#i assume 60s press from the tense
Text
Douche Bag Jar Deposit: N/A
summary - A misunderstanding between you and Neil might just be the thing to reunite you and Jake.
warnings - New Girl au, fluff, angst, slowburn, language, italics are flashbacks, mentions of drinking, slightly suggestive, I added outfit links but you can imagine whatever you would like
this series is 18+, minors please do not interact
word count - 4.1k
the douche bag jar masterlist
“Alright,” Bradley appears on the other side of the bar, shooting Jake a knowing look. “I’m cutting you off, man.”
Jake just shrugs, staring at the empty glass of whiskey he just downed.
Bradley takes the glass from off the tabletop, sliding it away from Jake carefully as he eyes him. “What’s up with you?”
“Lee got the promotion. Lee, Rooster. The man uses fucking Papyrus and he’s getting the promotion,” Jake wipes a tired hand over his face.
“Maybe he’s just a kiss ass,” Bradley suggests with a shrug. “You ever tried that?”
Jake makes a face, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sucking up to Simpson. I have more self respect than that.”
“I don’t know how you can look at the guy and not want to worship the ground he walks on. He looks like he was kissed by angels. He’s all I want to be in life,” Bradley sighs wistfully, hardly paying attention to the glass he’s drying with a bar towel.
“Somehow, I forgot that being forced to talk to you is worse punishment for drinking than a hangover.”
Bradley doesn’t seem fazed, still lost in his thoughts about Jake’s boss who makes stupid promotion choices Beau Simpson. “Whatever man. You just wish that— What do they call him? Cyclone? God, even his nicknames are cool.”
Jake watches Bradley leave, left now drinkless and slightly humbled in his wallowing. He doesn’t know why he’s so hung up on Logan Lee getting the promotion instead of him. Maybe it’s the reminder that all his hard work and long hours amounted to just about nothing. Maybe it’s because he’s never really liked his job all that much anyway. Maybe, if he’s quick about it, he can hop over the counter and make another drink while Bradley’s distracted serving customers.
“He never changes, you know.”
Jake discards the thought of stealing a drink to turn to the man next to him. “Excuse me?”
“Rooster.” The man elaborates as if that remotely clarified anything to Jake. “He never changes.”
“Okay…” Jake looks away somewhat uncomfortably.
The man laughs, taking a sip of his drink. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
He’s older, maybe in his mid-60s Jake assumes as he takes him in. Because should he recognize him? With thinning blond hair that’s almost white and green eyes, the man looks and dresses like he’s trying to emulate every era of Leonardo DiCaprio at once. Jake has never seen him before in his life.
“I’m you,” the man finally reveals, leaning closer like he’s telling Jake some big secret. “From the future.”
Jake scoffs. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Of course not,” Jake shoots him a look. “Why would I believe you?”
The older man shrugs. “I know your name is Jake.”
“That doesn’t—”
“And I know you got the nickname ‘Hangman’ because you lost a game of hangman when you forgot that ‘e’ was a letter.”
Jake freezes, his eyes widening, and he almost falls off his stool with how quickly he turns to face the man. “How did you know that?”
Old Jake shrugs coyly.
Swallowing, Jake looks around the bar. There seems to be no one who’s paying attention to him and… also him? He blinks a couple times, wiping his hands on his pants, before looking back at the man next to him.
“Are you really me from the future?”
Old Jake grins.
Your eyes blink open as rays of sun seep in through the curtains and you stretch with a satisfied hum. The bicep across your stomach tenses slightly, pulling you closer to the body it’s connected to, and a smile grows on your face. Neil presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, alerting you to the fact that he’s also waking with a groggy noise. You turn in his arms to face him.
“Good morning.”
Neil’s grip on you tightens. “Good morning.”
He places a kiss on your smiling lips, letting his hands travel down briefly with a squeeze. It takes one last peck for Neil to separate from you and get up from the bed. He slides a pair of sweatpants over his boxers, choosing to forego a shirt, and lets out a loud yawn. You can only look at him dreamily, propping yourself up on your pillow as you watch him rub at his tired eyes.
“You wanna get breakfast?”
“There’s this place that just opened where that old K-Mart used to be?” You offer, forcing yourself out of the sheets as well. “Apparently they have really good pancakes.”
Neil’s hands find your hips and he presses a kiss to your nose. “Pancakes sound great.”
You bite your lip to hide your excitement, still standing in the middle of the bedroom as Neil drops your hips to get ready.
In your head, you give angel Natasha a high five. Because that’s your boyfriend! Neil Vikander! And he holds your hand, and takes you on dates — that he planned. He’s so understanding of everything your roommates have put him through and doesn’t hold it against you when you need space.
Angel Natasha claps with excitement from your shoulder. “You should start wearing more jewelry around him so he knows if you prefer a gold or silver engagement ring. He’ll definitely notice!”
And honestly, you had no doubt that Neil would. He’s so attentive like that. But obviously it was too early for marriage, even though angel Natasha was booing you in your head. A little over four months was not enough time to know you wanted to marry someone — but maybe it was enough time to know something else.
You’d been thinking about it for maybe an embarrassing amount of time. But, after everything with Cooper, you were somewhat hesitant. You’d allowed yourself to live in this fantasy of love for so long that, now that you’ve finally woken from it, you can’t help but wonder if you’re reading the signs correctly. If there are even signs at all.
You talk with Mickey about it all the time and he says that everything seems the way you’re interpreting it. But you also know that Mickey views love closer to the way you do, so his insight isn’t the most helpful — though you still appreciate it. Natasha agrees everything is fine too, and you know from experience that she wouldn’t lie to your face, but you’re worried she might be as blinded by your excitement as you are.
Angel Natasha snaps her fingers, “You’re overthinking this!”
Neil exits his en suite, pausing when he sees you still haven’t moved from the center of his bedroom. His eyes rake over you, the old t-shirt of his you put on that stops just short enough. You cock your head slightly as he makes his way over to you, biting his lip.
“You know what?” Neil’s hands snake under the shirt, tracing circles on the skin of your hips, and he guides you to the bed teasingly. “Why don’t we do brunch?”
“Does Scarlett Johansson leave Colin Jost for me in the future?”
“Do the lizard people on the moon wage war on earth in 2036?”
“I don’t—” Jake blinks a couple times. “Is that a no? Because I feel like, if she just go to know me…”
Old Jake just stares at him, giving nothing away.
“I’m just going to file that away as a maybe…” Jake trails off, but, again, Old Jake doesn’t flinch.
Jake sighs, slumping. “You’re good, old man. But you’re me, so of course you are. What about jobs? Can you tell me about that? Do I get super rich?”
“Two words,” Old Jake holds up his fingers. “Gerbil sunglasses.”
“Like sunglasses with gerbils on them? Or for gerbils?” Jake furrows his brows. Should he be writing this down?
Old Jake shakes his head. “Gerbil sunglasses.”
The sound of someone entering the bar distracts Jake and he looks up to see you hastily coming inside. The fabric of your dress brushes against your calves and Jake never thought he was a leg guy, but here you are and now he’s not so sure. You’re scanning over the patrons of the bar somewhat nervously, finally relaxing when your eyes land on Bradley.
You hold something out in your hand for him. “Was this the wallet you were talking about?”
“Yes,” Bradley sighs in relief, waiting until you're on the other side of the bar to take it from you. “Thank you.”
“You should apologize to her.”
“What?” Jake turns back to Old Jake, your presence making him momentarily forget that his future self was still next to him.
“In the future, you’re going to do something really bad,” Old Jake clarifies. “So apologize to her.”
“What am I gonna do?”
Old Jake purses his lips. “Just apologize. Sit down, and be honest, and tell her you’re sorry.”
“But what am I—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Old Jake interrupts him with a look. “Just do it.”
Jake swallows, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay.”
“—And take this sorry sack of shit home too please,” Bradley’s voice draws Jake back to you both. You greet him with a small wave, a sympathetic smile on your face. “He’s sulking and it’s scaring customers.”
You just look at Jake, gesturing towards the door subtly with your head. “You ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah, lemme just—” Jake turns to say goodbye, he realizes now that he never actually asked Old Jake why he was traveling back in time.
But Old Jake’s stool is empty and, as Jake whips his head around the bar, the man is nowhere to be found.
“Woah…”
You munch on your pancake excitedly, very much satisfied with your morning. You could definitely get used to this, you think. You could get used to mornings in the sheets followed by pancakes that will no doubt lead to syrup and strawberry kisses. Neil looks equally as happy with your breakfast choice, talking with you engagingly in between bites of his own chocolate pancakes.
You wonder if this will become your “spot”. Your parents had a spot, an old bookstore that renovated its front into a cafe. They’d take you there occasionally, but you knew it was their spot so you didn’t mind that they mostly went without you. Your mom would pick out some old hardcover book with gold engravings while your dad ordered two cups of coffee with foam, and cinnamon, and latte art. And then they would read together and talk about it on the way home. If they really liked the book, they would buy a copy to bring back to you.
And so you wonder if this would be your and Neil’s spot. Because you could see it. Mid-morning pancakes as you talk about your days. You deciding to be adventurous one breakfast, straying from your usual strawberry pancakes, only to not like this new order and so Neil lets you share his. Joking over cups of orange juice that you two probably shouldn’t be spending so much money on pancakes when you can just as easily make them at home, but you both know you love this place too much to stop going.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Neil glances down at his buzzing phone. “I’ll be right back.”
He gets up from the table, heading into the quieter inside of the building to take the call. You go back to eating your pancakes slowly, patiently waiting as Neil wraps up his call. It’s a far shorter call than you thought it would be, lasting at most six minutes before he’s joining you at the table again.
“What that work?” You ask somewhat worriedly, a selfish part of you not wanting this date to end.
“Oh, no,” Neil waves it off, sitting back down as he stuffs his phone into his back pocket. “It was just Cassidy.”
You perk up at that, always excited to learn more about Neil’s life. He’d never mentioned her before. “Who’s Cassidy?”
“One of the other girls I’m seeing.”
You almost drop your fork at the admittance, eyes snapping to him to make sure you’d heard right. It didn’t seem like a slip on Neil’s part. He’s perfectly relaxed, even digging back into his pancakes.
“You’re seeing other girls?” You ask quietly.
Neil looks up, taking in your expression and becoming equally as confused as you. “Yeah… is that not what we were doing?”
“I’m not seeing other people.”
“You’re kidding,” Neil laughs, but when your expression doesn’t falter he stops. “You’re serious?”
You’re not entirely sure you want to have this conversation on the outside patio of a breakfast eatery, so you lower your volume. “What would make you think that I’m seeing other people?”
“I thought— So you’re not romantically involved with your roommates?” He looks almost skeptical.
“No?” Your eyebrows raise. “I’m not romantically involved with any of them.”
“None of them? Not even Jake?”
This time you can’t catch yourself before your fork falls out of your grip. “What?!”
“You buy plants together, and they crash your dates, and Jake used to make you text him that you were safe every morning after you spent the night at my place,” Neil reasons.
“Yeah, but that’s not— They’re not my boyfriends!”
Neil looks like he’s about to speak again, but this whole conversation is going in circles, so you hold a hand up to stop him.
“Okay, I just—” You close your eyes, taking a breath to gather your thoughts. “So you thought we were in an open relationship, I thought we were exclusive. I want to be in a committed relationship and you” Neil looks down, “...don’t.” You finish quietly.
“I’m sorry— Had I known I—” And, because he’s Neil, he really does look sorry. You have no doubt he truly misunderstood your relationship. Or relationships — plural.
“It’s alright,” you try to shrug, though it’s pitiful and you know it, reaching for your purse. “I’ll, um, I should go though.”
Neil nods awkwardly, holding a hand out when you start fishing through your bag for your wallet. “I got it. It’s— It’s the least I could do.”
You swallow. You suppose it is.
“Okay, Jake,” you try again to stop him from toppling over. “I kinda need you to work with me here.”
Jake shakes his head. “You’re not listening! I need you to listen.”
“I will listen. Let’s just get inside first,” you promise, finally able to move away from Jake long enough to unlock the loft’s front door.
You use all your strength to attempt to usher Jake in through the door. Bradley hadn’t been lying when he said that Jake had been drinking. Though he wasn’t a lucid, words entirely slurred kind of drunk, he was the equally as annoying Jake kind of drunk — stubborn and not entirely aware of how drunk he was.
It’s somewhat hard to navigate him to his room, your head peeking around his frame every couple of seconds to make sure you aren’t about to push him into a wall or shelf. Eventually though, you’re able to haul him onto his bed and you decide that this counts as your exercise for the week.
“Okay, you want me to get you some water?” You offer, moving towards the door. “You’re gonna have to stay in those clothes until one of the guys gets home though. I don’t think I’m strong enough to hold you down long enough to change you into pajamas.”
Jake’s fingers wrap around your wrist. “You have to listen to me, peach. You said you would.”
“Alright, yes, what is it you needed to tell me?” You sit down by his legs and are somewhat surprised by how solemn he looks.
“I’m gonna do something to you,” Jake swallows. “And it’s gonna be bad. And I need you to forgive me.”
You cock your head slightly. “What do you mean? What are you gonna do to me?”
“I don’t know, but it’s gonna be really bad. So I’m sorry, and I promise that I mean it, and I need you to forgive me,” he looks at you earnestly and you can’t help but grant him a soft smile.
“I forgive you.”
Jake shakes his head stubbornly. “What if it’s the worst thing you can think of? What if I… What if I eat every bag of Starbursts you ever buy for the rest of our lives?”
“I still forgive you,” you lean forward to smooth some of his hair out of his face and his eyes flutter closed at the feeling. “I’m always gonna forgive you, Jake.”
Jake only stutters slightly when he realizes you’re in the living room. The two of you still weren’t talking and Jake’s slightly too prideful — and scared — to try, so running into you around the loft always had his heart lurching with anxiety.
He plans to do what he always does, act like he doesn’t notice you and walk straight to his room. It was like a dance between you now, avoiding each other wordlessly, unraveling yourselves from the other’s day to day life. Whether Jake missed you was beside the point, he needed you mad at him.
He couldn’t disappoint you anymore if you stopped expecting anything from him.
Besides, you clearly weren’t miserable. You, Mickey, and Bradley seem closer than ever, which, Jake can admit, has relieved a bit of guilt. He can hear you guys laughing from his room quite often or watching movies on the couch. Things seem fine with Neil too, though Jake doesn’t like to think about that nearly as much. Even now, you have yet to acknowledge him, keeping your eyes trained on Chris Evans’ jet black hair and blue and orange letterman jacket.
Jake freezes in the hallway.
“What happened?” His socks slide against the hardwood before he can stop himself from rushing back to you, a panicked expression on his face.
It’s the first time Jake has said a word to you since he effectively ruined your friendship. The first time you two have even looked at each other when you’re in the same room. And maybe there was something meaningful in the fact that you’re sitting on the couch with waterlogged lashes and a stuffy nose and Jake’s still in his work shirt like you’re more important than even changing first. Maybe, but Jake doesn’t know.
“I’m mad at you,” you reply and Jake feels his heart plummet. Because, yeah, he deserved that. “But I really need a hug right now.”
You can’t even finish without getting choked up again and, wordlessly, Jake moves to the couch, sitting down next to you. He’s nervous as he wraps his arms around you, swallowing thickly, but you don’t seem to share these reservations, melting into him quickly.
Neither of you speak, Not Another Teen Movie playing in the background as Jake rubs your back comfortingly. He’s relieved to see you haven’t been drinking this time, unsure he could navigate this situation if you had been. Instead, you’re quieting to sniffles against his chest, cheek turned so you can watch the movie.
“Me and Neil broke up.”
Jake clears his throat lightly. “I figured.”
“He thought we were in an open relationship,” you admit. “And that I was also dating you, Bradley, and Mickey.”
Your words cause Jake to blink in surprise, any verbal comfort leaving him, because he doesn’t exactly know what to say. Sorry? Yikes? Probably not.
“So, yeah, he’s been seeing a bunch of other girls and didn’t really want to stop doing that, so we broke up,” you finish.
“Oh, um,” Jake’s eyes flick down to the top of your head. “I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. “Don’t be. You don’t have to pretend like you wouldn’t have done the same.”
“Not if it was you.”
The words leave Jake’s lips before he can realize it. Like they aren’t something he’s saying to comfort you, but rather a truth he’s discovering in the same second you are.
“If it were you, I— I wouldn’t want anybody else.”
You’re still on his chest, not looking at him, but Jake feels you take a breath. He doesn’t exactly know what’s going on. He had this plan, this rule, to keep you at a distance. Because he’s a douche bag, all he’ll do is hurt you. Jake can’t watch the pride in your eyes diminish slowly with every disappointment, so he just snubbed it all at once.
But now he can’t do that. He’s a douche bag, he knows that. But he looks at you and he doesn’t want to be. You make Jake want to be a good person and maybe he’s just been too scared to actually try and end up failing anyway.
Jake sucks in a breath. “I didn’t miss our date because I had work and forgot to tell you.”
It hangs in the air of the living room and Jake powers through his nerves to continue.
“I was, um, I was at a strip club.” You push off his chest suddenly, staring at him in disbelief. It’s scarier now that he can see your eyes. Now that he can watch, in real time, you fully understand all the ways he failed you.
“My coworkers said they were going out for a drink and, I don’t know, everything with Caroline had just happened. You scared me, pea— You scared me. And I knew the second I showed up at that restaurant, you’d see that,” Jake exhales, unable to look away from you like he wants to punish himself. “So I thought I’d have one drink, relax a bit, then I realized we were at a strip club. I guess even the strippers could see how scared I was because one of them offered, uh—”
Your expression is unreadable, your lips still parted, he has no idea what you’re thinking. So Jake keeps going.
“...Emotional intimacy. Anyway, it was actually weirdly helpful to talk about everything but I lost track of time and, by the time I realized, you’d already gone home. And, um, that’s why I missed our date.”
“You didn’t—” Your eyes are darting between his so quickly, Jake wonders how you’re not dizzy, “do anything with the strippers though?”
Jake shakes his head. “Honestly, it’s not like that with me and Diamond— Actually her name is Shelly, I feel like I should start calling her Shelly. But, no, we didn’t do anything.”
You’re quiet for several moments, simply staring as Jake shifts uncomfortably. Slowly, your lips purse into themselves.
“Why did you say all those awful things to me?”
Jake looks down, his tongue tracing across his front teeth. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I need you to know, Jake.” When he glances up at you, your bottom lip is tucked snug between your canines. You’re looking at him as though you know what he’s about to say next might break you. But you’re going to let him anyway.
“I didn’t mean it,” Jake swallows. He doesn’t know if he can look at you, so he tries not to. “I guess I just, um, I guess I just knew I’d say something stupid eventually, so it’d be better if you didn’t like me as much. If I just got it out of the way.”
“Are you kidding?” Jake’s head snaps up when you start laughing incredulously. “Jake, you say stupid stuff all the time. I hadn’t even made it a month in the loft before you said you were going to marry me! We have— We have a jar just for all the stupid stuff you say! But I forgive you because I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Your face softens and you take a breath. Jake can’t look away.
“I’m always gonna forgive you, Jake.”
Jake wonders if it’s the teacher in you that is able to look at him with so much genuine belief in your words. And normally he’d run from that, the fact that you have expectations for him. But he already tried that and all it did was make him miserable — and make you cry.
He takes a breath. “I’m sorry I missed our date.”
You smile. “It’s okay.”
He takes another. “And I’m sorry about what I said.”
“I forgive you, Jake.” Your smile grows.
“And I’m sorry about Neil.”
You snort, relaxing into his chest again as you move aside all your tissues to grab some chocolates. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not. I told you he was a fucking weirdo—”
“Jake.”
“Right, sorry. Oh look at that! Chris Evans in a football uniform! We should definitely focus on that now.”
Jake can’t help but smile when you laugh.
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forever and eternity [drake x camille AU] [chapter three: 1928]
Chapter Two
@karahalloway
@twinkleallnight
@sophxwithers
@katedrakeohd
@angelasscribbles
tw: there is a mention of a suicide attempt but it is only hinted at, no details.
***********************
Drake, Camille and Leo sat down at booth at the back of the bar, a bottle of whisky on the centre of the table and three glasses.
Drake poured each of them a sizeable measure of whisky and, in silence, the three of them quickly drank.
As the amber liquid burned their throats, Leo cleared his and turned to look at Camille.
He could see that Drake was struggling to comprehend seeing his lost love again. He could also see that Camille felt guilty.
So he was going to manage this discussion.
'So, Camille,' Leo began, his green eyes focusing on her. 'You're like us. How long have you known you're immortal?'
Drake poured himself another whisky before topping up Camille and Leo's glasses.
Camille tossed the drink down her throat before answering.
'Since 1700.'
Drake choked on the whisky.
Leo nodded. 'When were you born?'
Camille swallowed. '1640.'
Leo let out a whistle. 'You're a few decades older than me, then,' he said. 'Love a cougar.'
'Leo!' Drake hissed. 'Do you mind not flirting with my ex right in front of me?'
Camille's face was red from whisky and embarrassment. Leo chuckled and held up his hands. 'Dude, I'm trying to lighten the mood.'
'Well stop it,' Drake muttered. 'You're being an asshole.'
Leo shrugged then turned his attention back to Camille.
'How did you find out what you were?'
Camille pressed her lips together as she thought of a way to explain herself. 'I.. I was 60 years old,' she said quietly, 'and I looked in the mirror and could see my 27 year old face looking back at me. I know that sounds ridiculous, surely I should have realised years before that I wasn't aging but my mother looked young too. I assumed it was hereditary, looking youthful when you are not.'
Drake frowned. 'You decided you were immortal just going on that line of thinking?'
Camille sighed. 'It was the 1700s, people believed any old crap without rational thinking.'
Leo let out a laugh. 'True that,' he said. 'At least you were right though.'
Camille fixed her eyes on the table. 'Ten years later, still looking 27.. I was sick of it. I felt like a freak. So I tried… I tried to end it.'
A silence fell over the table. Drake's fists were clenched in his lap. He couldn't bear the idea of Camille trying to hurt herself.
Leo sipped more of his whisky. 'So Drake and I found out we were immortal when we realised we couldn't be killed on the battlefield. You found out, officially, when you tried… okay, so it seems the only way to confirm this thing is to die.'
Camille blinked. 'You don't know much about this either?'
Leo stared at her. 'Fuck no! Camille, we have no idea why we're like this. As far as I know, you're only the second person I've met in my very long life to have this condition.'
Drake looked at Camille. Since sitting down with her, gone was his anger, just.. confusion left in its place. He wanted to ask her why she had left him but he knew he couldn't ask her that in front of Leo. That was a private conversation.
'Since 1928, I've gone through life like a karate kid,' Camille whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. 'Fighting to stay alive but to keep a low profile-’
'Fighting to stay alive?' Leo interrupted. 'Camille, we can't die.'
Drake's mind could only focus on the beginning of her words.
Since 1928.
That was the year after Drake and Camille had met.
Camille poured another glass of whisky and downed it.
'Now that I know that you guys are like me,' she said, her voice fierce, 'you have to know what's out there.'
Drake felt himself tense. 'Camille, what are you talking about?'
Camille poured them another whisky.
***************
Olivia Nevrakis started every morning by waking at 5am.
She would get up as soon as the alarm rang, throw on workout clothes and head to the gym. On Fridays, she went to a 6am boxing class.
Afterwards, she would head home to shower, have breakfast and dress for work.
Her life was one of solitude. She didn't have friends. She didn't really have family. She lived alone.
But she preferred it that way.
Her job was one that required strict confidentiality. She worked for a special branch of government and her job title was 'Acquisitions Officer.'
She had been working in this role for two years and it was clear that Olivia was good at her job.
The way she was as a person made her the ideal candidate for the role. She was cold. Unlikely to form attachments. Willing to get a job done regardless of the cost. Never regretting anything. Believing the job was the most important thing in the world.
A well adjusted person would say that Olivia Nevrakis had been brainwashed.
She would call that person weak.
This morning at work was the same as every morning. She and her team of twelve colleagues would pour through the files, searching archives and confidential records.
When she first started working in this job, she felt like it was a dead end. All the work she did produced no results. She began to feel like she was being duped. That this wasn't a real job. That her superiors were delusional.
She said so herself in a meeting with her manager a year ago, not long after she first started.
Her mind was changed when he took out a file dated 1928 and proceeded to show her its contents.
Since that meeting, for the past year, Olivia believed in the company.
On this particular morning, she woke up feeling ready to take on the day. She went to the gym, came home and had breakfast, dressed in her red power suit paired with black stiletto heels and took a cab to work.
Sitting down at her desk, she trawled through the usual database, searching and comparing, her eyes narrowed for any detail that could show her something new.
Her eyes scanned the screen, reading through every possible name, trying to find a name and picture match. ‘Where are you, you freak bitch?’ she muttered.
All she had was the file dated 1928. Inside it were black and white photos, all of the same person, all taken through different years. That would have been fine, normal in fact, if it weren’t for the fact that these photos were taken from 1840 onwards. All of the same person.
A well adjusted person would decide it was simply strong genetics.
Olivia and her superiors would say that that person wasn’t open minded enough.
Reading through the records, they had found her at the beginning of 1928. They had been working on this case for only six months when they found out where she was. But she had escaped and ever since then, Olivia’s predecessors had been trying to find her all over again.
No more photographs.
Camille Montespan was hiding. And Olivia was going to find her.
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The “Aim For The Heart” Campaign First 48 Hours, and the First (of Many!) Contributor Spotlights
On Thursday, Duck Prints Press launched the crowdfunding campaign for our next anthology. Aim For The Heart: Queer Fanworks Inspired by Alexandre Dumas’s “The Three Musketeers” features 20 stories, 19 full-page art pieces, and a 12-page comic, all inspired by the beloved story of d’Artagnan, the musketeers he meets, and the politics he gets embroiled in.
As of when I’m writing this, 76 people have already backed our project, and we’re nearly 60% of the way to our $8,000 USD goal! This is a really strong start, and we couldn’t be happier about it. A huge THANK YOU to everyone who has backed so far, and to everyone else – whatcha waiting for? There’s no time like the present – we’re offering an early bird special, $10 off our highest backer tier featuring the book + our gorgeous merchandise (a bookmark, a magnet, a sticker, and an enamel key chain) – only available today and Sunday, and only to the first 50 backers – we’ve only got 19 left!!!
If you love queer stories and queer art, and want to support a queer-owned independent publisher this lovely Pride month, make sure you check it out!
And, to whet your appetite, starting today we’ll be sharing story and art teasers more-or-less daily until the end of the campaign!
Author Spotlight: Wait and Hope by Veronica Sloane
About the author: Veronica Sloane has authored a novel, several short stories, some poetry, and twenty-two years worth of fanfic. She lives with one lovely spouse, one rambunctious clever child, and one sleepy cat.
Links: Archive of Our Own | Tumblr
About the Story: This modern fanfic tells the tale of Porthos, a waiter, and Aramis, a theology student, meeting for the first time—and then tells of their reunion, ten years later.
Story Teaser:
“My name is Porthos,” he offered, “and I’ll be your dining companion for the evening, if you’ll have me.”
“Is this a new waiter service?” Aramis asked, those lovely wide eyes going rounder.
“I’m officially no longer a waiter here.” Porthos took Aramis’s lack of objection as agreement and set the glasses before each of them, uncorking the bottle with an expert twist of the wrist.
“Were you fired?” Aramis asked, watching the wine trickle into his glass with avid attention.
“I’m graduating.”
“Me too. I’ve never seen you.”
“Business major.” Porthos poured his own glass generously. It was a very good white.
“Theology.”
“What do you do with that?”
“In my case? Become a priest.”
“No.” Porthos set down the bottle to stare at him. “Really? Does that still happen?”
“From time to time,” Aramis laughed.
“But why? Surely you can just study religion and go to church if you have to. I’m assuming; I don’t think I’ve set foot in a church since I was a kid. I’d probably catch fire.”
“God forgives. If you have faith.” The last was said a little more tremulously.
“And you must.”
“Must I?” Aramis picked up his wine.
“Then why the priesthood?”
“I believe. Faith is another matter.”
Tags: alcohol use (casual), alternate universe, chef, college, food (graphic descriptions), m/m, meet cute, one-night stand, past tense, pov third person limited, restaurant, reunions, second chances, trans male character, veteran
Learn more about the whole collection by visiting our campaign page!
#duck prints press#aim for the heart#patreon#the three musketeers#aramis/porthos#fanfiction#m/m#short story#kickstarter
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Ignorance is Bliss Pt. 6
Warnings: fighting, angst, unprotected public sex
I wake up to the sound of a dog barking in the distance followed by laughter. I smile as I roll over to find my bed empty. I had no doubt him and the girls were outside on the beach, probably already swimming and chasing Blue. My body is sore but in the best way as I quickly pull on my swim suit and throw my hair up into a bun.
I go downstairs to find pancakes, sliced fruit, and coffee. As if I didn’t already love him enough. I sip my coffee as I watch them through the screen door. JJ is showing Ray how to juggle a soccer ball and Em is just as involved, only turning away to throw a ball for Blue. I take another moment to watch them as I drink more of my coffee then I step outside.
I sit down on the lounger and watch them some more, smiling at the neighbor on my left who is also watching. She was a sweet little old blonde woman who only came outside to tend to her flowers and check for shells but she also always said hi.
The one thing I loved most was that all the houses in OBX were a different color. JJ’s was green, mine was blue, and Mary’s was pink. All of our properties were separated with white picket fencing and sand. It was peaceful.
I glance up from my mug just as Mary makes her way over to my side of the fence, smiling as she glances at JJ and the girls.
“They’re beautiful.” She says. The woman had to be in her late 60s but she looked great. Nothing seemed to keep her down.
“Thank you.” I take another sip as we watch them.
“I never had any children so I don’t have any grandchildren. So if you ever need a date night, I’d love to watch them.”
“Oh, no, Mary I couldn’t let you—.”
“Hush it. I know what it’s like to be young and in love. Can’t hardly stay off one another. Your world can revolve around your kids but your relationship can’t. So you just let me know. I’m usually free in the evenings after church or Bingo.” I don’t know what to say. I’m so used to cruelty and judgement that I don’t know how to accept what she’s offering so I just smile and say thank you.
Mary goes back over to her potted plants just as JJ takes off in the water, the girls splashing and laughing behind him. It was going to be a good day.
I can't help my coy smile as JJ presses his front to my back, his hands over mine as he helps me line up my pool stick. I knew how to play but I liked that he wanted to show me. Whatever kept him touching me. Goosebumps race across my skin when his breath hits my ear.
"Why are you so tense?" He whispers but I know he's smiling.
"Because you're touching me." I breathe, pressing my ass against him. JJ chuckles.
"Do you like when I touch you?" He growls in my ear, pulling the pool stick back before shooting it forward into the white cue ball.
"Maybe." I tease as we straighten, no longer caring about the game as we flirt with each other.
"Maybe?" He pulls me into his arms, kissing my lips before whispering, "You sure like it when my tongue is touching you." I shiver, desire burning deep in my stomach.
Suddenly, louder laughter draws my attention to the bar and my stomach drops. Tyler is standing there with a bunch of local off duty police officers, laughing like they're old friends.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" JJ snarls, not backing down from Tyler's glare.
"I don't know. I assumed he went back to New York but I guess he didn't." I scoff, turning JJ's face back to mine and kissing him. He melts but not completely. I slide my hands down and squeeze his ass with both hands, earning a smile.
"Let's just go home. We'll get the girls and have a movie night." I insist, kissing him again. He groans against my lips, hands palming my ass.
"You keep it up and I'm going to bend you over the first flat surface I find." God, he made me giddy. Like I was in high school again and sneaking around so my parents wouldn't find out. I wanted him to take control and put me in my place. Remind me that I was his.
"Take me out to your truck and you can punish me however you want." I tease. The sound of someone obnoxiously clearing their throat has me jerking, pulling back to see Tyler standing a few feet from us with a disgusted look on his face.
"You guys keep it up and you might as well mount each other on the damn pool table." Tyler scoffs. I open my mouth to respond but JJ beats me to it.
"Nah, I was thinking on the hood of your police car." Tyler's eyes darken as he takes a warning step towards JJ but he doesn't back down, keeping his arms around me.
"Watch yourself." Tyler growls and JJ smirks, not backing down from their little stare down.
"I've known guys like you my whole life. Take away the badge and what are you? Just another snot nosed bully. You get off on making yourself seem superior and that's why you push people down."
"Keep running your mouth. Guys like you are a dime a dozen. Bottom of the barrel. Scum. You were born here and you'll die here, knowing nothing about the world outside your little island."
"Guys, that's enough. Come on, J." I pull on his waist but he doesn't budge, his jaw clenched as he looks back at Tyler.
"And I get to do it with Lily. That's what pisses you off so bad. She found someone that loved her no matter what when you just wanted her to stay miserable with you." My heart flutters at his words even though I feel his body shaking with rage as they square off. I'd never seen either of them so angry.
"You and half the population, bud. There isn't anything to brag about there." JJ shoots his hand out and shoves Tyler hard in the chest. I gasp, wrapping myself around him tighter when a brunette with a shotgun jumps between the two of them, the barrel of the gun over her shoulder like a basebat. Tyler is pulled away by a few of the officers as the girl looks between the two guys.
“Not in my bar. You take that shit somewhere else.” The gun wielding brunette says as Tyler is forced out the front door, not without another murderous look our way.
Her narrowed gaze finally lands on JJ and then she smiles.
"Couldn't wait until my shift started before you start shit?" She shakes her head at JJ but he's no less tense, forcing a smile.
"Lil, this is Kie. I've known her my whole life. Kie, this is Lily." Kie and I shake hands and she gives me a warm, genuine smile despite how intimidating she seems.
"Nice to meet you."
"You too. I'm glad J finally settled down." Kie says, jealousy forming that I hadn't experienced. I never even thought about ex girlfriends.
"Stop. She's kidding." JJ grumbles, tightening his hold on me. I force a smile but it feels more like a grimace.
"I am. You're the only girl he's ever brought around. You're special." I still feel like she's teasing but I smile anyway as JJ presses a kiss to my forehead.
"Uh, we're heading out. See ya, Kie." JJ pulls me towards the back door where we parked and I quickly wave goodbye to Kie.
"She seems--." I don't get to finish my sentence because I'm suddenly pushed against the side of his truck, his lips smashed against mine. I sink into him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he kisses me so passionately, lifting me so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I kiss him hard as he walks with me in his arms before suddenly putting me on my feet and forcing me to bend over the tailgate. My shorts and thong are tugged down to my knees then he’s inside me, fucking me so hard the truck rocks.
“JJ, fuck, someone will see.” I groan, lifting my leg to open myself up more for him. I was so close already.
“I’m watching.” He grunts, hands digging into my hips as he pulls me back into every hard thrust. I drop my head down on my arms to muffle my moans as he grows more and more savage, sending me over the edge. I cry out, withering away until he finally releases inside me.
I pop my head up, looking back at him as he stays buried inside me.
“What are the chances of you getting pregnant on an iud?” He pants, chest heaving as he comes down. I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Slim.”
“You should get it removed.” I smirk as he pulls out, righting our clothes and pulling me into his arms.
“I wanna see you pregnant with my baby. Your tits big and swollen.” I kiss him, running my fingers through his hair.
“We’d need a bigger house.” I whisper and he smiles.
“Fuck it. We’ll add on, connect our houses, and have double the space. That’s six bedrooms right there.” I throw my head back as I laugh, letting him kiss my neck.
“Let’s focus on the two we got but daddy can keep trying for now.” His lips find mine once more before he nods. Now it was time to get home to our girls. And figure out why the hell Tyler was still in town.
#smutwarning#jj maybank smut#jj maybank fic#outer banks smut#jj maybank imagine#obx2#jj maybank fluff#jj obx#jj maybank x you#rudy pankow
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Day 72: Mirrors
"Alright," Draco said, his voice sounded a bit tense, but Harry was too nervous to say anything. "Is your seat belt on?"
"Yes," he said, tugging at the strap.
"Next, you'll check your mirrors," he instructed.
"Check them for what?"
Draco sighed, "For people, other cars, bikes, buildings, literally anything that could impede your driving."
"Right," Harry said, checking his mirrors as instructed.
"Then, if the coast is clear, take your foot off the brake and gently touch the gas pedal," he instructed. "Make sure you use your blinker when you pull out onto the road."
He eased the car out onto the road, following his directions carefully.
"Good," Draco said. "Since you insisted on driving, I'll assume that where we're going is a surprise for me."
"Safe assumption," Harry replied before devoting all of his attention to the driving at hand. "There are so many things to do with your hands and feet," he said as he kept an eye on the speedometer and the road.
"Just be glad I'm letting you drive the automatic," Draco said. "How far are we driving?"
"About half an hour."
"And you won't tell me where we're going?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head, "Definitely not."
(Read more below the cut)
Half an hour later, Harry pulled into a parking lot and, after a few attempts, managed to get the car into a space.
"Where are we?" Draco asked.
"You'll see," Harry replied, getting out of the car and hurrying around to open the door for Draco.
He smiled at him, "I could have done that."
"I know," Harry shrugged, "but I wanted to." He slotted his fingers through Draco's and tugged him off down the sidewalk, "Come on, it's just around the corner." They headed around the corner on the sidewalk and Harry said, "I know that we have had a really hard time with adopting a crup."
"Don't remind me," Draco groaned, "I'd just hoped that your title as savior would outweigh mine as an ex-death eater, but everyone thinks that I eat puppies for breakfast or something."
"Wizards are idiots, so I thought instead we could try this," he said, pointing at the building they were in front of. "It's a muggle animal shelter."
"What?" Draco asked.
"They have dogs you can adopt-"
"No, I understand what an animal shelter is," Draco interrupted, rolling his eyes, "I just can't understand why we haven't been here before."
"Because I've only just thought of it," Harry replied, reaching for the door handle and holding it open for Draco.
Draco's entire face lit up the moment he walked through the door and spotted the dogs. He made a beeline toward them and Harry followed, watching with no small amount of fondness as Draco pressed his face to the glass panel separating him from the dogs and spoke gently to them.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" a cheerful voice asked.
"I want to meet them," Draco said, turning to look at her, "Please can I meet them?"
She laughed but nodded, "Come on," she said, leading them around to the back where they could meet the dogs and Harry watched for the next forty minutes as Draco cuddled, played with, and generally just fell in love with all of the dogs.
Toward the end she brought out a little black dog with white feet, the dog's tail was wagging so fast it was a blur, and Harry knew the instant that she was placed in Draco outstretched arms that she was the one.
After they'd purchased what they'd need for her, they headed back out to the car and Draco kept her cuddled in his arms, kissing the top of her head, his thumb brushing over her side as he carried her.
Harry slid into the driver's seat once more as Draco got into the passenger's seat, still murmuring softly to the little dog.
"Don't forget," Harry said as he buckled and checked the mirrors for traffic, "she's a dog; she doesn't get to eat people food, she doesn't get to be on the furniture, and she doesn't get to sleep in the bed."
"Yes," he agreed absently as he gave her nose kisses.
And Harry wished that he could say he was surprised to find Cassiopeia (Cassie for short, Harry had insisted) sitting on the bed while they got into her pajamas.
"Just for tonight?" Draco begged, pouting at Harry as he climbed under the sheets. She spun in three circles at the end of the bed before he laid down like that was where she always slept.
Harry sighed and resigned himself to sleeping with a dog in the bed for the rest of his life. All in all there were far worse things he supposed as he scratched behind her ear before slipping in next to Draco. "Just tonight."
"Thank you," Draco whispered, snuggling in close to Harry and kissing him softly.
"Are you happy?" Harry asked.
He nodded, "Thrilled. She's perfect."
He smiled and kissed him once more, "Then that's all I care about."
Cassie lived a long life, spoiled and loved as much as any dog could be.
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Day 71: Return | Day 73:Letters
Ahh. Friends, I'm sorry. This one is very late and very rushed. I am literally nodding off as I write it. I promise to try to take a look when I have time tomorrow. I've just had a 60 hour work week (and a 15 hour day) and I'm exhausted. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this fluffy little fic.
#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days#drarry#drarry ficlet#drarry drabbles#day 72#this one is a little sloppy.#sorry!#established relationship#adopting a dog#fluffy
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Kitty Missed the Message, Pt. 2
Part 1
*
"There's thousands of people named 'Adrien' in Paris!" Plagg protests from Adrien's inside shirt pocket. "There's no way she meant you."
"And how many of those Adriens does Ladybug know?" Adrien mumbles, gazing down at the lid on his coffee cup. He sits—no, lies—against the front steps of the school, too tired to even bother trying to keep his back straight. Between the thrill of his new love life and the confusion of her dropping his name, he didn't get any sleep last night; he's allowed to slump a little.
"A lot of them, probably!" Plagg says. "She saves lots of people."
"And how many people has she given a Miraculous to?" Adrien says, gritting his teeth as he contemplates his coffee, then throwing back a sip fast enough to miss his tongue entirely—though it still scalds the back of his throat. He gasps, hacking.
He hates the taste of coffee. Even the burning is better.
"Um," Plagg says, squirming. "Ten?"
"Exactly," Adrien rasps, trying to clear his throat. "They can't all be Adrien. And since she knows Chloé..."
Plagg snuggles grumpily into his chest. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so smart," the Kwami says.
"Too bad you're stuck with me," Adrien says, looking down the street contemplatively. Where is Nino? He's fairly certain he impressed on him the urgency of his dilemma.
As bad as Adrien.
"Am I really that oblivious?" he mutters to himself.
"Well you didn't notice me," Nino says from behind him.
Adrien shrieks, leaping from the steps and stumbling onto the sidewalk, all hackles and hissing. He can feel the pressure on his scalp as his hair tries to stand on end, only to get dragged down by its own weight.
"Dude?" Nino says, shock written across his face.
Adrien looks down at where he flung his coffee, trying to straighten himself without meeting Nino's eyes and hiding the blush burning up his cheeks. "I'm fine!" he yelps. Being a cat is so embarrassing sometimes.
"Dude!" Nino cackles. "I haven't seen you jump like that since the thing with the cucumber!"
"I thought I asked you not to bring that up again," Adrien grumbles, splashing the sole of his foot in his spilled coffee and spreading it dejectedly across the sidewalk. A waste of good caffeine, that is.
Nino’s mouth twists. “Ah. Right,” he says, gently taking Adrien’s forearm. “Sorry, bro.”
”It’s fine,” Adrien says with a slight smile. “I did look like a doof, didn’t I?”
”The doofiest,” Nino says with a nod and a grin. He steps back and folds his arms. “What was so urgent that you needed me at the butt-end of the morning?”
Adrien opens his mouth, closes it again. "I, uh..." he begins. "You... remember that girl I keep saying I like? The one I work with?"
Nino raises an eyebrow. "The one who's not interested in you?"
Adrien's stomach bottoms out. "Yeah," he says. "Or, well. No?” He looks down at his feet, scratching at the back of his neck. How to put this? “It's gotten... weird."
Nino crosses his arms with a wry grin, sinking his weight backward into an uncharacteristically sassy sort of pose, the one he’s been doing more often the more time he spends with Alya. "Weird how?"
Adrien closes his eyes, breathes in, breathes out. "According to her,” he says, picking his thumbnails into his fingers, “yesterday was our one-month anniversary."
Nino’s silence is somehow louder than any words would have been. Adrien opens one eye, wincing, bracing for judgement, only to see confused pride on his friend’s face.
"So... wait," Nino finally says, pushing up his glasses and rubbing his sinuses with his fingers. "Let me—let—” He shakes his head. “You're dating her now?"
Adrien shrugs in distress. "Yes?" he says with another wince. "I'm... it's confusing." He raises his fingers to his lips, the memory of the softness of Ladybug's mouth on his own warming his face. "She... did kiss me last night. Unprompted."
Nino's eyes grow wide. "Dude," he says, holding out his fist. "Dap."
Adrien taps his knuckles against Nino's, still a little too confused to properly appreciate the situation.
“Come on,” Nino says. “Let’s head inside, we can talk while sitting.”
Adrien nods, following without really meaning to move his legs at all.
“So what changed?” Nino says as they walk down the hallway toward their lockers.
“What do you mean?” Adrien says, his eyes wandering. His head still feels a little fuzzy, to be honest.
Nino shrugs. “Well, I mean...” he says, “there’s gotta have been some kind of change, right? That led to her changing her mind?”
The side of Adrien’s mouth twists. “I got nothing,” he mumbles.
Nino turns to stare at him, then snorts and rolls his eyes. “Not surprised,” he says. “You’re not always the best at noticing things like that.”
”That’s... actually why I wanted to talk to you,” Adrien says. “Am I... really that oblivious?”
Nino stops walking and sighs. ”I...” He catches his tongue between his teeth. “You know how pretty much everyone we know has had a crush on Marinette at some point?"
Adrien gives a small smile. “Of course,” he says. That’s pretty much a given.
Nino nods. "Did you ever wonder why she never took anyone up on it until last month?"
"Yeah," Adrien says. "She had a guy she liked, right?"
Nino’s shoulders slump. "Yeah," He says. "You."
Adrien's train of thought comes to a screeching halt. "What?" he says.
Nino reaches out and claps Adrien’s shoulder. “She had a crush on you, dude.”
Adrien blinks. “But, her new boyfriend... wasn’t he the guy?”
Nino snorts. “Nope,” he says. “It was you, bro. And you were the only one who never knew.”
Adrien feels like lightning has been rammed into his skull. As bad as Adrien... it couldn’t be, right?
There’s no way.
*
Class isn’t as difficult as he was expecting. It’s worse. Nino’s words aren’t much to go on—in fact, they’re nothing at all, but it’s the first clue he’s had. So his brain, scrambled from exhaustion and caffeine as it is, can’t stop flitting around Marinette.
First: Kwamibuster. He’d been certain she was Ladybug, all the evidence he’d needed had been there, they were so alike, so brilliant and energetic... and then he’d seen them right next to each other. Different people? Illusion? And then Marinette had suddenly picked up a boyfriend, one who nobody in the class had met, and Adrien had been... so disappointed, but he could never pinpoint why.
When was that, anyway?
Was it a month ago?
He can’t pay any attention to anything that’s happening in front of him—the only thing he can hear is Marinette, Marinette, Marinette. It can’t be her, right? But his brain won’t let it go.
”So, how was your anniversary date?” Alya says with what Adrien can only assume is a sly grin. He can see her exact expression, even though he’s trying desperately not to turn around. Not to let on that he’s listening.
Marinette makes a sound like she’s swallowed her tongue. “Uh! W-weird, actually.”
Alya hums. “Weird how?” He hears the flannel of her shirt slide against the desk as she leans toward Marinette. “How’d the ‘plan’ go?”
Marinette squeaks. Adrien squirms in his seat, staring at his hands, screaming in his head not to turn around. He’s ignoring the way Nino is staring at him, trying to hold still.
”Come on, girl, spill!” Alya whispers. “Did you kiss him?”
”Yep!” Marinette squeaks.
”Oh my god you’re so red!” Alya cackles. Then her voice drops to a hiss. “Tell me everything!”
Marinette swallows. “I mean... it was really weird?” she says. “He... didn’t know we were dating?”
Adrien’s blood rushes to his ears like a vise around his skull, crushing inward. Didn’t know we were dating. That’s—it’s impossible.
Alya snorts. “Girl, are you sure you’re not dating Adrien?”
Adrien doesn’t hear Marinette’s response. He doesn’t hear much of anything until lunchtime, really.
Marinette is Ladybug. He’s going to explode.
*
“Hi, Mari!” he says as soon as she closes her locker.
She shrieks, leaping backward, scattering her papers on the ground, and Adrien immediately feels a rush of guilt at surprising her—but cats are 60% bastard, and he can’t help taking a little joy in it.
Marinette heaves a breath, pressing her hand to her chest. “Adrien!” she gasps. “You’ve gotta stop doing that!”
Adrien feels a grin spread across his face. “Never,” he drawls, leaning a bit into her space. “You’re too much fun to scare.”
Marinette smirks, pressing a finger to his sternum. “Well maybe I’ll just start sneaking up on you.”
Adrien’s heart begins to beat hard in his chest at her touch, at her smile. Oh, it’s her, it’s her, it’s her. And she’s not scared of him anymore, and now he knows exactly why that is...
”Can—can I talk to you?” he gasps out. “In private?”
Marinette’s eyebrows tighten, concern in her eyes. “Everything okay?”
It strikes him through the ribs, the way she cares about him, the way she makes his problems hers, and he knows she deserves the universe. He’s loved her, both of her, since the day they met, and she’s loved both of him, and if she asked him to steal the sun for her he’d burn himself alive snatching it from the sky. “Everything’s fine!” he says, gripping her arm. “Everything’s... great, actually.” He flashes her a smile, his fan’s favorite smile, hoping to put her at ease.
Instead, she tenses. “That’s your fake smile,” she says, her eyes narrowing.
Adrien blinks. “You can tell?” he says.
Marinette’s eyes widen, and her face goes bright red. “I—uh—”
Adrien bites his lip. Right, she’s been in love with him forever—knowing how she is, how the hammer-force of her attention slams down on everything she cares about, she probably noticed everything about him. It’s a wonder she didn’t figure out his identity.
”It’s fine!” he says. “I was just—trying to put you at ease, you know?”
Marinette sets her jaw and nods, glancing around the locker room, cataloguing everyone in the room the way she does when she’s trying to work out a Lucky Charm. “Classroom’s empty?”
Adrien nods. “Classroom.”
*
Marinette sits down on his desk, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “What’s up?”
Adrien looks away, breathes in. “How’s things with your boyfriend?”
Marinette blinks. “Adrien?” she says. There’s a note of... something in her voice. Hope? Anger? Disappointment? Maybe all three. You’re paying attention to me now? it seems to say.
“Last night was your anniversary, right?” Adrien says, looking at her. The pigtails. The eyes, bluer than blue. The earrings he’s only ever seen her take off once—the day Lady Noire showed up instead of Ladybug. Everything about her is the same, even the fire in her eyes.
Marinette’s eyes narrow. “Adrien, if this is about—”
”To be fair, My Lady,” he interrupts, slashing a Chat smile across his face, “you never actually told me we were dating.”
Marinette’s face goes slack, her mouth open, her eyes wide. “I—what?” she whispers. “You... no. No way. You—you can’t...” She straightens, breathing in, gathering herself. “Kitty?” she whispers.
Adrien grins, pressing one arm to his waist and throwing the other out wide with a bow. “Always at your service,” he says.
Suddenly he’s halfway to the floor, falling backwards, Marinette’s tiny hands seizing bunches of his lapels, her lips strawberry-sweet on his. They slam against the ground, together, entwined, gasping, together. Peppering each other with kisses.
“Kitty—”
“My Lady—”
“Princess—”
”Adrien—”
”Marinette—”
”I love you,” he gasps, clutching her chest against his own, and she stiffens.
”I... have been waiting to—to hear you say that... for—for two years,” she stammers.
He presses a kiss to her temple. “I’ve been saying it in private every day,” he says. “And I will say it to you every day for as long as you want it.”
Plagg snorts. “I can confirm,” he says. “Every frickin’ day with this kid. Both identities, too!”
Marinette giggles. “You should hear some of the stuff I said about you,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “Or—maybe not, please don’t—”
Tikki giggles from inside her purse. “I’m telling him anyway!”
Marinette’s eyes shoot to her bag. “Betrayal!” she hisses.
Adrien giggles, and Marinette laughs too, and the two of them just dissolve into laughter. Then, suddenly, Marinette stops.
”Oh,” she says. “Oh, no.”
Adrien blinks. “My Lady?”
Marinette fixes her burning gaze on his eyes. “What are we going to tell Alya?”
#miraculous ladybug#my fic#fanfic#original content#adrien agreste#marinette dupain cheng#ladynoir#adrienette#adrinette#plagg#nino lahiffe#alya cesaire#fic#ml fic#ml fanfic#fluff#identity reveal
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Sharing is Caring
18+ ONLY - NSFW
Embo/F!Reader/Cad, minor Embo/Cad
Tags: PiV sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, choking, deep throating, Embo and Cad are sorta buddies, lots o' cum, overstimulation, shibari, slightly feral Bo
Here's the link to my masterpost
This one is for the group chat. Love you hoes
“I got company comin’ over, so ya better behave.” Cad drawled as he ran the rope he was rigging you up with along your waist. You met his gaze, your eyes shimmering nervously. You were too damn cute, he’d give you that.
“C-company?” You asked as he tied off the rope and took a step back to admire his handiwork.
“Don’ get all shy now. It’s just Bo.” He muttered as he turned to dig around in his dresser drawers for one of his numerous toys. He pulled out a wand vibrator, and turned it on with a smirk. He threaded the wand through the rope around your waist and angled it so it hit your clit just right. You gasped softly as he patted your cheek. “Keep quiet fer me, okay? I’d hate fer him to know dat yer in dis state.”
You nodded frantically as he slipped out the door. Your legs shook already. It was going to be a long night…
-
Cad poured Embo a drink from the bar, watching the other hunter with a keen eye. They were tentative allies, sure, but Cad would hardly say that he trusted the other hunter. Given the glances Embo shot him in return, the feeling was mutual. They had to be. One always had to be on their guard around other hunters. One could never guess where the others' loyalties lie.
Cad made his way toward Embo with drink in hand. Embo accepted it with a nod, not saying a word. Cad didn’t mind. Embo’s silence was one of the reasons he was tolerable compared to the others. Cad set his own drink down on the table and moved toward the panel on the wall, raising the oxygen levels so his company could drink without the risk of suffocation. Cad’s breathing tubes went to work filtering out the extra oxygen.
“Hear anythin’ interestin’ from de Guild?” Cad drawled as he eased down into his chair and gathered a pack of playing cards in his hand. Embo grunted as he set his mask aside and took a sip of his drink.
“There is a job coming up. They will not say who is hiring, but the payout is roughly five million.” Embo replied, and Cad whistled in response.
“Damn. Any interest?”
“Of course there is interest. But they need someone of a higher caliber than most within the Guild.”
“So who’s a serious candidate?” Cad asked as he dealt out a hand of cards. Embo grabbed his cards, and fanned them out in his hand.
“Bossk, Aurra…”
“You?”
Embo chuckled as he glanced down at his cards. “Yes.”
“Guild-specific hiring?” Cad asked after taking a large swig of his drink.
“Unfortunately.” Embo reached for his drink and took a sip. “But I could get you in on it. 65/35 split sound amenable?”
“Sixty-five percent in my favor?” Cad teased with a quirk of his browridge. Embo rolled his eyes.
“No, mine. I would be getting the job, after all.”
“Doesn’t seem like getting de job is worth dat much. 50/50 split.”
“60/40.”
“Are ya really tryin’ dis wit’ me?” Cad managed with a chuckle. He downed his drink and laid out a card. Embo glared down at the card, before looking at his own hand.
“You do it to me all the time. I think it is only fair to return the favor.”
“Oh fuck you.” Cad managed between snickers as Embo laid down a card of his own. Cad leaned back. “Now dat was a dumb play.”
“I still do not get this game.” Embo muttered as he finished his drink and set his cards down on the table face down. He gestured to the bar. “May I?”
“Go ahead. Bring de whole bottle while yer at it.” Embo nodded in understanding as he stood and approached the bar, before pausing halfway across the room. Cad frowned and leaned forward. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“It sounds as though someone is in pain.”
“Oh dat’s just my fuck toy.” Cad replied nonchalantly, and Embo blinked over at him.
“Should I… leave?”
“Nah. Just let ‘er be. I’ll take care o’ ‘er in a bit.” Cad leaned back and put down another card. Embo came over with the bottle of booze and set it down on the table, before looking at the card Cad put down.
“Why did you do that?”
“Wanted t’ give ya a chance.” Cad smirked as he flicked the cap off the bottle and took a swig, much to Embo’s dismay. Embo settled back in his chair, a look of discomfort on his face.
“You are not usually so generous.”
“What can I say? De prospect of two-and-a-half million makes me feel all warm an’ fuzzy.” Cad fiddled around in his pocket and produced a pack of cigs. He offered one to Embo, who took it and perched it between his lips. Cad leaned over to light it for him.
They thoughtfully smoked in silence, taking turns laying down cards until Cad inevitably won. Embo seemed distracted, though, and Cad wasn’t sure why until he heard you whining for him from the room nearby. Embo shifted in his chair, trying to ignore your calls, but Cad could see they were getting to him. His eyes brightened, his body went lax… he fidgeted with the cards as he tried to think of anything else. Cad was almost certain that he was hard.
Cad set down his cards and stood, slowly approaching Embo. Embo put out the cig on his hand and looked up at Cad.
“What?” His voice was husky despite himself. Cad chuckled as he gripped Embo’s chin between his fingers, and tilted his head back. He could feel Embo tense beneath him, unsure of Cad’s intentions.
“Do ya want ‘er?”
“I do not know what you are talking about.”
“Come now… ya can’t fool me. Yer eyes give ya away. Dey always do.” Cad chuckled as he released his grip on Embo’s chin; he instead patted Embo’s cheek. “Go on. Take ‘er.”
“I… do not understand.”
“Like I said, dat much money gets me feelin’ good. My only demand is dat ya aren’t doin’ dat gentle shit. Fuck her so hard she can’t walk. Got it?”
“And if she does not want that?”
“She will.”
-
The vibrator against your clit was pure torture at this point. A puddle of your fluids covered the floor beneath you. Your legs could hardly hold you up. You needed Cad to free you. He was so close by, you knew that he could hear you. You knew he could! You cried out his name once more as the door slid open and in walked… well… not Cad. Embo’s glowing eyes pierced through the darkness, and you shuddered, suddenly embarrassed by your nudeness and obvious arousal. Cad entered the room behind him, pushing Embo toward you.
“Cad, what are you-?” You asked as Cad came over to switch off the vibrator.
“I’m gonna let Bo take care of ya.” He hummed as he stroked your cheek. You leaned into his touch with a small sigh.
“If you do not want this, you are free to say so.” Embo muttered, and Cad chuckled, tangling a hand into the hair at the base of your skull.
“She’s a lil’ slut. She won’ say no.”
“You like to put words in her mouth.” Embo muttered as he crossed his arms over his chest. Cad went about untying you, before leaning in close and whispering in your ear.
“Go on, den. Speak t’ him. Settle his anxious lil’ mind.”
“I would like that.” You nodded, stretching your limbs as Cad untied them. Cad tossed the rigging rope aside, before sitting down in a nearby chair to watch.
You turned back toward Embo, who hadn’t moved from his position. He was waiting for you to make the first move. Ever the gentleman. You sauntered toward him, less gracefully than you were intending since your legs felt like jelly beneath you. He watched as you approached, unmoving.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be shy.”
“I am not ‘shy’.” He muttered as he glanced over at Cad. “He wishes for it to be rough. Speak now if you are not amenable to that.”
“Cad knows how I like things.” You fiddled with the latches of his armor, surprised at how easy they gave under your ministrations. The armor fell to the floor. You pulled him down so you could whisper in his ear. “You should really listen to him.”
“So he says.” Embo muttered as he swatted your hands away so he could remove the rest of his clothes. You would have assumed he was displeased with the situation given his tone and… well… general demeanor. But a deep, loud purr rumbled from within his chest, and you knew that he was thrilled. Cad leaned back, watching with keen eyes.
Bo hardly finished undressing before shoving you down onto your knees. Your gaze landed on his cock and you swallowed hard; it was larger than you were expecting. You looked up at him, and then down at his erect cock.
“I don’t know if I can-.”
He brought his cock to your lips and you opened wide anyways. He tangled a hand in your hair and guided your mouth down his length - well, as far as you could without completely choking on him. He held you there, at your limit, watching as your face got red and tears welled in your eyes, before easing you off. You only got a moment of relief before he guided you back over his length, this time much faster. You gagged around him. He pulled away. He shoved you back onto his cock, much more forcefully. Tears streamed down your cheeks. When he pulled away, you let out a deranged little laugh.
“Come on, I’ve fucked ‘er harder den dat!” Cad called and Embo growled in response.
“Shut up.” He released his grip on your hair and instead started thrusting into your mouth, driving hard and deep. The slick sounds mixed with your gagging filled the room, and you cast a sideways glance toward Cad and he leaned back, legs spread open like the whore he was. A hand rested on his thigh, easing toward the obvious bulge in his pants.
Embo wrenched his cock out of your mouth and bent over to pick you up straight off the ground. He tossed you face-first onto the bed, and was quick to box you in against it. He leaned down, pressing his cheek to yours.
“I am going to fuck you now.”
“Please do.” You lifted your ass to press against his cock. He growled lowly in your ear as he rutted his cock along your rear.
“Good. Good girl.”
He lifted his weight off of you and pulled open your legs, before drawing the head of his cock along your swollen cunt. You mewled and whined, rocking your hips in an effort to push him further into you. You got your wish, much faster and harder than you were expecting. The air was wrenched from your lungs as you fell face-first against the comforter on the bed. He submerged himself to the hilt, and your toes curled at the sensation of him filling you up. You moaned his name, and turned your head to glance at Cad.
Cad offered you a wink as he palmed his bulge through his pants. Cad’s face was tinged with green, and his eyes were hazy with lust. You knew that he’d want to get involved somehow. You wondered if Embo would let him. The last thing you wanted was for them to get in a fight over you… though that would be pretty hot…
A hand went to your throat and the other went to your lower stomach as he fucked into you, fast and hard, like a frenzied animal driven to breed. He muttered something in his mother tongue, something so heavy with lust that you can’t translate it. The hand on your throat tightened. Your head lolled forward into the comforter. He lifted you, holding you in the air as he drove into you. You moaned, your legs shaking around him.
You managed to turn your head to watch Cad shedding his clothes and approaching. He put a hand to Bo’s back, and Bo’s head shot toward him, a feral look in his eyes.
“Easy dere.”
Bo replied in his native tongue, and Cad’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’ sass me. If ya remember, she’s my lil’ fuck toy.”
Again, Bo replied in his native language. His grip on your throat tightened until you stars filled your vision and you were gasping for air. Warmth pooled in your belly, threatening to spill over. Cad muttered a response in Durese, which eased Bo’s grip on your throat. You took a deep breath as he picked up his pace, fucking harder, faster. You hadn’t known that it was possible for a person to thrust that fast. Your whine pitched up.
Cad’s hand slipped underneath you, rubbing the area around your clit. It was swollen and hot, and your whine pitched up even higher as he chuckled.
“What a filthy lil’ slut, takin’ another man like dis.” The pad of his finger ghosted over your clit and your entire body seized, on the precipice of orgasm. “Won’tcha cum, lil lady? Hm?”
His finger brushed over your clit again and you were done in. You screamed out his name as your body went stiff and you squirted all over Bo. Fireworks sparked in every nerve, drawing euphoria to wash over you.
Bo pulled out of you, panting but not yet sated. You listened to his breathing as you came to, your gaze immediately drawn to him. Cad had a hand wrapped around Bo’s cock, and was stroking it lazily. Bo’s eyes were half-lidded at the touch, and he reached out to wrap a hand around Cad’s neck, though Cad was not about to let that happen.
“Don’tchu think about dat.” Cad growled, and in a flash Bo had somehow managed to lift Cad and toss him down onto the bed. He straddled Cad’s waist and pressed his hands down on Cad’s chest, not initiating anything sexual but letting the Duros know that he was trapped. Cad’s eyes were wide and his mouth was agape as Bo leaned down.
“You do not command me.”
Cad stared up at him a moment longer, before gathering his wits about himself and pushing at Embo with a growl. “Get off o’ me, ya lug!”
Embo obliged, moving off of him and setting his gaze toward you once more. You shivered and reached for him, begging for more.
“Hey, yer takin’ my cock now. He can watch.” Cad muttered as he moved between you and Bo, driving into you without another word. Bo’s eyes flashed and you knew he was displeased by this. Something about Cad pushing him to be rough had activated this feral aspect of him you had never seen before. He growled in his native tongue and Cad growled in response. “She’s mine, remember?! Now stop actin’ like some beast and let me fuck ‘er, ‘kay?”
“Don’t be rude, Cad.” You muttered as you reached for Embo, wrapping your hand around his cock and giving it a few strokes. Cad rolled his eyes but didn’t fight you as he thrust into you, not nearly as fast but just as hard as Bo had. At the same time, you pumped Bo’s cock, feeling it quiver within your hand. Embo wrapped a hand around your wrist, and helped guide you. He was rambling on in his native language, and you weren’t sure if he knew that you couldn’t understand him. You just nodded along as Cad growled and rolled his eyes again.
“Won’tcha shut up? Stars, I give ya booze and let ya fuck my girl and suddenly ya have so much t’ say ‘bout everything.”
“Make me.” Was all Embo said in response. Cad’s eyes narrowed as he continued to fuck you, grinding his hips against yours.
“I’ll bite chu.”
“Oh, so frightening.”
You managed a chuckle between your moans, and you leaned forward to lap at the head of Embo’s slick-covered cock. You delighted in the taste of yourself as you wrapped your lips around his cock. This drew him from his squabbling with Cad, which then allowed Cad to focus on fucking you. The room went quiet, save for the pants and moans of the two men. Perfect.
Cad drew his devilish finger around your clit, and you whimpered, the noises reverberating into Bo’s cock. He moaned softly at this. His eyes slid shut as he gingerly rocked his hips. You could tell by the quivering of his cock that he was close.
Cad pinched your clit, drawing an even louder whimper for you as the heat pooled in your belly once more. Bo hissed and eased out of your mouth, stroking himself as he neared orgasm. With a small gasp, he came all over your face and neck. You moaned in response, and Cad moaned as well.
“Yer so hot all covered in cum…” He muttered as his own pace grew erratic. He rubbed at your clit as he ground his hips against yours, and you orgasmed once more. Ecstasy coursed through your body as you twitched, dousing Cad with your fluids. He pulled out and orgasmed onto your stomach as you slowly came to. He panted, and moved to the side to allow you to sit up.
It was silent for a while, before Cad turned toward Bo.
“I’m gonna bite chu now.”
“I will bite you right back.” As if trying to prove it, Embo reached up to touch his mask.
“Wouldn’t be de first time.”
“And likely not the last…”
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A Pair of Lips I Can Kiss - 1/? | westallen fanfiction
A/N: I know...I know...another new fic. And a multi-chap at that. But writer’s block is slowly killing me, so whatever I’m inspired for I’m pretty much writing at this point. Hopefully it won’t last. Enjoy this chap!
...
Synopsis: 2x13 - Canon Divergent - Barry’s trip to Earth 2 goes somewhat differently after Iris surprises him the night before he leaves.
...
Chapter 1 -
At the West house that evening, Iris sat in silence after dinner as she listened to Barry talk. She wasn’t smiling and neither was her dad. It wasn’t a topic either of them would’ve ever thought would pass Barry’s lips, and it was making Iris more nervous and depressed by the second. She couldn’t speak for her dad, but she was pretty sure he would make his feelings known eventually.
Why did Barry need to go to Earth 2? She thought. What could he do there that he couldn’t also accomplish here?
“Did you tell Henry?” Joe asked.
An excellent point.
Barry shared a meaningful look with Iris. She made no point of hiding exactly how she felt regarding the trip. He quickly looked away.
“No,” he admitted. “If he knew, he would just try to talk me out of it, and…he probably would, so.”
Well, if Henry can, maybe so can I, Iris thought.
“Dad.” She turned to Joe. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Yeah,” he said, probably as eager as she was to take the reins on this one. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
Barry, however, hardly waited until Joe had left the room before cutting off the beginning of Iris’ interrogation.
“Look, Iris, I know that this is…” he trailed off. “Nuts is the only word I can think of right now.”
She nodded, barely suppressing rolling her eyes.
“But it’s not like I’ve never done anything dangerous before.”
She mulled over her own thoughts and tried to take a breather.
“Look, I get why you are doing this,” she said. “Innocent people are in danger. That’s always been the direction that you’ve run in, even…even when you ran a little bit slower.”
That brought a soft laugh from him and a gentle smile from her. It didn’t last.
“I just…I want to make sure that you’re not doing this because you think you don’t have anything left here anymore.”
That wasn’t the whole truth, but it was all she was willing to reveal at this particular moment.
His face shifted in realization.
“This isn’t about Patty.”
She gave him a look.
“It’s not.”
She didn’t believe him.
“I mean, yeah, of course, I miss her. A lot. But…I know what I have here. I love my life. I love my job, being the Flash.”
A soft laugh fell out of her this time, her eyes twinkling up at him and that gorgeous, cocky grin of his. Did he notice how much she loved it?
“I love you and Joe.”
She nodded, only slightly put off that he’d put her and her dad in the same sentence when she wanted it to be just her. Was that selfish? Why would she want that? Of course she wanted him to love her dad too.
She just wanted to be loved…differently.
“I’m not trying to escape, I promise.”
Smiling now from the reassurance in that confident Flash voice of his, she decided that maybe her worries had been for nothing.
“Go win, Barry, and then come home.”
“Alright.”
But just in case her worries were justified, even in the slightest way, and wanting to make sure he really would want to come home to her – to everything he’d just said – she decided to take the plunge. She’d been in denial for months and she knew it. Patty may not have died, but Iris was starting to feel as if Barry’s nostalgia for her was similar to how she felt about Eddie now. Missing him but no longer overwhelmed by grief and despair and guilt.
And wanting…well, what was right in front of her and had been for almost her entire life.
She stood up and rounded the table until she was standing right beside Barry still sitting in his seat. She didn’t know what could possibly be going through his head. Maybe that she’d come to hug him? Or to tell her dad that he could re-enter their eating space? But he certainly didn’t expect her to – after sharing a brief smile with him – lean down, hold his chin between two of her fingers and plant a kiss on his lips.
But that was exactly what she did.
It was soft and warm, more than a peck but nothing passionate. She was still testing the waters after all, seeing if he still felt the same.
When she pulled back and released her grip on him, she found him staring at her in shock. He didn’t say anything, and she worried that her assumptions about his feelings for her having not changed despite being with Patty for a few months were completely off. Still, she didn’t regret it. It was one kiss. It wouldn’t ruin their entire friendship.
“Something for you to think about when you’re on Earth 2,” she said, then straightened and turned around, heading – probably – to the kitchen to get her dad.
Barry shook his head.
“Uh-uh.”
Incredulous, he practically jumped to his feet, then grabbed her hand, spinning her around until she was flush up against him. One hand on her waist, the other cupping her cheek, he met her eyes for the briefest of seconds before lowering his lips to hers for another kiss. This one was passionate.
“Bar-Barry,” she sputtered, pulling back before he stole all her breath.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“Now,” he said, not bothering to apologize for taking her off guard. He could get used to her being breathless beneath him. She had, after all, reciprocated his kiss, just as he had hers. “Why did you kiss me?”
Iris was finding it hard to think now.
“Is it safe to come out?” Joe called from the kitchen.
Iris panicked, her eyes flashing open. She met Barry’s the second his hand covered her lips.
“Don’t you dare answer him before you answer me,” he whispered.
“I…”
“Iris?” Joe called.
“Just another minute, Joe,” Barry calmly called out, and Joe nodded inside the kitchen.
“Okay, no worries. I’ll just be in here drinking the whole pot of coffee.”
Barry and Iris quietly laughed at his antics. Iris relaxed in his arms until his fingers grazed her neck and a delicious chill sent a shiver running up and down her back.
“I’ve bought you 60 seconds, Iris,” Barry said quietly. “Less than, now.”
“I…I don’t…I mean…” She licked her lips. “I don’t know exactly. It’s just how I feel when I’m around you, and what I want, and I wanted you to know that before you maybe run into my doppelgänger over there and find her less complicated than I am.”
Barry’s eyes went wide.
“I’m coming out,” Joe announced.
Barry was too frozen in shock to say anything to the contrary, and Iris was embarrassed. She slipped out of his embrace and went back to sit down.
“Bring that coffee with you, Dad. I think I’d like a cup, if you haven’t finished it all already.”
Reluctantly, Barry returned to his seat.
“Now what kind of man do you think I am, Iris?”
She gave a pointed look to the half-gone pot of coffee he brought to the table.
“You’re going to be awake tonight.”
Barry chuckled, despite himself, and Iris shared a quick smiling glance with him before focusing entirely back on her father and the three of them for the rest of the evening. Not so much as acknowledging the kiss or the sort-of confession that had come after it before leaving to go home.
“Iris kissed me,” Barry said later that evening.
“What?” Joe burst.
Barry turned around when he realized he was not alone.
“Oh. You heard that.”
“Yeah, I heard it.” Joe sighed before sitting down on the sofa next to him. “I suppose I can’t stop you two. Assuming you kissed her back, of course.”
Barry’s eyes were wide as he nodded.
“Obviously. Of course.”
“Well, did she say anything afterwards? Or before? Is this why- oh, God. Is this why I was stuck in the kitchen for longer than necessary?”
Barry didn’t respond.
“Barry.”
He blinked out of his trance and looked at Joe.
“Huh?”
Joe sighed.
“So, are you staying or going?”
His brows furrowed.
“Hmm?”
“Did the kiss change anything?”
“No,” Barry said, and Joe frowned. “Not about me going to Earth 2. That’s set in stone. Iris and I talked it out before we-”
“Made out?” Joe muttered into his umpteenth coffee cup.
Barry tensed. “We didn’t…make out…necessarily.”
Though it certainly had felt like they had the second time around.
“Right.”
“I’m not going to let it drop, Joe. When I get back we’re talking things out. If she’s recovered enough from Eddie’s death to kiss me, then she can talk about her feelings for me again too.”
Joe smiled to himself.
“Good.”
Barry said nothing, but throughout the rest of the evening, Iris never left his thoughts. She’d be in his thoughts every moment he was on Earth 2, waiting to come home to her. He was ready to start his life again.
...
*will post on AO3 and FFnet when beta’d.
#westallen#fanfiction#westallen fanfiction#backtothestart02 fanfiction#a pair of lips i can kiss#chapter 1
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The Senator From North Carolina
Featuring the senior U.S. Senator from North Carolina, Richard Burr
Hello, my name is James. I'm a 20 year old page working at the senate in Washington DC. I was on my way to deliver some papers to Sen. Richard Burr to sign. The senior United States Senator from North Carolina, serving since 2005. I had always thought Sen. Burr was highly fuckable, but I couldn’t stand the fact that he has a long tradition of wearing shoes with no socks. No matter if it is summer or winter. Which I hate. If you are going to wear nice shoes, at least wear socks to accentuate the look. Other than that, he’s very doable.
When I arrived at his office, I tried to open it but it was locked. I peered in and saw him at the front desk which was odd. Where was his receptionist? He noticed me and came to let me in. I asked where his receptionist was and Sen. Burr said that she went home early due to a migraine. He locked the door behind and ushered me into his office. His eyes quickly did a once over on me and I thought bingo. I do believe the good senator here might have a thing for little ol' me.
I studied Sen. Burr when he sat down and went over the papers I gave him. Your typical older white male in his 60s, handsome, in good shape with greying hair. Not too bad, he had a cute quality to him. I decided that I might just have some fun with him. I always had a thing for older guys. A feral smile arose internally. My cock hardened at the thought of him and I having sex on his desk. I stood with my cock semi hard and made sure he saw it as his eyes locked onto the slight bulge of my pants.
I walked over to a wall with his accolades. He turned slightly in his chair and I saw his bulge. I had him right where I wanted him. He sat there, not knowing what to do next. I guess it was up to me to do most of the heavy lifting in this "deal." I picked up a picture that displayed a younger version of him and who I assumed was his wife. She seemed like a hard-nosed bitch.
"Is this your wife Sen. Burr," I asked. He stood up to look at what I was speaking of. He answered, "Yes, we've been married for 37 years."
"She seems a bit... intense, no?" I asked. He chuckled and agreed. I placed the picture back and gently asked, "Does she take good care of you, Sen. Burr?"
He froze, so I took a small step towards him. He didn't budge, but his lower lip seemed to quiver a bit. As if words were trying to be formed, but my now sexual presence was suffocating them. I took another step forward and fixed the collar of his shirt. I looked into his eyes and whispered, "Sen. Burr, does she suck your cock every night and morning? Does she make you feel good?"
I slowly shook his head no. I smiled meekly, putting my hand on his chest, pushing him back into his chair and kneeled in front of him. I licked my lips and said, "Sen. Burr, do you want me to suck your cock?"
With his lips still quivering, he nodded yes as I slid my hands up and down his legs. I put on my most sincere face and thanked him while my hands slid up his body and down his legs again. On the next pass I unbuckled his belt so I could undo his pants. I slid them down and was rewarded with a pretty decent cock. It was about 6 inches, thick, veiny and most importantly, hard. I licked from the bottom of his shaft to the tip as he shuddered in pleasure. I took in his musky smell and it felt so erotic.
Sen. Burr gripped the arms of his leather chair as I slid my tongue up his cock. I slipped my lips over his manhood and went to work. I could feel the veins on his cock as my lips glided up and down. His salty precum hit my tongue and I looked up at him. His glazed over eyes told me everything I needed to know. I had him right where I wanted him. I'll be fucking him for a while.
Sen. Burr gripped the arms of his leather chair as I slid my tongue up his cock. I slipped my lips over his manhood and went to work. I could feel the veins on his cock as my lips glided up and down. His salty precum hit my tongue and I looked up at him. His glazed over eyes told me everything I needed to know. I had him right where I wanted him. I'll be fucking him for a while.
I let his cock hit the back of my throat a couple times to make that sound porn stars make in the videos. He built enough courage to lay a hand on my shoulder and then on my head. My hands slipped under his ass so I could take him deeper. I was feeling real slutty. A moan escaped his mouth and I took that opportunity to ask, "Does your wife ever suck you like that?"
He shook his head no as I slapped his cock against my lips and then my tongue. I continued my oral assault on him as I bobbed down again to get some of his precum in my mouth. As Sen. Burr continued to squirm in his chair. I knew I was well on my way to completely subjugating the senator. It wouldn't be long before he was my sex slave. I released his cock from my mouth with a gasp and I jerked him off so I could catch my breath.
"Do you like having your cock in my mouth," I asked. He nodded as he breathed heavily. I continued, "Mmmm your cock tastes so good. Your wife ever let you fuck her in the ass?"
He said she hadn’t and I said she was missing out then as I kissed the pink velvety head and pressed my tongue in the opening of it. He let out a groan of pleasure. Now is the time to completely win the senator.
"Do you want more than my pretty mouth on your cock," I asked as I licked and kissed his balls before getting up, climbing onto the old man’s desk without waiting for him to agree. I guess the sight of my ass overcame him not being with a man because Sen. Burr followed me onto his desk.
I tensely watched Sen. Burr spit in his hand to lubricate his cock as the expectation of getting fucked by this senator excited me. I had always wanted to be fucked by a senator. Now was the time. Then with a wicked smile on his face, the old man shoved the head of his cock completely into me as I spread my legs to accept the hard dick. I groaned half in pain half in pleasure as he pierced me with his cock.
"Fuck me senator. Fuck me." I said as he started to fuck me.
Pressing into me till his hips were against my ass holding it for a moment then pulling out and driving back in. He was panting and looking at me with a hungry desire, like I was a meal and he was starving. He pumped that hard dick into me faster making a slapping sound as his hips met my ass.
"Damn Richard, that's good. AHHH keep it up. I never felt anything so good. Keep going. Keep going." I said to feed the senator's ego. I wanted the senator to think he was really good although he was indeed better than most of the men I've fucked.
I rolled my head and shoulders up so I could see his cock sliding in and out of me. The feeling was awesome. Being used by this senator that was fucking me with so much energy and desire and need. He didn't say a word he just pounded my ass hole with his cock. My eyes kept rolling back into my head with pleasure and I had to force my self to focus to watch him fucking me.
"Shit that's good. AHH. Damn. Keep it up. Keep it up. Fuck me. Fuck me!" I said, trying my best to pump up the senator's ego even though I was really enjoying the fucking that Sen. Burr was giving me.
I was doing what little I could to fuck back from my position. Then unexpectedly, the old man leaned forward and kissed me deep. Our tongues caressed each other! For someone that didn’t like men, his kiss was passionate. I arched my back as I was forced to take more cock deeper into my ass than ever before.
Sen. Burr's cock swelled slightly and his rhythm became erratic while my dick was vibrating with excitement and my balls were tight to my body waiting to cum. He fucked me with that cock pounding my sore ass hole for another ten minutes. He thrusted his hip as he could no longer hold it in anymore and He came with a groan as he continued stroking in me slowly and little shakingly. I had came on my own stomach, but hadn't noticed while watching him cum in me.
"Damn, that was better than any pussy I have ever fucked." He said panting as if he'd just ran a marathon.
I wondered if he even still had sex with his wife. Oh well, it didn't matter. It would be much better if they didn't. I've found that men will do almost anything for sex. Especially really good sex. With that, I got dressed and I left smiling. Another satisfied customer.
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I’m so over Lloyd. Also, there is no universe where she should be competing for a spot with Lynn: I’m sorry but on an 18 person roster having two players that can only play CF makes absolutely zero sense. Carli is competing with Alex, and there are so many factors in Alex’s favor: she was better during SBC, she is way way younger and will almost certainly still be in the picture in 2023, and also she truly is the US Soccer poster girl. Girl has been promoting Olympics related stuff for like 6 months. The only way Carli is going to get the spot over Alex is if she shows that she is that much better than her which...she hasn’t so far.
I know people don’t like Lynn but without her the US is gonna be pretty fucked on the wings, with Pinoe being able to play for like 60 minutes max (rn i think even that’s generous but fingers crossed she gets into better shape before Tokyo), and Tobin a question mark coming back from injury, Press is possibly the only 90 minute winger on the roster if Lynn is not there, and that’s assuming Stoney is telling the truth and Press really does just have a knock.
Genuinely I think her only way of making the roster is if Vlatko brings 6 forwards, which I think is unlikely. Esp with Kelley’s injury concerns, bringing one defender backup seems really, really risky, and you can’t have just one midfielder backup either really with Rose not consistently fit...
The math just doesn’t work. Obvi I don’t know anything but if things were done the way that really makes the most sense, Carli would be an alternate, which we all know she would never accept, and she is being stupid if she doesn’t see that the odds aren’t in her favor. Unless she has some sort of reassurance from Vlatko and USSF that says otherwise ig
Yeah you’re not wrong. Carli just isn’t versatile either, in an emergency you can have her play #10 but it’s not like with Horan, Sam, Rose, Tobin and Pinoe we are lacking #10′s. Lynn can play both wings if needed and #9, i’m the first to say i don’t think she has the level i think should be required, but Carli doesn’t either.
Chris can slot into #9, so can Horan and Lynn if Alex needs to be subbed. It’s not a problem to have only one pure CF with Alex, it is a massive problem if you only bring 5 defenders with O’hara and Becky (who also is getting more injured recently) on the roster you need two back ups and obviously a good alternate.
Lynn is a completely different forward than Lloyd, i’m not going to deny that a Lloyd on form has her uses, but if you compare her to Lynn the only thing she really does better is hold on to the ball. If you need that done you can use Tobin or Sam or Horan, Lloyd is not the only player that can bring that to the team. Also with Lloyd your passing will be better, but who cares both are going to be subs at most.
In a perfect world Sophia and/or Cat would now be 24 with like 40 caps behind them, if that was the case Lloyd would have been spoken about in past tense by now.
I would take the 4 we know + Lynn and make Sophia or Cat (depending on who does better in camp) alternate. Have them experience the Olympics, which is a great build up for 2023. Lloyd isn’t needed.
#ask#uswnt#carli lloyd#alex morgan#lynn williams#let's be honest here if Carli was certain of her place she wouldn't be reacting this way#this is an athlete that knows she is done and can't handle it
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I had a REALLY intense beatles phase in my late teens and i had the hots for paul mccartney and one time i found this story where this woman said she met paul at a party in 65 and he took her home and they talked until the sun came up and then he got a call telling him to come to the studio and he started to say he had to leave and she was like "not before you fuck me" and he laughed and then he DID and he left her alone in his house after and she stole his underwear (1/2)
(which she kept for decades until her husband threw them into their muddy front yard one day in a fit of jealousy) and a teapot and it always made me absolutely FERAL with jealous horny rage and like?? just this incredulous feeling of How On Earth Did That Really Happen and anyway bill hader’s dumpster mattress one night stand story is my new version of that (2/2)
The fucking journey this just took me on, holy shit. Did she at least get to keep the teapot?
I love that you had an intense teenage horny phase for a Beatle, I had one for Bob Dylan and I remember watching one of his electric era tour documentaries and being HORRIBLY jealous of the 60s girls hanging around outside his hotel... anyway that’s besides the point
I UNDERSTAND!!!!! THE MATTRESS STORY HAUNTS ME.... Bhader knows what he’s doing, he can try to couch it in as much self-deprecating oh-I’m-just-an-awkward-nerd fronting as he likes but he KNOWS what he’s doing and that woman knew it too. You ever notice how it’s the most competent ones who don’t feel the need to loudly prove themselves by being anything other than humble?? What did he SAY in that club! “It was going well,” he says, what does that MEAN, BILL, what did he fuckjfdkjcnnfkcning do that convinced this woman to leave the club, go to her place, lift a bed onto a car, go to HIS place and move furniture when she was literally moving to a new city the next day all so sHE COULD FUCK HIMMMM HOW IS HIS GAME THAT GOOD I FEEL LIKE A CHARACTER IN AN EDGAR ALLEN POE STORY BEING SLOWLY DRIVEN MAD BY THIS UNANSWERED MYSTERY
Ok sorry, I’m back. This is making me want to read a fic where (before they get together) Eddie watches an old interview of Richie telling the mattress story and he’s a seething ball of jealousy too. Then Richie comes out, he and Eddie sort their shit and get together, and one day Eddie laughingly comments that he had no reason to be jealous after all since Richie was obviously making the story up.
Richie looks at him weirdly. “I didn’t make up—that story did actually happen, Eds, I only changed it so people thought I went home with a chick.”
They are lying in bed. Eddie’s eye starts twitching. “Pardon?”
“Yeah?” Richie stretches, draping his right arm over his own head to scratch his left ear. Eddie will not be distracted by his chest right now, what the fuck. Richie squints at the ceiling. “I think his name was... Marco, or something. At least, that’s the name he gave to quote unquote Chris.”
“Marco, okay. Huh.”
“I wanted to be Lance or something cool, but my friend said I inhabited Chris better, I dunno. I didn’t even tell him why I needed a fake name, he was just like, big into method.”
“Yeah, mhmm.” Eddie sits up, nodding. He can’t stop nodding. His head feels like a champagne cork fizzing at the top of his spine. “So you, you uh—you were such a fucking player in your plaid and your baggy jeans that, that, that were the only things you even owned back then, Rich—don’t try to deny, it I’ve seen the pictures—that you convinced some guy who was moving town the next fucking day—”
Richie’s eyebrows shoot upwards. It makes his eyes look rounder, more delighted. “Convinced? Eddie—”
Eddie can’t stop, twisting the sheets in his hands til his knuckles go white. “Yes, convinced, you convinced him to go pick up some dirty mattress right off the street with a complete stranger even though you always make such a big deal about how awkward and nervous and repressed you were, you still, you still—”
“I was probably on molly or something at the time, man.” Richie’s beaming up at him. He pokes Eddie in the arm. Eddie feels how tense the muscle is, and fights to relax. “I’m kidding, at worst it was just a little tipsy driving. A little Wacky Races. Just call me Dick Bastardly.” Richie grins at his own dumbass joke, poking Eddie some more. “And it wasn’t just the mattress by the way, it was the whole bed. That’s a key detail. Headboard and everything.”
“The headboard?!” Eddie tries not to yell, but it comes out louder than he means to anyway. More of a shriek, embarrassingly. He lurches around in place to glare at their own flat bar of wood behind them. He holds onto that thing! It supports him, even when Richie’s fucking him into the wall!
Betrayal is neverending today, apparently. Eddie turns his glare onto Richie, who is laughing. “Stop laughing!”
“Your face,” Richie gasps. He covers his own face, then changes tack and yanks Eddie down over him to cackle into his flaming-hot throat. “What’s the problem! You’re acting like this is the same fucking bed, oh my god, you think I haven’t at least changed my mattress since I lived like a—like a Beavis and Butthead parody in Westwood, fifteen years ago?”
Eddie squirms miserably. Not even Richie’s broad nakedness against his can salvage this, he’s well and truly destroyed their sweet afterglow with his stupid overreaction. Feels like being fifteen again, ruining clubhouse hangouts with his snappy sulking as soon as Richie mentioned some girl at school. “No! No, obviously fucking not, just. I dunno.”
He doesn’t really deserve the gentle tease in Richie’s voice. “What don’t you know?”
“I don’t know!”
And that’s the part he hates most.
“Okay, okay. I think I do. Jesus, you’re actually jealous,” Richie breathes. He bites his lip, the way he does when he’s so happy about something he’s making a real effort not to talk over it. He’s still a little sweaty and pink from their Friday night activities, bedraggled hair and no glasses. The expression always scrunches his left eye into a full squint, something Eddie finds so helplessly appealing he can’t imagine what it’s like to watch that interview and not feel jealous.
Eddie grunts, shrugs as best he can under Richie’s heavy hug. Fucking Marco.
Richie’s hand is firm on the back of his neck. There’s pressure from his thumb at one point of Eddie’s jaw, the soft part between ear and bone that has him gulping open for Richie’s low murmur, “Eddie baby, don’t be jealous.” Their mouths meet and Eddie sighs into the slick warmth of it, feeling grateful and abashed and idiotic all at once.
They separate with a little snick of spit. Richie lids his eyes open just a touch, looking drowsy with affection. Eddie lowers his forehead to Richie’s shoulder and speaks to his collarbone. “I just—I hate it when you act like people are just doing you a favor for, for liking your shit or fucking going home with you when clearly it was—you’re fucking hot, Rich, and, and sexy when you’re not trying to be, and you were hot back then too, but you still act like it was a miracle anyone wanted to even touch you when I—I always would’ve picked the stupid dirty bed up off the street too. For you. And I wouldn’t’ve moved town the day after. So.”
Richie doesn’t speak for a moment. There is a cloud above their shared, clean bed, implicit with shared memory of all the times they dirtied each other’s sheets with grass stains and grubby feet, chip crumbs and even tears, just once, just before Eddie really did move town and forgot all the things he cared about so much more than he ever cared about getting sick.
He would never leave again though, is his point. Richie always seems to know what he means before Eddie does. He tries to think it loud enough, brings his hand up blindly to Richie’s face and strokes back his hair, not because Richie is a mind reader, but because he knows what it means that Eddie has never wanted to touch someone else like this.
Eddie’s spine then, curving under Richie’s knuckles like brushing a shiver along a set of wind chimes. His hand lands on Eddie’s tailbone, an X marks the spot that still throbs with loosened heat and pleasure from his orgasm. Lying on your front is bad for your posture.
I’m not lying on my front, Eddie thinks, with a little of the vicious defiance he doles out to that cloying voice sometimes, the one that tries to ruin quiet moments with its fretting. I’m lying on Richie’s. He’s good for my posture. He’s gonna snap my spine back into place and this time I’ll let him touch me.
Richie presses their temples together, small-voiced. “I guess... I find most of the flattery shit hard to believe. I didn’t like myself or the stuff I was making, so I’d automatically assume they were lying, y’know? If I agree it implies I believe them, which makes me feel like some giant, arrogant dick—don’t say it.” He pats Eddie on the ass. “But, on the other hand, if I think I’m somehow important enough for people to lie to, that’s kind of an arrogant dick move too.”
Eddie pushes up to eyeball him. “Even with sex? That’s so fucking dumb.”
This second ass-pat is harder, more of a stinging smack. Richie’s guarded look coils into a grin again at Eddie’s bared-teeth hiss. “I never said it wasn’t.”
“Well, I mean, what do you think it meant that fucking Marco—” Richie snorts at the projectile venom burning acidic holes through Eddie’s voice, “—was clearly willing to catch fleas or goddamn tetanus just to fuck you? What about me? You think I’m pretending it’s good just to encourage your weird, unnecessary inferiority thing? ”
“No, you’re right,” Richie laughs. His snorts have bubbled into full-blown giggles now as he squints down at the mess between their stomachs. “That’s pretty hard evidence you’re providing there, Eds.”
Getting harder too, rubbed up against the soft crease of Richie’s hip. Eddie can feel the lingering red throb of heat on his ass, like closing his eyes and still catching the gold-coin flash of the sun branded on the inside of his eyelids. Richie digs his blunt nails into the stung tenderness of his skin and gently pulls Eddie’s asscheeks open. He feels Richie’s quickened breathing against his wet mouth, and wonders how to ask for another spank in a way that isn’t gonna make him want to enter witness protection afterwards.
“I can’t believe you were jealous, you’re the last guy in the world who needs to be jealous,” Richie moans. Eddie feels the vibration of it on his tongue, now sucking on the knot of Richie’s adam’s apple. “Wait, can you really get tetanus from abandoned street beds?”
“Ugh!” Eddie bites him there and pulls off slowly, sucking so the stubbled skin of Richie’s strong throat is released from his mouth’s suction with a wet pop. Richie’s hips flex against him. “I almost wish this was the same fucking bed just so I had something to throw out into the yard!”
“O-ooh, how telenovela of you, I like it.”
Oh Christ, Eddie has to put some kinda stop to this before Richie starts speaking Spanish. He needs to last. He needs to beat Marco. “I’ll throw you out with it,” he says, too breathy and honest for anywhere else but here. “Trashmouth. Sweetheart.”
Richie’s face is flushed, eyes dark and desperate. He grips at Eddie’s ribs so hard Eddie feels them bending. “Dumpster diver.”
Eddie rolls his hips down, plants his palms on either side of Richie, shoves them under the pillows. He braces his elbows hard into Richie’s shoulders and grinds their sweaty foreheads together, but whatever aggression there is within him is softened by his catapulting heartbeat, harmonising with his own laughter. With Richie’s, always.
“Nah, ‘fraid the only thing left to remember that half-night stand with Marco is, well.” Richie looks down between them again, eyes almost crossed. “It’s me. My dick, more specifically.”
Eddie can feel as much. Another wave of possessiveness froths through him, crackling in the pockets of his joints, feels like cartoon steam whistling out his ears. “It better not be half-standing because it remembers anything about fucking Marco,” he snarls.
Richie raises his hands in a down boy gesture. It shifts his arms and shoulders in the way that sometimes makes Eddie wish he were a door, just so Richie could ram him open, and so he pins Richie’s wrists to the bed instead.
“Please don’t throw my dick out into the yard, babe,” Richie says.
“Gonna give you something to remember this fucking bed by,” Eddie says, and slides down Richie’s body to do just that.
#ficlet#hhfhchfjjf SORRY#this is why it takes me so long to answer asks 😭#im like 🤔 i’d love to see a fic about x 🤔🤔🤔 and then there’s a harp timeskip sound effect and i wake up to stuff like this
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For the drabble prompts, what about single father Francis taking Matthew and/or Alfred to the doctor’s, where he meets Dr Kirkland for the first time? Bonus if the twins try to set them up, but don’t worry if you think it’ll be too long for a drabble. 💕
I did make it way too long, but once I got into it, I couldn’t stop myself. 😅💖 Sorry in advance. I hope you enjoy it! Also, I want to make a disclaimer that I do not think parents shouldn become infatuated with their kid’s doctor irl, nor should said doctor react the way Arthur reacts in this story because it’s unprofessional. 🤣 It’s just a story!
Extreme Hopscotch and a Hot Date
Word Count: 2060
“Alfred, please, don’t make a scene!”
“No! You can’t make meeeeee!”
Francis did not think he’d be frantically rushing a bleeding Alfred to the nearest urgent care clinic at seven o’clock in the evening because someone thought it would be a good idea to create a game of “extreme hopscotch” in sidewalk chalk right in front of the house. Long story short, after a miscalculated cartwheel, Alfred managed to fall on his arm and land in gravel, resulting in a three-inch laceration leading all the way from his wrist and stopping midway down his forearm.
Alfred is a menace when it comes to receiving any sort of medical attention, and Francis has tried everything to get him to be more cooperative—bribing him, whispering sweet nothings, soothing him, lecturing him, scolding him—nothing works.
Thankfully, he has a secret weapon…
“It won’t be so bad, Al,” Matthew tries to convince his brother. “I’ll hold your hand, okay?”
Alfred swipes at his red puffy eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and sniffles wetly. “I don’t want it to hurt.”
“The doctor will make it better,” Matthew promises, squeezing Alfred’s shoulder. “And maybe you’ll get a lollipop at the end!”
Francis doesn’t know how Matthew has become better at getting through to Alfred than him, but he’s grateful for it.
The idea of receiving a lollipop seems enticing enough because Alfred sullenly walks his way over to the pleasant medical assistant who has been patiently waiting for him to follow her down the hall.
“You can come right in here, boys,” she says, holding the door open to an exam room.
Francis picks Alfred up and sits him on the exam table so that he doesn’t have to struggle to climb up. He places a warm, reassuring kiss on his forehead, and then, he and Matthew sit in a pair of chairs opposite Alfred.
“So, what brings you guys in today?”
“Alfred fell on gravel while playing on the sidewalk and has a gash on his forearm. I’ve tried my best to keep it bandaged, but the bleeding hasn’t stopped,” Francis explains, pressing his palms against his knees. He has a fair bit of white coat syndrome himself, so being calm for the boys in these types of situations often proves to be difficult.
The medical assistant notices Alfred’s rolled-up right sleeve and the gauze around his arm. “Ouch, that’s not good…All right, honey, I’m just going to take your vitals.”
She takes Alfred’s temperature with an ear thermometer. When it registers as normal, she checks his blood pressure—also normal.
“Does he have any medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Allergies?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And how old is Alfred again?”
“Seven.”
The medical assistant busily types away at the computer for a moment, clicks some boxes, and then says, “Okay, one of our doctors should be in shortly. Feel better soon, sweetie!”
Francis thanks her as she leaves and shoots Alfred another encouraging smile. “It’s going to be okay, mon chou.
Five minutes of tense silence go by, aside from Alfred occasionally asking, “Is it going to hurt? Am I going to get a shot? Are they going to cut my arm off?” while Francis tells him to relax and take a deep breath.
There’s a knock on the door. A doctor of average height with emerald green eyes, tousled blond hair, and a white coat comes in. He shakes Francis’s hand and greets him by saying, “Good evening, I’m Dr. Arthur Kirkland.”
“Francis,” Francis replies, mouth suddenly dry.
The doctor turns to the exam table to shake the hand of Alfred’s uninjured arm, and Francis can see that Alfred is impressed that he’s being treated like a grown-up. “You must be Alfred, and I’m assuming that that’s your brother sitting over there.”
“Yeah, that’s Matthew,” Alfred supplies with another wet sniffle. “He’s my twin, but I’m older than him by like ten minutes.”
“I see,” Dr. Kirkland says before shaking Matthew’s hand as well for good measure. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
He pauses to look down at Alfred’s injured arm and gently lifts it up. “Can you tell me what happened here, Alfred?”
“Ummm…Uhhh…I sorta was playing extreme hopscotch with Mattie and got to the part where you’re supposed to do a cartwheel, but I fell over and hit my arm and cut it.”
“Extreme hopscotch?” Dr. Kirkland asks, raising a brow before carefully undoing Francis’s makeshift bandaging.
“…Yeah, it was an idea Mattie and I came up with…”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Matthew mumbles from the sidelines.
Dr. Kirkland smiles, clearly amused by the story. He sets Alfred’s arm down for a moment to put on some gloves and frowns when he gets a good look at the ugly gash, which is still bleeding even two hours after the incident. “Has this been cleaned out?”
“I tried,” Francis says, holding a hand against his temple. “I wanted to rinse it under the sink, but Alfred threw a fit, and I don’t think I got very far.”
“Hmm...” He turns Alfred’s arm back and forth several times and feels along his wrist and the surrounding bones. “Does it hurt when I press around here?”
Alfred whimpers and says, “Yeah, when you pressed up there.”
“Up here?” Dr. Kirkland asks, prodding around Alfred’s wrist again.
“Oww!” he exclaims, and a few tears roll down his cheeks. “It hurts.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse…I need to check something, all right? And it may hurt for just a moment, but you seem like a courageous boy, and I think you can handle it. Okay?”
“…Okay.”
Francis smiles again and gives Alfred a little thumbs-up. Given how he normally acts at the doctor’s—he’s doing phenomenally.
Dr. Kirkland slowly rotates Alfred’s wrist and tries to hyper-extend it forward, but Alfred lets out a sharp shout, so he stops. “All right, all done…We’ll have to make sure you didn’t break any bones in your wrist or arm when you fell, Alfred, since you’re having some pain and swelling. So, I think it’d be wise to get an x-ray. We can do that here and know within a few minutes. We’ll also have to clean that wound and give you a few stitches.”
“I-Is it going to hurt?” Alfred asks in the most pitiful tone Francis has ever heard him use.
“Maybe a little, but then it’ll feel much better later.”
Alfred swallows hard and mumbles, “Okay.”
After a nod of confirmation and understanding from Francis, Dr. Kirkland says, “We’ll take him for the x-ray first. The medical assistant will come and get him. I’ll return once we have the images.”
Francis nods his head again “Okay, thank you!”
“Not a problem.”
Dr. Kirkland steps out for the time being, so Francis gets up to give Alfred another comforting kiss on the head and wipes his tears with some tissues.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, right?” Francis murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “The doctor seems very nice.”
“You should go on a date with him,” Alfred abruptly says, and Francis feels his heart skip a beat.
“What in the world—?”
“You said he’s nice.”
Matthew then jumps into the conversation and adds, ���You were looking at him all funny, Papa.”
“I was not!”
“You so were,” Alfred agrees with a giggle in between his pained sobs.
Before Francis can analyze the social cues he must have obviously given for the boys to be suggesting such a thing, a new medical assistant arrives to take Alfred to go and have his x-ray taken. Francis offers to walk him there, but Alfred insists that he’s a “big kid” and can go by himself.
“You haven’t been on a date in a long time, Papa,” Matthew whispers.
“I’m not going to have a fling with Alfred’s doctor, Mathieu!,” Francis whispers back.
Alfred is brought back to them about ten minutes later, and the doctor arrives fifteen minutes after him with some medical supplies.
“The good news is Alfred doesn’t have any fractures. It looks like a bad sprain. I’ll give him a brace to wear on his wrist for the next two weeks until it stops being sore and tender,” Dr. Kirkland tells Francis before looking down at Alfred. “Let’s get that wound sorted and you can be on your way. No more extreme hopscotch though, all right?”
“All right,” Alfred reluctantly agrees, hunching his shoulders.
“I’m going to give you some medicine to numb the cut so that it won’t hurt when I put the stitches in.”
But when Alfred spots the syringe and needle, he screeches at the top of his lungs, and Francis does his best to calm him down.
“Alfred, Alfred! What happened to being a courageous boy?” Dr. Kirkland asks. “It’s just a little needle.”
“No shots!”
“Alfred, please,” Francis begs. He was doing so well!
Once again, Matthew comes to the rescue by taking Alfred’s healthy hand in his own. “It’s okay, remember?”
Alfred squeezes Matthew’s hand and buries his face into his Papa’s chest to weep some more.
Dr. Kirkland, meanwhile, coaxes Alfred to extend his arm and place it flat on the exam table. “It’ll be quick, Alfred. I promise.”
“I take back what I said, Papa. You can’t date him! He’s a meanie!”
At that, Francis turns beet red and really wishes he could disappear. Maybe the poor doctor didn’t hear that. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what he’s talking ab—”
“A date?” Dr. Kirkland inquires, and Francis isn’t sure if he’s continuing the topic of discussion because he’s genuinely curious or because he wants to distract Alfred from the needle that’s now approaching his flesh.
“Papa is single and hasn’t been on a date in forever,” Alfred explains, head still pressed into Francis’s shirt. When the needle finally pierces his skin, he yelps, but Matthew squeezes his hand and Francis rubs the back of his head even though he is mortified.
“I see…The worst part is done with, Alfred. You shouldn’t feel any more pain, but your arm may feel tingly and strange as it becomes numb. I’m going to rinse this out with some sterile saline…”
Francis doesn’t dare to look, afraid he’ll accidentally meet the doctor’s gaze and make things a million times more awkward. Alfred eventually loosens his grip on him and Matthew, curious to see what’s being done to him.
“There we are. Much better,” Dr. Kirkland says before he readies the sutures. “This shouldn’t hurt, so tell me if it does…”
“How many stitches?” Alfred asks, less hysterical and distraught now.
“As many as it takes to close the wound. Probably around fifteen.”
“Gross…But that’s also kinda cool.”
Dr. Kirkland smiles again—he has such a lovely smile, Francis thinks.
Alfred’s eyes widen as he watches the doctor work. “You do it so fast!”
“You’re not the first person I’ve stitched up…It’s very important that you don’t touch your stitches or rip them, or else the wound won’t heal. You can come back to have them taken out in ten days.”
Once that’s done, Dr. Kirkland wraps Alfred’s arm in some gauze to discourage him from picking at the sutures and puts his wrist in a small brace. “How does that feel?” he asks.
“It doesn’t hurt as much.”
“That’s the answer I was looking for,” Dr. Kirkland says before typing some notes into the computer and scribbling something on a piece of paper. Then, he hands Alfred a lollipop and a sticker that he fishes out of a drawer and turns to Francis to inform him, “You can give him some ibuprofen tonight before he goes to bed to bring some of the swelling and pain down. Ice and elevation will also help. You can get his detailed discharge forms from the front desk. Do you have any questions?”
“No, that’s all. Thank you very much.”
Dr. Kirkland nods and hands Francis the piece of paper he was writing on, except it’s now folded in half. Then, the doctor helps Alfred down from the exam table, pats his head, and says goodbye. “Stay out of trouble and feel better soon!”
Francis assumes the paper contains some instructions regarding Alfred’s care. But when he unfolds it and realizes what it is, his hands tremble.
It’s a cellphone number...
#hetalia#aph france#aph america#aph canada#aph england#drabbles#aph fruk#this isn't a drabble -- it's a one shot lmaooo whoops
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I DEMAND A FLUFFY KLAUS IMAGINE🤬🤬🤬
🤍 KLAUS x SIBLING
Title : safe place
Pairing : none but this focuses on Eightie's relationship with Klaus
Warning : a bit of angst at first and some cuss words
Request : I DEMAND A FLUFFY KLAUS IMAGINE🤬🤬🤬
Note : yOU WOULDN’T TELL ME IF YOU WANTED SIBLING FLUFF OR ROMANCE FLUFF SO SIBLING FLUFF IT IS AND- YOUR CAT IS ADORABLE HMPH HUGS AND KISSES FROM ME 🤧
you landed on your ass in a random alley at night on 1960 at Dallas alone
you heard a faint click from afar but ignored it
shaking your head from its daze, you stood up and left the alley- set on looking for your family
-
Klaus desperately tried to push back all his anxious thougts that immediately plagued him
Why was he here?
Where even was he?
Where were his siblings?
Luther?
Diego?
Allison?
Five?
Ben?
Vanya?
Eightie?
Oh God-
Eightie-
Wait are any of you even alive?
Was he the only one who made it?
What made him, of all people, deserving of life over his brothers and sisters?
What was he going to do now?
A sob broke out of Klaus. He- no one can help him. No- no one he knows is alive... He’s alone. Shit- he’s all alone.
-
About three days later, Klaus was starving. He hasn’t eaten anything but the leftover’s from the dumpsters and whatever people were willing to give him. He was so close to giving up- I mean- he can barely be sober; how is he meant to stop the apocalypse without any of you?
He stumbled out of the alley he came from- it’s been his home for the past few days- as he followed the familiar and enticing smell of diner food. Growing up going to Griddy’s with his siblings, Klaus knew the smell of a home-cooked style meal when he smelled one. And his stomach did too as it twisted into knots of starvation. Not bothering to think anything through, he flung open the door to the diner and dropped himself into a booth near the door. Aside from the bell on top of the door ringing, what caught nearly the entire diner’s attention were his clothes. Compared to the other inhabitants of the diner – the men’s nicely pressed trousers paired with comfortable overcoats and the women’s long skirts and petticoats – Klaus’s tattered and sleeveless army shirt, laced leather pants, shaggy hair, and dirt covered face instantly earned him the full attention of the diner.
Normally Klaus thrived off of receiving attention. But God he’s tired. He doesn’t have the energy to be happy or embarrassed- he honestly just wanted good food and his family. He was so tired that he didn’t even feel it when his eyes shut closed. The firmness of the booth chair and the cool air from the air conditioner were a nice change to a cold and unforgiving ground.
-
You’ve been here in the 60s for about two weeks now. You haven’t seen any of your siblings yet but you know they’re alive somewhere- it was a gut feeling and it was what pushed you to where you are now. Luckily you had a mini sling bag with you when you all time travelled so you had some money. And that some money which would’ve been moderate for your time, was a big amount in the 60s. You were comfortable enough to have rented a luxurious apartment and not need to work for a few years but you loved helping people. And so- you found a job here at Gladys’ Diner as ‘Tee’, and you rented a comfortable two-bedroom apartment not far from here; just in case you run into any of your siblings and they need a home. It was hard at first- making up lies on why you lived alone and how you got the money you have but- you made it. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear a thing until you were called by your fellow co-worker, “Uhh, Tee?” resisting the urge to flinch, you turned to face her.
You turned to your normally happy co-worker and were immediately worried for she had a concerned look on her usually smiley face, “is somethig the matter?” In response, she discreetly pointed her pen towards the booth by the entrance. Following the pen’s direction you were immediately met with the sight of a man with dark hair and grimy skin leaning against the back of the bench with his legs stretched out across the booth under the table and eyes fallen shut. He looked oddly familiar but eh. It might be your wishful thinking once again. After all- you did imagine hearing Luther’s voice calling for Allison not that long ago- but upon looking out your window, it was just an old man so you didn’t bother. You did give that old man five dollars the next day though.
“You wanna switch for today?” you asked as she nodded in a way that instantly made you assume that she was thinking something along the lines of, ‘Better you than me.’ And so you took the notepad and pen from her and left her to cater to the counter.
Upon seeing you make your way towards the unknown man, most customers looked away while some - mostly men - continued looking just in case you needed help. Their wives did after all adore you as you had the optimism and smile of someone youthful thus bringing up this urge in them to protect you. You arrived beside the booth and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. He tensed at the contact before looking at you and once the dazed look disappeared, he stared at you in a horrified manner, “O- Oh God- Eightie- y-you’re d-” you were shocked yet elated to see your brother but you knew you had to calm him, “I’m not dead, Klausy,” you sat beside him and wrapped your arms around him as he buried his face in between your neck, “I’m right here with you, okay? I’m not leaving you any time soon.”
Seeing this, the customers looking at you looked away.
You slowly detached yourself from him- much to his displeasure, “now, Klausy, what do you wanna eat? Hmm?”
“Service water, please. And if you have any crackers, I’ll take those too, please.” you rose an eyebrow but knew arguing with him would lead to nowhere in the state he was in. Klaus started to shiver from one, the air conditioning, two his slightly wet clothes, and three, from the harsh wind that came from outside when a couple entered the diner. “coming right up, Klausy,” you felt your heart break at the state your brother was in. After returning to the kitchen to fill up a cup with water, you grabbed a pot of hot chocolate and poured some into a mug, along with a plate of buttered toast before returning to the table. Looking at your co-worker, you gave her ten dollars and upong seeing her bewildered look, you told her that this was one of your siblings who went missing a few weeks ago. Lookig at you with empathy, she gave you your five dollars back and said she’ll half with you. You tried to convince her otherwise but she was stubborn and told you to go and spend time with your brother, and that she was willing to take your shift for the remaining day. It was a calm day, after all, so it wouldn’t be much trouble. Taking off your apron, you thanked her and brought your tray to Klaus’ table.
Placing the tray down, you sat down across your brother who had his head in his hands, you said, “I put in an order for you as well. I hope you still like your eggs scrambled and with tomatoes and onions,”
“Nononono- I- Eightie I ca-” he struggled to say what he had in mind as he looked at you in panic, “Eightie- I can’t pay for this. I can’t pay for anything- I don’t have any money.”
“It’s okay, Klausy, I got you.” Y/N said with a reassuring smile.
“No Eightie. I don’t want to be anymore of a burden. I-I’m fine with some crackers,” he tried to argue, “I’m skinny, I don’t need a lot of food.” even though he knew arguing with you when it came to his health was futile.
“You’re my last customer before my shift is over, Klausy. It’s okay. Don’t worry about. You’re never a burden, okay? After this, we’re going to m- our place. You’ll shower and change clothes, I bought clothes in everyone’s sizes just in case, and we can talk- or rest. Whichever comes first.”
“... Okay,” a gentle smile fell over Klaus’s face. You talked as he ate and when he was done eating and drinking, you found your old Klausy back. Your conversation jumped from so many different topics that didn’t even relate to the other. It was chaotic- but it was fun. It was a safe place for Klaus. Being with you, that is. You’re his safe place. He remembers that now.s
-
You ended up travelling anywhere and everywhere you can with Klaus- and yes, he still ended up making his cult. It was a very... interesting thing to experience. Throughout their entire journey, they had each other as the other’s safe space. Where they could let out all their fears and worries and anxieties with no fear of being judged. The safe space where they knew they were genuinely loved for being themselves- flaws and all.
And one night, Klaus let out one of his biggest insecurities.
You were both seated in the fireplace of the mansion of one of his cult members just relaxing when he all of a sudden asked, “what’s my purpose in life?” thrown off, all that left your mouth was a “huh?”
Klaus’ chuckle had a tinged of sadness to it as he repeated his question. You thought hard on it before answering him, “you never really know, Klausy. Each decision we make leads to a different path- a different purpose each time and we can never actually guess where we’ll end up in. All we can do is try our best and hope for the best.”
It was silent as Klaus processed what you said. While he was thinking, you rested your head on Klaus’s shoulder to give him comfort.
“What if I’m in the wrong path now? What if- what if this is it for me? Like, I have a cult for me- what if that’s my only purpose in life?”
“You’re not. You know why? You found me- by accident, yes but you found me. Had you chose a different diner to enter, you wouldn’t have ever found me- we both would’ve been miserable. Also- just because you got to your goal, that doesn’t mean you’re at the destination you’re meant to be in. No matter what path you choose- I’ll always- always be here for you, okay, Klausy? I’m not leaving you anytime soon.”
With tears in his eyes, Klaus straightened his back and wrapped his arms around you, prompting you to sit on his lap. You wrapped your arms around him in return as he buried his neck into where you neck and shoulder met.
“Thank you, Eightie... for everything. For being there for me even when I couldn’t be sober to save my self. For being there when I was struggling to become and stay sober. And for being here now. Thank you for never giving up on me even when everyone else, including I, did.”
“You’re family, Klaus. And you forever will be. You’ll always be a part of my life. And just like what you told me not even a year ago, if you ever need me, I’ll be here for you. That’s what family is for.”
Klaus smiled as you continued brushing a hand through his hair.
#tua#tua x reader#the umbrella academy#klaus hargreeves x reader#hargreeves x reader#hargreeves x sibling#number eight
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What a Jerk
It’s Valentine’s Day. For Castiel & Dean, that means war.
Read below or on AO3: HERE
"What a jerk," Castiel grumbles, closing the door as the delivery man leaves.
"Who?" Benny asks from his spot on the couch a few feet away. He turns to look at Castiel, more words about to come out. Then he sees the giant bouquet of flowers in Castiel's hands and grins. "Oh. Dean."
"Stop smiling. He's an asshole." Castiel storms off to the kitchen. Since his penthouse apartment is an open-floor plan, though, he doesn't escape Benny. He just gets his bitch face from a new angle.
"Yes," Benny says sarcastically. "What an asshole for buying you flowers."
Castiel huffs as he searches for a stupid vase for the stupid flowers. "I told him not to do this."
"Yeah, bad idea. Telling Dean not to do something is pretty much the equivalent of challenging him to a duel."
There's a dusty vase beneath the sink. Castiel takes it out and fills it with water, not bothering to clean it first. When it's filled enough for the flowers to survive - because Castiel isn't a monster, he's not going to purposely kill beautiful flowers - he stuffs the bouquet into the vase.
"There." He sets the vase on his kitchen island and breathes a sigh of relief. "At least it's over now. Right?"
Benny snorts. "Dude, it's 8 AM. There's no way that's all he has planned for the day."
"You work for me, ya know," Castiel says in a voice that's supposed to be threatening but isn't. "You have to take my side."
"I'm your bodyguard. I keep you safe from bullets and kidnappers. Not overbearing lovers."
Castiel sighs in frustration. He pulls out his phone and very aggressively types in Dean Winchester's number.
Dean answers almost instantly. Clearly, he had been waiting for this call.
"Hey, C-"
"This stupid romantic nonsense is a waste of money and I swear Dean Winchester if you get me any more presents today I'm going to break up with your stupid ass!"
"So you got the flowers," Dean says with a smile in his voice. "Good. You should get ready for work, my love. Don't want to be late."
"Don't ignore me, Dean! You promised. You promised not to do this!"
"No. You ordered me not to do this. I never agreed."
"Dean-"
"Have a nice day, babe. I'm sure I'll be hearing from you soon."
"Dean!"
"Oh, and Cas?"
Castiel grits his teeth, fuming. "What?"
"Happy Valentine's Day."
Castiel growls - yes, growls - and hangs up. He throws his hands in the air and turns to Benny. "What a jerk!"
----
When Castiel stops at his favorite coffee shop for his usual morning Americano with cinnamon, the barista already has his order ready. It has a message written on it in Dean's hand writing, black sharpie scrawling its way across the disposable cup.
You are so brew tiful. I love you like I love my coffee - inside me (;
Castiel rolls his eyes. "What a jerk."
"Sorry?" the barista says in confusion.
"He's a jerk." Castiel grabs a disposable cup from the stack beside the register. He pops the top off the one Dean wrote on and pours his coffee into the fresh, non-Valentine cup. Then he tosses the graffitied cup and nods at the barista. "Have a good one."
"Uh… yeah." The barista watches him go, looking crestfallen. Clearly she had found it romantic. Disgusting. "You too."
----
Another bouquet of flowers is waiting for Castiel when he enters his private office. He glares at it from the doorway for a long moment before huffing in annoyance, going over and grabbing the damn thing. Still dressed in his trench coat, still with his briefcase in his left hand, Castiel walks down to the bull-pen and lifts the vase in the air.
"Who fucked up today and needs a Valentine's Day present for their significant other?" he yells, his anger making most of his employees shiver or tense up.
It takes a second but then a woman in the back tentatively raises her hand. Charlie. She's dating Dorothy from accounting. They're a cute couple.
"They're yours," he announces, thrusting them out in the air to silently tell her to come get them.
Blushing, she makes her way to Castiel. She mumbles something about not forgetting but running out of time this morning. Castiel couldn't care less whether Charlie forgot or not. He just doesn't want to stare at the damn flowers all day.
Once they're out of his hands, Castiel waves a hand in the air and says, "As you were."
Benny is smirking when Castiel gets back to his office.
"What's so funny?" Castiel asks in a voice that's supposed to be threatening but just makes Benny's lips lift higher. "What?"
"I'm assuming you didn't see the box of chocolates."
Castiel parts his lips, about to ask what Benny means, when he sees a heart-shaped box beside where the flowers had been. He deflates. Goes over to his chair. Slumps down. Sighs dramatically. Then he takes the box and reads the attached note.
Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get. - damn glad I got you, babe ♡
"What a jerk," Castiel growls at the box. He rips the lid off and snatches a piece of chocolate before pushing it toward Benny. "Stop fucking smiling and eat. And don't tell him I ate any of it. That asshole knows I can't resist chocolate so you have to lie."
"Sure thing boss," Benny says with a wink. "Sure thing."
----
"Are you Castiel?" a man dressed in a cupid costume asks.
Castiel shakes his head. "Nope."
Unfortunately, he's in the breakroom at work and his employees think this whole battle between Dean and him is hilarious. Balthazar says, "He's lying" at the same time Chuck says, "He's Castiel."
Castiel decides he's going to fire them both.
The cupid smirks and turns to Castiel. Castiel puts a hand up in protest. "Whatever it is, I don't want-"
"Lord Almighty,
I feel my temperature rising
Higher higher
It's burning through to my soul
Boy, boy, boy,
You gonna set me on fire
My brain is flaming
I don't know which way to go
Your kisses lift me higher
Like the sweet song of a choir
You light my morning sky
With burning love"
"Nope," Castiel mumbles under his breath, grabbing his lunch and heading out the door. "Nope, nope, nope."
The damn telegram follows him. Everyone in the office stares, their jaws dropped open as the goddamn CEO is followed around by a glittery man dressed as cupid singing an Elvis song. Castiel isn't even embarrassed. He's just pissed.
Castiel enters his office and shoots a glare at Benny who had conveniently been gone to the bathroom when this all went down but is now back at his rightful place by Castiel's side. "Make him leave."
"It's coming closer
The flames are now lickin' my body
Please won't you help me-"
"Why? He isn't a threat."
"He has a weapon!"
"It's a plastic bow, boss."
"And my chest is a-heaving
Lord Almighty
I'm burning a hole where I lay."
"I own this goddamn building and I'm telling you, head of my security, to kick him out!"
Benny gives him a wry smile. "I'll get right on it, boss. Highest priority."
"Cause your kisses lift me higher
Like the sweet song of a choir-"
"You're fired."
"Oh, well, in that case I suppose he'll get to stay."
"Ah, ah, burning love
I'm just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."
Castiel grabs his office phone and presses 7, gritting his teeth. With every ring that passes, his rage boils. He's a breath away from exploding.
"Singer's Auto, this is Dean."
Castiel slams a finger down on speaker phone and turns to glare at cupid as he finishes the damn song.
"Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love
Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love."
Finally, it's over. Cupid winks at him before leaving. Benny smirks. Dean - the jerk that he is - is laughing hysterically on the other line.
"I hate you," Castiel states very matter-of-factly.
"Oh come on!" Dean snorts a laugh. "It's Elvis! You love Elvis!"
"Not anymore! Congratulations, Winchester. You have officially ruined Elvis for me."
Dean laughs harder. "God, I love you babe."
"Gaaaah, no!" Castiel hangs up the call before Dean can use his mystical powers to sweet talk Castiel into forgiving him. It ain't happening.
Castiel bangs his forehead against his desk a few times before deflating against it. "What a jerk."
----
Castiel walks into the first jewelry store he comes across. He storms past all of the stupid Valentine's decorations and up to a young man in a sharp suit who is smiling far too wide if you ask Castiel's opinion. Castiel smacks the palm of his hand on the glass display in front of the man and growls, "I need a goddamn engagement ring."
----
A ring box heavy in his pocket, Castiel stands outside Dean's small two-bedroom house. The yellow paint is peeling back in places, revealing the blue beneath. They come from two completely different worlds. Dean, the eldest son who sacrificed everything he had to raise his baby brother, dropping out of high school, working two jobs, scraping his father off whatever bar floor or sidewalk he ended up on most nights. Castiel, the eldest son who had the world handed to him, private prep school, undergrad at an Ivy league, two master degrees, no student loan debt, a $100,000 no-strings gift from his father to start up his own company.
Dean lives in a house that was foreclosed and rotting on the inside. He’s owned it for three years now. The floors and roof have been replaced. The staircase rebuilt. The walls repainted. The kitchen remodeled. The bathroom gutted. All Dean’s doing since he couldn’t afford to hire contractors.
Castiel lives in a penthouse apartment in a building that’s only seven years old. He got to pick in a catalogue what model of every room he preferred. Professionals molded his home into exactly what he wanted it to be in two weeks, handing it to him furnished and beautiful.
Dean works 60 hour weeks at his uncle’s auto shop, always smelling of oil and sweat. He drinks Jack Daniels. Listens to classic rock. Wears stained jeans and cotton shirts so worn they have holes in the collars and become see-through in certain lighting.
Castiel works 80 hour weeks, but only 30 of them are spent in the office, the rest spent on his phone or at his home so he can lounge on his couch and peruse documents without worrying about employees bothering him. He’s currently working through a bottle of 1926 Macallan. He listens to classical music, as well as plays it himself on his own grand piano that overlooks the city. Wears tailored Brioni suits and silk ties to work, settling for Gucci denim pants and cashmere sweaters when he's casual.
They should have never even met. Castiel would never take his car to a low-grade dealership like Singers. Never. You just don’t do that. Castiel was sure they wouldn’t even know what to do with a custom built Tesla like his. Yet, there Castiel was, broken down outside of the city with a migraine the size of Texas and stubborn impatience that made waiting for the professionals from the dealership that would take 3 hours a choice he wasn’t willing to make. So, he typed in auto shops on google and picked the one nearest to him.
Singers Auto.
Dean had showed up all southern drawl and warm smiles. Flirted right past Castiel’s foul mood. Stroked the hood of his Tesla like it was a cherished pet. Spoke to Castiel confidently about his knowledge on the vehicle. He offered to tow it into the city for Castiel if Castiel wanted but assured Castiel that if he chose to let Dean bring it to Singer's Auto, Dean would be able to take care of it.
“Easy fix,” Dean had said. “In and out. Twenty minutes.”
Castiel had agreed. It was completely out of character but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted more time with the mechanic.
He left that day with a fixed car and Dean Winchester’s number.
They never once brought up the salary gap between them. Some nights they’d crash at Castiel’s. Some nights at Dean’s. They’d go to five-star restaurants and gorge on filet mignon and lobster. They’d go to McDonalds and demolish burgers and chocolate milkshakes. Neither of them so much as blink.
Castiel smiles to himself as he looks at the house again. Where will they live? Castiel could care less, if he’s being honest. He’ll move here if Dean wants. He can deal with the furnace that needs to be kicked every few days as a reminder to work again. He can deal with the pipes that always freeze in the winter. He can deal with the way the fifth step creaks because Dean messed up when building the staircase. As long as he has Dean Winchester, he has everything.
“The hell you doin’ out here?” Dean yells from the front porch, snapping Castiel from his thoughts.
The ring box in his pocket grows hot in anticipation.
“It’s Valentine’s Day!” Castiel yells back, casually walking across the street from where he parked. “I figured if you’re going to insist on celebrating the idiotic holiday, I might as well win by outdoing you.”
“Oh, really?” Dean huffs a laugh, taking the porch steps two at a time until he’s on the grass of his front lawn. “How do you expect to do that?”
Castiel stops when he’s on the sidewalk, about five or so feet between them. He gives Dean a cocky grin that makes Dean’s smirk fall just an inch. Dean Winchester doesn’t like to lose at things - especially all of these silly competitions they get themselves into.
How long can they go without having sex or masturbating, and who will break first and beg the other to fuck him?
Who can eat the most pie in one sitting?
Which one can buy the best Christmas gift?
Who can win the most tickets at the arcade?
How long can they keep their prank war going, and who will be the one to finally throw in the towel when it goes too far?
Who can scare the other badly enough to make them scream?
Which one of them will win the cheesy romantic award of Valentine’s Day 2020.
Castiel won the 1st, 3rd, and 6th.
Dean won the 2nd and 4th.
Neither have won the prank war bet - it’s still on-going.
But Castiel Novak is going to win this damn Valentine’s Day award. If Dean wants to play this game today, it’s on.
“Cas-”
“Dean Winchester,” Castiel says softly, in a voice sickly sweet and loving. He lowers himself to one knee and reaches into his pocket.
Dean’s eyes flare with rage. “No! Don’t you dare!”
“You’re the love of my life-”
“Stop!”
“I can’t imagine any possible future that doesn’t have you in it-”
“I hate you so much right now,” Dean chokes out, eyes welling up.
Castiel smirks and opens the ring box. “Will you marry me?”
“No,” Dean grumbles with a pouty look on his face. Then he growls low in his throat and shakes his arms like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “Fuck - fine! Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Grinning, partly because the love of his life just agreed to marry him but mostly because instead of Dean evening the score Castiel is now 2 points ahead, Castiel pushes to his feet and slips the ring on Dean’s finger. He tugs Dean into his arms and kisses him breathless.
“Proposed to me on Valentine’s Day,” Dean says with an incredulous huff, resting his head on Castiel's shoulder and hugging him. “What a jerk.”
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#fluff#destiel#dean winchester#castiel novak#valentines day#hopeless romantic dean#cas hates valentines day#arguing#this is war#valentines day war#benny#ceo cas#mechanic dean#cute#romantic gestures
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Once they get home, properly home, after a few choice rumours from a reluctant Allison and some slightly less rushed goodbyes in the 1960s, Five vanishes again.
Dot’s continuing assurances that the Apocalypse is off for good - and Yes, We Will Keep You Updated, We Promise - mean that no one, at the very end of their metaphorical ropes, really has the energy to worry. Five can take care of himself fine.
(”Maybe he’s gone to reunite with his sex doll,” Klaus suggests over a virgin Pina Colada. Allison hits him on the arm with a scowl and everyone else marvels at her lack of witty response. They’re still getting used to the Vanya that laughs loudly and the Allison that prefers a smile and a nod to a verbal ‘yes, please’.)
They figure he’ll be back by nightfall with some booze and possibly a mannequin in tow. Then they don’t notice when he’s not, because Vanya has gotten drunk enough to reveal her impressive talent for impersonating world leaders and is reciting the ‘Vladimir Putin likes long big cocks’ video for Luther’s benefit.
Klaus makes a joke about frat parties at breakfast the next morning. Allison points out that he’s probably just exhausted and still sleeping.
“I’ll check on him after I’ve called home,” she says.
There’s a tense silence as they wait in the living room. Vanya hovers in the doorway, shooting worried, guilty glances out into the hallway every few moments. Allison has the phone pressed to closely to her face that it smudges her lipstick.
“Hello? Patrick?”
There’s a moment’s pause, then:
“Claire?” And Allison is crying. “Hi sweetie, hey, I-- I love you, I love you so much... No, no, I’m not sad. I’ve just had... I’ve had a really big week. How are you? How’s school?”
She ends up curled up against the stairwell, phone in a death grip, with tears tracking around the biggest smile any of them have ever seen. She asks a million questions about people none of them recognise the names of. Claire seems happy to talk her ear off, but it’s still all too soon when her voice starts to go again.
They line up to say brief ‘hello’s to the bubbliest eight-year-old in existence before Allison remembers the time difference and insists upon bedtime. Claire is yawning as Klaus ambles his way through a sanitised account of the ghosts around the mansion, and, according to a gruff man they assume is Patrick, she falls asleep holding the phone.
(Diego gets into a quiet shouting match with Patrick. They agree not to talk about it.)
Five’s absence is painfully obvious as they all head back into the living room. Allison and Vanya curl together on one couch, mourning their 60s sweethearts and toasting the future that didn’t exist last week. Klaus lies, spread-eagled across the rug and natters away to Ben. Luther falls asleep in an armchair. Diego is the only one that really hears the phone ring.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Diego, good. You can drive.”
“Five?”
“They said someone needs to pick me up or I can’t discharge myself.” Five doesn’t sound entirely like Five. He’s almost jolly.
“Where are you?”
“A hospital. Uh, hold on.” His voice grows distant, like he’s holding the phone away from his mouth. “Excuse me, dear, where are we? Yes, it’s my brother. He’s coming to pick me up.”
There’s a clattering noise and some muted arguing before a new voice sounds out. “Excuse me? Do you know this young man?”
It takes a lot of evasive responses and a rumour from Allison before the paediatric nurse finally gives Diego the hospital Five is in - and there is still a large part of him that’s panicking because his baby brother is in hospital - so that he can break every traffic law getting there.
Five is lying back in bed when they get there, drinking a screwdriver from a paper cup - “Agnes from geriatrics snuck me the vodka. She’s lovely, if a bit out of it.” - and mumbling to the ceiling about differential values.
Diego is treated to yet another lecture on child endangerment and has to come up with a good story on the fly. He stammers his way through a lie about their mother vanishing with him after their father died and assumptions that she’d just moved upstate. The nurse tells him to call his mother, presumably so she can give her an earful about Five’s condition.
“What the hell were you thinking?” He hisses as he pushes Five out to the car.
Five shrugs and apologises, which only sets Diego more on edge. Five doesn’t apologise. Ever.
“I needed surgery,” Five explains, in a tone that suggests he has no idea how disturbing his words are, “to get the bullets out and prevent any further internal bleeding.”
Diego tries very hard not to crash the car. “I should’ve fucking left you in there,” he mutters.
Five doesn’t respond, and Diego realises he’s fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the window.
“I should get paid for this shit.”
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Daddy Issues I
Daddy Issues II
Friday was the one day a week Billy didn’t have a curfew. He’d worked hard to earn it. God he’d worked so hard. He didn’t know how long the small attempt at actual responsible parenting would last but he was determined to make the most of it.
Every Friday he wound up at Harrington’s empty mansion. Every Friday night they wound up in Harrington Sr’s office, the lock jimmied open with a butterknife, door left halfway closed as Harrington sat naked in his father’s leather chair. Body bent and folded. Legs up on the arms, spread and exposed like a bitch in a gynecologist’s office. Billy’s tongue flat and wet and warm over his pink little hole, flicking and lapping and teasing the rim just so. Just enough to make his boy whine and clamp his fingers into the top of the chair until his already pale knuckles were white with force.
Billy had to look after his boy. Care to his needs. Make sure his own issues were attended to.
Before the first time, Harrington had been embarrassed with his request. Wasn’t sure Billy would understand where it was coming from. But Billy understood more than words would ever convey.
Harrington grew up with no father figure. Tutors and maids taking that role. Coming in and out of his life on a turnstile. Never long enough to get properly attached to anyone. His father was a ghost that just lived in family portraits. In this office lined with books that had never been read. The only time Harrington had been allowed in was to be punished after a bad report card. Failing english and history and science and math. Harrington wasn’t stupid. His brain just didn’t work that way. But no one listened to that. He’d been bent over the desk once his whole life but it was enough. The rest of the time it had been just verbal repromandings. Demands and threats but no reward. Stick but no carrot.
Billy was better to his boy than that. Had Harrington mewling from his tongue, had his hole fluttering for something bigger. Something thicker. Something that Harrington was good enough to get, but he needed this first. Needed to be worked open and made boneless. Made to wait. Billy sucked on his fingers audibly until they were dripping, pressed one against Harrington as a warning before slowly pushing into tight muscle.
How it was still tight Billy had no idea.
He rolled the tip of his tongue around the digit as Harrington’s body sucked him deep. The leather of the chair creaked.
“Please,” Harrington begged, whole body now starting to sweat with holding on. “Please. You know I can take it.”
Billy just hummed and kept up his slow pace, pushing the tip of his tongue in with his finger. Just a little. Adding more spit. Curling his finger to find that sweet spot hidden deep but not press it. Just tease. Make his boy fall apart. Make his lengthy cock drool over his lean stomach, twitch in desperation.
“Patience boy. Stop whining or I’ll stop and leave you here.” Billy shot a look upwards. Harrington’s hair was stuck to his forehead, dark and damp. His eyes were wild and frantic. But he swallowed and nodded. He knew Billy was deadly serious. Billy didn’t say anything he didn’t mean. Not in situations like this.
“S-sorry daddy,” he said shakily around a thick swallow, shuffling a little in the chair.
Billy gave him another finger and a kiss on the back of his thigh for his good behaviour. Billy wasn’t a mean person in this world. He wasn’t one for punishments and beatings. They’d both had more than enough of them, one way or another. He was in control, yes, but not through violence. Not here. That anger was saved for the outside world. Behind closed doors he was different. Harrington was different. And no one outside needed to know anything about what they did. How they both needed this every week to keep going. Physical therapy to fix emotional scars.
A third finger and Harrington was flushed pink all over. His cock was an angry red and leaking pre over his stomach like a forgotten tap. But he was good, kept his hands back and away from himself the whole time. Kept watching like he was told to do.
He was good.
Billy took his hand back and sweetly kissed Harrington’s balls as he got to his feet, finding his discarded jeans and the foil packet of lube inside the back pocket.
“Bend over for me baby.”
Harrington didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out of the chair, pushing it back against the wall with the force of his movements and lay flat on the dark maple wood of his father’s desk. His cock hung heavy, down between his spread legs. Dripping. Pink hole visibility slick and open, fluttering, waiting for something to clamp onto. Waiting for Billy. He came back and stood between his boy’s pale stance, watched his lean frame pant in wanting but never say it, fingers curled up around the edge of the desk to brace himself. Billy petted his perk cheeks, leant down and kissed over the moles that spread out across his back, down his spine and back up again, ripping the packet open to slick himself up.
“You’re so good for me. So, so good.”
With his free hand, he ran his fingers through Harrington’s sweaty mane, turned his head to the side so he could see his boy’s eyes shut, trying to concentrate on not falling apart until he was told. Pretty red mouth open just a little. All soft and pliant. Awaiting praise that Billy was more than willing to give. But stay there though, I want to see.
Billy spread the last of the lube over Harrington and lined up, slowly pressed forwards and in with a small rock of his hips. Watched Harrington’s jaw tense and his expression mix between a short burst of irritation before just melting and practically purring as Billy kept going. Pushing slow but constant into tight heat that had him hanging his head and groaning every time.
He fit so well it was maddening.
He rubbed his fingers where they were in those damp brunette locks, good boy, and gave it a minute before starting to move, switching his hands to hold onto Harrington’s hips at first, thumbs in the dimples in his back, before placing them on the desk with a heavy thump that made his boy flinch, flutter and clench around him. Made knuckles go whiter. Made the sweetest noise come from that pale expanse of throat.
Billy knew they were both just as fucked in the head.
There was never much on the desk. A golden pen holder to the left hand side, always three very expensive looking pens in it, waiting to be used but never were. A family photo in a gold frame in one corner. Harrington must have been no older than three in it. All chubby cheeks, eyes bright and full of wonder. He looked happy. Didn't know pain and disappointment yet. Didn't know missed birthdays and ball games and being taught to ride a bike by a friend.
Billy's father was there too much. Harrington's not enough.
The other corner of the desk, in the exact same frame was what Billy assumed to be a picture of Harrington’s mother. It looked old, maybe from the 60s when they were both in high school or college. She looked kind back then. When she still cared. Shared the same warm features as her son. There was a small polaroid of another woman tucked in the corner. With long blonde hair and a carefree expression. Billy never asked. He didn’t have to. It was pretty obvious. Harrington never looked towards that corner and always had his eyes closed towards the other. He only ever looked towards the door directly in front if he opened his eyes at all.
Billy petted him as he started thrusting hard, snapping his hips. Making Harrington whine and groan. Desperate and aching all over. His thighs either side of Billy’s tensing up but never shuffling his feet to relieve the pressure.
God Harrington was good. He was so, so good.
Billy rolled forward, laying on that expanse of sweat covered skin, the edge of the desk digging hard into Harrington’s hips now and making him more breathless, pushing the air from his lungs and leaving bruises. Rolling his hips in just a way that Billy knew his heavy horse cock would be rubbing against the underside of the desk, slick and wet against the already smooth wood. Giving his boy that little bit extra. He deserved it.
“You’re gonna paint his desk, hear me?” Billy muttered deep next to his ear. Harrington nodded helplessly. So close but holding on. Not yet. Billy moved his hand to tug a little sharp on those locks, forcing Harrington’s mouth open in a bitten off cry. “Answer me baby. I wanna hear you say it.”
“G-gonna paint his desk d-ahh-” Billy felt Harrington’s knees start to go. Him and the desk the only things holding his poor, used body up anymore. But not yet, just a little longer.
“Wanna put my head underneath and see it. Want you to know your ol' man is usin’ our fuck table for work. That any moment he could touch underneath and feel what we do here.”
The noise dragged and ripped from Harrington’s throat was obscene. Desperate and ragged and so filled with lust and desire it burnt Billy’s ears hearing it. Slender fingers were threatening to rip the wood apart with the pressure of holding back.
“God please. Please. I promise. I promise. Please daddy please.”
Billy thrust barely twice more before he came with a shout, his own hair limp and sweaty and dragged forward around his face by gravity as he hung over his boy, rutted into his hole deep, draining himself.
Harrington cried as he came, now that he could. Loose tears springing free and rolling down his pink cheeks as his body went into spasm with the force of it. Rocking into nothing, rocking back against Billy still buried to the hilt. Forcing the edge of the desk harder into his skin. There was a dull, wet splatter of spunk hitting wood before they both fell limp. Panting hard in a pile of sweaty limbs on the floor. He held Harrington close, leant up against the desk drawers and rolled his head back to see their handiwork. It made him flush with pride as he rubbed softly up and down Harrington’s arm. Letting him roll his head into Billy’s neck, eyes closed. Blissed out and at peace. He deserved it.
“Good boy.”
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