come trick-or-treat in my inbox requesting ficcies and I’ll either treat you to some fluff or humor or trick you with a horribly twisted sad AU (I’ll use a random generator to pick trick or treat)
send me “trick or treat” and a character(s) or ship in my inbox and I’ll write you a short little thing (I’ll be doing these all of October so send away!)
treat
“Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer,” Daichi says as he drops his backpack onto the floor and kicks it a few times for good measure.
“Self-destruction it is,” Koushi calls from the bedroom.
“How about not?” Asahi asks. “I feel like that is kind of an extreme.”
Daichi shuffles over and flops onto the couch next to him, curling up tight against Asahi’s side with a pout. A few seconds later Koushi joins them.
“I don’t think it’s that much of an extreme,” Koushi grumbles.
“You also think that applesauce should have actual chunks of apples in it and mages and wizards are the same thing.” Asahi sticks his tongue out at the face Koushi makes at him.
“My opinions are not invalid, Asahi.”
“Nope. Just slightly skewed and more than a little questionable at times.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t like to step on—”
“Can we get back to my personal crisis now?” Daichi wiggles around until he’s fully tucked between the two of them. “And get back to the bickering slash foreplay between you two later?”
“Just because you asked so nicely,” Koushi teases. He kisses Daichi’s forehead. “What’s got you so out of sorts today?”
“Shitty day in class. Shitty day at the gym. Shitty day all around.”
Asahi tugs Daichi closer and plants his own kiss on Daichi’s temple. Daichi sinks into the couch cushions with a sigh. Asahi shares a look with Koushi; it’s not a content sigh, not yet, but they can fix that.
“Are we combating the shittiness with scary movies, overly sugary expensive coffee from Yui’s shop, too much candy, or junk food?” Koushi asks.
“Or do we need to take a quick trip out of town and hit up the woods behind Chikara’s place? Go frolicking in the woods and stomp on some crunchy leaves and find some shiny rocks?” Asahi offers.
“Yes,” Daichi says.
—
They grab coffees to-go from Yui’s shop, along with two bags of sugary pastries and a couple pocketfuls of candy, and head for Chikara’s house. After a few hours spent wandering through the trees and stepping on every crunchy leaf on the path they shuffle into Chikara’s house and take over his spare bedroom, collapsing together in a pile of limbs buried under a pile of blankets. Asahi buries his face in Koushi’s neck and hides behind Daichi’s broad shoulders when the jump scares get to be too much.
When Chikara pokes his head in just after midnight Daichi gives him a sleepy smile, Koushi and Asahi curled around him fast asleep.
“Want to watch the last movie with me?” Daichi asks.
Chikara glances at the tv and shrugs.
“Why not? I haven’t seen this one in a long time.” He flops himself across the foot of the bed.
—
Daichi wakes up warm. Asahi’s breath is warm and damp against his throat. Koushi’s breath is that odd mix of warm and cool against his stomach.
@cattatonically needed a bribe to get her blog post done so here we go! MatsuAi meet cute featuring bffs Ai and Kou you're welcome
"Hey, Kou-san? I think there's something... living... in the back alley."
Aiichirou looked up at the newest part-timer, gripping his broom a little too tightly as he talked to Kou near the doorway of the office. She whirled around to look at him behind the desk but he already had his finger poised on the tip of his nose. "Nose goes," he called.
"I hate you, Ai-kun," she muttered.
"You're the one who instituted that rule," he said serenely. She glared at him, a fierce look that would have lesser - or even just less-desensitized - men cowering before her. He simply blinked, waiting until she huffed and turned on her heel to stalk out the back door. He waited for a count of thirteen before he stood and followed her. It wouldn't do for her to know he cared enough to follow right away, after all. He was here to be entertained, not to protect. Sure. That would work.
When he opened the back door, lazily peering around it, he found her crouching gingerly in front of a pile of boxes stacked against the building across the alley from theirs. She held a wooden spoon in her hand, using the handle to poke gently at...
"Is that a dog?" Aiichirou asked. Kou shrugged, poking at it again. It was a dingy grey, covered in mats and grime. The third time she poked it, it lifted its head and let out a growl.
"Oh, baby," Kou cooed at it. She slipped the spoon back into her apron pocket and reached out to scoop the dog into her arms. It was small, and it grumbled and batted at her, but it was clearly barely functioning.
"I'll go get the car," he said. "Do you want to come with? We could leave Yoshikawa in charge of closing up."
"Which one?" Kou asked.
"The sister, of course. The walking pile of chaos isn't on shift today and you know I wouldn’t leave our baby in his hands."
"Yeah, that would work," Kou said. "You let her know and I'll make sure this little one is warm."
Aiichirou returned to the kitchen to hand over the keys to Karin and leave a few final instructions, then slipped out into the side parking lot to pull the shitty old station wagon he and Kou co-owned around to the mouth of the alley. She had the dog wrapped up in her jacket as she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in, positioning it on her lap.
"Can you look up the nearest open vet's office?" he asked, handing her his phone. She used her own biometrics to open it, something he had long given up on fighting. She guided him through the quiet suburban streets until they reached a plain white building with a sign outside that had half its letters missing. Aiichirou glanced at it, then back at Kou.
"It has four-point-seven stars, three hundred ratings," she said with a shrug.
"Good enough for me," he said and turned the car off. He held the door open for her as they stepped inside. "Um, hello?" he called, looking around the empty lobby. There were benches and chairs against the walls, posters and adoption flyers on bulletin boards, and the whole place was clean and well-lit, but appeared deserted. Then a voice, low and beautiful, called from the back:
"I'll be out in a moment!"
Kou was already looking at Aiichirou, but he was extremely good at not looking at her when he needed to. Instead, he glanced at an informational poster about a pet health insurance plan, careful to also not look at the nasty heartworms poster next to it. He was doing a perfectly passable job of ignoring everything that was not this one inane poster when the door opened and the voice came again.
"Sorry about that delay," he said, his voice even more musical when no longer muffled by the door and the wall between them. Aiichirou made the worst mistake in his life to date then, including the day he agreed to go in together with Kou on their bakery startup, including the day he allowed Rin to dump Momo on him in order to escape to room with Sousuke in high school, including the time with the strawberry vodka and the stripper pole.
He turned to look.
The veterinarian, if that was who he was, was the most goddamn beautiful man Aiichirou had ever seen in his life. He was tall, his shoulders were broad, his skin was pale, and he was built like he had been sculpted from marble by a master artist. His hair was dark and fell in unruly curls around his ears and across his forehead. Aiichirou was pretty sure he could see a glint of metal here and there, rings in his ears and maybe one in his brow as well. His white lab coat hung in clean lines on his frame and his hands were long-fingered and gorgeous around his clipboard. He looked up and gave Kou and Aiichirou a polite smile and fuck Aiichirou was gay.
"Hi there," Kou said when it became obvious Aiichirou was too busy drowning in homosexual daydreams. "We found this little guy in the alley behind our shop. Do you take walk-ins? We want to make sure they’re okay."
"I'd be happy to," the veterinarian said with another warm smile. "Follow me to an exam room and we'll get the little... one... set up."
Aiichirou followed Kou and the veterinarian back through a set of double doors to a room with a raised metal table and even more informational posters all over the walls. Kou set the dog down on the table and it blinked up at her, clearly smitten in the way that all animals were when they saw her. Aiichirou only just resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Let's see what we have here," the veterinarian said, rolling on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, and—
Nope.
Aiichirou was not going down that road just then. He focused on the dog and on how the veterinarian was so careful when approaching it.
"Well, it looks like you both did the right thing bringing them here," he said. "Definitely in need of a grooming, and they look pretty malnourished. Hard to tell a breed beneath all those mats, but I'd say by the size we're probably looking at a main coon here."
"Isn't that a type of cat?" Aiichirou blurted. Kou turned to him with her eyebrows raised in a way that told him she would absolutely be ridiculing him for this for weeks at the very least, but the veterinarian just nodded.
"You probably suspected dog, am I right?' he asked. Aiichirou nodded, biting his lip and hoping his cheeks weren't as horribly red as they felt. "Yeah, it's hard to tell at first glance, but this is kind of my field," the veterinarian laughed. "But here, you can tell in the paws most easily." Aiichirou stepped closer when the veterinarian held his hand out to invite him up to the table, leaning in. Sure enough, the paw that the veterinarian held up was shaped like a cat's, and when he squeezed gently on the pads a set of ragged, vicious-looking claws extended out, then re-sheathed when he released the pressure.
"Can you tell if it's injured?" Aiichirou asked.
"I'll have to do a more thorough examination, but it doesn't look like anything too pressing. I'd say they probably need food and warmth, and a bath and a haircut once that's taken care of. Let me grab something for them from the back and we'll see if we can get them more settled."
The veterinarian stepped back through the door and Kou and Aiichirou looked at each other.
"No," Aiichirou said, but Kou was already talking over him.
"If you don't let me, Onii-san finds out all about you swooning over the pretty vet," she said.
"Rin-senpai doesn't scare me," Aiichirou scoffed.
"No, but he'll tell Sousuke-nii, who will tell Mikoshiba-kun, who will tell Momo-kun, who will tell Nagisa-kun, and then you're fucked," Kou said, smiling sweetly at him. "The gossip train starts with Onii-san, but it doesn't end there."
"You're a monster," Aiichirou accused. "Using your powers for evil."
"Yep. Now. Are you going to get his number?"
"I'd settle for his name, to start," Aiichirou said. "And I'm not going to hit on the vet while he's just doing his job."
"Coward."
"Whatever. Did you catch a name?"
"Matsukawa-sensei."
"Yes?" The door was opening and the veterinarian was stepping through once more, holding a tin can in one hand, a bowl and a water bottle wedged in the other. "We'll start with the food," he said. "We don't want the little one getting sick by going too quickly after the water, after all."
"Sounds good," Aiichirou managed. Matsukawa sent him a smile as he set the can in front of the cat and peeled the top off of it.
The effect was immediate. The cat surged forward, slamming face-first into the slop inside the can. It let out a low keening noise as it ate, breaking up with each slurping bite and swallow. It was frankly a disgusting noise, but Matsukawa smiled at it, reaching out to stroke along its spine.
"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're safe now."
Aiichirou watched in silence as Matsukawa poured some water into the bowl and set it in front of the cat, then began his examination. He talked as he did, mostly to Kou, telling her what he was doing and everything he found along the way. Every now and then he would throw a glance in Aiichirou's direction, but neither of them said anything to each other as he worked. Finally, Matsukawa leaned away.
"I can give you the name of a groomer who can help get this boy pretty as can be again," he said to Kou. "Once he's been groomed, bring him back here and we'll make sure he has all his shots. I didn't find a microchip on him, so there's no way to know if he has a home out there."
"Oh he has a home," Kou said, and Aiichirou groaned.
"You're paying for the supplies," he warned.
"Yeah, yeah," Kou said, waving her hand flippantly. "You'll thank me soon enough." Aiichirou just rolled his eyes at her, unable to help the fond smile creeping across his face.
"I asked you to find me a boyfriend, not a pet," he grumbled, then immediately froze. He was so used to making that joke with her that he hadn't even thought of where they were or what cute people were within earshot. But whether Matsukawa thought anything was off about his words or not, he didn't let it show. He just typed something into his computer and scribbled a number down on a pad of paper. Then he handed it and another small slip over.
"That one's a coupon for some quality food," he explained. "If you ask the employees at that store, they'll be able to point you to the right formulation for malnutrition, and give you some guidance on feeding times and amounts."
"Thank you, Matsukawa-sensei," Kou said, beaming as she took the papers from him.
"You go ahead, Kou-chan," Aiichirou said as the three of them returned to the lobby. He handed her the keys. "I'll take care of this one since you're buying literally everything else for the rest of his life." She waved him off with a roll of her eyes and carried the cat through the door, cooing at him the entire way. He turned to the counter and offered a sheepish smile to Matsukawa.
"What's the story there, if you don't mind my asking?" Matsukawa questioned as he punched some buttons on his register.
"We met in high school," Aiichirou replied. "Her older brother was my senpai on the swim team, and she managed the team from our rival high school. When we graduated, she shoved me into a culinary program while she took a business degree, and then made me teach her what I learned in the evenings. Then she dropped some real estate papers in front of me and informed me we were opening a brick-and-mortar bakery together. We live in the apartment above the shop, and she's the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met, but I couldn't ask for a better friend."
"Friend?" Matsukawa repeated, his voice a little strained.
"Yeah. People always ask about that one." Aiichirou laughed. "I get it. We're both hot as fuck. But we're also both incredibly gay, so alas, we will never be the power couple we were born to be."
"I feel like the world is lucky for that," Matsukawa hummed. "This exam was on the house. New customer promotion."
"That... doesn't seem right," Aiichirou said. Matsukawa leaned his hips against his side of the counter, his eyes catching Aiichirou's and holding him captive.
"New customers get their first examination free, provided they're beautiful and laugh like the coming of distant thunder. Terms and conditions: one use per customer. Cannot be combined with other offers or promotions. New customers must provide their names and a list of times they’re available for a dinner date over the next week."
Aiichirou stared at Matsukawa as his meaning sunk in, feeling the warmth and tightness in his chest blossom into a smile he couldn't quite keep down.
"Nitori Aiichirou," he said, "and I'm free on Thursday and Saturday."
The smile that spread across Matsukawa's face was even more beautiful than the rest of him. "Meet me here Thursday at six?" he asked.
“I’m right here, you know? I can tell when you’ve stopped paying attention to me.” - OiSuga
Koushi stops in the middle of his sentence, startled into silence by the realization that Oikawa clearly isn’t listening, and hasn’t been for a while. “Have I done something wrong lately?”
Oikawa hums distractedly, barely looking up from the book in his lap. “What’s that?”
“Am I bothering you?” Koushi frowns, twisting his fingers together. It’s awkward, talking like this, barely perched on the very edge of the couch Oikawa sits on, as far apart as they could possibly be within the length of the piece of furniture. “Did I upset you?”
“You’re fine. I’m just busy.” Still Oikawa doesn’t look up, just flips to the next page even as he speaks.
Koushi bites his bottom lip, the feeling of dread in his chest rising even higher. “I’m right here, you know? I can tell when you’ve stopped paying attention to me.”
Because it’s not just that Oikawa’s busy. He’s always busy with some thing or another, and he’s never let that stop him from engaging in their relationship properly before. This indifference is fairly new, and Koushi’s not sure what brought it on, if there was something he did wrong. He’d been waiting, to see if maybe it was his imagination, or if Oikawa was just particularly busy, but aside from the lack of attention nothing is any different than usual.
No, as far as Koushi was aware everything was just as it should be, aside from the obvious change in their relationship. There were a few days when Koushi hadn’t heard from Oikawa at all, and while unusual, he’d figured it was just a spike of busyness keeping Oikawa away and gave him time without interruptions. He’d only gotten more anxious, though, and finally messaged, wondering if Oikawa was okay, only to hear that he was just adjusting his schedule, though he hadn’t given Koushi any indication he was going to do it.
He didn’t seem concerned about the change at all, even if it felt to Koushi like the entire world had shifted on its side. That had hurt, but he’d accepted it as easily as possible, just happy that Oikawa still knew he was around. It was worse that there were things that Koushi would have deemed important that Oikawa hadn’t breathed a word of, like Koushi wasn’t worth the breath or time to say them. Half the time Oikawa didn’t even bother to tell him goodbye or goodnight, and Koushi hadn’t heard him express his love in what felt like a lifetime, compared to the more than daily way they’d had before.
And this, being ignored even in the same room, like it didn’t matter whether he was there or not, wasn’t something that Koushi could handle. The occasional message or visit couldn’t make up for all this, not at all.
Oikawa hums again, and nods. “I’m listening, love.”
It’s obvious he’s not, though, and that’s all Koushi can take for the night. He sits for another moment, waiting, for what he’s not sure, but nothing happens, so he gets up. He doesn’t bother saying anything else, not with knowing Oikawa’s not listening anyway, just heads to the hallway where he puts on his coat. The door clicks closed behind him quietly, though it seems even louder than the pounding of his heart in his ears. He walks away slowly, half hoping for Oikawa to call after him, to ask where he’s going.
It doesn’t happen. The tears that slide down his cheeks are cold, and his heart has stopped pounding, feels like it’s stopped beating at all, sitting dead and withered in his chest. The walk home is slow and torturous, and he doesn’t bother with any lights when he finally makes it in the door, just hangs up his coat silently. The bedroom is dark and chilly, and he slumps on the bed, burying his face in the pillow, letting the never-ending tears soak into the fabric.
He doesn’t know what to do now, what to think. His phone sits silent on the bed where it had slipped from his fingers, and he doesn’t expect anything from it anymore anyway. The people he knows are too busy for him, he knows. It hurts, but there’s nothing he can do about it, so he doesn’t.
"You really can’t cook, can you?” - Stiles and Derek
have some words written while not entirely sober
1k under the cut
Stiles is pretty sure he’s never getting this smell out of his clothes, or his apartment for that matter. It would be downright embarrassing, starting a fire while cooking dinner and all that. If it wasn’t completely mortifying thanks to the fact that his neighbor is 1) all kinds of hot, 2) a volunteer firefighter who is more than happy to educate Stiles on cooking safety dos and don’ts, and 3) ridiculously adorable looking when woken up from a nap thanks to the apartment building’s fire alarm going off. Oh. And because Stiles owns a freaking diner downtown so he knows, you know, all about cooking safely and not starting freaking fires. He wasn’t even making a fancy multi-course meal or complicated dish. No.
Stiles set off the damn fire alarms in the entire building making himself some mac and cheese. Not even homemade mac and cheese. No. After the week he had he was going for cheap, boxed, milk and cheese powder mac and cheese.
And he set it on fire. Because this is his life.
“You really can’t cook, can you?” Hot neighbor asks, arms crossed as they stand next to each other in their parking lot.
“Nothing I say right now will change your mind considering the number of times we’ve done this in the last month and the smoke that was coming out of my window so, you know, whatever. Sure. Fine. I can’t cook to save my life.”
Hot neighbor raises his eyebrows at Stiles’ tone but not even that is enough to make Stiles do more than shrug in his general direction despite the fact that normally Stiles would be flailing a little at the attention. Because he doesn’t really preen or anything like that. He flails. It’s not a pretty reaction but it’s the only one he’s ever had so he’s learned to live with it.
“It’s not much but when they let us back in if you want you can come over and have some of my leftovers. My sister was supposed to visit last night but had to cancel so I have a lot of food.”
“Deal,” Stiles says. He doesn’t even care what the leftovers are. It could be raw onions and overcooked steak for all he cares so long as he doesn’t have to cook it himself.
Stiles waves sheepishly at Danny when he walks out of the apartment building and shakes his head at Stiles. Honestly Stiles blames the overly sensitive smoke detectors more than anything. Those coupled with the fact that by the time he gets home he’s ready to fall asleep on his feet make for a lot of Danny shaking his head at Stiles.
“All clear,” Danny calls out.
Fifteen minutes later Stiles is sitting in his hot neighbor’s apartment staring down at a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes and trying to understand how the man standing on the other side of the kitchen is real. Because he can’t be hot and sweet and a volunteer firefighter and be able to cook this well and be real. He’s got to be some sort of figment of Stiles’ overworked imagination. Or something.
Hot neighbor — Derek, he finds out a few awkward minutes later — just stares at him when he says as much out loud. Then again he might be staring because Stiles hasn’t stopped eating, or talking, since that first bite where he was speechless for a good forty-some seconds. Because damn Derek can cook.
“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks,” Stiles groans as he takes his last bite. “Seriously, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek grumbles and even that almost seems right out of his dreams.
“Should I call you sir instead?”
Derek blushes and Stiles slouches down in his chair with a grin. Okay so maybe this whole almost setting his kitchen on fire thing might not be the worst thing to happen in the world. Nice.
—
Erica pokes her head into the diner’s kitchen.
“Someone at the counter wants to talk to you.”
“If it’s another mom that’s angry and claiming I’m being racist for not having a kid’s menu again I swear to everything holy I quit.”
“Still not sure how that was racist,” Boyd says from the prep area.
“Me either!”
“No,” Erica interrupts before he can rile himself up. “Just a couple of guys who said they wanted to compliment you in person.”
Oh. Well. That wasn’t so bad.
He asks Boyd to take over the last couple things on the grill as he follows Erica through the door.
And almost turns right back around when he sees Danny sitting at the counter with a grin on his face.
“There he is,” Danny says loudly before Stiles can turn and run. “The best chef I know. As long as he’s cooking anywhere but his own apartment.”
Derek looks up from his phone and nearly drops it on the counter when he spots Stiles.
“How, exactly, are you such a disaster that you nearly set your apartment on fire while cooking a dozen times in the last month yet you apparently are a cook at one of the most popular diners in town?” Derek raises his eyebrows and Stiles flails a little, nearly smacking Erica. She deftly avoids him, used to him by now, and leans on the counter to watch.
“Oh he’s not just a cook,” Erica practically purrs. Derek looks at her expectantly. “He’s the head cook and he owns this place. Over ninety percent of the menu items are his recipes and he cooks the lunch and dinner rushes almost every day.”
“And yet,” Danny says.
“Shut up, Danny.”
“Nope.”
“Can’t cook to save your life, huh?”
“Just… shut up, dude.”
“I told you. Don’t call me dude.”
“And you never answered last time: should I call you sir?”
Derek slides over a piece of paper and grins at Stiles. “How about you just call me and we’ll go from there?”
come trick-or-treat in my inbox requesting ficcies and I’ll either treat you to some fluff or humor or trick you with a horribly twisted sad AU (I’ll use a random generator to pick trick or treat)
send me “trick or treat” and a character(s) or ship in my inbox and I’ll write you a short little thing (I’ll be doing these all of October so send away!)
so ro and I are being us and taking a list of rather fluffy sounding prompts and doing our best to twist them into our tricks.
this one is “The crunching of leaves beneath your shoes.” and “The chilly bite in the morning air.” and “Taking hikes in the colorful forest.”
#sorrynotsorry
trick
He gets it. He really, really does.
Shouyou is warmth and brightness and that feeling you get when you step out of the trees and watch autumn leaves gently falling through the sun dappled forest.
He gets the draw. The appeal. The magnetism.
He understands the way you see Shouyou and are drawn in. Moth to flame.
But.
He also knows the flip-side.
He knows that Shouyou is the crunch of dead leaves on a shadowy path. The scrape of dry branches against your skin as you tiptoe through the decaying forest.
He knows, intimately, that Shouyou is a magnet, turning your internal compass into nothing more than a child’s toy. Spinning and spinning and spinning endlessly until you topple.
Keiji fell a long time ago.
The land is awash in color. Autumn the setting sun of the seasons painting the world in a brilliance that hides the imperfections of the days. Colors so vibrant they make you forget about how much time is rushing past with each inhale and exhale of crisp air attempting to steal your breath away.
Keiji always thought that the biting cold of winter was comparable to the cold kiss of Death.
Makes sense then that autumn is the desperate grasp of the Grim Reaper, holding tight to that last slip of life as it gently drags you into your next season; the long, heavy days of summer nothing but fading memories as you try to see through the falling leaves filling your vision with gold.
Autumn is Shouyou’s hand warm in his as they wander through the rarely used paths of the forests outside of town. Autumn is Shouyou’s laughter crackling underfoot. Autumn is Shouyou’s gentle smile scraping at his bones and Shouyou’s kind eyes searching out Keiji’s soul.
A cold wind sweeps through the trees and bites eagerly at Keiji, licking icy trails along his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Shouyou frowns and squeezes Keiji’s hand, reaching up with his free hand to tuck Keiji’s scarf a little tighter, fingers lingering against the vulnerable skin of Keiji’s throat for a few seconds.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Shouyou says, voice echoing through the forest in a way that ceased being odd forever ago.
“Don’t rush on my account.” Keiji smiles down at him. Leaves swirl at their feet, chittering and skittering noisily as Shouyou frowns. Keiji can’t help but lean down and press a kiss to that ridiculous pout. “You know exactly where I’ll be,” he whispers against Shouyou’s lips.
Shouyou is gone, stealing Keiji’s breath from his lungs as he disappears between one blink and the next. Keiji tugs the scarf around his neck even tighter and buries his hands in his jacket pocket, steeling himself against the cold that starts to creep in at Shouyou’s absence.
Autumn lingers in a way the other seasons can’t quite manage to do.
But someday even autumn has to give way to winter.
“I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you” - Jackson
some more shenanigans related to this prompt and this prompt
1k under the cut
click here to read on my blog instead of the dash
“Come on, Jackson. It’s tradition.”
“I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you.”
Normally Stiles has no problem letting Jackson fight his own battles. Hell more often than not he actively ignores Jackson’s battles and lets Jackson drown in his own hubris a little bit before he even thinks about stepping in. To be fair Jackson does the same for him. It’s one of the many compromises they’ve come to over the years. Which is vital for the whole not strangling each other in their sleep thing they have going on. Which they’ve managed to not do for almost eight years now which is pretty impressive if you ask him. Considering one of their most memorable high school experiences together is still the whole restraining order ordeal.
Anyway.
Normally he’d just leave Jackson over by the snack table to fend off the lady batting her eyes at him like some sort of cartoon character. But Jackson’s already had a shitty week and Stiles hasn’t been able to help with much of it at all and he’s really feeling like playing the knight in shining armor. Or, rather, knight in button-up shirt with the sleeves carefully rolled up tucked into a pair of fitted slacks because Jackson dressed him for this almost semi-professional event. But whatever. He can wield his wicked sharp tongue in this as easily as a flannel and jeans.
“I thought you were everyone’s type,” Jackson’s admirer damn near coos at him as Stiles sidles up to the other side of the table and glances over the choices. Peter may have spent plenty of money on fancy shit for this little holiday party of his but he also made sure to include Stiles’ favorite sugar cookies and the chocolate toffee that Jackson loves and he can almost guarantee that the sugar cookies are his mom’s recipe and the toffee is the Hale family secret recipe.
“Just because he’s everyone’s type doesn’t mean he wants just anyone’s tongue down his throat,” Stiles says as he reaches for a cookie and, yep, definitely his mom’s recipe. He doesn’t even want to know what Peter did to convince his dad to make them.
“Um. Private conversation.”
Stiles snorts. “Um. No. Not when you’re having it in a public setting and speaking loud enough I could hear it from five feet away even with the general chatter of the party going on around us.”
The lady huffs and reaches out to tap Jackson’s forearm a couple times before resting her hand on it.
“Jackson. Do you want to get rid of this guy so we can continue our private discussion?”
Stiles blinks in surprise. He would have assumed that anyone who had an invitation to Peter’s party would know, or know of, Stiles.
“Hey, Jax?”
“Yes, Stiles?”
“I’m gonna tell her.”
“You’re not going to tell her.”
“Why not?”
Jackson nods past Stiles. “Because I think Peter is going to tell her.”
“Peter Hale,” Stiles says with a grin as Peter steps up beside him. “The man who is not my step-dad only because polyamorous marriages are not legal in our state. How’s it going?”
“Well,” Peter drawls. “It’s come to my attention that I haven’t been by to see how Jackson is doing tonight. It would be rather uncouth of me to let my favorite work associate go the entire night without my presence.”
“I’m your only work associate,” Jackson replies. “You literally have zero other people working for or with you.”
“That’s because most people are drab and mediocre at best.” Peter smiles. “Also your husband refused to work for me.”
“I am an independent man who does not need his husband’s boss who is also his dad and step-dad’s boyfriend to give him a job thank you very much.”
“Are you implying I need my father-in-law and step-father-in-law’s boyfriend to give me a job?”
“No, babe. I would never imply that.” Stiles winks at him. “I’d say it straight to your face.”
“Peter. I think I want a divorce.”
“We can work on that when you’re on company time.” Peter’s amused gaze flickers between them and then returns to the lady. “Remind me who you are again? Were you on the guest list?”
The lady swallows a few times and slowly drops her hand from Jackson’s arm.
“I think I should be going,” she mutters as she turns on her heel and hurries away.
“Next time I’m hiring out the department as security.”
Stiles snorts. “Good luck getting Dad to agree to letting his men play security guard.”
“Oh don’t you worry, Sweetheart. I have my ways of getting your father to do things for me.”
“Yep. Nope. You talking about doing things with my dad is where I draw the line.” He steps around the table and kisses Jackson’s cheek. “Will you punch me if I ask to meet you under the mistletoe,” he murmurs against Jackson’s skin.
“I haven’t decided yet.” Jackson turns and presses a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips. “I guess you’ll have to take a chance on it. See how lucky you are later.”
“Oh I think I’m gonna be pretty lucky tonight.”
“Me too,” Peter drawls. Stiles looks at him in confusion and sees his gaze on something behind him and Jackson. “My boyfriends look good enough to eat. Noah’s wearing a vest and Chris is in a jacket.” He growls lowly in his throat and Stiles shudders in disgust. “I am the luckiest man here.” He winks at them. “Maybe they’ll let me unwrap them later. In the spirit of the holidays and all that.”
“Nope. No thank you. Goodbye, Peter. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jackson is almost shaking with laughter as Stiles hurries away to go talk to Erica and Boyd. He glances over his shoulder and sees the smile on Jackson’s face as he watches Stiles.
come trick-or-treat in my inbox requesting ficcies and I’ll either treat you to some fluff or humor or trick you with a horribly twisted sad AU (I’ll use a random generator to pick trick or treat)
send me “trick or treat” and a character(s) or ship in my inbox and I’ll write you a short little thing (I’ll be doing these all of October so send away!)
so ro and I are being us and taking a list of rather fluffy sounding prompts and doing our best to twist them into our tricks. this one is “Frost collecting on each blade of grass.”
trick
Sousuke watches as the field around him fills with shadows. Creeping, crawling little things that swirl and sweep along and bend each blade of grass and spindly weed in unnatural ways that might have once sent a shiver of pure fear down his spine but now? Now he just watches and wonders in an offhand sort of way if this is it. If this is when it all finally catches up to him.
“Why are you always so melodramatic?” Haru’s voice whispers against the nape of his neck, hot and cold in equal measures. Just like Haru himself. “I don’t remember you being this bad when we were teens.”
“You barely knew me when we were teens,” Sousuke reminds him. “I hated you and you tolerated my existence.”
Haru sits next to him and then immediately flops backwards in the grass to stare up at the bright sky.
“And now? Do you still hate me?”
Sousuke drags his gaze from the slow rise and fall of Haru’s chest and eyes the horizon instead.
“Some days more than others.” He glances at Haru. “Do you still tolerate me?”
“I do more days than I don’t,” Haru replies immediately. “And even the days I don’t, I do.”
Sousuke nods.
The shadows grow and creep and curl around them. A cold embrace as they watch the bright clouds roll across the equally bright sky.
“Next time?” Sousuke can’t help but ask.
“Maybe,” Haru says softly. Far more kindly than he ever used to speak to Sousuke. “Maybe.”
—
The wind flies past him, whistling oddly in his ears and biting angrily at his skin as he sits on a stump and stares, unseeing, at the ground.
How long has it been this time? How far has he traveled? How quiet has the world grown without him even noticing?
“Maybe,” the wind whispers against his cheek, an icy caress. “Maybe next time.”
—
A single snowflake lands on his hand. It doesn’t melt. He’s been far too cold for far too long for that. Instead it settles, frost spreading along his skin like spiderwebs. Creeping slowly until it’s suddenly everywhere.
He sits and touches the grass under him curiously, watching with an awe he hasn’t felt in ages as the frost crawls along one blade and then hops to the next and the next and the next.
Haru sits next to him as the frost reaches the top of the trees in the park.
“This time?” Sousuke asks softly, gaze on the leaves glittering in the distance.
Haru reaches for him, tangles their fingers together, and brings Sousuke’s hand to his lips.
“This time,” Haru agrees. “Don’t thank me,” he warns, breath so cold it’s hot against the back of Sousuke’s hand. “I did this to you.”
“You did,” Sousuke agrees. “But I asked for it. So. Thank you.”
The world around them shatters, ice shards filling the air.
The bright sun shines down, making the grass shimmer and shine like diamonds in the empty park.
“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.” - Stiles and Jackson
800+ words under the cut
i have no explanations and i am not sorry
click here to read on my blog instead of the dash
“Stiles. I swear to whatever god you pray to that this better not be our ride. Or I will strangle you.”
“Kinky.” Stiles meets Jackson’s gaze for a few seconds and then looks at the car pulling up to the curb. “What’s the matter with it?”
“You seriously have to ask?” Jackson glares at the car and then slowly turns the glare on Stiles.
“It’s an Uber. What? Are you too good for Uber now?”
“Despite how many we’ve been taking every week, no. But I’d rather not get in one that looks like it belongs to a serial killer!”
“It does not look…” Stiles gives the car a once over. “Okay, well it doesn’t look like a serial killer’s car. Maybe, like. I dunno. The car of a dude that is straddling the line between manslaughter and self-defense.”
Jackson takes a deep breath and glares at Stiles a little harder.
“If I die I’m going to haunt your ass,” he growls. Then he yanks open the back door and climbs inside.
By the time Stiles clambers in behind him Jackson is already busy charming their potential future murderer and getting recommendations on where to eat and which shops downtown are the best for non-kitschy souvenirs. Which is hilarious. Considering he and Jackson both spent the first eighteen years of their lives in this town.
Also he’s pretty sure his dad’s been called to the restaurant their driver is recommending more than once for various brawls and health code violations. So he, personally, wouldn’t call it ‘the crown jewel of Beacon Hills’ but, you know, to each their own and all that.
“No that sounds like a great place,” Jackson says sweetly when Stiles snorts at the latest recommendation and their driver looks back at them curiously. “My friend here is just an asshole.”
Oh. He got ‘asshole’ and ‘my friend’ both. He’s not sure if he’s truly being that much of a dick or if Jackson’s just having a bad day; it’s hard for him to gauge his dickishness sometimes. He slides his hand across the seat between them and taps the outside of Jackson’s thigh with his pinky. Jackson rolls his shoulder a little, shifts his leg to pin Stiles’ hand under his thigh, and glances at Stiles from the corner of his eye. Option A then.
“Dad said that as long we promise to meet him for a meal before noon tomorrow he’ll keep Parrish out of our hair today.” Jackson snickers softly. Yeah. He knows as well as Jackson does that it’s a lost cause but Dad will at least try for them. That totally counts. “Pops said he can’t promise to keep Derek reined in. But hopefully no police escort this time.”
“I’m more worried about Danny and Boyd deciding that we need the entire fire department as a welcome wagon.”
“Police escort? Fire department? Who, exactly, are you two?”
The slow smile that crawls across Jackson’s face warms Stiles down to his very soul. It’s the same smug grin that he used hate so much. Now he adores it.
“Jackson Whittemore-Stilinski. Newest addition to the Hale law firm here in town.” Their driver’s face goes pale.
“St-Stilinski. As in. Uh. Sheriff Stilinski?”
“That would be my Dad.” Stiles grins. “Though I believe he goes by Sheriff Stilinski-Argent these days now that he and Pops got married. Do you know my Pops too? Chris Argent?”
“Argent? The, uh…”
“Firearms dealer? Yeah. That’s him.”
“So you?”
“Stiles Whittemore-Stilinski at your service.”
The car pulls up to the curb. “Here’s your stop,” their driver breathes out shakily. “Have a, uh, nice day.”
“You too!” Stiles slides out of the car and Jackson follows him. He waves cheerfully as the car pulls away. “So you think he’s a human sort of criminal or the supernatural kind?”
Jackson snorts as he wraps his arm around Stiles’ waist and tugs him towards the house.
“Don’t care. I’m sure I’ll see him later either way.”
“Now don’t go taking all my fun, Mr. Whittemore-Stilinski.” Stiles presses a kiss to Jackson’s temple.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Whittemore-Stilinski.”
“Oh my God,” a voice drawls from behind them. “I didn’t realize you two could get any more disgusting.”
Jackson sighs. “How did we forget to ask for someone to be on Peter duty?”
“Why are you asking me? He’s your boss.”
“Yeah, well, he’s your Sugar Daddy.”
“Excuse me? No. Peter is not a Sugar Daddy.” Stiles looks over his shoulder and winks at Peter. “He’s a DILF.”
“That is your father’s boyfriend.”
“What can I say? Dad has good taste. So does Pops.”
“God this family is so fucked up,” Jackson mutters as he unlocks the door. “I’m taking a nap.”
“Love you too, babe,” Stiles calls out as the door shuts behind his husband. “Well, Peter. Looks like it’s you and me for a couple hours.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens up his photos. “What do you know about this guy? He was our Uber driver and he was super sketchy.”
Peter laughs. “Good to have you boys home.”
“Try not to get arrested,” Jackson yells out the bedroom window. “I don’t actually start work until Monday.”
