her cream trenchcoat tighter around her as she steps back toward him, and he follows her lead. They head toward a gathering of trees and small shrubs in the center of the otherwise open space, and she pulls out her cell phone, turning on the flashlight function.

She makes some kissy-noises, whispers “here, sweetie, we just want to make sure you’re okay,” and he looks around as well, letting his eyes focus in the dark, but his attention is always drawn back to Felicity. The longer they wander, the lower her shoulders drop with the weight that seems to pile on with every step, and he finds himself – for the first time since middle school, probably – desperately fishing for something to say.

“What kind of business are you and Curtis looking to run?”

She jumps a little, like she’d half-forgotten he was here, and she glances quickly at him before taking a left further into the neighborhood that dots the space between the tech corridor and the Glades proper. “Uh, a tech start-up. Medical tech, specifically.”

“Like, defibrillators, or…?”

For some reason, that makes her smile. She ducks her head to see if the dog is hiding under or between cars, but then looks back at him, and there’s a smile on her face and a light in her eyes that weren’t there a moment ago.

This job and Digg and his own battles have taught him to listen to his gut; to that little voice in the back of his head when it speaks up. And he’s sure in that moment, that though the woman in front of him – to bastardize the one Shakespeare reference he remembers from the four colleges he attended – be tiny, she is mighty, and that though this mission of hers took a downturn tonight, she’s still stronger and better for it.

He knows the feeling. Sometimes you just have to do the right thing.

“I was, uh, in a car accident a few years ago,” she says as they turn the corner and continue down the block that edges the park. “It was pretty bad. The doctors actually told me I wouldn’t walk again.”

He’s glad the lights they’re sweeping over the sidewalk are focused there and of relatively low power, because he’s not even sure what his face looks like right now. His mouth is parted – in surprise, in awe – and he thinks she might just be the most remarkable person he’s ever met.

He realizes then that she’s still speaking, and focuses back on her. “I did the PT thing, everything the doctors recommended, and I had started to accept it – because I’m still me at my badass core, whether it’s on two feet or in a wheelchair – but Curtis came up with a spinal implant, and when we tried it, it worked.”

“Wow,” he breathes, shaking his head. “That’s…incredible.”

She grins, her smile somehow brighter than all of Starling lit up for the night. “I know. And now we want to replicate it, give others the chance I had.” She pauses mid-stride, putting her hand on his arm. “What’s with the scrunchy face?”

“The what?”

She points toward his brow. “You’re making the same face I do when I’m knee deep in Serious Thoughts.”

He laughs, and she wiggles her shoulders in something akin to adorable triumph. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out how on earth you can’t get companies or research grant committees interested in that.”

“Wonders never cease,” she says, but then nods. “We’re not giving up. I can’t give up. I mean, it would have been easy to stay in Vegas and be a cocktail waitress like my mom, but I’ve always believed I could be more.”

He’s known her all of five minutes and would bet his life on that fact.

She’s still speaking, and he follows her eyeline as she looks up to the city skyline behind them. “And Starling’s the right place to be for this. I just know it. You’ve got Merlyn Global, Queen Consolidated, Kord Industries…I just have to find the right fit, that’s all. Get my foot in the door.”

She begins to move again; this time, his is the hand that catches her, curling around her waist, as he hears scratching from behind a dumpster. Felicity turns on a dime to shine her phone toward the sound of the noise, and when she takes two tentative steps toward the source, in the stillness that surrounds them – space and sound that, now that she’s no longer talking to him, makes him feel about as muted in words and existence as he’s ever been – a dirty, mangy dog head appears from down the alley.

Felicity immediately goes into a crouch and reaches out her hand. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

Oliver kneels next to her, forcing himself to balance his hand on the concrete below him rather than the center of her back. It seems like the dog is equally compelled to come to the blonde next to him, approaching slowly and with a tail half between its legs. It’s clear she’s been a stray for awhile, but Felicity wastes no time in petting the animal, its dirt darkening the gromets on her coat, and within a few minutes, the husky’s tail is out and swinging happily from side to side. “No collar,” Felicity notes. “Think she’s microchipped?”

All Oliver can do is shrug. “I could call Animal Control, see if they’ll come out with the ID scanner they use.”

Felicity seems to weigh something up, looking at him searchingly, before saying, “I don’t want to keep you.”

This time, he does put his hand on her back. “I really don’t mind, Felicity. In fact, I’d like to.”

The dog follows obediently as they head back the way they came, until Oliver has an idea. “There’s usually a hot dog vendor a few streets down,” he says. “We should get her something to eat.”

Felicity’s face softens, and oh, she might just be the end of him – or the beginning of everything. “I think she might like that.”

He keeps his hand on the small of her back as they arrive in the better-lit section of the city, and he nods to Stu, the longtime vendor in the business district, as they approach his cart.

“Mr. Queen!” the man says warmly. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

“Worked days for a little bit there,” Oliver explains, fishing out a few bills from his pocket. “Two for now,” he says. “You holding the fort down over here?”

“Ah, you know me, Mr. Queen,” the man says, pulling out his phone. “I have pictures of the newest granddaughter, if you’d like to see.”

“Always.” he says, before realizing Felicity has gone very still and very, very quiet next to him. He looks down, and her eyes are huge behind her glasses, her lips parted in clear shock. “Felicity?”

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she breathes. “Oh, my god, I’m such an idiot. And I don’t mean that metaphorically. I have reached real ‘MENSA should take my membership card away’ level over here.”

When he was younger, he’d ignored and then rebelled against his name – his legacy. He’d taken great pains to build his own life, forge his own path, make his own terms.

This is the one time he wishes he had embraced it, because what he wouldn’t give for the ability to give her everything right here and right now.

Still, he’s not defensive like his younger self would have been, and it feels like she’s rewriting his rules as her own. “I am,” he confirms quietly, weighing his words against her reactions. “Is that not okay, or…?”

“No! I mean, yes, it’s okay, obviously. I’m sure it’s great for you. I just…I’m standing here talking about grants to the heir to Queen Consolidated and I don’t know what’s worse, not pitching it to you or you thinking I was.”

He shakes his head. “I never thought that,” he answers honestly, handing the dog half of the first hot dog, which she eats in a flash. “I mean, I could tell you to call my mother’s second-in-command, Walter Steele. I could put in a good word. I’d be happy to do that for you. If you want.”

She starts and stops several words, so half-formed he never really hears them, and he can almost feel it happening: the inevitable resettling of what people think he is versus who he’s worked to be. “I can’t ask you to do that,” she finally says. “I’m just a dog-chasing, steering-wheel-hitting IT girl.”

He shakes his head, and with a deep breath and the same blind bravery that had him following her into the night, he speaks with fear but no filter. “You’re so much more than that. You’re…special, Felicity. And not because of that tech in your spine. It’s because you get that it’s not about the money. It’s about the mission. It’s about making the world a better place. You don’t need a foot in the door, Felicity, because I’m pretty sure you could kick right through it.”

She licks her lips, looking up at him with eyes that no longer hold horror but instead something that looks very much like hope, and Christ, he wants to kiss her – to find out what else they can discover together. Instead, he hands the dog the second half of her meal, chuckling as the animal does circles around Stu’s hand truck once she’s done, begging for more. He calls in the request for Animal Control, looks over Stu’s newest grandbaby, and after Felicity insists on buying him his own hot dog as an apology for making him miss part of his dinner break, they sit on the curb and wait.

“Don’t say I never take you anywhere,” she teases as she hands over a bun covered with mustard. “Not that I – what I mean to say is –”

“Felicity?” he interrupts softly, wiping the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

(It turns out the dog’s not chipped, and it goes home with Felicity that night. Oliver does the same a few weeks later, and a year down the line, the husky walks alongside Digg’s little girl down the aisle at their wedding.)

***

It’s a whirlwind when they arrive at the venue, what with Donna shooing him and William into the small reception room before scurrying to God knows where with her daughter. Oliver takes in the decor – no exploding glitter in sight, for which he’s thankful – and he has to say, it’s simple and tasteful.

He sees two men roaming with cameras, a photographer and his apprentice whose work Oliver knows Felicity likes and who’s costing a pretty penny, but he knows she thinks it’s worth it, and more than that, it’s important to her. There’s something…content about the feeling that settles deep in his bones that he knows that; that they’ve known each other’s secrets seemingly forever; knows his ins and outs – pun not necessarily intended, but also welcome – every piece of him, the good and the bad and the broken. Like when they spent their summer wandering and exploring both the world and each other, when he’d stumbled into a cooking class on Capri and she’d rekindled a love of photography from atop a island cliff that didn’t seem so far down to either of them anymore, given the depths from which they’d come.

He looks out at the view from his office – the one two floors down from the one his CEO mother currently inhabits and that he’s expected to fill one day, regardless of how ill-prepared he feels for the role – and watches as the early-morning light glints off the city his parents helped build, the city his father died trying to save, and feels…nothing.

He’s gotten through the last year, the secrets he wishes were lies but that are actual truths that underline every part of an existence that feels less and less like his own, and he seems fine, but in the harsh light of day – in the face of a young man old beyond his years that stares back at him in the glass with eyes that simply ask “why” – he knows he’s barely surviving.

He had a choice, one last chance ago, to pick up his father’s mask and mantle, and he’d blinked; closed his eyes enough until somehow, he’d ended up here, Vice-President with his name on the side of the building and a longing for anything other than the legacy he’s not sure he’s capable of filling.

He may have missed the boat his father set sail on, but he’s still drowning.

The knock at the door draws his attention for two reasons – the interruption is welcome, but the sound is unknown. It’s not the familiar cadence of his trusted and seasoned EA when she requests entrance. He turns from the window, fingers automatically going to double check that his blazer is buttoned, and he beckons the visitor in as his hand falls to his side, fingers rubbing against each other.

“Mr. Queen?”

It’s ridiculous and cliched and melodramatic, but the blonde that enters his office is brighter than the morning burning off around them, and he actually has to clear his throat before he can answer in a full voice. “Yes?”

She strides confidently toward him, hand extended, somehow balancing a big bag on her shoulder and very tiny heels. “Felicity Smoak. You worked with a friend of mine from the Citizen, Iris West?”

He feels half a step behind her somehow, and looks over her ponytailed head for his EA.

“Uh, yeah, I might have broken your coffee maker. Maintenance is on its way,” Felicity says, curling her lips inward.

“You – “ The breath that comes out of him is half-disbelieving noise and half-laugh. “You broke my coffee maker?”

“In my defense, it was really cheap and needed to go to the big recycle plant in the sky. I mean, your name’s on the side of the building. You’re Mr. Queen.” There’s an emphasis on the name that does something to the center of his chest, but she barely breathes between the words. “You deserve a much nicer coffee bar. I could give you, like, three names off the top of my head for excellent espresso makers.”

He only hooks into the first part of her little babble .“Mr. Queen was my father.”

“Right. But he’s dead. I mean, he vigilanted before he was dead. Which you did not need reminding of, and that’s why I’m stopping in three, two, one.”

He wants to laugh, which is strange in and of itself, but she’s an unruly wind caught in a canyon, and he is powerless and awed. He watches as she shakes her head in apparent disgust with herself as the heavy camera bag slides off her small frame before motioning to it with an awkward hand wave.

“I need to get a couple of shots for Iris’ profile on you.”

“Right,” he manages, body oddly stuttered and tone equally stilted.

“Where would you like to do it?” She asks, and this time, he does slightly smile when her eyes fly shut and she expels a deep sigh as her chin drops to her chest. “I hate my brain sometimes.”

“You’ve got the eye,” he finds himself saying in a voice and awareness so unlike his, like this lightning bolt of a woman has just struck him alive, in more ways than one. “What’s your recommendation?”

She takes a look around the sparse office, and though he’s sure she intends to keep it quiet, hears her “a nice fern would spruce the place up a bit,” and he has to look down to keep his amusement private. He also takes the moment to center himself; he feels breathless, like he’s taken up sprinting after a long rest.

Like, for the first time in his life, he’s running to something instead of away from it.

There’s just something about her, something that’s not just calling to him but something that he responds to; a cacophony of reply instead of an echo in the silence.

When he looks up again, she’s rested her extra lenses on the glass coffee table next to her, and is glancing around around the room, reading the light, and, he notices, him. He steps out of her way as she moves to the windows he was just standing in front of, glancing between him and the shadows and lights as she adjusts the blinds.

He has long considered himself a stalwart, an immovable object even in the face of an unstoppable force, but feeling as off-kilter as he is now, he truly wonders if he’s ever encountered anything or anyone like Felicity Smoak before.

She chews on her lip for a moment as she seems to break the room into angles and arcs; it can’t be that he’s actually seeing her mind work, can it? But he finds himself drawn to her, almost unable to process this type of force in his carefully-crafted existence, and it’s why he doesn’t argue when she asks him not to step behind his desk or sit in his oversized chair. Instead, he stands with arms and ankles crossed, leaning against the heavy oak table, like he’s a master of the corporate universe who doesn’t wake in the night with the weight of expectation and failure suffocating him.

He hears the click of her lens before he realizes she’s speaking as she’s taking the pictures. “Sorry?”

He can see her smile even from behind her lens. “I was just saying that I actually interviewed here. With Mr…Steele, I think his name was.”

Add that to the list that catches him off guard. “Were we in the market for a photographer?”

She shifts her stance ever so slightly before pressing the lens closed again. “I’m actually trained in IT.”

“Our offer package not good enough for you?”

She grins, pulling the camera down for just a minute. “Oh, it was plenty good. I just…” she sighs quietly, lifting her shoulders slightly, and it’s the first time she seems hesitant. “Sometimes you need a break, right? A change of pace. A breath of fresh air.”

Air to a drowning man might be even more important than water to a thirsty one, he thinks.

“And you chose photography?”

She moves around his office, and for all her verbal gymnastics, she is light and lithe and he knows he shouldn’t be this caught up in it – in her – but he truly can’t help it. “When I was at MIT,” she says, reaching for one of the newspapers on his desk and singlehandedly throwing it open before sliding it easily in between the fingers that he’s apparently been moving this entire time, “my professors encouraged…expanding my horizons. I think they were just tired of seeing my face in the computer lab all day.” She grins happily when he chuckles, and then resets her shot. “And Boston in the fall is a beautiful place. Spring, too.”

He knows the answer but asks anyway. “Not winter?”

“Oh, God, no. I did go to an ALCS game in November of ‘07 that was cold as hell but a lot of fun. Got thrown out after they figured out my press pass for the photographer’s well was bogus, but at that point, I couldn’t feel my toes and had finals coming up, so…” She clicks her shutter again, and then motions with her lens for him to put the newspaper in front of him. There’s a line of sunlight coming right through the window, and she guides him into the perfect setup – enough that she can change lenses without him growing antsy, which is a feat unto its own, but she keeps him talking, relaxed and…trusting. “What about you? You can’t be all spreadsheets and corporate meet-and-greets all the time.”

“Um…” The side of the open newspaper drops a bit when he glances over at her, trying to think of an answer. “I spend a lot of time with my sister, though she’s now dating a ruffian.”

“A ruffian?” He can hear the laugh in her voice.

“My mother’s word. Which is better than our housekeeper’s description of him.”

“Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Roughly translated, it’s…really not appropriate for polite company.”

He turns and drops the newspaper after seeing her drop the camera. “I just told you I lied my ass off to get into Fenway Park, and you think I’m polite company?”

He tilts his head, acknowledging her point. “It’s Russian, it basically means ‘this can’t be fixed and I’m done trying,’ and…involves screwing a horse.”

Her laugh is loud and delighted, and he finds himself almost outright grinning before he resettles against his office furniture. “You know a lot of Russian?” she asks as she adjusts her own position again.

“A little bit from when I was younger,” and God, he thinks he’s talked to her more than her friend the reporter, whom he sat with for over an hour. “Now she just gets on me about my eating and exercise habits.”

“She sounds like my bubbe. ‘Felicity, honey, I called in an order down at the kosher deli for you, and if the owner’s nephew puts his phone number on the packaging, do call him, dear. He’s such a nice boy.’”

“Yeah, I just get told that Monte Cristos between homemade waffles are the devil’s food, particularly at two in the morning.”

He looks full-on at her when she slowly drops the camera, her mouth parting ever so slightly, sending a very different coil of tension through him. “I don’t know your housekeeper, but I don’t think anyone has ever been more wrong about anything in the history of the world.”

“I’m pretty proud of it,” he admits. “Took some perfecting, but….” He shrugs, but it’s fake humility, and pride slides through his veins for the first time in years.

“Okay, deal time: I will send you links for new, better coffee makers if you send me that recipe.”

There is a moment, he realizes then, when everything changes. He wasn’t ready when his father died, was resurrected, and then buried beneath the city he’d ruined and then tried to rescue. He wasn’t ready when his mother put him on a pedestal and in an office on the upper floor.

He’s had chances, and he’s had choices, but he’s never realized the crossroads until they’re long gone.

He has a choice now.

A second chance.

He takes it.

“Felicity,” he says, tripping over the hope on his tongue and the syllables in her name, “let me take you to lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

(The article comes out, but it’s the pictures that cause a big stir – not just the elegantly framed ones Felicity takes in the office that day, but the paparazzi ones of them at both a kosher deli and a supermarket picking out ingredients for waffles.)

The night is memorable for several reasons, both good and bad, and when he needs to focus more on the former rather than the latter, it’s not just the feeling of seeing Felicity walk into the room – walk toward him, again and for always – or their first dance, or the bit of frosting that unexpectedly fell off her finger into his mouth that makes him laugh out loud that lifts his soul. It’s seeing his family build right in front of his eyes; it’s seeing William and Noah chattering a mile a minute about tech things that Donna definitely doesn’t understand but sits to listen to anyway because she wants William to be as comfortable as he can be around her; it’s seeing Digg make a still-healing Thea laugh uproariously with whatever the hell kind of dancing he was jokingly doing, and most of all, it’s seeing his son pull his wife into a Smoak-level hug.

He’s thrilled to have taken the Porsche to work today, because he needs every inch of that horsepower to try to make it to Tech Village before they close for the night.

He feels terrible peeling into the parking lot literally three minutes before they’re supposed to close, but Samantha’s finally acquiesced to his request to spend at least part of Christmas tomorrow with William, so he needs to be on the first train to Central City.

At least he knows what he needs.

Or, at least he thinks he does.

As seems to be his life lately, he’s so very, very wrong.

He pulls up the text in which William had talked about different games and gadgets he’d read about, and starts hurriedly perusing the shelves, trying to gauge which would be best.

It’s not long before his eyes are crossing and his head is swimming, and much like fatherhood itself, it slowly dawns on him that he is screwed.

“Screwed, huh?”

He jumps a bit, hand flying to his chest, turning to find a bespectacled blonde in a blue polo and khakis.

“Sorry,” they say in unison, before the employee motions to the display in front of him.

“You need any help?”

“I’m pretty sure I need all the help,” he says unthinkingly, glancing upward when a storewide announcement about it being closing time is put over the speakers, not sure if or how he should address it.

The woman sees his reaction and saves him from himself. “I’m the head overlord in charge,” she says kindly. “I can keep the lights on. Edison’s super jealous of my skills.”

He can’t hold back a smile. Still… “I don’t want to keep you,” he finally says. “You should be going home to your family. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I’m Jewish,” she says quickly, almost like she couldn’t stop herself. “And honestly, the only thing waiting for me at home is my neighbor Mrs. Fernandez’s cat and whatever leaf she stealthily hunted to leave on my doormat today.”

That has him laughing outright. “Did you get extra presents from her for Hanukkah?”

“No, but she was really interested in the latkes I made. Well, I guess the technical term is burned. But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about why you’re screwed.”

A flush runs up her cheeks just a little bit, and God forgive him, he’s pretty sure he’s the living embodiment of the heart-eye emoji Thea sends him every now and again. He’ll wonder later why she was so disarming, so intriguing, but in the moment all he does is talk about his current problem, and bless her, she shoulders it as her own. “I need to pick up a present for my son.”

She nods, even as her brow crinkles slightly in confusion, and it’s nothing short of adorable. “Your…wife didn’t send you with a list? Not that that’s weird!” she says hastily, sputtering forward. “Well, it’s kind of weird? Just in the sense that most men who come in here this time of year have a battle plan very specifically laid out for them, like it’s D-Day in Normandy. Or Black Friday at the Coach outlet.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” is all he can think of to say. “It’s not…I’m not…it’s just me.“

“Ah, gotcha. Well, I’m glad that babble turned out to be very helpful and also relevant.” She sucks in her cheek for a moment, pausing and considering, and then looks back down at the shelves. “How old is your son?”

“Eleven,” he says.

“What kind of games does he like? Is he a Call of Duty kid, or…?”

Oliver shakes his head. “We play a lot of Injustice 2.”

“Nice! I tend to play as Sub-Zero myself. One of the extra downloadable characters,” she explains.

He chuckles. “He does, too. Gets me every time.”

“Smart kid.”

“He really is,” Oliver says, a familiar swathe of pride spreading warmly through his chest. It had taken a lot to get to this point– not just with William, but Samantha and Oliver’s own mother. The first few years had been rough, taut like a string on a bow, arrow nocked and loaded to pierce through anything and everything, from the pregnancy test being positive in the first place to Moira walking down a misguided path of interference that it had taken a lot of anger and tears and ultimately, finding the strength in forgiveness to come back from, not to mention his own missteps and mistakes as he tried to figure out how not just to be a good dad, but a good man in general.

It’s still something he’s trying to figure out, but he refuses to be an island; refuses to get caught in the tide, and knows the struggles of swimming to shore.

Glancing over at Felicity when she moves to wave her employees out for the night, he has the odd but knee-buckling thought that maybe, just maybe, he could do with a lighthouse to guide him home.

She turns her attention back to the stock, and taps a manicured finger to her lips as she studies the vast array of products. “Is he a math and science kid, or a physical endurance guy like yourself?”

“Sorry?” It comes out as a half-laugh, half-gasp, and she squeezes her eyes shut.

“I just noticed your….build…and your girth…” she makes some strange movement with her hands, curling them out toward his bicep, and the movement is punctuated by what almost sounds like a light growl. “Never mind. He prefer school or sports?”

“School,” he says. “He’s really good at math. His mother and I have to YouTube refresher videos to even glance at his homework, and then he sits there looking at us like we’re idiots. Which we are. I got a D minus in Algebra.” Why he tells her this, he’s got no idea. But it just feels right to, somehow.

Maybe it’s the sensations of the season – everyday miracles and quiet beauty enhanced by gentle lights in the darkness.

Or maybe it’s just her.

She smiles widely. “He sounds like a kid after my own heart. I loved school. Changed everything for me. Just…let him be him, and be there for him when he doesn’t know who that is. That’s the most important thing.” She lolls her head back, shaking it toward the ceiling. “Not that you needed my help with parenting.”

“Again, I think I need all the help,” Oliver says, the tightness in his chest shifting to the eternal question of whether or not he’d ever be good enough settling back in – though it feels oddly eased with Felicity’s bright eyes on him.

“Hey,” she says softly, drawing his attention back to her, “you’re in a Tech Village on Christmas Eve worrying about the perfect present for him. You showed up. You’re there. That’s, like, Dad of the Year criteria right there. To me, anyway.”

“Thank you,” he says, glancing down at her badge. “Felicity.” Because of course her name is Felicity. Of course it is.

Happiness. Light.

Quiet dreams.

Maybes that lead into always.

Everyday miracles.

If only he knew how to make it all last.

“That’s me, your human form of nerdy Google. A role I relish. Happily, I mean,” she says teasingly, pushing her glasses further up her nose.

He extends his hand. “Oliver.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Oliver,” she says quietly as she takes it, and there’s a look in her eyes, a draw he hasn’t felt in a very long time. It’s like they’re not standing in a box store past closing time on Christmas Eve; if anything, they’re in their own little world, and he’s equal parts intrigued and wary of that.

She was wrong earlier – he did have a plan of what he was going to do, tenets of how he was going to live his life, but somehow he thinks she’d be a game-changer; someone who would throw around words like meaning and purpose. Because as he looks at her, he feels the oddest sense of safety.

He feels like he can trust her; the only question is, is he able to trust himself?

Because though he can’t name what she’s making him feel, whatever is happening – whatever will happen – is something he just knows he’s better for, merely having experienced it.

“Thank you for this,” he finds himself saying lowly, touched by how invested she is at this point, caught up in her very soft reply of “yeah,” and he realizes that this isn’t just something he’s gone without while he focused on his family, while he shut himself away from the world to stabilize his son’s; this is something he’s never had before, and inch by inch, it’s getting under his skin.

The crazy part about that is that he likes it.

“For what it’s worth, it sounds like he’s a pretty cool kid.”

That draws a soft, sweet smile to his lips. “He is.” For all his doubts, all his wants, that’s one thing Oliver knows for sure.

The clap of her hands pulls him from his reverie, and her words draw his eyes back to her. “What kind of computer does he have?”

“A Macbook, I think. I’m not…good with computers.”

“Ah, well, if you ever decide you would like to be, I’m your girl.” Her hands start flying again. “Not your girl girl…it sounds like something different in my head.” She sighs. “What I mean is that we do classes here, should you ever want to learn.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he says, looking down at her, wondering if it would be going too far to purchase a computer and then spill a latte on it just to bring it back and ask her to fix it.

She nods, a pleased look on her face, and finally, she leans down in front of him to pull something from the back of a shelf. “I think this is the way to go. If he doesn’t like it, just bring it back and we’ll find something he does.”

He barely looks at the box and assorted accessories as she piles them in his hands, and within a few minutes, he’s following her to the sales counter and watching as she rings up the purchases. He hands over his credit card, which she swipes once, and then again. She furrows her brow and purses her lips when she swipes it a third time and still nothing happens. “Stupid…” she sighs and glances up at him. “Do you happen to have another card?”

He does, and hands it to her, with the same results. “Hang on a second,” she says, walking behind a swinging door and into what appears to be an employee area with a few monitors and keyboards, and starts tapping a mile a minute.

He can only hear bits and pieces of what she says as she talks to herself – “reset that, and reroute you, and…aha!” She punctuates the word with a victorious fist pump, and he thanks whatever forces made sure she was working tonight and not one of the other employees.

She comes back to stand in front of him and tries his card again, shimmying her shoulders victoriously when it goes in. “The card verification system was down,” she explains, and he nods like he knows or cares what she means.

“Came back pretty quick,” is the only reply he can think of, and she winks.

“I might have helped it a little,” she admits, bagging the boxes up for him.

“Wait, you hacked the credit card company’s routing system?”

She looks over the top of her glasses at him. “Is that judgment I’m hearing?”

“Pride,” he replies, and she smiles proudly, genuinely, as their fingers brush when he takes the plastic bag from her hand. “Thank you, Felicity.”

“Always.”

(It does turn out to be always, because after the holidays, he goes back to Tech Village – with William this time, who does indeed roll his eyes a bit when his father is in the car reassuring himself that asking Felicity out isn’t crazy. “Dad, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter what kind of restaurant you take her to.”

It didn’t; what mattered was the yes. What matters even more is how Felicity ends up being forced to play William’s favorite video game as Blue Beetle, and that several Hanukkahs down the road, it’s Oliver making the sure latkes don’t burn.)

***

Their world isn’t torn to pieces, but it’s not held together by much, either, and Oliver feels that pull physically when he and Felicity stumble home well past midnight. He stops in the entryway, bent arm supporting Felicity as she toes off her shoes and simultaneously supporting him by pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He turns his face down to her and cradles her cheeks in his hands. He doesn’t miss the shiver that goes through her when his wedding band slides gently against her cheek, and he’s sure she doesn’t miss the deep sigh he expels when he rests his forehead against hers and just breathes.

He needs this moment just to exist with her – to remember that they have fought so long and so hard and even though many things change, that they are doing this side by side is something that never really has.

“I’m going to go check on William,” he says, and she nods, pressing a gentle kiss to a spot on his chin.

His son has fallen asleep with his phone in his hand, and Oliver moves to place it on the nightstand. The movement wakes it, and for all he has seen and done and been, the thing that both breaks and makes him is the sight of the photo William had been looking at before he dozed off: a really lovely selfie of the three of them in which the boy is smiling wider than his father has ever seen.

It’s too much to think about the fact that eight years ago, that same father was a lost soul who didn’t think this kind of redemption existed; that thought the only reason he existed was merely to suffer in the shadows, but he carries it with him, and it’s as much a part of him as every member of their family.

When he gets to the master bedroom, Felicity’s got her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head and has traded her clothes for a thin tank top and pajama pants. She’s brushing her teeth with one hand and brushing the handful of makeup removal wipes she’d just used into the trash can beneath the sink with the other.

He ends the evening as he had begun it; coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, pressing his face into the back of her neck and just taking a moment to be thankful. That she’s here – that she was in her cubicle at QC that day, or heading to her car that night, or on a plane to Lian Yu, or in the mansion, or in Nanda Parbat; that she was there during all the little moments, too, at Big Belly and OG margaritas, their godson’s first steps, a yes and then a no and then an always.

That she saw who he was, believed he could be better but never denied he was trying; that she ran with and waited for him.

That she trusted enough to wait for the best part after he had given her a lot of the worst.

“You’re dead on your feet,” she says softly, running her hands across his knuckles until he unclenches them slightly. “Come to bed, Oliver.”

“I had hoped you’d be saying something like that, only minus the nesting doll pants,” he murmurs into her skin.

She chuckles, then laces their hands together and walks him toward the bed, kneeling on the edge as he removes his shoes and pulls off his shirt. It’s his turn for something to run down his back when she rests her hand on his stomach, but it’s her words rather than her touch that he feels most of all.

“Admittedly, this is not how I expected tonight to end, but then again, when have we ever done anything expected?”

***

Felicity calls his cell phone four times in the span of ninety seconds while he’s sitting in with the city’s new ADA, followed quickly by his desk line ringing, and he just knows it’s her.

“You’re a very popular man, Mr. Mayor,” the lawyer says with a patient, kind smile. Any possible reply he could have is cut off with a curt knock at the door, one that could only come from his iron-fisted chief of staff, and it’s only when Joanna strides in to chuck one of her phones at him that he realizes something must really be wrong.

He catches the mobile deftly, not fully taking in how his usually unflappable employee seems like a deer in headlights when the ADA stands up and introduces herself, and puts it to his ear. “Felicity? Are you okay?”

“No!” Her Loud Voice echoes down the line but they’ve been together long enough that though he tenses at her dismay, the blinding cold fear doesn’t stop him in his tracks. “Well, okay, yes, I’m fine physically – everybody’s fine physically, but they won’t be in a minute.”

“Okay,” he says, getting up from his chair and stepping around Jo, who is shockingly monosyllabic at the moment and oddly flapping a hand behind her in what might be an attempt to stop him from heading to the hallway. As much as he’s come to fear her, he knows there’s no power on earth more ferocious than his Felicity. It might even be why the two women get along so well. So he decides to worry about everything else later, and focuses on his wife. “Stop, Felicity. Breathe.”

She takes several deep, cleansing breaths, and he finds himself matching her cadence. “That’s my girl.” When there’s no reply for a long minute, he says, “Honey?” softly, in the calm, quiet voice he knows soothes her more often than not.

“Your children,” she begins, and oh God, this can’t be good, “have just unwrapped their Hanukkah presents.”

There’s only one thing to say to that, and it’s “What?”

“Yeah. Yup. Your kids – yours, Oliver Jonas Queen, and do not argue with me on this – not only found and unwrapped, but proudly distributed their Hanukkah presents to each other. See, this is why we always do last-minute shopping! So this doesn’t happen!”

He can only imagine the pile of wrapping paper and the grins on their kids’ faces. Which is kind of adorable, when you think about it. In this moment, though, Felicity clearly really, really doesn’t want to.

“I just had to tell them again not to put waffles in the DVD player, Oliver. Our four-year-old can’t figure out how to spin in circles in my office chair, and yet somehow they just went all Beautiful Mind on me, and not only found their presents, but figured out who got what?!”

It is taking absolutely every part of him not to burst out laughing – and it’s not because he’s in the common area of City Hall, but because he knows his wife will eviscerate him through the phone if he does. She’s at the point where if he so much as breathes funny, she’ll take him out, too.

But damn it if this isn’t what has made everything worth it.

“I’m rewrapping them and giving them out on the proper nights. I don’t even care. And I mean I will do it, not you with your fancy ribbon and even edges. I’m going to do it the way my mother taught me to, using three feet of paper and an entire roll of Scotch tape per gift. You watch me.”

“Felicity.”

She takes another deep breath, one that shakes a little bit, which he recognizes as her starting to calm down. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

“No. You don’t get to do that right now. You do not get to verbally hug me with your sweet husband voice. You need to come home and hug me and then make sure I don’t throttle our kids, and also possibly make ziti al forno for dinner, because I need wine, Oliver. Do you understand?”

He smiles, as unburdened and lucky a man as he’s ever been in that moment, and he does understand: that this woman – their life – is a constant reminder that the moments, big or small, now or next, little or loud, build the foundations on which things not only stand but survive. “Anything you want, Felicity.

Everybody loves Italian.”

fin

—-

I did an…alarming? amount of research for Russian insults, and came across “ebis ono konyom,” which apparently means “let it be fucked by the horse” and translated basically means, “I give up, it’s beyond me, I’m done”, and if that’s not accurate, you have my deepest apologies.

Also, credit where it’s due: the flash-forward AU is based on a hilarious Twitter thread from @honesttoddler back on December 4th, which broke me and then of course had to be adapted for my own shenanigans.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this monstrosity. And may we all have a happy, healthy and blessed New Year.

#olicity #olicity secret Santa 2017 #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #submission

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captainsimagines · 7 years ago

Text

He’s a Ghost

Bucky Barnes x Reader

When you and Natasha chat one night about the others, you reveal some frightening secrets. Natasha admits she’s terrified of Bruce and you reveal the same feelings for the Winter Soldier.

Warnings: violence, angst, blood

Word Count: 3,041

“How was training?” you asked Natasha, throwing your hair up into the towel. She shrugged and continued eating her cereal.

“Same old, same old. I think I’m running out of ways to kick Sam’s ass,” she chuckled. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you could come up with twenty other ways under ten seconds,” you replied, grabbing yourself some milk and powdered chocolate. “Want one?”

“No, thanks. I got to get up early in the morning and I don’t need a sugar rush tonight,” Natasha said. Over the past year, you had grown close with the ex-assassin. At first, you two hated each other. You had beaten her once while training and she warned you to sleep with one eye open. You didn’t think she was being serious until your shampoo was replaced with expired mayonnaise. Her childish behavior was revealed and you couldn’t help but congratulate her on the prank she pulled on you. She bowed and said she had tried it on almost everyone in the compound, except for Bucky and Bruce. You asked her why not, but you soon discovered the “why” yourself.

“So, anything new with you?” Natasha asked. You shrugged and watched the microwave heat up your drink.

“No, not really. I have a mission in the next three days but that’s about it.”

“I meant with you and Bucky.”

You turned toward her and rolled your eyes. Ever since you first came here, you and Bucky never spoke one word to each other. Oh, wait. You did tell him when a swarm of agents were coming up behind him and he muttered a small “thanks” in return. You didn’t know what made you stay away from him but you just couldn’t bring yourself to keeping a conversation. Every single time he walked into the room, a shiver went up your spine and you automatically turned away. In all honesty, you couldn’t bare being in the same room alone with him.

“No. You and Bruce?”

There was nothing romantic going on with Nat and Bruce. After he turned her down, her feelings went away after a week. You only asked because the last mission they went on together, he suited up and hurt her to the point she needed bed rest. You had never seen Nat so depressed in your life. Bruce hasn’t spoken to anyone since then, and he’s been spending all his time in the lab. He was only here because Tony talked him out of leaving the country once again.

“No. Don’t bring it up,” she snapped. You grabbed your hot chocolate and took a seat beside her. You sighed, “You know, he’s really sorry.”

“No, shit Y/N. You think I don’t know that?” she spoke, forgetting about her soggy cereal.

“Sorry… Nat, can I ask you something?” you softly spoke. You didn’t want to anger her further.

She only nodded and you continued, “Are you afraid of Bruce?”

Her breath hitched and you became smaller, tucking your knees up to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t-“

“Are you afraid of Bucky?”

You two stared at each other and when you finally nodded, answering her question, she nodded as well.

“I’m not afraid of Bruce. I’m terrified of the big guy,” she whispered. She got up and put her bowl in the sink, not caring to wash it.

“I don’t know why I’m terrified,” you whimpered. You didn’t hear the heavy footsteps about to enter the kitchen and stop and neither did Nat. Bucky stood behind the wall, wanting to know what you were terrified of. He didn’t really know you and that was knew of him. After Tony had decided to let him join the team, he made sure to at least speak with every person there. You were the exception. For some reason, he didn’t know how to talk to you. He had a small crush on you but he didn’t act upon it. After not talking to you for three months, he saw no point in trying to anymore. So, he pushed his little crush on you to the back of his mind until he wanted to think about you.

“Are you afraid of him or the Solider?” Nat’s words pierced Bucky’s heart. He was positive the conversation was about him. You feared him? No- terrified.

“Nat… you’ve fought the Winter Solider yourself. How did that feel? We’re you scared?”

“Don’t avoid the question. Are you scared of Bucky or not?” Nat urged you speak.

“Of what he was,” you said. Bucky’s shoulders slumped forward and he released a breath.

“Stop talking,” Nat said but you continued anyways.

“Nat, no. I’m so scared of what he was and what he might become again. I feel so guilty thinking this because I want to be his friend and my heart leaps every time he walks in the room but then I remember. I want to hug him and then I cower back into the back of my mind-“

“Stop talking,” Nat repeated. Her eyes were slightly widened but you brushed it off. You had to get this off your chest.

“I want to like him, and I think I do. Maybe that’s why I’m so terrified of him. I have a crush on a fucking ex-assassin. The fucking Winter Soldier!”

“Stop talking!” Nat slammed her hands on the countertop and pushed herself off from it. She landed near the doorway and she took a good chunk of Bucky’s shaggy hair in her hands before she dragged him half way in and held him in place in front of you.

You gasped and tears pricked the sides of your tired eyes.

“I told you,” Nat uttered, “to stop talking.”

She was angry. You wondered why she cared so much until you realized everything you said.

You’ve fought the Winter Solider.

Of what he was.

What he might become again.

A fucking ex-assassin.

You stood from your chair and began apologizing to Nat for the comparisons of your words. You had insulted Nat as well.

“Apologize to me later. Apologize to him now.” She let go of Bucky’s hair and left the room without another word. You shut your eyes and tried to stop the tears.

“I don’t talk to you at all and you’re terrified of me?” Bucky asked. Your legs were wobbly beneath you.

He scoffed, “Are you terrified of me right now, Y/N?”

You still didn’t answer but you slightly shook your head no. He raised his voice on purpose now.

“Are you sure?” he walked towards you. “I say nothing to you. You say nothing to me. It’s been a year and you still fear me?” He was screaming now. You were surprised no one had rushed into the room to see what all the commotion was about.

You stepped backwards and pushed slightly against his chest. You turned your face with your eyes still closed.

Bucky didn’t say anything so you finally opened your eyes to meet his sad ones. His blue eyes were a shade lighter than they usually were, and his eyebrows were scrunched together so tightly it hurt you. His face fell when you still hadn’t said anything and with that, Bucky forgot what he had originally gone to the kitchen for and went back to his room.

___________________________________________________

A day later and your streak of not talking to Bucky was still strong. He looked lost half the time and Sam joked that it was just his normal behavior. Now, you were seated in front of his frowning face as the plane took off. It was you, Tony, Steve, Bucky, and Nat who were chosen to go on this mission. Two women to do the fighting and three men to take all the credit, you and Nat joked. You had patched things up with Nat that same night. She let a few tears slip and you cried for the whole night.

Once inside the building, you and Nat split with the guys and took out the men who sadly crossed your paths.

“You ladies fine out there?” Tony snickered through your earpiece.

“Without your suit, you’re nothing,” you spit back.

Nat snorted, “Going for blood immediately, huh?”

“That was low, Y/L/N. Nothing I haven’t heard before, though,” Tony chuckled, brushing your insult off his shoulders. You rolled your eyes and continued beating a guy with your foot.

“The door is there, c’mon.” You followed Nat into the room and scanned the computers. You only had to find one word. A word that HYDRA kept wrapped safely - a word that could unlock their hidden work and files. Your mission was to find it and use it against HYDRA. Sort of like blackmail. The only people who knew of this word were you and every person on this mission with you.

“Y/N, Natas---, “ you heard. You fixed your ear piece and glanced at Nat across the room. She flipped through piles of papers, her gun pointed with her flashlight attached. She didn’t seem to care about the message that was breaking up in your ear.

“Buck--- he—careful!” That was Steve. Nat stopped what she was doing and looked at you. Both of you were confused.

“Steve, come again,” you held onto your ear piece tightly.

“—Soldier! He’s not himself! Buck—Winter Soldier!” Steve yelled.

Your heart raced. Nat was speaking to Tony and asked him what was going on. With your ear piece connected to Steve’s at the moment, and Nat occupying Tony’s ear, you switched to Bucky’s. An ambush cornered Steve and Bucky, holding them down as those special trigger were whispered into Bucky’s ear. He hadn’t yet been cleansed of these words, so their reappearance could prove deadly.

“Bucky…” you whispered. Heavy breathing was heard from the other side of the call. You sighed and kept calling his name. Gun shots ran through your ear and you winced.

“It’s Bucky. He’s gone into Solider mode.”

Nat’s words crushed your lungs. The gun shots you heard weren’t being directed at only HYDRA… they were directed to you and the team.

“Bucky, please listen to me. You’re not the bad guy. We’re not the bad guys,” you began but Nat reloaded her gun and cocked it.

“Forget it, we’ve all tried that. This is his first relapse in almost two years,” Nat rushed to guard the door you were trapped behind. You tried to control your breathing.

“Now you know how I felt,” Nat whispered. You looked at her with sad eyes.

“He tried so hard not to turn into the monster,” Nat’s voice was becoming distant. “He looked at me and told me to run. I ran so fast, Y/N. I ran until I couldn’t feel my fucking legs. He tried so hard.”

You bowed your head and looked at the floor. Imagining Nat’s face when she saw her friend in so much pain and distress was enough to get you to start crying. You had treated Bucky like such shit this past year. You never even said “hi” to him. Who cares if he never said or might have never said it back? You could have simply said “good morning” and “goodnight”. You could have told him “good luck” every time he left for missions. You could have asked him how his day was. You could have played video games with him or gave him your left-over brownies. You could have made him a cup of hot chocolate and asked him questions about the 1940s. But you didn’t. And here you were, trying to negotiate with the Winter Soldier. Not Bucky.

A harsh crash knocked you out of your thoughts and your attention was now back on Natasha and the door. You could hear heavy breathing each time the door rattled.

“Bucky!” you yelled, aiming your gun at the door.

“Bucky!” you yelled again, louder. Your bottom lip was twitching and your eyes were wide. Tears threatened to slip.

“Please!” you screamed, when the door began cracking. Nat stepped to the side, aiming her gun for the door as well.

“Bucky!” Nat yelled, cocking her gun after firing a warning shot.

“Where are you guys?” you heard Tony yell into your earpiece. You ignored him and let Nat answer.

“Bucky, please!” you were sobbing. Your breath hitched and your throat burned. You cocked your gun and aimed it for a clear shot.

“Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!” you screamed. The door burst open and Nat fired at Bucky’s metal arm. You shot to the side of him, hitting the wall. “Bucky!”

“Y/N!” Nat’s heart wrenching scream made its way through the entire building when your body hit the floor. Bucky was on top of you, eyes wild. His metal fist knocked your head to the side, and each blow to the face after that was Bucky tearing your heart out. You spit blood to the side of your face, almost gagging on it.

Natasha wrapped her legs around Bucky’s neck and pulled him down. Kicking his gun out of his hands, she held his hands together and choked him.

Dizzy but aware, you got up to pull Nat’s legs away from his neck. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring Natasha, you pulled a pistol out of from your hip and aimed it smack in the middle of Bucky’s forehead. He was grunting and fought against your weight, the gun at his head not seeming to faze him in the slightest. You looked at his animalistic eyes with your innocent ones.

Nat guarded the door and you stood your ground.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…” you repeated. He was becoming more agitated by the second, whipping his metal arm from your grip and placing you in a chokehold. You pulled back the safety of the gun and planted your knees on either side of Bucky’s hips.

“Kill me,” you choked out. “I’m not afraid of you. Kill me.”

Bucky growled and tightened his grip on your neck. Nat pleaded by the door, telling you that it was no use until he could be sedated.

You ignored her and continued with your own pleas.

“James, listen to me. I’m sorry. You’re innocent. You’re a good man. Bucky— “his grip tightened impossibly. With all your strength, you leaned down and kissed his lips, removing the gun from his forehead and shooting his flesh arm instead. He yelled, his grip on your throat became absent.

___________________________________________________

You stood in front of your mirror for ten minutes, tracing the hand print on your neck. You had cuts over your cheeks, nose, and bottom lip. Bucky sure punched harder than you thought. You winced each time you accidentally pressed down too hard, it only reminding you of what happened hours earlier. The whole team visited you, making sure you were alright. All of them had witnessed and experienced Bucky relapse. You were the only one on the team that hadn’t.

It was midnight and you made your way outside of your room. You wanted to be anywhere but there. Your bed reminded you to sleep and act like nothing happened. You couldn’t sleep.

Nat informed you that Bucky was resting and he was no longer a threat. You only nodded, your eyes focused on everyone in the building rushing to get their weapons just in case Bucky hadn’t fully returned.

Because of this, you thought, everyone was now frightened of him. They would continue to be like this for a good week, each of them double checking that Bucky was indeed Bucky. This was all your fault.

You padded down the hallway, looking at each bedroom door you passed. Passing each emblem, you stopped at the one that simply stated, “Sergeant.”

You knocked, your head hanging. You didn’t know what you were doing. Just a few hours ago, you were almost killed by Bucky and here you were, standing in front of his door with no back-up or weapon. You could hear feet hit the tile floor and slowly make their way over to the door. He was sleeping. He was resting. You ruined everything.

You stepped away and turned to leave but the door flew open. Bucky stopped moving when he saw your back turned to him, your arms hugging your chest. He looked like a ghost.

“I can’t see you,” Bucky quietly admitted. You turned around and met his eyes. That was the most he has ever spoken to you. Your stomach turned.

“I don’t care,” you replied. You raised your head and noticed your mistake almost immediately. Bucky whimpered and tried to reach out to you but he refrained. The bruises on your neck stood out proudly, taunting Bucky of what he was capable of.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him. His face remained in a frown. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

“I wasn’t scared of you,” you choked. Bucky met your eyes and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you into a long hug.

“I wasn’t scared,” you said again. You clutched at his shirt and sniffed away the tears that you were beginning to become annoyed of. Bucky rubbed circles on your back, kissing the top of your head every so often.

“I tried to bring you back.” Bucky only nodded and you followed him as he walked back into his room. He went to sit down on the edge of his bed and you followed, kneeling down and taking his hands in yours.

“You didn’t come back,” you whimpered. Bucky sighed and nodded.

“I am so sorry. The trigger words... they haven’t left my head. They used them against me... to hurt you,” he shook his head. You gripped his hands harder and got up to lead him to his side of the bed. He laid down and you made your way behind him. You spooned him, running your hands through his long hair and reciprocated his actions. Every sob that left his mouth was rewarded with a small kiss to the back of the head.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“You mean more to me than I let you believe.”

“I know.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

He reached back to grab your arm and threw it over his own hip. You hugged him closer to you.

“From now on, you and I speak to each other. Okay, Bucky?”

He nodded and for the rest of the night, he apologized and you forgave him each time.

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frozenartemis1 · 7 years ago

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MLB One shot {Lifeguard} Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir x Reader

Adrien’s Pov

My father sent me to go for a holiday to America in Miami. We have a beach house there so he sent me to stay there for the rest of the summer.

I didn’t really complain cause it would be nice,but Paris needed me as their local superhero.I took a deep breath and tried to think of this as a vacation cause technically it was.I walked inside the mansion.

I left my stuff inside and decided that I’ll go to the beach for a swim.I changed into my swimming trunks and popped out the house.

Walking for five minutes I reached my destination.I breathed the salty breeze and looked around.There weren’t many people.All of them young adults, teens like me and some kids.

I walked on the golden sand and placed down my towel.I rolled it open and left my stuff there.I then went in the crystal clean water. I swam and enjoyed myself.

Suddenly, a cry for help knocked me back to reality.A child started drowning.It probably didn’t know how to swim.My instincts kicked in and I swam towards it.

As I was 10 meters away from it, a splashing sound cut me off.I looked up to find a girl around my age running or technically swimming to the kid.I looked at her fully.

She wore an orange sports bikini,with a white cross on the right and she held a small float. She must have been the lifeguard. My eyes shined as she picked up the smaller kid and took it out to the sand.

Her H/C hair swayed with every movement she made,as she reached the beach.I slowly went out of the water too,but couldn’t get my gaze off her.

She laid the kid down on a F/C towel and it started coughing.She checked for any wounds and then she patted a little it’s chest and back.The kid spitted out water and breathed deeply.

Everyone cheered at the sight before them.She just looked at the kid sweetly,with kind eyes.“Please be careful next time kiddo. I don’t want a fellow like you to get hurt.I want you to either stay away from deep water or go with your mommy and daddy ok?”

Her voice innocent and careful made my heart flutter.My spine shivered at her kindness.The kid hugged her and she hugged it back with a chuckle escaping her mouth.

It pulled away and she bopped it’s nose,making it giggle in the process.The kid’s parents went to her and thanked her for saving their little boy.

“You should talk to her ” Plagg’s voice called out from my pocket. “How did you even get here?“I questioned but he dodged it."Just go”

Somehow I got convinced and without even knowing my legs started taking me to her.

Your Pov

Sighing I looked at the family’s form fade with a smile, as it walked further and further.Another day,another save.I laid my back against the tower as I slightly closed my eyes.

“Woah that was some fast thinking you did there"A voice broke me from my train of thought.I turned around to find possibly a boy the same age as me,with blond hair and sparkling green eyes.

I nodded looking at him.I chuckled lightly."And who might you be?” I asked him,making him smile.“I’m Adrien.Adrien Agreste” He stated and I raised an eye brow.

“Well James Bond I’m Y/N L/N"I rolled out of my tongue making him chuckle.

"Well Y/N.I hope to see you around.I’ve taken an interest in you."I pointed to my jacket as he started taking some steps backwards. "Oh don’t worry.I work here . You’ll see plenty of me"And with a laugh,he was out of sight.

Wow.What a guy.Welp…I guess I’ll be seeing more of him since he looks like he’ll be staying for a while.

~Magic time skip to three weeks later~

Sitting up high at my lifeguard tower I heard footsteps under me. I looked down to find Adrien with a smile looking at me as well.

"Hey there Adri"I called him by his nickname.He chuckled."Again with the nicknames mon amor?"He questioned and I shrugged it off. I guess that was my nickname.

"So what’s shaking from yesterday?"I asked,looking back towards the now darkened sea.

"Nothing much . You?"He asked me and I motioned ‘the same’.So we talked and talked until it was 11 pm.We soon parted ways and I started heading home.

As I was walking something cool grabbed my wrist,yanking it backwards.I gasped and I was pulled back to a chest.The intruder tried to shush me but I only started screaming.He took me in an alley way and tried to muffle my screams.

I then truly shut up once he placed a nigh on my neck.

Adrien Pov

Walking back I heard a scream coming from 10 blocks away. Realising the voice I knew that Y/N was in trouble. I ran into an alley and took a deep breath.I then transformed into my alter ego.

Not the smartest idea, but it was the only one that was coming in mind at that moment.I started running and ended up in front of another alley. I could hear whimpers coming from the darkness.I hissed angered.

"Hey!"I yelled,gaining attention from the both of them."What do you want kid?Mind your own business ” The guy said before turning back to Y/N.

I growled.“Leave her alone and no one will get hurt "I announced but he only chuckled."Try me"And with that I smacked my pole to his left arm,making him let go of his nigh.

Y/N stumbled back,crying quietly,as she leaned against the far back wall.The guy got up and without me being quick enough,he kicked me in the stomach.I hissed as pain coursed through my veins.

I looked up and he was about to throw me another punch until I hit him on his head.He lost consciousness and I breathed heavily. I placed my button behind my back.

I looked straight to see Y/N terrified by the whole scene.I walked towards her,but she only tried to back up.I looked at her in pity.

"No no no,don’t be scared of me.I came here to help you"I extended a hand to her and she just looked at me with teary eyes. I smiled sweetly at her and she hesitantly took it.

I lifted her up slowly and she hissed as I touched her side.My eyes widened as I saw that she had a cut,bleeding through her clothes.

"C-Can you help me g-go to the beach p-please?"She pleaded.I nodded furiously."Of course"I replied and I lifted her up.Wow she was light.She gasped but didn’t say anything.

I walked slowly,so I wouldn’t harm her."S-so um who a-are you?” She questioned as she stared a little at my masked face. I smiled but continued looking straight.

“I’m Chat Noir m'lady ” I announced and I could see the faintest blush spread across her cheeks.

“O-ok, well I’m Y-Y/N."She said and I nodded."Well um s-sorry for asking b-but why are y-you wearing cat ears?A-And what’s w-with the mask?”

I grinned and I looked down at her confused face.“Well you might not believe me but,I’m a superhero!"I’m stated and her eyes popped out.

"A-A superhero?How c-come I haven’t heard of y-you before Chat N-Noir?"I chuckled at her response and tightened my hold on her as I kept walking.

"To be honest with you I’m not from here.Heck I’m not even from America ” I said confusing her.I smiled at her expression and continued.

“I’m actually from Paris ” I gave away the information and her eyes widened.Yeah to be honest it’s quite shocking to find a European superhero in America.

“P-Paris?A friend of m-mine is from Paris.H-He never told me that the-the’re superheroes t-there."She said and I smiled.I soon stepped on the sand and Y/N looked straight.

"Can you please t-take me t-to the l-lifeguard tower? "I nodded and I went there.I placed her under it and she pulled a box from under.

I sat next to her and she opened the box to reveal some medical treatments. "So you’re a lifeguard?"I questioned knowing the answer.She nodded.

"It’s only a summer job b-but I enjoy i-it"She nodded and I looked at her."May I?"I asked her and she blinked.She looked down to realise that I meant to help her with her wound.She nodded and I pulled her shirt off hesitantly.

I hissed as I looked at the cut that was made.It wasn’t to deep but it bled a lot and it didn’t stop.I adapted some medical liquid on a cotton ball and gently touched her.Her breath hitched and she bit her lip to not let her screams out.

I pulled away and she breathed shakily.I then took some bandages and wrapped them around her waist.The bleeding stopped and she laid her back against the tower.

"Thank you.For the save, for everything really.” She breathed out. “Don’t worry about it . It’s my job anyways"She shook a little in laughter and turned to me."I guess that we’ll be staying here for a while?"She asked and I nodded a small smile on my face.

She smiled at my response and looked around the place.She took out of the sand a couple of sticks and rocks.She shaped the rocks neatly in a circle and placed the sticks in the middle.

She snatched a lighter from the aid kit box and made a fire."Woah that’s impressive ” I commented and she shrugged.“I went to camp hen I was younger and they learnt us this stuff.Nothing special”

She looked at me.“So why are you in America Chat Noir?Doesn’t Paris need it’s superhero?"I chuckled.If only she knew that I wasn’t needed.

"Well I came here for a vacation.You know everyone needs some time off."I stated and she nodded. "Cool.So what do you save Paris from? ”

And from then,we kept going on for all the night,getting to know each other better.In the end,I realised that this girl is amazing and that I had feelings for her that grew stronger every second I was with her.

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ylla · 8 years ago

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Friday Night Gurus - Chapter 1

Series: JJBA Ships: josuyasu (others will eventually happen too, but im tagging as i go) Tags: au where theyre famous, modern au, pining, josuke is a hot mess and has exactly 0 chill Rating: T (for this chapter only, bc eventually there will be sex/smoking the devil’s lettuce)

AO3 link

reeeeee so i’ve been in and out of the doctor’s office with a sinus infection so intense, i’ve been to the ER due to pain. fun shit. i came up with this AU while listening to music while waiting for someone to come smother me with a pillow to put me out of my misery.

this unbeta’d because i wrote this on my phone while waiting. i plan on keeping up with this idea because it delights me. next chapter will follow shortly too, because i’m trying to break this up into smaller chunks as i hammer it out on my phone (which fucking sucks, lemme tell ya). if you notice anything weird, tell me about it so i can fix it!!

The first time Josuke Higashikata meets Okuyasu Nijimura was because of a fuckup in a magazine photo shoot schedule. The shoot in question was for a feature in Rolling Stone; award season was coming soon and they wanted to feature the current Biggest Names in Music. Some poor intern (who was probably promptly fired) fucked up EVERYONE’S schedule, so all the bands and singers had to come in during the same hellish week in June. It was a nightmare for all involved.

Of course, the cover would feature the biggest name in the industry which, naturally, was Josuke. Discovered at sixteen, with two world tours, four albums (two of which went platinum), and at least 20 different awards, he was twenty-four and still going. His latest album dropped too late for Grammy consideration last year, but he was feeling real confident. This was his year. He’ll get that fucking Grammy, even if he killed him.

Josuke still considered himself to be a chill, down-to-earth kind of man despite his superstardom; able to roll with the punches whenever they came. He got that sometimes things just didn’t go your way, but he still couldn’t help it when his precious time off gets thwarted by some dumb idiot.

“What the fuck, Koichi?” Josuke whined on their way to the shoot, “Why couldn’t have this happened literally like, last week?”

Koichi Hirose was his manager, agent, PR guy, and truth be told, the only person beside his mother and grandfather who truly knew him. “Stop whining, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Dude, this was supposed to be my first week off in forever—“

For someone who was 5’3 and weighed 110lbs soaking wet, Koichi could be intimidating. He gave Josuke a look before parking and turning off the car, “Can’t be helped. They wanted to do the cover shoot last since there’s two of them.”

Josuke made a face. He forgot that this would be a dual cover. Him on one side, some band on the other. “Who’s the other band?”

Like he was still in school, Koichi started rattling off some facts, “Arrowhead, they’re a metal band. Comprised of four members. Skyrocketed up the charts this past year with their second album. You guys fought over #1 album and singles on Billboard on and off all year.” Koichi was the type of guy who always did his homework, “Now come on, you’re gonna be late.”

The shoot was operating in some random ass warehouse in some backassward part of Los Angles. Josuke and Koichi waltz into some giant room that was getting set up; a group of 4 people huddled in a corner eating what appeared to be a large quantity of Taco Bell with a sharp dressed man standing near them. Josuke’s kind of people.

“Oi! Tonio!” Koichi called out with a wave, before gesturing at Josuke to follow him over. Josuke barely restrained an eyeroll; his hair was up in a ponytail and he was wearing some worn-out sweats with an old t-shirt, not exactly looking good for first introductions.

“Koichi,” the finely dressed man shook Koichi’s outstretched hand, “good to see you.”

“Josuke, this is Tonio Trussardi, we work at the same agency.” Koichi gestured at Tonio, “And Tonio, this is Josuke Higashikata.”

Josuke held out his hand and got a firm handshake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Tonio’s eyes sparkled. He let go of Josuke’s hand and gestured to the group of people sitting behind him, “These are my charges, Arrowhead.”

He started with introductions, pointing to a man leaned up against the wall, who had sleepy eyes and a face Josuke would find attractive if it wasn’t for the tattoo on his chin, “Yuuya Fungami, drummer.” Yuuya nodded in greeting. Tonio pointed to a pretty girl with long black hair who was intently staring at Koichi, “Yukako Yamagishi, lead guitarist.” She didn’t even acknowledge Josuke, but held out a hand for Koichi to shake (which he did, if a little hesitant due to her staring). He swept a hand towards a man with impressively tall hair and two braids, “Keicho Nijimura, bassist.” Keicho gave them a cold stare and said nothing. “And last, but not least,” Tonio clapped his hand on a scarred man who had been too busy slamming a taco the entire time and didn’t notice people had walked up, “Okuyasu Nijimura, lead singer and rhythm guitarist.”

Okuyasu jumped a little, before turning a little pink and waving, “Sup?” His voice sounded he had came out of the womb smoking like a freight train.

Josuke was taken aback when he got a good look at the guy. The symmetrical scars running parallel on Okuyasu’s face did nothing to detract from how goddamn hot he was. Square jaw, angular face, black and silver hair pulled up into a ponytail, three piercings in each ear, ripped arms that had tattoos snaking up them, good God almighty. The first thought that entered Josuke’s mind when looking Okuyasu in the face was Oh no, he’s hot. The first words out of his mouth were “Those tacos smell so fuckin’ good.” Real smooth.

Without another word, Okuyasu offered him one. Josuke ignored how the blonde guy glared at him, and took the proffered taco, “Thanks dude.”

“S’no prob.”

As Josuke started chowing down, about to start chatting up the cute guy, when Okuyasu unceremoniously got up and walked away. Trying not to look so bitter, Josuke turned towards Koichi, but Yukako was asking him incredibly personal questions about his life, while Tonio started ushering Yuuya to hair and makeup, “Photographer’s not here yet, but you need to be ready since you’re the first up.”

“Yeah yeah, stop pushing.”

Keicho’s cold stare was unwavering and was starting to give Josuke the heebie jeebies, “Oi, Koichi. I’m gonna have a smoke.” Josuke didn’t bother to listen for Koichi’s stammered reproach before heading outside (which might have been a strangled cry for help). Truth be told, he really didn’t need a cigarette, he just kind of wanted to go pout. But luck would have it, when he went outside, Okuyasu was sitting on the curb with earbuds in, watching some video. Nosy as shit, Josuke hovered over his shoulder to see what he watching, “Are you watching Real Housewives of Atlanta??”

Okuyasu nearly jumped out of his skin, phone fumbling in his hand, “Oh shit!” he whipped around, wearing glasses he didn’t have on earlier, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, “Uh, I can explain.”

Oh no, he’s so fuckin’ cute Josuke hollered inwardly. He held his hands up in defense, “Sorry man, didn’t mean to scare ya.” Pulling out his own pack of cigarettes, he sat down beside him on the curb, “Don’t gotta explain anything to me, I love trashy reality shows.”

“You ain’t makin’ fun of me, are ya?” Okuyasu asked, scowling.

“What? Nah, reality shows are the shit. I love binge watching them.” Josuke fished around in his pocket, “You got a lighter?”

As if Okuyasu was trying to divine if Josuke was lying, he stared at him for a few seconds before handing over his lighter, “Jus’ asking. Keicho gives me shit for watching them, but they’re hilarious.”

Josuke lit his cigarette, “Don’t let anyone tell you how to live your life.” Inhale. He gave Okuyasu a serious look, speaking on the exhale and handing his lighter back, “Fuck what he thinks.”

Okuyasu was quiet while he lit up and took a drag. For a moment, Josuke was worried that he had already overstepped his boundaries with someone he literally just met. God, no wonder he didn’t have any friends.

He was snapped out of mentally kicking his own ass when Okuyasu spoke, holding up his right earbud, “Wanna watch with me?”

“Hell yes I do, which episode are you on?”

“The one where Ridickulous shows up—“

“THAT’S MY FAVORITE ONE—“

“DUDE, MINE TOO.”

They ended up talking while watching, not really paying much attention to the show until Ridickulous showed up, which was met with raucous laughter. Josuke learned that Keicho was Okuyasu’s older brother, that the only thing better than chocolate or strawberry ice cream was strawberry ice cream with chocolate chunks, he smoked his cigarettes like he did his joints, he smelled insanely good, most of his tattoos didn’t have much more meaning than “They looked cool as shit when my dude drew them”, and that Okuyasu Nijimura was the most genuine person he had ever met. He was sweet, eager to please, loud, and friendly. Josuke was already dangerously enamored.

Josuke hadn’t even been aware of how much time passed until Koichi came out, “They’re looking for you guys. Keicho’s almost done, so you both need to go to hair and makeup.” Yukako hovered in behind Koichi, her eye’s sliding between Okuyasu and Josuke with a blank expression on her face.

“Shit, I hadn’t even realized,” Josuke stood up and held a hand out to help Okuyasu up, “Let’s go before we get murdered.”

With a grin, Okuyasu took his hand and hopped up, “Yeah, god forbid we disappear for a minute.”

It was hilarious watching Okuyasu, who had never had makeup put on him in all his life, grimace as his face was caked. “This shit smells weird.”

Josuke couldn’t help but cackle while he did his own hair, “Get used to it, dude. This is your life now.”

Makeup finished, Okuyasu got started on his own hair, “Josuke, the least surprisin’ thing you could ever tell me about yourself is the fact that you don’t let anyone else do your hair.” He was fighting with stubborn strands that didn’t want to stay still, “The pomp is cool, you pull it off.”

A quick glance in the mirror told Josuke that he managed to keep his blush to a minimum, “Thanks dude, you got some slick style there yourself.” The shy, pleased grin that crossed Okuyasu’s face was an image he wanted branded to the inside of his eyelids.

Okuyasu was up for pictures first, looking anxious and green. It was clear to Josuke that he had no idea what he was doing. “Dude, just relax!” he shouted, “You’re looking fine!” What he didn’t say was that he meant that two ways. With a slight nod, Okuyasu relaxed slightly, and his pictures started coming out better. Josuke was trying to go for the somewhat disinterested watching, but damn, he couldn’t help but stare. This dude was cute. Out of the corner of his eye, Josuke caught Keicho staring at him again. What was that guy’s deal??

He couldn’t ruminate on an answer, because as soon as he thought that, Yuuya suddenly sat down beside him, causing Josuke to yelp in a totally manly way, “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry dude,” Yuuya was eating a leftover taco, “Busy watchin’ the show?” He tilted his head toward the photographer fussing at Okuyasu, shit-eating grin on his face.

Josuke did not like that smug look Yuuya was sporting, “He looks nervous. Jus’ tryin’ to help him out.”

“That’s just how he is,” without looking over his shoulder, Yuuya tossed the taco wrapper behind him, hitting a trashcan, “He doesn’t know how to chill out.”

They sat in silence few a couple of minutes before the eyes Josuke felt on his back were getting on his last goddamned nerve, “Why is that guy staring at me like I murdered everyone he’s ever cared about?”

Yuuya eyed Keicho for a second before shrugging, “That’s just how he is too.”

Before Josuke could even ask what the fuck that even meant, Keicho punched Yuuya’s shoulder as he walked by, “Come on, asshole. It’s time for the cover.”

“Ow, that fuckin’ hurt, dickhead.” Taking his time, Yuuya stood up and stretched, rubbing his punched shoulder. “By the way, Okuyasu’s single,” Yuuya said casually, as if he was answering a question that had been posed.

Josuke sputtered, his face scarlet, “WHAT MAKES YOU THINK—“

Yuuya pointed at his nose, “I got a nose for romance,” and then he dead ass winked at Josuke before walking away. Josuke wondered if he was that obvious. Perhaps that explains why big bro Keicho stared daggers at him. Maybe he needed to work on being subtle, but Higashikata’s were never, ever subtle (thanks mom).

The cover shoot didn’t take too long, much to Josuke’s surpise. Not a whole lot of time passed before it was Josuke’s turn. Okuyasu was dragging his feet, watching intently, while Keicho was demanding they leave. Tonio, bless him, told them that he needed to speak to Koichi about business matters before they left (mercifully saving him from Yukako’s question of “What do you look for in a woman?”) Josuke didn’t know if Tonio was picking up on something, or just making assumptions, but he appreciated it.

When the pictures were mercifully done, Josuke ran to the bathroom real quick to reorient himself, muttering under his breath, “Okay, Higashikata. You got this. You’re cool, suave, and undeniably handsome.” Josuke applied a quick coat of lip gloss before heading back out there, “Get that cute guy’s number.”

After leaving the bathroom, Josuke was greeted to an almost empty room. Okuyasu was nowhere to be found. In fact no one associated with Arrowhead was there; Keicho had muscled them out of the door as soon as Josuke left the room, Koichi helpfully explained, patting Josuke’s shoulder as he felt his confidence leak out of him like a sad balloon.

Josuke pouted the whole way home, and Koichi couldn’t tempt him out of a foul mood. “Josuke, what’s the problem??” Koichi asked, finally fed up with his huffing and sighing, “Why are you like this?”

“Koichi, I’m gay,” Josuke said, head leaned against the window.

“I know this, you’ve told me before. What does that have to do with you sighing like a moody teenager?”

“I was gonna ask Okuyasu for his number, but they left before I could.” He felt like a fucking fool, why did he have to run to the bathroom like a scared baby? It was taking a lot of effort to not punch his own face in. “That Yuuya guy told me he was single and everything. Was I that obvious??”

As they sat at a stoplight, Koichi patted his shoulder, tactfully choosing to not answer the last question, “Don’t sweat it, Hollywood is small. You’ll run into him again.” Actually, Koichi could easily get Okuyasu’s number, but he knew better than to offer. It would only hurt Josuke’s pride.

Josuke shrugged and changed the subject, deciding to throw a pity party for himself later, “So about that Yukako chick…”

Koichi grimaced, “She followed me around the whole time. Asked me how I got such a high powered client when we’re the same age! And a bunch of personal stuff like my underwear size and what kind of man did I consider myself to be.”

“At least she’s cute?” Josuke offered, an apologetic smile on his face.

“She is that…also intense. Very…intense…”

“Did you get her number?”

Koichi sighed as he pulled into Josuke’s driveway, “She took my phone, put her number in it, and then texted herself.”

“Damn,” Josuke snorted with mirth, “Hey man, you might end up getting laid before my dry spell ends. I’m rooting for ya.”

Josuke didn’t need to look at Koichi to know that he was getting a look. He hopped out of the car and waved goodbye as his friend pulled out of the driveway. Upon walking through the front door, he greeted an empty house. “I’m home!” he called out to no one. Josuke really wished his mom hadn’t moved back east, but after his grandfather had that heart attack and refused to move to Los Angeles, someone had to stay with him. He could use advice, and was tempted to call her. No, he was grown ass man. No advice from mom, you die like a man.

…He’ll just call her later.

One shower and ordered pizza later, Josuke laid on his bed, booted up both his laptop and PS4. It was time for Netflix and Learning As Much About Your Crush As Possible. With Netflix on Worst Cook’s in America, pizza in one hand, and beer in the other, he typed in Arrowhead into Google and got to work.

Two hours later, he laid on his bed, hands folded across his chest, and stared at his ceiling, Netflix and pizza forgotten. Arrowhead’s second, self-titled album had been on repeat for the last hour. Metal was never his cup of tea, but Okuyasu’s husky, rough voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and chills run down his spine. If he didn’t have it bad for Okuyasu before, he certainly fucking did now. Josuke briefly wondered if this is how he sounded when he woke up in the morning, or when he was needy and wanted—

Josuke promptly rolled over and started screaming into his pillow. Why was he like this?

You’re a fucking mess he thought to himself, You have it bad for a dude who you barely even know, just because the way he sings goes directly to your dick.

“He’s also really hot and nice,” Josuke mumbled aloud. He paused before tearing out of bed, determined to shower, do anything that would get his mind off of Okuyasu. “I also need to stop talking to myself!” he said, ripping his clothes off, jumping into lukewarm water.

After a long, somewhat cold shower, Josuke steeled himself. He was gonna get that fucking number.

#josuke higashikata #okuyasu nijimura #josuyasu #josuke x okuyasu #jjba

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