#keanuverse: spring fling ‘25

[97keanu]

🍓🐛 𝘗𝘪𝘤𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 John Wick… ꩜*•.’

CW/Tags: smut, p in v, f!reader some topics of exhibitionism, soft!jw, dom!jw, playing with power and control, bratty!reader, John uses Belarusian terms of endearment, praise kink, begging, teasing, raw.

When you suggest the idea to him it makes him pause. He’s always very careful of where he takes you out for dates given his profession. What you don’t realize is that John holds a secret: his love of nature. When he was younger, escaping off in the wilderness was one of his few allotted pleasures. He lets the idea of taking you somewhere beautiful overtake him and he surprises you later on with a picnic basket fully prepped with supplies. He takes you away from the concrete jungle that is NYC and you ride out of town in his mustang, the warmth of his hand firmly on your thigh and the wind billowing in your hair. He knows the perfect spot, having had a getaway cabin stashed in case he ever needed somewhere to hide. It’s a trek to get out to it, but halfway you take a break by a nearby stream.

The water glitters and trickles faintly, birds humming the song in their hearts, and you’ve never seen John so relaxed, so soft. He lays across from you now, the gentle checkered picnic blanket plush while the breeze plays with locks of his long dark hair. You sip on strawberry wine and of course he has brought along perfectly paired cheeses and charcuterie. He loves watching your face relish in the exquisite flavors mixing savory and sweet, and soon enough, he’s leaning closer to you, unafraid to show his love in somewhere so remote.

He leaves trails of kisses down your neck, and you somehow end up straddling him, the look of surprise on his face while he lets you over take him is so worth it. He’s completely submissive to the idea of letting you do what ever you please to him, although his dominant side has a hard time completely leaving and every so often he verbally instructs you.

“Slow,” his deep voice whispers to you, commanding how fast you ride him. “That’s it, baby girl, take your time…”

Never has John ever wanted a moment to savor, to enjoy at his desired pace, than right now. He groans as your hips grind into him, watches the way your curves move in the glow of the afternoon light, and most of all, the way you’re looking at him right now, hungry and full of wanton lust. You slip your sundress up over your thighs, and your hands struggle with the zipper of his trousers for a moment before he places his own hands over yours, all encompassing and warm.

“Let me help you, сонейка…” he whispers, his mother language rolling off his tongue.

You breathe out, nodding as he gently takes over the small task, soon freeing what’s been pressing up against your thighs since you mounted him.

His cock slips out, and you wrap a pink manicured hand around his substantial girth, giving him a few long strokes. He closes his eyes, leaning his head back and resting on his elbows as he enjoys you playing with him.

You lean down and close the space between you two, hand still providing pleasure, but lips brushing as soft as a butterfly wing against his. Your cherry lipgloss leaves the taste and tint of red across his lips. His muscles tense, it’s hard for him to keep holding back. You know he loves a hard and fast fuck, but there’s something about this moment, about being so connected with you here, that forces him to restrain himself as long as possible.

Your kisses deepen, tongues entwining and swirling, John can barely suppress a moan into your mouth as you quicken the pace of your hand. You pull up for breath, still so close, looking so deeply into those dark brown eyes of his, the sun playing in every lash until they’re honey colored.

“You’re such a tease…” he whispers, his breath blowing against your chin, his gaze riddled with want and awe.

“You can give in you know…” you crack a smile as your hand twists around his cock in that way you know he likes and his eyes practically roll backwards.

“At this rate I might not have much of a choice, darling…” he’s entirely truthful, and you know that the want inside him will take over soon, the butterflies in your stomach flutter at the thought.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve been holding back?” You cock an eyebrow, a hint of brattiness to your tone that you know will drive John crazy.

You bite your lip as it works, John now done responding and ready to show you exactly what you’ve been asking for. With a growl, he flips you over on the picnic blanket swiftly, using your weight against you and slamming his hands onto either side of your face. He looks down at you like a wolf looking at his dinner, ready to devour you whole.

“I doubt you’ll even come close to breaking me,” you taunt despite having no upper hand.

“You’re going to regret speaking to me like that, маленькі трусік…” he huffs down at you with a smirk that makes your legs clench and your stomach flip in a mixture of fear and lust.

Before you can get in another snarky comment his hands are flipping your dress up to your waist, exposing your pretty pink floral panties. His strong hands grab the waistband and pull, the sound of ripping fabric echoing through the forest. You gasp, about to retort that you liked that pair before his hand is thrust between your legs, his other hand forcing you open as you try to close them around his arm. A deep moan escapes you as John plays with your dripping cunt, sliding easily over your aching clit.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” the compliment makes you quiver in his hand, John’s keen eye knowing how much you love to be praised even if you won’t speak it aloud.

He slips deeper, two fingers stretching into you, finding that spot that makes your toes curl in no time, he knows your body almost better than you do.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he breathes out as he works his hand inside you. “Tell me how badly you want me inside you and I’ll happily oblige.”

You grit your teeth, not wanting to give in so easily, but the movements of his hand inside you, the way he looks down at you knowing just how much control he has over you is making it hard to think straight. His fingers arch upward and flutter against the spot you can’t help moaning about, and a smile cracks across John’s lips.

“Stop fighting it, dear…” he whispers down to you.

You gasp the breath you didn’t know you were holding and whimper, your body arching toward him, unable to stop your squirming and rising desire.

Your mouth opens despite yourself, and you begin to whisper out to him.

“P-please…” is all that escapes you through heavy breaths and moans.

“You can do better than that…” he begins to stroke your sensitive clit with his thumb while his forefingers dive in deeper.

You squeeze your eyes closed as he tempts you more, wringing out waves of please from between your legs with ease. You bite your lip and a waterfall of “please” and begging begins to fall from your lips, unable to wait any longer to be filled by him.

John’s dark eyes look deeply into yours, your brows furrowed and desperation plastered across your face. He finally removes his hand from inside you, satisfied with your begging.

“Good girl,” he awards you with his praise as his hand slick with your wet begins to line his cock up with your entrance.

You feel the tip of his hot, bare cock slide up and down through your folds, preparing and teasing for the plunge deep inside you. Your hands grip at the grass and edge of the picnic blanket, already tensing and ready to be filled to the brim.

John leans down, closing the gap of sunlight between the two of you and distracting you for a moment with his lips tasting yours. You moan into his mouth, happily devouring every kiss and touch he gifts you.

He pulls away, watching you so closely, waiting for the moment that your mouth opens with ache from just how much of his cock you’re taking. You feel his cock slip deeper now, past your entrance and quickly taking up all space inside you, deeper than you thought you could accommodate, pushing you to your absolute limit. Your eyes flutter from how badly you missed being filled like this, the pleasure rising.

“You’re doing so good, baby.” John compliments, his hand coming to cup the side of your face and bringing your eyes back to his.

He slowly begins to pull back out of you, and you whimper from the lack of being so full, before his hips buck forward quicker, hammering back inside you causing you to yelp. Your hands wrap around him, dirt smearing on his back as your hands grip him there. His thrusts in a littler faster, a little deeper each time until you’re bouncing underneath him, sliding on and off the blanket to the soft grass. The power in his thrusts drives you mad, a mess of moans and his name falling from your tongue, sweet like honey.

John slips a hand between your legs, and while you miss his closeness, the feeling of his fingers sliding over your clit makes your back arch off of the ground, your mouth falling open with pleasure.

“Please, John, please…” you whimper out, begging him to take you to the edge.

“Anything,” he breathes out between thrusts. “For you, baby girl.”

He plays with you exactly how you like it and you feel yourself clenching around him, John moaning from how tight you’ve become. He fucks you harder, harder than you thought possible, until you feel that familiar feeling begin to build in your lower stomach, your legs tensing, toes curling as you come closer to ecstasy.

“Cum for me,” John commands breathlessly.

You have no hope of prolonging it, the pleasure is too great to disobey him. You feel yourself begin to unfurl beneath him, coming undone, your mouth moaning and whimpering without your control. Your cunt flutters as you find your release, the sensation taking John exactly where he needs to be to find his own, his raw cock twitching and aching from holding back until he’s sure you’ve had your fill. You moan his name, your pleasure spiking to the limit while he begins to finish inside you, the sensation hot and thick as he fills you up to the absolute brim.

Finally, John collapses down, his forearms barely able to hold himself up above you as to not totally crush you. You feel every inch of him connect with you, his stomach against yours, the breath in his chest heaving against your breasts. He stays inside you, gently twitching the last of his load, not willing to pull out and cease the feeling of your warmth just yet.

You feel his beard scruff against your neck, his breath hot and tickling there. Neither of you speak, just the sounds of the forest around you and your hearts beating in time. You close your eyes, sunlight turning the world clementine and hazy.

It’s in that moment that without speaking, the two of you mutually decide this won’t be the last time you pay the forest a visit…

[casuallyobssessed]

Silhouette of Innocence - Scott Favor x GN!Reader ❥ 1.8k Words

A/N: My first submission for @97keanu 's Keanuverse: Spring Fling. My prompt was Scott Favor + Treehouse. I had fun with this one!

Notes: Both characters are adults, childhood friends, one-sided pining, kissing, holding hands, no beta (if you find a mistake lmk!)

Divider by /kodaswrld/

"Hey, Scott?” You whispered.

“Yeah?”

Scott looked at you with wide eyes and red cheeks, his chest heaving from chasing you up the ladder to the treehouse. He sat up, trying to catch his breath, leaning backwards on his hands with his legs outstretched in front of him. If you could have stopped time, you would freeze frame it right there: the setting sun casting golden light through the doorway, illuminating his flushed face, tousled hair, and his bright, brown eyes sparkling with child-like wonder.

You've known Scott Favor since you were both little. Your parents have worked for his family for generations now. Your mother was a caregiver and your father worked as their maintenance man, allowing you to live on site with the Favor family.

Each day after school, you and Scott would play together outside, cooking up adventures and playing out wild stories in their vast backyard. Nestled in the back corner of their property, was an ancient looking oak tree. This tree was absolutely massive. You and Scott spent so much time climbing it, his mother decided to have a treehouse built. You spent hours upon hours up in that tree with Scott reading comics, drawing, taking impromptu naps, and playing house. He even ended up being your first kiss sitting right at the top of the wooden ladder, legs dangling over the edge and hearts tangled in a knot.

Though, over the years, you've grown apart. Going to different schools meant you rarely saw him, and in the more recent months, Scott was mostly MIA. You had heard that he was hanging around downtown with the ‘less than desirables,’ but you didn't want to give in to rumors.

While in your senior year of high school, you've started working for Scott's parents, just like your family had. They started you out somewhere simple in housekeeping, asking only a couple hours a day of your time, graciously allowing you time to study and go to school.

During your final spring break, you agreed to spend your time working rather than vacationing with the other seniors. You wanted to get a head start on saving for a car, and this was a great way to make some extra cash.

One morning while you were sweeping the entryway, the front doors of the Favor’s mansion swung open, revealing a rather frazzled looking Scott. His jeans were torn, his hair a mess, and his face dark. He smiled softly at you before trudging up the stairs to his room where he collapsed on the bed and slept for at least fourteen hours straight. You know because you counted the time in between bringing food and water to his bedside for when he woke up.

When Scott finally did wake up, you found him freshly showered in the kitchen, standing at the fridge with the door open and eating pickles out of the jar. You giggled, but quickly cleared your throat to stop yourself. He whipped around and nearly dropped the jar on the floor. Relief was evident on his face when he realized it was just you. He flashed you a big smile, shoved the pickles back into the fridge, and rushed over to you, giving you a huge bear hug and spinning you around. You let out a surprised laugh, and held on to him tight, trying not to fall.

“Scott! Put me down!” You pleaded, failing at holding back a huge grin.

“Okay, okay. You're no fun,” Scott huffed as he set you back down, safely on the floor.

“Where have you been? I was worried about you,” You pressed him and hoped he'd be honest with you.

“Ah, well…” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, “Been working with some friends downtown for a while. Had a fight with one of them and decided to crash here for a bit until things cooled down.”

“You? Working?” You said in disbelief.

He looked away from you as he spoke, “Yeah, I uh- I've been getting some experience in.”

“That’s awesome, Scott!” You beamed at him, but he looked less than excited to talk about it.

Quickly changing the subject, he asked what your plans were once you graduated. The conversation ended abruptly when his father wheeled into the room, coughing and huffing. You didn't know if his father knew he was home yet or not, but judging by the look on Scott's face, the answer was probably no. He took one look at you, one look at his father, and bolted out the back door with his father shouting after him.

After another coughing fit, his father turned to you and asked you to make yourself useful by bringing his disgraceful son back inside to talk with him. You give him a bright ‘Yes, sir!’ with a dutiful nod.

You end up finding Scott laying in the grass with his eyes closed and arms splayed out to the sides of him. He cracked one eyelid to look at you and patted the ground beside him. The grass was warm against your skin as you flopped down, less than gracefully, beside him. With how bright the sun was, you had to place one hand over your eyes. The fingers on your other hand wove themselves through the blades of grass beneath you, pieces of dirt stuck to your skin but you didn't care.

Beside you, Scott let out a sigh. You looked over at him, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand, to find that he was staring at you. He broke eye contact with you to look down at your hand, tangled in the grass. You were confused when he took your hand in his and didn't let go. You were even more confused when your heart skipped a beat as he does it. Weird.

Scott shifted slightly, his fingers brushing the grass, but neither of you said anything. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just… different, like the space between you had changed somehow. It's never been awkward with him. Existing with Scott felt natural to you, even after he'd been gone for a while. He made it easy to let your guard down around him.

Just as you were about to fall victim to the sleepy warmth of the sun wrapping its rays round you, Scott sat up, letting go of your hand to rest his chin on his knees. Following his lead, you sat up, too.

“Do you remember when we used to race up to the treehouse?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah,” You said.

“Bet I could still beat you,” Scott smirked, challenging you.

“I doubt that,” You grinned at him. You knew where this was going.

Scott stood up and held out his hand, helping you to your feet. He paused for a moment, looking out across the yard, like he was recalling something. You almost wanted to ask what he was thinking about, but decide better of it.

He shakes himself out of whatever memory he was in and paints a smile across his face, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes.

“Ready?” He asked.

From where you were standing the treehouse was maybe fifty yards away. This was the easiest bet you'd probably ever win.

“Okay, on three… One, two-three-go!” Scott spoke fast, giving himself a head start.

“Hey!” You shouted, sprinting after him.

It didn't take much effort for you to catch up to and surpass him, giggling as you ran by. You heard a an exasperated, ‘come on!’ behind you as you reached the ladder, quickly making your way up to the landing of the treehouse. Scott was hot on your tail, climbing in right after you and collapsing onto the wood floor by your feet. You sank down to your knees beside him.

“Hey, Scott?” You whispered.

“Yeah?”

Scott looked at you with wide eyes and red cheeks, his chest heaving from chasing you up the ladder to the treehouse. He sat up, trying to catch his breath, leaning backwards on his hands with his legs outstretched in front of him. If you could have stopped time, you would freeze frame it right there: the setting sun casting golden light through the doorway, illuminating his flushed face, tousled hair, and his bright, brown eyes sparkling with child-like wonder.

“I beat you!"

“Yeah,” He laughed listlessly with a half-hearted grin, tapering off into a frown, “You did.”

Still riding the high of your win, you didn't notice the atmospheric change. You failed to see the slump in Scott's shoulders or the sad look that clouded his eyes. So, in your infinite wisdom, you made the choice to crawl into his lap and straddle him. Out of instinct, his hand immediately came up to rest on your thigh, sending heatwaves to your core. You searched his face for something to tell you to stop or slow down, but you couldn't read him. It's like he had shut down completely.

Again, severely misreading the signals you were receiving, you cupped his face and leaned in to kiss him. His breath hitched as you leaned in, his hand tightening on your thigh. Scott hesitated, kissing you back for a moment before pushing you away.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, tears pricked the corners of your eyes. How could you have fucked up this badly? It was clear he wasn't feeling the moment, but you pressed on anyway. Why couldn't you stop when you were ahead? Might as well put it all out there, now.

“I think I love you, Scott,” You mumbled, embarrassed for even saying the words out loud at this point.

“I don't, uh,” He said, barely above a whisper. His gaze lingered just long enough to sting, “I don't think I could ever feel that way about you.”

The silence that followed was unbearable and tight, like the room itself was shrinking. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just sat there with that unreadable look that said more than the words ever could. Like he was waiting for you to realize what you were, how far below him you are.

It took you entirely far too long to climb off of him, but he didn't rush you. Neither of you spoke as the sun set, leaving you in pitch black darkness. Not even the moon was visible behind the clouds to bear witness to your heartbreak. With tear stained cheeks and a pain in your chest, you stood up and climbed down the ladder, leaving Scott behind.

An avalanche of childhood memories rushed through your mind as you sulked your way back to their house. That treehouse, once a sanctuary of laughter and dreams, now felt like a relic of a time that would never return. Your chest ached as you silently cried on the steps. Things would never be the same.

[riverphoenixsgothwife]

1976

The hot summer sun is beating down on the San Dimas playground. It’s a Saturday afternoon in July, and children are climbing all over the playground equipment, swinging, and playing tag. No one seems to notice a little girl, Y/N, five years old and small for her age, sitting crouched in the mulch. She’s twirling one of her barrette clipped pigtails through her fingers and sniffling as she sits alone, resting her elbows on her knees.

Suddenly, Y/N feels a hand on her shoulder. The little girl squeals in surprise as she turns around and sees a little boy her age. His dark bangs flop into his face as he smiles at her, looking a little bit worried. “Hey, are you okay?”

Y/N sniffles again. “Y… yeah,” she says softly, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The boy looks almost dejected, as if he doesn’t know what to do now, and he glances down, his hair falling to cover his eyes completely as he does. “Oh,” he says, pausing, “I’m sorry, I thought y’looked sad. My daddy says ‘m not too smart.” Y/N pouts, her tears drying a bit as she listens. “Aww, don’t say that! ‘S mean.” The boy flips his hair out of his face again – he needs a hair clip, Y/N thinks – and seems to think about this for a second. “Oh,” he says, picking up a handful of mulch and letting it fall through his fingers.

“An’ you were right,” Y/N says, “‘Cause I was sad, on account o’ no one wanna play with me.” Ted frowns, then grins. “Well, I wanna play with you! D’you wanna push each other on the tire swing?” “Yeah! Should I push you, or should you push me?” The boy looks puzzled. “Uh, both?” Y/N giggles, her tears completely dried for the first time that afternoon. “I mean first, silly! We can’t both push each other at the same time.” “Oh. Yeah!”

Y/N laughs again. “You’re silly… oh! What’s your name?” The little boy beams. “I’m Ted! How about you?” “I’m Y/N!” And the two kids push each other dizzy on the tire swing, laughing and talking. Then, she dares Ted to hang upside down from the monkey bars for as long as he can while she watches. Ted dares Y/N to do the same, and then she squawks and kicks at him as she realizes he can see up her dress. She swings her legs down and playfully kicks at him some more, sticking her tongue out for good measure, and the two kids laugh. Ted’s bangs fall in his eyes yet again, and Y/N finally fishes an extra special extra barrette out of her pocket of her dress. “For your hair,” Y/N tells him softly, and he bends forward until his head is practically in her lap.

Y/N blushes, forgetting for a second what she’s doing in favor of just staring open-mouthed at the top of Ted’s head. She feels all weird in her tummy in a way she never has before. Pushing that out of her mind and concentrating on the memory of how her mommy does her hair, she gently clips Ted’s bangs back with the little pink plastic barrette. “There!”, she says, satisfied, “Race you to the slide!”

Ted gets to the slide just a second before Y/N, who trips over Ted’s gangly legs and promptly scrapes her left knee on the summer hot metal of the intimidating curly slide. Losing the confidence she had started to build up over the course of the fun afternoon, Y/N holds her knee and wails. Ted stops in his tracks and looks genuinely distressed – it’s the first time Y/N has seen him look like that, and for some reason the feeling in her tummy gets worse.

“I’m sorry! Oh, no!” Ted walks around for a second, pacing with his head in his little hands as he clearly tries to think of what to do. “Oh, I know!” He drops to his knees and kisses Y/N’s knee gently, then uses some spit to wipe the blood off her dress. “All better,” he says, grinning. Usually, Y/N would wail about cooties and how boy germs actually make hurties worse, not better, but she’s staring at her knee, her face as red as the cut.

Ted looks concerned. “You okay?” Y/N snaps out of it. Her knee doesn’t hurt anymore. “All better,” she repeats, and then Ted is off again, grinning and racing her. She would follow him all day.

Eventually, Y/N has to go home for supper, and at the end of that summer, right before she would’ve started kindergarten in San Dimas, Y/N and her family move, before she even has a chance to see Ted again.

1989

Y/N just turned eighteen; she’s a young woman now, and her family is just now moving back to San Dimas, California. Other girls Y/N’s age would probably be sad about moving for high school’s last semester, but Y/N doesn’t care. It isn’t like she has friends at her current school; Y/N has been stereotyped as a slacker stoner girl. The others in her classes laugh at her, and she gets food and wrappers thrown at her during lunch. Really, she’s just hoping that San Dimas High School is a little more welcoming – that’s a big part of why her very loving and supportive parents have decided to make the move.

When Y/N first walks down the hall of her new high school, she trips over nothing in the hall and falls over, her skirt flying up and her hair flopping down into her face. Another girl in her class turns around, her ponytail swishing through the air like a switchblade, and immediately laughs at her. “Oh, God, we should introduce her to Ted!”, the other girl says loudly to her friend.

A boy appears at that, stopping suddenly. “Huh?”, he says, and he’s got sort of a California surfer kid sound to his voice, but there’s something deeply familiar about it too, familiar but different, like Y/N knew him in her past life or something. Y/N, still fallen on her tummy in the hallway, pulls herself partially up with the momentum of her boobs and sees a vague blur as someone rushes to finally help her all the way up.

Y/N feels a hand, warm in hers, and then she finally sees the boy that other girl was talking about. The boy has olive-toned skin and dark porcelain doll eyes with long lashes. The boy’s beautiful eyes are almost completely covered up by his brown-black hair, falling in long bangs into his amazingly handsome face, and his lips are slightly parted as she sees him.

“Uh, how’s it hangin’, babes? Are you, like, okay?” Y/N still isn’t sure why she feels like she knows this Ted boy, but the young woman feels herself instinctively answering Ted’s questions with a breathless “All better!”

Ted helps Y/N up, and the two look at each other adoringly for just a minute, both blushing.

@97keanu second entry for keanuverse spring fling '25!

[ruthlessly96]

Backyard Barbeque

Hi everyone!

I'm throwing my hat in the ring with an entry for @97keanu's Keanuverse: Spring Fling '25.

I spun the wheel and matched John Wick with Backyard Barbeque. This is my first time writing Y/N, so I'm a little nervous on that front. But if you're here, you're at least as crazy as I am, so I gave it my best!

Backyard Barbeque Summary: When a crazy member of your community's HOA forces you to organize the year's Backyard Barbeque Bash, you are sure the summer can't get any worse. But your partner-in-crime is an unassuming man named John Wick, and you quickly realize he may be a whole lot better at this 'crime' thing than you are.

Warnings: stalking, annoying neighbors, violence, soft-yandere John Wick, manipulative John, Dog Haters (nobody important), eventual smut, shy and naive reader, Charlene (OC), HOA's

You struggle to catch your breath as you trudge across the asphalt. But the upward climb is nothing compared to your appointed task.

You don’t want to be there, and in all the time you've lived in the sprawling neighborhood, you have never seen…

You flip over the thick envelope in your hands.

Mr. John Wick

As the large, white house comes into sight, you shudder. You really do not want to meet this man. You've already put off the task for as long as you could, but Charlene was relentless.

She had come to your door at 8 am under the guise of an Amazon delivery person. You were certain some kind of law had been broken, but people like Charlene were not deterred.

“Oh, would you please deliver this to Mr. Wick? I was going to take it myself, but his gate recognizes me now and makes me leave it in his PO box.”

For somebody like you, who would rather eat glass than bother another human being---Charlene was a lot.

This was assuming you get past the gate, of course. There is an obviously recording camera and small buzzer in front of you.

You hit the buzzer.

And wait.

And wait…

After about thirty seconds, you determine this is a job well-done and go to slide the envelope underneath the gate.

“Hello?”

You jump, nearly falling back into the road. With a curse and a bit of panic, you scramble away from the voice.

It's just a man.

It is just a man the same way Lake Superior is just a lake.

He is…wow.

You know you’re gaping at him, and you desperately hope he only thinks you stupid rather than enamored.

“Hi,” the man, presumably John, says.

“Hello,” you begin awkwardly. “You’re--- John? Mr. Wick, I mean?”

He is still looking at you like you might pull a gun. You note that he looks surprisingly unconcerned about potentially having a gun pointed his way. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, here---,” you shove the envelope toward him through the gate, hoping you can cut off this encounter before you do something foolish.

He looks directly at you but does not take the letter.

“You are...?” he begins, and the slight command in his voice does nothing for your nerves.

You blink. “I’m Y/N, I live down the hill in Eileen’s place during the summer.” You continue to hold the envelope out to him, but he does not take it.

Your stomach begins to curl with nerves as this man stares at you. His eyes are dark and feel intrusive as they look into your eyes. Normally, you would avert your gaze, but something inside warns that this would be a terrible idea.

After a moment of tense silence, he speaks softly. “What’s inside?”

You pause. “It’s---,” it would be difficult to explain, really. Internally, you are already wincing at how forward and audacious you will sound.

Channel Charlene, Y/N! WWCD! What Would Charlene Do?

“It’s a summons,” you say, feeling much braver with the gate between you both.

You watch as John’s eyebrows slant downwards. Before he can object, you continue, “Charlene from the Home Owner’s Association is preparing for this year’s Backyard Barbeque Bash, and since neither of us paid our HOA fees on time, she’s…pushing it on to us? I mean, she wants you to host it. At your house…”

John just stares at you, and honestly you don’t blame him.

“Charlene?” he says suddenly after a good few seconds.

You purse your lips. “You’ve likely met her; she gives out the monthly bulletin and she always wears bright green leggings.”

John nods. “I know…her. The gate usually flags her for me, so I guess she’s sent…you.”

You try not to take offense. “Charlene can be forceful.”

John nodded. “She kept leaving, ‘The Dangers of Pit bulls’ flyers in my mail box.”

You gape, suddenly mortified. “Oh, I’m sorry---,”

“Don’t apologize,” John interrupts sharply. When you visibly flinch, he softens, “Her actions are not your responsibility.”

You exhale. “I’m sorry she enlisted me to bother you---I’m just trying to keep her from sending invoices to Eileen.” John continued to look at you searchingly, so you continued, “I paid the fee late but she does me a huge favor letting me take care of the place during the Summer. It’d be a shit way to repay her.”

John waits for you to finish before saying, “Why don’t you come in?”

If he had slapped you with a fish it would have made more sense. “Mr…Wick?”

Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone before you can identify it.

“I think this discussion should continue inside,” he glances vaguely upward. “It looks like it might rain.”

You tilt your head up and sure enough, the sky is getting dark. “I really shouldn’t waste any more of your time. I’ll figure out a way to get Charlene off your back…”

You step away from the gate and turn to go.

“Weren’t you going to help me plan?”

You freeze, eyes slanting over to him in confusion. “You---?”

John looks at you grimly. “If you leave, she’s just going to send somebody else.”

This was true enough, but still. “It’s a big to-do, Mr. Wic---,”

“Call me John,” he asserts.

Your heart thumps. “She’s been raving about having hundreds of people involved; I guess we know where those HOA fees go now,” you say with a slight grimace.

John returns it, and for a minute, you feel a spark of joy with this man. It was such a human thing for you: to complain about a shared enemy was one of life’s great perquisites. That he hadn’t simply thrown you off his lawn was awesome, too.

A button is pressed, and then the front gate slides open to reveal the behemoth dwelling beyond. John waits a moment for you to walk through, and you try not to let your nervousness show. You must fail, because John starts talking like he is distracting a scared animal.

“So, Y/N, how long have you been in Eileen’s place?” He sounds so at ease---like he wasn’t being strong armed by a housewife who drives a Toyota corolla.

“This year is the second,” you answer, not wanting to displease him. “I was here last year but it was such a whirlwind summer. Have you lived here long?”

He nods, opening the front door and ushering you in.

You barely have a moment to admire the foyer before clacks against the wooden floor get louder and then---there is a dog on you.

At first, you panic, but quickly realize the dog is trying to literally get you to carry it, whining like a baby. You laugh, looking over at John, who is watching with a mixture of fondness and…apprehension?

“He gets…excited with strangers. Dog, off,” he commands.

The large dog is back on four legs in an instant, coming to sit by John’s feet.

“He’s sweet!” you assure him, hoping Dog is not in the doghouse.

John smiles, leading you toward a large sitting room. Dog follows obediently behind. There is a folded newspaper on the single coffee table, but John tucks it into a bookshelf against the wall before corralling you to sit on the softest, firmest couch ever.

John sits at the other end, projecting an aura of calm and collected.  You must make an interesting sight---hiding shudders and sinking into the couch like a gremlin.

When it is quiet for a moment, John prompts, “Can I see that?”

You shuffle over to his side of the couch and pass the envelope into his large, sturdy hands. When his fingers brush yours, you are at least happy they are warm.

John takes out a small knife from his pocket and rips the top of the envelope. You briefly admire how steady his hands are before sitting quietly and waiting for him to read.

His brow furrows immediately, but you expected that. Charlene didn’t know how to say anything without making it sound like an order. You can’t imagine John appreciates the presumptuousness.

He shocks you, however, when he grins.

At your confusion, he says, “She’s insisting nobody bring any dogs that are bigger than a carry-on suitcase.” He turns to Dog. “You’ll have to sit this one out, buddy.”

You snort. “Lucky Dog.”

The look John gives you is humorously commiserating, and it does much good in dispelling your anxiety.

“Good news,” John says as he continues reading. “We have a budget.”

You smile at him. “I’m assuming dollar-store hotdogs are out, then?”

“It says I need to use two different grills: one for steaks and the other for, ‘vegan quinoa burgers.’” He looks up at you with amusement in his eyes. “Do you own a grill?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“Ah.”

You are thoroughly relaxed now---the situation has gone a long way to establish camaraderie, and you are grateful John is being such a good sport about the situation. You can’t imagine being so friendly and good-natured after dealing with Charlene’s demands.

“If she is so particular, why isn’t she insisting on hosting?”

“She’s having some trees removed that weekend,” you say. “She said it would be ‘too stressful’ to contemplate.”

“I see.” He’s silent for a moment. “I've never hosted anything before.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Have you ever had people over?”

His eyes darken, and you realize this may be a tad rude. You also feel saddened at this revelation. John seems like a great person, so you hasten to say, “John, this whole thing is Charlene’s brainchild. She has no legal ability to force you to do this, so if you don’t want to---,”

John shakes his head. “It’s not that. I’m simply worried I’ll need a lot of help; I don’t want to impose myself when you’re doing this against your will.”

You smile at his thoughtfulness. “I don’t mind helping out, John. I’ve never done a barbeque before, but I’m sure we can manage!”

John gives you a smile that makes your face feel warm. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m lucky to have you here.”

You try not to die on the other side of the couch and settle for enticing Dog over to get some scritches. John excuses himself for a moment and walks back into the room carrying a tray of iced-tea. When he sets it on the coffee table, you politely take a glass and sip slowly. Pleasantly surprised, you tell him, “John, this is really good, thank you!”

He sits back down and begins to ask you about yourself. He seems neither nosy nor intrusive, and you cannot help looking at him and knowing you could spill all of your secrets to a man so kind if you weren’t careful.

John didn’t seem much for details, however. When you ask about his family, he tells you he had a wife who died several years ago. You stop yourself from asking any more personal questions, sure you’ll upset him.

But John simply moves it along by sitting closer to you and passing over the pages from Charlene’s BBQ plans.

John was underselling it, you realize. The whole list was horrible.

“She wants you to set aside an entire room as the ‘Cobbler Room,’” you say with dread.

John purses his lips. “I didn’t understand that one---what use is a shoemaker at a Barbeque?”

You blink at him. Gently, you say, “I think she’s talking about the kind of dessert, John.”

He furrows his brows. “I’ve never heard that usage. I’m sorry; English is not my first language.”

Before you can think about it, you blurt out, “What do you speak?”

“Russian,” he says. Quickly, he tries to revert your attention back to the paper.

“I also don’t believe I have enough trees to accommodate the number of hammocks she wants. What do you suggest?”

You purse your lips. “You could always kill her.”

John struggles with his drink for a moment before replying in deadpan, “I’ve thought about it, but she’s the one who renegotiates our HOA fee every year. This is the cheapest housing area in Jersey, so I suppose she has her uses.”

It’s the most you’ve heard him say so far, and soon you are both laughing heartily. It’s been too long, you realize. It’s so rare to have a connection with someone like this so soon, and the initial dread you felt at seeking John out diminishes.  

Wheezing gently, you look down at the papers. “I think the first thing we need is Charlene’s guest list. Who gets to call her for that?”

John pulls out his phone and bravely asks for the number. He dials, and then looks at you with a wicked gleam in his eye before pressing ‘Speaker.’

“You mad man!” you exclaim, staring at him in horror.

He only smiles with all of his teeth on display, and you are struck by the shiver that goes down your spine. The phone continues to ring for a few moments, until:

“Charlene speaking!”

You look at John with anticipation.

“Charlene,” John says amiably. “This is John Wick from down the street---,”

“JOHN!” the woman squeals loudly, and it takes every bit of self restraint in your body to not burst out laughing.

“John!” Charlene says again, sounding more normal. “I’m so happy to speak with you! How are you?”

“I’m pretty good, Charlene. I’ve just spoken with Y/N and---,”

“She got you the documents, great! How is the planning coming so far?”

“Not bad, Charlene. But we were hoping you could send us the guest list so we can prepare appropriately.”

You look at John with awe. Charlene was never this easy to handle!

“Of course! I’m driving right now, give me a sec’---,” a crumpling sound passes through the speaker. “Here are the guests from Avalon Street: Betty Meyers, Tristan Meyers, Amy Meyers, Tayvin Meyers---,” your eyes widen with horror as you realize what she intends to do.

But John is quick. “Charlene, this is great so far, but my memory isn’t the best---is there any way you can send a physical copy, or text me the list?”

“I’ve got it in a pdf, here, I’ll send it…now!”

John’s phone beeps accordingly and you share a grin together.

“We’ll take a look and get started,” John says, looking at the phone. “Thank you for sending Y/N over---she’s been such a big help!”

“No problem! No problem!” Charlene gushes. “I’m walking into my Pilates class now, but tell Y/N to call me and update me on the progress.”

“Will do,” John assures, and at this point you can barely breathe from holding in your laughter.

“Bye, John!”

The phone cuts out and John is quick to pull it toward him. He starts scrolling and you cannot help but be interested.

“Is that the list?” you ask boldly.

John continues frowning. “I’m not counting, exactly, but this looks like at least several hundred people.”

You gape.

He glances upward with amusement. “You warned me.”

Your teeth come together in your mouth. “I was being dramatic…”

He huffs and looks at Charlene’s papers with a conviction that somewhat frightens you. “You should read the rest of the demands first,” he says, handing the papers to you.

You peer down at the stationary with apprehension.

Spring Barbeque Requirements:

*Fourteen hammocks will need to be available for guests throughout the yard. Children are not to be allowed on the hammocks at any time.

*No dogs larger than a carry-on suitcase will be permitted on the premises. There will be a pee-pad in the garage if necessary.

*Pies, brownies, cakes, and other desserts will not be kept with the cobblers. The cobblers will require a separate room and should be arranged by filling.

*No use of any pools will be permitted during the barbeque. Pools should be filled with tasteful lantern decorations---see my Etsy and Pinterest.

*Vegan options will need to be kept separate from non-vegan options. This includes vegan desserts.

*Dishes containing cilantro will not be permitted at the barbeque.

*Decorations should be appropriately Spring-themed. No harsh reds, blues, or purples should be anywhere. Check my Etsy or Pinterest for further references.

…

The list continues in a similar manner, and you feel your dread increase as you read each bullet point. Charlene was very thorough---it simply made her no less insane.

John must see your nervousness, because a moment later, his large hand is covering yours.

“Y/N, why don’t we take a break?” he suggests. “I can make lunch and we can take Dog on a walk through the park.”

This sounds really good to you, but a small voice in your head reminds you that you just met this man less than two hours ago. It was insane---it somehow feels as though you’ve known each other longer. He’s so kind, and this makes him so comfortable to be around. And he keeps looking at you like your opinion matters to him.

You bite your lip. “I’ve brought a mess to your lap and you’ve been so kind about it, John.”

“I want to be kind to you,” he replies simply.

Was this man for real? You ponder this as he gets up and waves you over to his large kitchen. Dog trots along behind you, looking up hopefully.

“Besides,” John adds smoothly. “You’d really be doing Dog a favor---he only has me to run around with, and I’m sure he’s got to be going crazy by now.”

You grin at him and pull a stool up to the counter he directs you toward. Faintly, a voice whispers in your mind that being so familiar with a stranger can’t end well. But there John is, smiling at you like you’ve known each other ages and you simply can’t walk away. Maybe you’re pathetic, being taken in by a man like this. It certainly wasn’t your normal gig. You spare a glance for the olive stationary now placed on the counter. You think of Charlene, and how bold she’s been in your acquaintance.

‘And you’re in John’s house now, and she’s getting everything she wants!’

The thought galls you, so you sit and smile at John, ready to take a risk.

-------------------

I'm having a blast writing this, guys. I've got more prompts from the wheel and I'm hoping to share them as I continue writing.

Thanks to 97keanu for putting this event together! It gave me lots of good inspiration that I can inflict on others :)

[bambiraptor9blog]

The Crownless Again Shall Be King

What if Keanu Reeves was cast in Lord of the Rings? That, along with the flower crown and Spring theme, was the impetus for this one-shot to start off the @97keanu hosted Spring Fling!

The story is below the cut!

LOTR Keanu Character x Reader

G rated, short and sweet--ha! :)

The Golden Tree was abloom in the Party Field, and you emerged from your Hobbit hole with reluctance. How many times had your aunts and uncles asked when you would be wed? How many times did you go to the party each year in the Spring, only to make flower crowns in the far corner, distant from the raucous drunks, shrieking children, and nuzzling couples, all too eager to hide away?

Word had spread from the Tooks that a Man was to arrive a fortnight ago by way of Bree into Hobbiton. Pippin was especially enthralled—was this the fabled Aragorn? Perhaps a relative of his? The Tooks meddled with Men far too much for your family’s liking—being a Proudfoot was exhausting enough as it was, what with the gardening, pig keeping, sheep shearing and all.

You were already considered queer by your family and friends in Hobbiton—you didn’t farm as they did. In fact, you lived alone in a spacious hole your recently deceased father left in his will, considered an eccentric artist to most. And you preferred things that way, thank you very much! You would rather dream endlessly about adventures than go on one yourself.

You were accompanied some nights by a solitary gray cat, sometimes visited by a shaggy dapple-gray pony as well, with a mysterious origin. Perhaps he was Bill’s offspring, which you deduced from the way he loved the apples you snuck him from Farmer Maggot’s orchard. This immediately made the other Hobbits think you were a magic user, perhaps even—a witch!

True to form, you discovered all kinds of trinkets and fabrics from visitors to Hobbiton, abandoned in the dirt and cobblestone trails—lost buttons, ribbons, torn flags, bits of discarded maps, and if you were lucky, coins from lands very far from home. You collected these bits and bobs in glass jars, as if they were collections of sea glass, setting them in your rounded windows so they sparkled in the mid-day Sun. You burned the Shire sage—Old Toby, really--each night by the door, blessing the trinkets, hoping against hope they would bring you clues to the partner of your dreams. You spent your days painting watercolors of the Shire, sometimes selling the pieces in craft fairs year-round. You spent your nights writing about battles against great Wyrms like the long gone Smaug, terror of the past, rescued in the nick of time by a tall, dark and handsome Man.

And now news of this Man arriving in town on the day of the Party sent your heart aflutter.

“Y/N? That one? Hah! Very queer, exceptionally so. Odd how they are obsessed with Men! Men?! Why not that decent Harfoot boy across the way? Oh no, too good for ‘im!” a gossiping cousin shook their head at you one afternoon while shearing a sheep. Another standing by, collecting the wool, laughed openly at you.

You kept walking, nearly dropping your bundle of half-made flower crowns on the dirt path toward the town center.

“What’s it to you?” you fought back, your face ruddy.

“Y/N speaks! Have mercy on us!” the other cousin cackled, and the one who commented before joined in with a nasty, nasally shriek of a giggle fit. “Don’t turn us into anything—unnatural!”

You scowled and shuffled on down the path, delighting in the sunlight on your back and warming the curls on your head. You loved the feeling of your flowing tunic around your torso as you walked, hiding your curvy body. You wore a pair of tight leggings, stopping short at your curly haired feet. Even your dress was unusual, for a Hobbit.

You arrived at the Party Field just as you saw a large black destrier with a blue velvet and silver embroidered blanket across its back. The blanket was adorned with the White Tree of Gondor. The horse was tied off to a wooden post.

You dropped the flower crowns in your shock—you’d never seen a horse that size before, nor one as jet black as the rook’s wing. Your mouth made an “o” and you tilted your head up, craning your neck back as you gawped at the stallion. You could barely reach its knees, much less its withers—you’d have to stand on another Hobbit’s shoulders to mount this magnificent beast!

“I beg your pardon,” came a gentle alto gruff from behind you. “You dropped these?”

And you turned, barely recovered from the first shock in seeing the destrier, and nearly fainted!

For there loomed the most handsome Man you had ever heard tell of, similar in appearance and yet taller in height than Aragorn son of Arathorn, holding your flower crowns in his large hands. His dark hair was shoulder length, straight, starting at a widow’s peak and parted in sharp angles. His eyes were brown, glinting with a mischief rivaling a Brandybuck, crow’s feet at their corners. His angular cheeks were coated in black and gray grizzle, growing in longer patches below his lower lip. He smiled down at you, and your heart thundered in your chest—even his smile is winsome! you thought in an enamored panic. He was wearing a simple pale white tunic, enclosed in a black vest, his black riding pants tucked into leather black riding boots trimmed with sheep’s wool. Over this was draped a dull black coat with a hood, pinned at his neck with a silver Tree of Gondor.

“Berethorn!” admonished a cheekily grinning Peregrin Took. “Don’t go scaring my guests—you alright there?”

“The Peregrin Took?!” you cried aloud, feeling dizzy from the sudden emotions. “Sir?” you added hastily. Pippin rolled his eyes, nudged a gently laughing Berethorn in his hips with an elbow.

“Come on now, Y/N! It’s not the first time I’ve seen ya at the Golden Tree! Hey—aren’t you the one who makes those fantastic paintings of the Shire? I loved your interpretation of the Bywater, most impressive. I think one of my relatives bought it, it’s in one of our halls!”

As Pippin spoke, he helped you take the flower crowns from Berethorn’s extended left hand.

Your fingertips barely grazed the Man’s and it felt like time stopped as you looked up into his eyes.

“Um—uh—yes! Yes,” you struggled to respond. Pippin raised an eyebrow, his grin devious now. “I’m the one that made that painting. I like to mix my own watercolors, sometimes, from the riverbank mud, grasses, and…”

“Well now! You’ll have to share these with me, sometime,” Berethorn stood to his full height. You wondered how the Hobbits who traveled with Men and Dwarves and even Gandalf could stand being so…small…around others, and yet were given the deepest admiration and respect at the end of their journeys there and back again.

“Aragorn couldn’t make it, on account of him taking care of Arwen—she just gave birth yesterday, you know!” Pippin prattled on, noting how you blushed brightly at that. You smiled, wistful.

“Oh congratulations,” you replied. You clasped your hands, bouncing on your feet, the flower crowns nearly being dropped again in your excitement for the couple.

“I will send him your kind words…do tell me your name, Hobbit?” Berethorn watched Pippin’s barely contained snort in amusement, noting how you were so awkward around him. Perhaps they’ve never seen a Man before? he wondered.

“It’s Y/N,” you respond quickly. Then, shaking, you give him one of your most perfect white flower crowns, delicately sewn together from the stalks of the grasses surrounding the Brandywine River. “And here. A gift for the little one. When they get old enough. The flowers have been preserved in alcoholic spirits, so they won’t die in that time.”

“Hey now! That’s new!” Pippin marveled at the flower crown. “You did that by yourself? Spirit making is a most intensive process. They’re a real artisan, this one!”

You blushed profusely while nodding, looking down at your toes, which you happened to thankfully clean earlier that morning before setting out to the Party Field.

“Thank you,” you finally remembered your manners. Berethorn grinned again, and did something unexpected—he put the flower crown in his hair!

“For safe keeping,” he explained, blushing now too as Pippin laughed raucously at the sight. “Starbringer eats any plant I bring near him.”

“Oh, what a lovely name for a horse like him!” you complimented Berethorn. You shuffled quickly beside him as he moved toward the Golden Tree at the center of the Party Field, Pippin on the other side.

“It’s not too fanciful? I don’t know,” he lamented. “My sisters teased me about that when I was young. But I do like stargazing, and he found me in a field in the dead of night on the outskirts of Rohan, so I suppose it was meant to be.”

“Rohan!” you go on, enraptured by the cadence and gruffness of his voice. “I saw your saddle—and your pin—you’re from Gondor?”

“I am now,” he replied at the same time Pippin said,

“He is now, yes.” Berethorn raised an eyebrow at Pippin, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Berethorn was recruited into Aragorn’s guard a fortnight ago. So the Golden Tree will have even more special meaning in its ceremony this year!”

You handed out some flower crowns to a group of tween Hobbit girls, all flowing pink and green dresses with long twisting ribbons in their curly hair and on their bodices. They giggled up at the long striding Berethorn, whispering to one another as he passed.

“I was a Ranger in my youth. I admired Aragorn greatly.”

You started to wonder if Berethorn had some kind of Elf maiden at home, and your heart sank a little at the thought. Well, suits him right…he’s the tall, dark and handsome type. I’m sure he has someone—I’m sure of it!

“I was wounded in a skirmish with an Orc years ago. Forever ruined my knee. So I am grateful to still be able to stand, and fight, by Elessar’s side,” Berethorn went on. It was then that you noticed the slight hitch in his step, and you looked at him with wide, sad eyes.

“He’s single, too,” Pippin blurted as Merry hopped off an ale barrel, chomping on an apple and smirking, joining in the procession toward the Golden Tree.

“Pippin! Don’t tease them like that! Look at them! The poor thing’s googly eyed as Gollum,” Merry admonished Pip.

“Why utter that foul creature’s name here?” Berethorn looked disgusted at the comparison. He looked down at you with a tenderness that made your heart melt. “Y/N is delightful thus far.”

Oh my…! You think, head spinning as you finally approached the Golden Tree. He…thinks…I’m a delight?

Everyone admired the tree’s leaves twisting in the Spring breeze, and Berethorn looked especially regal in his black coat, the flower crown glittering white in the fading sunlight. He glanced down at you as you managed to set a purple flower crown in your curly strands, but it was tilted at an angle. He smirked.

“Y/N, you never cease to amuse me,” he teased softly, daring to rest his right hand gently against the slope of the back of your head and neck. “And it’s no wonder so many come here to see this. The Tree is a thing of beauty. I daresay it rivals the White Tree, but then, Gondor would be after my head. I’d see it on a pike, probably.”

“How can ya see it if yer dead?” Pippin wanted to know, confused. Berethorn laughed, and your heart skipped a beat.

“It wasn’t meant to be serious, Pip,” Merry explained softly, shaking his head.

“Oh. Right,” Pippin shrugged, biting another apple that Merry offered him.

Pippin and Merry were swept away to make a speech, and you stood beside Berethorn, admiring the Golden Tree while you both watched the Hobbits and bystanders from Bree milling around, enjoying the Party.

Once again, in being around him, it was as if time seemed to stop.

“Y/N?” he asked. Your heart caught in your throat. You knew this was important.

“Yes?” you wondered. He produced a pin, not unlike the one affixed to his coat, and smiled as he gave it to you. On you, it was huge—at least as large as your hand. The pin had a unique sigil—a two headed stallion, with a smiling circle beneath that, wrought in iron. It looked weathered—as if it were recovered in a storm at sea. Berethorn pressed the pin gently into your hands, careful not to poke them in the process. You gasped, looked up at him, warmth in your heart, stars in your eyes.

“I want you to have this. It is a family sigil of sorts, my own personal heirloom. I will never have children of my own, yet meeting you today? You remind me of a kindred spirit. I know this makes no sense—I am a Man, you are a Halfling—but I wish to give this to you, all the same. I know you will cherish it, I can tell the care you put into the little things you create, and I am honored to have met you today.”

You stand there, thrilled, and you feel the tears well up in your eyes. You nodded, and he tilted his head down in a gesture reminiscent of greeting royalty. He then was called to the podium, and he turned to you. Before he went up to speak, he knelt down, his hooded cape billowing around you both. He pressed his lips into your cheek hastily before turning with the grace Men had, waving to Pippin, the flower crown nestled in his hair.

You felt your own flower crown fall to the ground, and you shook with joy as Berethorn accepted the praise of your people, rowdy and raucous as ever, cast in the orange glow of sunset. “From the darkness, there is light!” he said, and everyone cheered, raising their mugs of ale and wine. “I thank you all, my most excellent friends, for honoring me tonight…!”

You watched him mount Starbringer later that evening, nearly vanishing into the darkness in the process. You saw the horse run into the night, and you sighed. You had no more flower crowns, but you held the pin he gave you to your chest, your heart full, happiness evident as you skipped down the path to your Hobbit hole. Even though your adventure that evening wasn’t one with dragons, foul beasts, or dangerous roads to traverse, you felt special to a Man, and that was worth waiting for.

[97keanu]

🌷🍓Calling all fanfiction writers in the Keanuverse community—

This May, let’s welcome the season of renewal and creativity with a lighthearted writing event celebrating Keanu. I formally invite you all to…

🍀🐛KEANUVERSE: SPRING FLING ‘25 is a month-long challenge where participants spin two wheels:

- One to randomly select a Keanu character 🍓

- Another to receive a spring-themed prompt 🐛

Then, it’s time to write.

Whether you're a seasoned fic writer or trying something new, everyone is welcome to join. No word count minimums. No pressure. Just a chance to stretch your creativity and share your love for Keanu’s roles through fresh, seasonal storytelling.

Feel free to spin the wheels for as many prompts or characters as you please, you can mix and match our 130 prompt list to your liking. If you have something else in mind that is both Keanuverse and Spring themed, you’re more than welcome to add it to our event!

How to participate? Simply write your fanfictions, post during the month of May 2025, and use the hashtag #keanuverse: spring fling ‘25. Tag @97keanu so that I can boost your content!

Let’s make this a spring fling to remember! 🐝🫐

[97keanu]

KEANUVERSE: SPRING FLING ‘25

𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 + 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 + 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄

CW/TAGS: popular!reader, coolgirl!reader, shy!ted, soft!ted, highschool identity crisis, use of drugs, reader gets high with Ted and the deep talking happens, bittersweet, their first time being seen by someone else, a night among the stars.

Music throws itself against the walls of the gymnasium, too loud to think, too much to desire being in the crowd that reverberates the sound through their bodies, echoes of fleeting youth that will stain your memories until you’ve forgotten the names and the faces. Banners promising a night to remember shimmer and twist in the lousy A/C, glittering the world in blue, the drink in your hand stirred way too many times as you watch your date stick his tongue in some other girls mouth. It bothers you less than you thought it would, but the sense of eyes on you, the public embarrassment you’re supposed to be having lays heavy like a veil.

The truth is, you have no idea why anyone would have voted you for prom queen. Sure, you’ve got people you talk to, people who say hello to you in the halls, ask for your number, want to connect, but it never really worked out for you. You know you don’t stay in one place long enough for any of it to matter too much in the long run, but you suppose that’s the appeal. Limited Edition Friendship, Girlfriend with No Long Term Commitment on the table. The Cool Girl until you get to know her, the girl you ask out to prom because she’ll be a hit with all your football buddies and maybe you’ll get to say you bagged her at the after party. You know that the only reason you ended up being chosen for prom queen is because your date was meant to be prom king, and you’re alright enough to follow in those footsteps.

And just as soon as you’ve been crowned, cheers and applause from all those faces you see in the halls, you’ve been dropped for drinking too much of the rum punch and slapping your date for trying to reach under the hem of your dress.

The thought of leaving right now instead of subjecting yourself to anymore embarrassment crosses your mind, frolicking back and forth between decisions, as you hear a voice pipe up over the music.

“Hello, your majesty,” you turn to see the biggest smile and a pair of puppy brown eyes gazing at you. “I hope you don’t mind a peasant such as myself being in your presence, but I didn’t think royalty was allowed to ride solo on a night like tonight.”

For the first time tonight, you laugh. It makes the sadness in your chest rise in an ache, the sudden feeling juxtaposing what you’ve been stewing in for the last half hour or so. The joke wasn’t even all that funny, but there was something about the way it was delivered to you, in such an earnest and carefree nature.

You a second to try to remember just who’s approached you, looking at his face carefully, the disco ball leaving trails of light ebbing across his face as the overhead lights paint him in blue. It takes you a moment, but you place him. He’s the boy who sits next to you in Algebra II, quiet, but goofy. You try to place his name, but it escapes you.

“Yeah,” you reply with a sigh, taking another sip of your punch. “I guess I’m not one for parties…”

“Hey, that’s alright, a queen is supposed to watch after their court, and I’ve noticed you doing some serious watching, so I thank you for your due diligence!” His laugh is infectious, and you play along with the bit.

“Alright, if I’m a queen in this court, then what does that make you?” You tilt your head, a stray strand of hair falling out of place as you do.

“I would have to say I’m definitely playing the part of the Royal Jester right now, but I’m willing to change careers if that would so please you, my lady.”

Something about him is just so honest, it’s hard not to find yourself liking him. You take him in, his shaggy hair that flops over his eyes when he moves his head, his too big tuxedo and cut off skater boy shorts and sneakers to match, his general lack of care for how others perceive him, an exact opposite to how you’ve been feeling.

“Well, you see that guy over there.” You point to your date who’s currently surrounded by half the football team and his new miserable date that’s enduring their chanting and screaming as their favorite song plays.

“He’s my ride home, but I don’t feel very comfortable leaving with him tonight.” You continue.

“Oh, that’s totally lame,” He comments before you follow up.

“I think, if you’re willing to take on the challenge,” you begin, biting your lip, unsure if you should let go. “I may need a knight in shining armor to rescue me from here…”

He laughs, nodding his head along and propping out an elbow for you to wrap your arm into.

“Of course, anything for her royal highness!” He exclaims as you stand from the table, downing your drink and linking his arm in yours.

Your legs feel jello on your heels, but he keeps you steady, slipping through the crowd with ease.

“Hey,” you call over the music as you two walk. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier, what’s your name?”

“Ted!” He calls out, mouth leaning closer to your ear. “Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan!”

You think this over, letting it mull around in your head as the crowd thins, and you slipping out into the San Dimas night air, the smell of spring beginning to bloom. The breeze hits your skin and you feel like you can breathe again, the world not so tiny anymore.

The thump of music begins to fade softly, dissolving like a dream, and you take gulps of the fresh air happily, the warmth of Ted making it hard to suppress a budding smile. You breathe him in, the faint smell of marijuana and cheap cologne mixing nicely on him.

You let him lead you, taking you away from livelihood and prime high school memories, choosing instead to do something else.

Your heels click on the wet pavement, traces of an earlier rain hanging in the air until pavement turns to grass and suddenly the two of you are under the soft glow of yellowing stadium lights. Goal posts loom and your eyes trace the white lines of the football field as you pass their markers. Ted slows down until he finds the perfect spot, taking off his jacket and spreading it out over the wet field for you.

You sit down, your prom dress pooling around you, the silk shimmering against the light. Ted joins next to you, pulling his knees up, arms around his bare skin on his lower legs. He’s looking up at the sky, his face in awe.

“Woah,” he says breathlessly in wonder. “Is it just me, or are there like, twice as many stars tonight?”

You gaze at him, eyes watching how soft he looks, how his dark hair falls just so, and how boyish his charm is.

“Maybe it’s just the first time you’ve really looked…” Wonder yourself if you’re only talking about the stars or not.

Ted’s deep eyes slide over to you, and his hand slips into his pocket. He pulls out a preroll and a lighter.

“Do you, um, mind if I…?” His eyes squint as he smiles at his own awkwardness and you laugh along.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind, um, trying it…if you’re offering of course,” you say the end a little too quickly, hands wringing on your dress skirt.

“I’ve gone from saving the prom queen to corrupting her,” he says as he breathes out his first puff, passing it to you.

You take it in your hand, awkward and unsure how to hold it, until Ted’s hand leans over, placing it between your forefinger and thumb.

“Like this,” he whispers, his hand so warm and so much larger than yours.

You place the tip in your mouth and pull, the smoke filling your lungs a little too deeply before you exhale in a sputter of coughs, your elbow raised over your mouth as out of courtesy.

“You don’t have to inhale as deep as cigarettes, just a little and it’ll expand in there for you.” He gives you that tip with a small grin as you pass it back.

He takes another drag, his eyes starting to droop a little more. The two of you quietly get high, enjoying one another’s presence as your thoughts become less and less clear.

“You ever wanna just… disappear?” You whisper, giving in to the sinking feeling taking over your body and laying back in the grass.

Ted contemplates for a moment, really taking his time to think before finally settling down on the football field with you.

“Sometimes… like when my dad won’t stop threatening military school, or when I can tell people are talking to me in a certain way.” He sighs, just a little, a look past his positive exterior.

“What do you mean?” You look over at him, turning your head, not realizing just how close you two are until you’re staring deep into his soft brown eyes.

“I think sometimes people treat me like I’m really stupid, and maybe I am, I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel good to notice when it’s happening.” He blinks a few times and looks away.

There’s a hurt that rises in your heart as you hear this, but you don’t know what to say at first, instead picking at the threads of your dress.

“I wish people realized just how much it sticks when they treat you a certain way.” You pause, trying to make your thoughts coherent. “When they treat you like something you’re not.”

Ted meets your eyes once more, taking in what you’re saying, his brow furrowed as he thinks.

“Like, everyone treats me like I’m some new, shiny toy. Like I’m golden, perfect without any mistakes. I know that sounds great, but it’s not real. I don’t think I’ve made one real connection here since I moved last fall.” You feel that pinched, tight feeling in your eyes you get when you feel as though you may cry, and Ted let’s you take your time sitting with your emotions.

You wipe a finger to catch a stray tear as you look back up at the stars, each pinpoint of light wobbling in and out of your blurry vision. You can’t see Ted’s face anymore, you don’t know if what you’re saying makes any sense, and the huge sense of embarrassment over this entire night washes over.

“I don’t wanna presume how it feels to be treated like you’re stupid,” a shaky breath leaves you as you pause.

“But I do know how it feels to be flattened out, to be made into the mould everyone else thinks you are, even if you don’t feel that way on the inside.”

There’s a moment of digestion of your words before Ted breaks his silence, his brows raise, surprised by how what you’ve just said hit him.

“Wow, yeah… you put it better than I could have.” He props himself up on his shoulders, not quite looking down on you, his eyes on a blade of grass he twirls between his fingers.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m some kind of actor. Like I know what people typecast me as: the funny one, the dumb one, the shy one. And I end up playing the part because that’s what they’re going to think about me either way, so I might as well just do a good job of it.” He glances up at you, a small, nervous laugh leaving his lips.

“Easier that way, to let ‘em think that.” He pauses.

“You didn’t though. Not when I sat next to you in class, not when we were paired for projects. Not even now. You don’t make me feel like any of that. It’s almost like I could be anyone right now, like I can relax.” He leans towards you with a quiet kind of awe in his eyes, like he’s really taking you, all of you, in.

“You know,” his voice whispers, too close to talk anyway else. “I never thought you were perfect… not in some shiny, untouchable way at least. I would watch you in class, the way you were so unapologetically you, and that made you so cool. So real.”

His eyes drift from yours down to your lips. You feel seen for the first time in your life. You don’t think about tonight, you don’t think about an hour ago, you don’t even think about the fact that you’re leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow. You just think about him. About the kind face looking down at you like you’re the only thing keeping him on the ground.

And suddenly, the gap between you has closed with a breath, and your lips graze his softly, a warmth and shiver running up your spine as he kisses you back, tenderly. Your first taste of him sends your head spinning.

You let the small space between your kiss linger, your eyes flicked downward, your lashes almost touching his as you let yourself explore this moment. You turn your body towards him, finding yourself fitting perfectly against him. When you come back for more, Ted’s hand cups your face, warm and engulfing, and your lips part to go deeper.

You pull back, just enough to catch your breath, and your thoughts, your forehead pressed against his.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

You had to tell him.

You couldn’t kiss him like that and not let him know.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“That’s okay.” He speaks softly, really meaning what he’s saying. “We can be here right now.”

You slip into his arms, your head sliding down onto his chest. You listen to his heart beat as you watch the stars, letting tomorrow wash away from today. Ted’s hand softly removes the plastic crown from your head, then softly pets your hair there.

When you sober up, you’ll write your number on the backside of his hand, ask him to contact you if he’s ever in Los Angeles.

You leave the door open for hope.

[riverphoenixsgothwife]

Y/N has known her way around the streets tragically well since she was a really little girl. Now, she’s nineteen, sitting on a bus stop bench in some fucking town (It’s all the same, really) with a passed out Mike Waters. She has one arm around his waist, and she’s glaring out at an empty street, daring anyone to just try and hurt him.

Mike is Y/N’s age, too, but he seems much younger, sensitive and narcoleptic, blond and angel-faced as he is. He doesn’t seem like he belongs here. Y/N thinks of Mike as her little brother. Besides, she knows how he feels about Scott Favor. For all her street smarts and harsh walls she’s had to build up, making her seem much more rough around the edges than Mike ever could, Y/N’s heart is in Scott Favor’s rich, clean, unwounded hand just as much as Mike’s is. “We’re both fucked, kid,” she chuckles now, brushing Mike’s blond hair out of his pale forehead as he twitches in his sleep. Across the street, the sunset shines against a beat up metal trash can, lighting it up. It looks almost beautiful, and Y/N thinks of the sun bright eyes of the stupid prodigal son she’ll never be quite close enough to taste.

When Mike and Scott plan to go off to Italy to look for Mike’s mother, Y/N decides to tag along. She wants to be there for poor sweet Mikey, and besides, the thought of Scott being an ocean away from her makes Y/N feel sick. Scott is already far enough out of her reach, even in the same room.

The night before the trio leaves the country, Y/N pulls Scott into her hotel room. “Listen, Favor,” she starts as soon as the door’s closed, “You’re turning 21 at the end of the month, an’ I know you’re gonna kick us to the curb and go play Daddy’s favorite son.” Scott’s dark porcelain doll eyes go wide, but he doesn’t try to deny her claim. “So before you do, I just wanted to–” Scott leans his head back, so that his brown-black hair falls in his face just right. “You wanted to tell me you’re in love with me?”

Y/N snorts. “Fuck no.” Scott’s face sours, and Y/N rolls her eyes impatiently. “Of course I’m in love with you, Scottie,” she snaps, “Mikey is, too. It doesn’t change anything. No, I wanted to ask you to do me.”

She takes a wad of sweaty money out of her bra and hands it to him, feeling pathetic. Scott takes it, and he takes her without so much as another word. That morning, Y/N doesn’t want to look Mike Waters in the eye, but he looks at her, sad and knowing. “It’s okay,” Mike says softly, always sounding half in a dream. Y/N feels like she might throw up.

Italy happens. Italy changes everything. Y/N knows it when she’s sharing looks of mutual heartbreak with Mike as Scott looks at this new Italian girl, Carmela, in a way Y/N and Mike would both give all the money in the world for.

Y/N isn’t even surprised anymore when Scott turns 21, takes his father’s place, gets engaged to Carmela, and looks at Y/N and Mike both as strangers, leaving both with nothing. Almost nothing, in Y/N’s case. Unknowingly, accidentally, he’s left her with a little something. Y/N is pregnant with Scott Favor’s baby, and she’s keeping it. “It’s okay,” she says to Mike as she tells him the news, “I’ll be fine. I’ve got street smarts, remember?”

@97keanu first entry for keanuverse spring fling '25!

[bambiraptor9blog]

Thunderstruck

Another story for the keanuverse Spring Fling by @97keanu! :D

When I spun the wheel, I got:

Character: Ted "Theodore" Logan

Setting: Road Trip

Event: Thunderstorm

Ted x Me, Rated PG to T :)

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I always hated the heat.

As far back as I could remember, the heat is what made the mile run at high school absolute torture. My calf muscles would bunch and seize without warning, my chest would constrict to the point that breathing was nearly impossible, and I was drenched in sweat. I felt like collapsing with each heavy step. All while the coach would bellow my last name like I was an ailing racehorse dragging its sorry self through the mud trenches, begging for mercy in its brown eyes while the jockey on my back whipped and bounced along, forcing myself forward despite the utter agony. I always finished last. My mile run was always 13 minutes. And in the heat? 20.

Today was no different, despite the thunderstorm arriving over the desert ridge, and the decade afterward. My goal in life in my mid-twenties was to become a paleontologist, having read the book my father gave me by Roy Chapman Andrews, compelled to follow a dream that I didn’t realize wasn’t meant to be mine at all.

I was abandoned by my field crew, too weak to continue hiking and digging in the desert Sun. They left me by the parked cars in the basecamp, forced to do the drudgery of laundry and dishes—the proper place for a weak muscled woman like me. I cried for the first hour by myself, before fear seized me on hearing the thunder in the distance.

A spray-painted green van pulled up the dirt path to the basecamp site, and as if on cue, the thunder roiled again. Lightning sent a bolt down in the distance, a flash of light blinking for several seconds.

The rapidly strumming guitars of AC/DC were blasting in the van’s stereo system, the bass thumping so loud the ground shook, akin to the dinosaur that was being pulled from its grave several miles away.

I had stopped my cleaning, grateful for the distraction, and put my hands on my hips, staring at the newly arrived van. Perhaps these are the new volunteers for the week? I wondered. I was wearing khaki shorts that zipped into pants, my oversized plaid tee shirt fluttering against my skintight black Go Beach! tee shirt from college. My brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. My lenses were smeared with sweat, dirt and tears, but I didn’t care.

“Hey Bill, I think we took a wrong turn, dude!” came a surfer dude inflection, which reflexively made me smile. The shuffling of road maps, and then another surfer dude voice:

“Ted, you’re reading the map backwards again! West is on the left!”

“Ohhhhhhhh!” this Ted person nodded. Both Bill and Ted turned then, to see me standing in the campsite, and turned to one another before getting out of the van.

“Yo—dude! Babe? We’re kinda lost,” Bill smiled at me. He was short but gangly, with a beat up gray crop top, oversized JNCO jeans, a mess of curly blonde hair, and glinting hazel eyes. He tilted his head when standing next to the young man beside him, while handing me the map.

“Bill—that’s an archaeologist babe!” Ted’s face was in stunned shock on staring at me. Ted was about a foot taller than Bill, also gangly. He had a mop of black hair that tousled in the wind of the oncoming storm, hiding his brown eyes that were wide on staring at me. His face was much longer, more angular than Bill’s, but he still had the soft roundness that teens had in their features, ‘babyface.’ He wore a Van Halen tee shirt under an unbuttoned black vest, his smiley face salmon pink windbreaker tied around his waist. His long black cargo shorts were patched up, his rolled over socks contrasting to his black and white Chucks. His legs were what drew my eyes—curse my attraction to a man with great legs!—and he noticed my stare with a big boyish grin that made my heart melt more than my body in the heat. With his grin, he tossed his hair, stood a little taller, folded his arms across his broad chest.

“I’m a paleontologist, actually.”

“What’s that?” Bill pursed his lips as I turned the map around, trying to figure out what road we arrived on. I was as bad at map reading as Ted was, but I didn’t dare to admit that. These guys needed my help, and were counting on me.

“I dig up dinosaurs,” I sighed, realizing that these two definitely shared a single brain cell, given their intense yet blank expressions. They were kind, but not the brightest.

“Whoa!” both Bill and Ted said at exactly the same time. I giggle-snorted at that.

“You can help us with our university’s history report!” Ted said in glee.

“Ted, I think dinosaurs are prehistoric,” Bill shook his head.

“Oh yeah!” Ted nodded. “Well! A great intro for it!” Bill sighed, nearly laughing now.

“The team I’m with is digging one up right now, from the rocks in the ridge over there…” I tossed my head back to the ridge behind us. The one where the thunderstorm was starting to rage now.

“Excellent!” Bill and Ted looked at one another with excitement, doing an air guitar. Somehow I heard a musical riff and I looked around, confused.

“But wait! Why aren’t you with ‘em?” Ted wondered after stopping the air guitar. Bill and Ted now wandered over to me, bent over the prep table in the makeshift kitchen. They looked around at the “clothesline” I crafted from bungee cords connected to bushes, at the disgusting blue porta-potty, at the series of tents leading to a wash, at the “sink area” with a single faucet that dripped ice cold water. The stack of dishes I was scrubbing. And at my shaking hands. My tear smeared glasses.

“Dude—I think she’s in trouble,” Bill whispered, somewhat loudly, to Ted. Ted leaned in to listen as I tried to work between them.

“Dude I know! She’s on dish duty! Ugh.”

“You think she knows where to go? She might be too upset.”

“I can hear you,” I sighed, frustrated now.

“Oh! Sorry,” Ted saw the hurt on my face, and his goofy smile faded into a pout.

“Guys…what road did you drive in from? This place is really far off the beaten track.”

“We don’t know!” Bill and Ted said in unison.

“See, we got lost when we were driving from the Grand Canyon tour we just did.”

“Yeah! And we wanted to pass through Vegas. But Bill wanted the scenic route! Ha!”

“Shut up, Ted!” Bill hissed, shoving him slightly, and Ted shoved back, grinning.

“Can you help us?” Ted wanted to know.

I wanted to cry again.

Then, the thunder startled all of us. Rain began to arrive, pelting the ground and the campsite with cold raindrops that started to grow in size much faster than expected.

“Hey, uh, let’s get into the van!” Ted suggested to me as I ran to my tent to get my things. I sensed a flash flood was arriving and I didn’t want to spend yet another night in my crappy tent in the pouring rain—the previous night my tent was nearly washed down the streambed into God knows where.

Ted waited for me, and untied his jacket. He held it over my head as I nearly bumped into him turning around from exiting my tent.

“Oh!” I startled, and he smiled again. His height helped shield me from the rain, too.

Bill already was in the van, turning the engine. “Come on, dudes! We gotta bail!” he called to us.

“You ready?” Ted wanted to know, tilting his head like a retriever.

I smiled, then felt it fade. My heart was pounding.

I’m leaving the team behind. Leaving my dreams behind. For what? Some lost surfer/skater guys in the rain? Some paleontologist I am, I derided myself.

But Ted saw my face, and said softly, “We can just sit and wait ‘til your team comes back. If that’s okay?”

I nodded, hoisting my daypack on my left shoulder and my heavy canvas duffel bag on my right. Ted saw me struggle and instantly offered his left shoulder.

“Dudes! Come on! It’s really pouring!” Bill shouted as Ted took my duffel bag.

“We’re coming!” Ted yelled back through the rain. He smiled down at me, and took my right hand in his left. “Whoa. You’re freezing! Here. C’mon. Let’s get inside the van!” And Ted led me through the rain to the van, making sure I could keep step with him all the way, watching for uneven footing or rocks. “Bill! Cut the engine dude! We gotta save gas.”

“Thank you,” I whimpered. “For helping me.” Bill stopped the engine and started to unlock the doors.

“Of course!” Ted grunted. “What—your team didn’t help ya? Some team!”

“They’re total dickweeds, huh?” Bill wanted to know. He grabbed the duffel as he opened the back doors to the van. “Whoa! This is super heavy! Jeez. Yeah. Total dickweeds. Most heinous!”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got us!” Ted smiled, reaching out his hands to me before I got into the back of the van. He gripped me and helped me up, and the thunder outside was so loud it shook the van.

“Whoa!” Bill and Ted said again.

“Some serious storm happening, huh Ted!” Bill looked up after making sure the doors were shut firmly, keeping out the rain.

“Yeah! It’s like, the storm of the century dude!” Ted agreed, looking up too.

“So metal. Being out in the middle of nowhere with the lightning like this.” They walked over to the seats in the front of the van, and I followed.

“Yeah…we’re gonna…”

“Ride the lightning, paleontologist babe!” Bill and Ted did yet another air guitar. Thunder and lightning struck the camp. They grinned at each other in the gloom, “Radical!”

I was shivering, hating this. Storms always scared me. I was in the bucket seat in the back, behind Bill in the driver’s seat and Ted in the passenger’s side.

“So. What kinda dinosaur are they digging up without ya?” Ted wondered softly, watching me with gentle intent.

“A sauropod,” I replied.

“Whoa—was it big mad?” Bill giggled. Ted laughed too.

“It was the biggest animal on Earth, besides the blue whale,” I informed them. Ted’s eyes went even wider, his brown irises disappearing in his black pupils.

“Whoaaaaaaa! That’s like…whoaaaaaa! So huge!” Ted tossed his head and hair back and forth like an overexcited dog. He held his arms out for a size comparison. “Like…how big is that though?”

“Ted! Blue whales are like, a hundred feet long dude!” Bill hit him on the shoulder playfully with the back of his right hand. “Remember? We learned that last semester.”

“Oh yeah! From biology class. That was even harder than the history class we did in San Dimas. We couldn’t use the booth either—” and Bill whacked him harder in the shoulder again, glaring at him to stop sharing that with me. “I mean…yeah.”

I raised an eyebrow at Ted and he put on a big goofy grin to distract me.

“You’re on tour?” I recognized the amp, the guitar cases, the drumkit equipment in the back of the van besides my duffel bag and daypack. The rain hammered the roof and sides of the van now.

“Yeah! Well it just finished.” Ted tilted his head back in the seat, keeping me in his peripheral view below his shaggy black hair.

“Oh cool!” I nodded. “My brother’s a musician…well. And so am I.”

“Whoa—really! That’s rad!” Bill and Ted gave me a ‘hang loose.’

“Yeah. I played the violin for a while. Since 4th grade.”

“That is a really long time.” Ted thought for a moment, a rare occurrence. Then, softly, “So why’d you give it up to do…ya know. This?”

“Ted!” Bill hissed at his best friend, irritated now. “That’s not cool to ask like that, dude!”

“Well she used to play! And she might be able to get Death to—ya know! Play better?”

“What?” I was confused by their back and forth.

“Uh—Death is the name of our bassist. He’s like, super metal. Shaves his head all the time, wears a black coat, has a scythe—” Ted went on, waving his arms in the process.

“The bass violin,” Bill explained while Ted rambled on, describing the Grim Reaper. I nodded at him, starting to understand why Ted asked that of me now.

“Plus, he’s really bad at chess. I had to show him how to move the knight. The knight always…”

“…makes an L shape,” Ted and I both said at once. Bill laughed and made an “ooooh!”

“Haha, nerds!” Bill chortled, weaving around in the driver’s seat, avoiding a toss of peanuts at his head from Ted.

We all stopped chatting once a sharp knock was heard at the back of the van.

Oh no, I thought. The PI…

“The van’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’!” Ted yelled and raised the volume on AC/DC’s song “Thunderstruck,” Bill snickering loudly.

“Oh princess!” came the angry voice through the back doors of the van. “You didn’t finish the dishes! Was the smack on your ass from earlier not enough encouragement for you?”

“Dude—that sounds totally gross,” Bill shot back, and the look on Ted’s face was barely contained rage.

“What—no way!” Ted got out of his seat, bending over, his hair hanging down, his eyes glinting in a dangerous way, like a caged tiger ready to strike.

“Is that your boyfriend? About time he showed up for you.”

“Who IS this guy?” Bill growled, and Ted shook his head.

“Whoever they are, they’re totally out of line!” Ted bunched his open hands into fists, weaving forward and back like a practiced kung fu master.

“Paleontologist babe?” Bill asked me, turning the key in the ignition, shifting from neutral to drive. “Whaddya say we bail? This place fucking blows!”

“Yeah! Come on the road with us!” Ted looked over at me, worried now. He saw me, sitting there, my knees pulled up to my chest. I was too scared now, lost in my tears, my body far away. “Babe?”

“A musician? Ha! What a loser. Where's your real job?”

“That’s it!” Ted ran to the doors at the back of the van. “You’re totally dead, dickweed!”

“Ted!” Bill cried. He looked at me, panicked. “Don’t die again, dude!” he whispered.

Ted threw open the doors of the van, only for it to be sitting on the beach, awash in mid-day sunlight.

The van was now a hotel suite, overlooking the turquoise waters of the Pacific Ocean. The doors were those folding French door kind, which Ted pushed open with an audible grunt.

And I was still asleep, buried in the puffy white sheets of the king sized bed.

“Hey,” Ted shuffled over to me, wrapped in a pink robe with a smiley face on the back. It reminded me of a boxer’s or prize fighter’s garb. He smelled like coffee, honey, and I stirred when he pressed his lips against my forehead tenderly. He noticed my tears. He wiped them away and sighed. “Babe? Babe. The bad dream again?” he wondered softly.

Ted rested his forehead against mine, and that boyish grin spread across his stubbled face, its wrinkles etched slightly against his skin as I opened my gunk covered brown eyes. I was so tired.

“Morning,” I mumbled. Ted grinned.

“I’m glad you chose to be here,” he whispered. “With me.”

“But I’m not a princess,” I sighed. He chuckled.

“So?” he pulled away for a moment to shrug, tilting his head, his black and gray hair wobbling with the motion. “You’re still awesome. And hey. You don’t have to ever go back to those boneheads. Okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded, wiping my eyes. Ted gave me tissues, sat with me in bed. He was tempted to get under the sheets again but waited for me to recover first.

“You had a bogus journey with them, but now things are most triumphant. And last night? Was beyond that.”

“Ted,” I blushed, feeling like the twenty-something when we first met.

“Diana,” he pressed his lips against mine, and sighed. “Everything is gonna be okay. We’re figuring this out. And I’m glad I took that wrong turn to find you. Maybe the wrong turn was what you were doing all along out there?”

“Maybe,” I nodded.

“Bill’s already downstairs. I bet he ate all the breakfast.” Ted got out of bed, nearly bouncing on the mattress, and dressed fast. He was half dressed, his jeans unbuttoned, his black boxer-briefs tight against his legs, his shirt half on, when I said:

“Ted?”

“Yeah?” he stopped, pulling down the Wyld Stallyns salmon tee.

“Can we get room service, instead?” I smiled sweetly, deviously. And Ted’s eyes went as wide as they did when he first saw me standing in the field camp.

He immediately called Bill and said, “Bill? I uh. I gotta stay up here.”

“What? Why?” Bill wedged some bacon between his teeth at the continental breakfast area.

“Just uh. Well. Uh…”

I dropped the top of the sheets and Ted swallowed hard.

“Ah,” Bill understood Ted’s strained grunts. “All right. More bacon for me!”

“I promise I won’t be late to our first set.”

“Ted. Just go, dude.”

“Right,” Ted nodded, staring at me anxiously, hanging up. He still was like a teen on a first date, after all these years. I found it so endearing. And I was so grateful for his tender embrace, far away from the thunderstorms of the past.