#I didn’t remember any ‘where’s your famous abs’ comments just that he was still considered attractive and 🥺

[the-nameless-wacky-inventor]

yea the new trolls was weird and silly but something that I really appreciate it for was making Spruce (Bruce) go from obsessed with his abs to being fat and he was still considered the heartthrob??? I’m 🥺🥺🥺

[beetles-and-rock]

Mixology Gone Wrong

An X reader about pre-musical Dewey Finn.

As an aspiring Mixologist, you work in a run down dive bar where local bands come to play their music in attempts to get their names out there. You're pretty used to getting hit on by the many self proclaimed "musicians" that play there. You don't expect any different when Dewey Finn comes to flirt with you, but things start to go very differently indeed.

18+ ONLY, DON'T INTERACT IF YOUNGER

TW: Heavy Intoxication, Blood, Vomit, Attempted Sexual Assault (Not from Dewey though. He too believes consent is sexy), Mild Language, Suggestive Comments

As you can tell this is a very different fic for me. There is a lot of Angst to it.

Mixing drinks was still something you were new too, but you knew enough to work at a local bar. Evening shifts were long, and the music was always blaring super loud. You hadn't been working there long, but was pretty sure you'd gone a bit deaf already. The bands that came to play were mediocre. A lot of them were hopeless dreamers, waiting for their ship to come in. Many of them would drink themselves halfway to liver failure after their set, which made you super busy.

It was pretty sad really, to see so many of the ones who actually had decent voices order so many drinks you knew were going to ruin their vocal chords. Still they didn't care. They performed and now they were going to drink like the apocalypse was coming. As was a typical Friday or Saturday night.

It was also not unusual for the drunks to flirt with you or the other bar tenders, so when the lead guitarist for some local band called "No Vacancy" stepped up to the counter with that look in his eye after their set, his forwardness didn't phase you in the least. He had quite some character, that was for sure. Anyone could easily tell that from the way he performed, energetic, ecstatic, and all around sticking out like a sore thumb among the rest of the band. He was a little on the chubby side, wavy untamable hair ridden with grease. He smelled of sweat and beer, along with Axe body spray which he probably considered to be close enough to a shower, and a hint of BO. He may not have looked like a rockstar, but he certainly smelled like one.

"Hey there." He said with a cocky smirk as he reached the bar. It was and old approach, but at least it wasn't some dumb pickup line. he didn't cock an eyebrow or even try to smolder. Every expression that came upon his face was, in a word, lazy.

"Could I get a beer?" He asked. You held back a sigh knowing once again you weren't going to use the skills you'd learned as a mixologist, but by the looks of this guy you knew there was no way he was going to be able to afford a cocktail. You were pretty sure his band played for free here tonight, so that pretty much confirmed how broke he was. You poured the beer and handed him the mug.

It was both disgusting and impressive watching him guzzle the beer. He simultaneously patted the counter of the bar to the beat of the music as he drank.

"So did ya like the set?" He asked you after a long swig. Oh great, here came the flirting...

"It was. . . pretty interesting. You guys have a good sound." You searched for kind things to say about the performance, but in all honesty it really didn't particularly stick out to you among all the other groups of wannabe rock stars they played in this run down shack of a dive. Well that wasn't entirely true. He certainly stuck out. You did your best not to use the word obnoxious when describing his part of the set.

"Your harmonies were pretty good, and your ad libbing was. . . creative. You've got a lot of energy."

"Yeah!" He replied after taking another long swig. "You gotta have the energy when it comes to rock and roll. I've been trying to tell the other guys that for years now. They just kind of stand there."

"Uh-huh. . ."

"I mean I brought the band together. The least they could do is listen to me."

In that moment, it dawned on you how clueless he was. Anyone else could see that the other band members were not very big fans of his antics onstage. The audible sigh from the lead singer into his microphone was very

clear as the man who now sat in front of you had started jumping around and ad libbing perhaps a little too much. He was now polishing off his mug and set down the money for another one. You poured more beer into the mug, almost feeling sorry for him.

"Been thinking about changing my name. . . I don't know though. It's not really a rock-star name, but the thought of a crowd screaming the name Dewey Finn inspires me. Kinda like an underdog story." He said.

"Dewey Finn?“

"Yep! That's my name, and you'll want to remember it cause one day it'll be famous." He set down the mug pointing to it "More please."

You were unable to hide a slight look of disgust at his rudeness, but poured another glass anyway. Dewey took another long drink and belched.

"Y-yep! someday people are gonna be screaming that name, Dewey -hic- Finn." He held his belly momentarily after the hiccup looking like he may be sick for a minute. Unfortunately, he continued. "You ever thought about being a groupie? Maybe I could make you scream it too."

You raised an eyebrow. It wasn't an old crappy pick up line, but he was still one more stupid sentence from getting slapped. You had to admit you did think this guy was kind of cute, and some parts of him were even adorable, but not so cute or adorable that you wouldn't remind him he was talking to a human being.

You shook your head watching him become more and more drunk, and knew he was likely to keep making conversation. Since it was clear to you he was not going to stop speaking, you decided to change the subject instead of letting him dig his own grave.

"So who was your inspiration?" You asked thinking it would be an appropriate question. Little did you know you'd soon be enjoying yourself talking with him. His eyes lit up and he listed a number of musicians and bands that he had been inspired by. How he'd listened to all eras rock music from a young age, and had gotten his first guitar for his tenth birthday. That sparked his dreams to become a rockstar. He talked about how he would spend every moment of free time learning to play. How he played with a band called Maggot Death in Highschool and has been living with one of the members ever since his father kicked him out.

You found yourself laughing, smiling and even coming close to tears at some points as you watched him do so himself. Perhaps the most surprising thing though was that familiar warm tickle slowly spreading on your cheeks. He was certainly no gentleman, but at this point you knew there was some tenderness underneath all the cockiness. Still even in his near-stupor, you could tell he was definitely still keeping most of his walls up. Not that it was your duty to take them down. It was about that time one of his band members came over, and reminded you that you were just a bartender this wannabe rock star had been talking to for the first time.

"Excuse me, Is this guy bothering you?" The man asked. He was thinner, and had longer, straighter hair than Dewey. He wore a leather jacket that left his torso bare showing off a set of abs that clearly he was proud of.

The man's tone surprised you. He spoke as if Dewey had been trying to fondle you over the counter or had been relentlessly trying to pick you up.

"Uh-um. . ." Was all you could manage. Not only had you snapped out of the happy daze of the conversation, but you realized you hadn't been keeping track of just how much beer you'd been giving him. Now the poor guy was drunk out of his mind, you had no idea how much money he owed the bar, and you were pretty sure this could get you fired. The troubled look on your face must have given the guy the wrong idea, cause he smacked the back of Dewey's head.

"Heeeeeeeeeey!" Dewey uttered as he slowly rubbed the back of his head.

"They're not interested, Dewey. Leave them alone." Said the band member.

"I wassssssn -hic- bothering nobody."

The other man looked at you, and sighed. "How much does he owe?"

You just stared at him a full minute before gathering your thoughts.

"Oh. . . um, I think he drank the equivalent of a pitcher." You knew it was more likely two or more, but you didn't want to cause any more trouble. The man slapped several dollar bills down on the counter, before turning to Dewey.

"You owe me."

"Th-thanks -hic- buddy." Dewey said with a goofy smile.

"Come on. We're over here." The guy said, turning to lead him to the rest of the band. Dewey went to follow him stumbling as he got out of the chair. He fell clumsily to the ground. The band member turned and laughed at him, soon joined by the others as well as many people in the bar. Dewey looked up very dazed, but smiled seeing that everyone else was.

"Whoops!" He giggled.

You might have been the only one not laughing though. You felt sorry for him.

"I've changed my mind Dewey. You better call Ned." His bandmate told him.

"Wait!“ Dewey scrambled on the floor trying to stand or at least sit. It was obvious from the way he teetered on the support of his arms his judgement was way off. He managed to sit on his knees. "Wait! I-I -hic- can't! Patti will lose -hic- lose her crap if shhhheee finds out I. . . ca-called Ned to come -hic- come get me. . .

Another band member cut in.

"It's nothing personal, Dewey. There's just no telling what your fat ass is gonna vomit in his car."

Even though the remark wasn't even all that funny in your opinion, the band members laughed. Dewey laughed too, but it was an uncomfortable laugh. The laugh that comes from the person being joked about trying to seem unoffended. Still watching this all play out, you could tell Dewey was hurt and scared of whoever Patti was. Regardless of your sympathy toward him, you had a job to do.

You continued to pour people's drinks, almost too busy to watch as Dewey's band left him. You didn't see where Dewey himself went until after the evening rush had gone. It was about fifteen minutes to closing. He was sitting in a booth with his head down. There were a few tipsy stragglers at the bar, which was nothing the other bartenders couldn't handle. You decided to go over and check on him. You walked over and sat across from him.

"Hey, you okay?" You asked.

He lifted his head. His eyes were red, and his face puffy and tear streaked. He looked sick and exhausted. He made a sad attempt at a smile.

"Jussss fine." He slurred before another hiccup escaped him. An all too familiar panic flashed through his eyes and he clutched his stomach. He covered his mouth and sat back for a moment until a nasty sounding burp escaped him. He moaned and stared miserably at the wall above your head.

"Are you sure? Do you need a bucket?“

His eyes lowered back down to you. "Jusss go away. . ."

You wanted to do what he asked, but with it being so close to closing, you needed to make sure he had a way to get home.

"H-have you texted your friend to ask for a ride home yet?"

“No. . ."

"Why not?"

"My nightssss -hic- been b-bad enough without my roommate's -hic- girrrlfriend yelling at me. . . and threatening to kick me out."

You couldn't disagree. That would be a worse ending to an already ruined night. Still you had to close up soon. You had to get him out of here, and hopefully home somehow.

"W-What about earlier on stage? You were really good."

He looked up at you, a slight smirk had returned to his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, you looked like you were enjoying yourself up there."

"I alwaaaays enjoy my-myself -hic- onstage. Rock. . . isss what I wass meant fffor. The mussssic sp-speaks to me.

You smiled, seeing that little smirk gave you hope. Clearly he was very passionate about Rock. You decided to try to keep him on the subject.

"When did you first get into rock?" You asked.

"I've pretty much -hic- been Inta rock my whhhhhole life."

"Oh?"

"Y-yeah. I'vvve been singing -hic- since I can. . . m-member. . . It's great for expression. . . a-and sex appeal. . . You think so too, don't you." He was looking you in the eyes now. His expression made your heart skip a beat. You were having second thoughts about this now. Maybe you should have had one of the other bartenders come with you. You nervously backed up in your seat.

"W-what?" You stammered.

"Well yyyyou do keep talking about -hic- the way I looked on stage."

You blushed. It was a big misunderstanding. You just noticed how he stood out from the others.

"O-oh, no I wasn't meaning-"

Dewey chuckled. "Ssssure, you didn't. You even r-risked your job to -hic- over serve me.

You raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"Speaking of -hic- whaddaya say . . . to another r-round?“

Your voice came a little more stern. "No I think you've had enough.'

"Come. . . Come on, baby. Jusss -hic- a few more?"

Baby!? Who the hell did he think he was? “No!“

"Wwwwann me to take my sh-shhhirt off?"

"No thanks!"

“Kiss you?" He grinned.

"Absolutely not!" You stood to get up from the table. He stood too, leaning forward. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. You could tell from the look on his face he wasn't done, but if he wasn't careful he was about to be.

"What if I sign a tit?" It was then that you noticed he was gawking at your breasts. That was it. You reared back your hand and sent it flying into the side of his face. He yelped, sitting back down in the booth. His eyes were wide with shock. He touched the red mark that was now forming on his cheek. His bottom lip quivered. For a moment, you thought he might burst into tears. Unfortunately, what came next was worse.

Once the look came over his face, you knew what was coming, and there was no stopping it this time. Dewey held his gut as vomit poured from his mouth all over the table, and even down your skirt. You were really pissed now.

"GET OUT!" You screamed at him. He sat there wide eyed, embarrassed, scared, and still pretty sickly.

"I-I'm so sorry-"

"OUT!" You pointed to the door.

He scrambled to get up from the booth, and stumbled across the floor. He stopped suddenly leaning over a booth retching again. He wasn't going to make it very far if he left now. You sighed handing him a bucket.

"Just sit down, and text your friend to come get you."

Dewey hugged the bucket and nodded. You watched making sure he texted his friend Ned, while thinking about quitting your job here. It wasn't bad money, but you certainly didn't sign up for babysitting sick, horny, drunks. Dewey retched into the bucket causing you to look away. It was then that you noticed another man walking towards you.

"You okay?" He asked.

You brushed your hair back out of your face looking up at him. You could tell your expression was still harsh, but had no interest in changing it. After all this, you figured you were justified in a little rudeness despite the bar's policy.

"I'm fine.“ You snapped.

The man chuckled and grinned. "Easy sweetheart, I'm just trying to help."

You rolled your eyes.

"Just leave me alone."

The man stepped closer. "That skirt is looking a little messy. Let me help with that."

Your eyes widened, but you didn't have time to react before the man attacked you yanking at your skirt. You screamed. You could barely register the next movements in your shocked state.

A fist flew into the man's face. He staggered backwards letting out a muffled scream from behind hands covering a bleeding nose. Dewey was now standing next to you staring at his blood soaked fist. You wanted to say something like "thank you" or "sorry for screaming at you earlier" but the man who tried to assault you had regained his composure, and grabbed Dewey.

The angry drunk slammed Dewey into the side of the booth, which backfired because instead of a scream of pain, Dewey regurgitated all over his attacker. The disgusted stranger screamed obscenities at him before throwing him to the ground and pinning him there. His messy knuckles slamming into Dewey's head again and again. You screamed for the man to stop it, almost certain from the blood he'd killed Dewey. Your assumption was confirmed false when a fist with a mug in it shot upward and was slammed against the attackers head. The mug shattered and the man fell to the ground unconscious.

"Oh my god!" You knelt next to Dewey, who now had bruises forming on his face and blood dripping from his nose.

"Are you okay?" You asked, looking him over for anything else. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

He just moaned in response, his eyes unfocused.

"Can you sit up? I can help you." With your help he was able to sit up. He leaned back against your arm limp and dazed. A tall thin man in glasses came running into the bar.

"Dewey!? Oh God! What did you do!?" He panicked rushing over to him.

"N-Nehhd. . ." Dewey managed.

"Are you alright?" Ned asked him. He looked at you. "What happened?

"It's a long story." You answered. "But, he helped me." You looked between the two of them. “I'll call an ambulance. He needs to get checked out."

"Wahnna. . . go home." Dewey whined.

"Not yet, Dewey. They're right, we gotta get you checked out first."

You pulled out your phone and dialed nine-one-one, and though Dewey really didn't feel like getting looked over, and was less than cooperative, he ended up being pretty lucky. His back was bruised the worst, and he had a minor concussion, but other than that he was mostly okay. The medic really seemed to prefer he get checked at a hospital, but since Dewey was likely to be less cooperative there he let Ned take home. He was given instruction to stay with Dewey to make sure nothing got worse, and to make sure he stayed in bed if he felt dizzy.

Before taking Dewey home Ned thanked you for taking care of him. You shook your head.

"Taking care of him was an occupational thing. I should be thanking him for taking care of me."

[bijvoorbeeldja]

IG Famous!Sander Chapter 4

DY notice? The POV chapters each begin with the same line. That’s ~soulmate~ energy

Catch up: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

..............

Chapter 4: Robbe

Robbe was buzzing with a kind of nervous energy. 

He’d finally agreed to meet up with the boys at the park — somewhat reluctantly, somewhat anxiously — for reasons he didn’t completely understand. He closed the group chat, his fingers thumbing back to the boy’s — Sander’s — profile before he could stop himself. 

His stomach was doing little flips he did not appreciate as he carefully scrolled through each of his photos. It was obnoxious how good-looking he was. How confident he appeared. Robbe wished he had some of it. He tried to keep his fingers still, stopping himself from automatically double-tapping (oh my god, the nightmare that would be, he thought to himself) any of the aesthetically-pleasing photos he saw. 

God, he was attractive. And talented. And hot. Did he mention hot? But even if Robbe wasn’t up-to-date with the happening on social media, or in-the-know with the whos-whos of popular figures in his town, he knew these kinds of boys. Good-looking, but knew it. Too cool for anyone. Untouchable. So there was literally no point in torturing himself with images of this supermodel boy and his tan skin and his perfect life. There was no point in torturing himself with the idea that this boy was wondering about him. It meant nothing. 

Yet, he was still thinking about it as he skated to the park, music blasting from his earbuds. Why had Sander even bothered asking that photographer about him? There was nothing even remotely captivating about him, even in a photo with nice composition or cool colors. It was just a comment, he told himself. Those social media types were all about engagement, right? 

But despite this script that he kept repeating to himself all the way to the park, his stomach was in knots. Nervous tumbles that wouldn’t let up, especially when he thought back to this morning, when he had been scrolling Sander’s feed. He’d returned to the top and refreshed out of habit. As he did, he jumped slightly as a new photo popped up, recently posted. A selfie. A shirtless selfie. Robbe’s mouth was suddenly dry and he felt himself turning red as he remembered the image. Morning light drifting over Sander’s lightly-browned skin, illuminating muscles and ridges...

Then, suddenly, he was flung backward. He’d hit a bump coming into the park and had landed hard on the ground, his skateboard rolling out from under him. Except, it wasn’t a bump. He’d run smack into someone, who was already talking, apologizing. 

“Geez, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—” but he stopped. 

“Oh. My God.” Robbe said, and while he’d meant his tone to be apologetic — it was him who hadn’t been paying attention — it was those damn ridges, after all… his strained voice came out more...shocked. Because standing over him, already reaching down to pull him up, was a tall boy, with a shock of bleached-blonde hair and a camera slung over his shoulder. The boy. Sander.

Robbe tried to speak again, but his mouth was desert dry and his face felt like it was on fire. Plus, everything in his brain was reduced to punctuation: ? and !. 

“Oh, uhm. I. Sorry,” Robbe finally managed, voice rasping.

Sander was still holding out his hand, but it looked like he considered drawing it back. A dark blush was creeping up his neck and cheeks. 

“No, it’s...uh, it’s my fault. I...I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He seemed to regain some composure, leaning down again to offer his hand to Robbe, seeming confident now. How did he manage that?

Robbe’s stomach flipped as he grabbed Sander’s hand, letting him be pulled upright. He tried not to think about the warmth, the softness of Sander’s palm, the length of his fingers curling around Robbe’s. Was his stomach going to just be an endless tangle of knots? His thoughts an endless !!!! ?

“Are you okay?” Sander asked, sounding genuinely worried.

Robbe nodded and brushed himself off, focusing on gathering his things carefully, as if that would distract his blush away. Sander walked over, picking up his skateboard from where it had landed near a bench and handed it back to him. Before Robbe could stop himself, he heard himself speak.

“You’re...Sander Driesen?”

Sander’s face fell a little, looking sheepish now. 

“Oh, you...you know me?”

If Robbe had been confident enough, he would’ve said, “And you know me.” But he didn’t. He just looked at Sander, face still bearing the blushing results of this entire exchange.

“Well, yeah,” Robbe said, trying to clear his throat. He definitely wasn’t about to mention the many, many minutes he’d spent staring at Sander’s abs. Or that he’d been led to his profile in the first place because his friends had basically Nancy Drew’d his comment from a random photo of him.  Or that he knew that Sander knew who he was. 

“From..you know...Instagram?” Robbe said, smiling slightly. “All the kids at my school won’t shut up about you.”

Sander laughed. “Oh! Well, I guess...I’m sorry about that. I’m...definitely not worth talking about.”

“Well,” Robbe said, shrugging. “I think your 500,000 followers would disagree.”

At this, Sander lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, so you really keep tabs on me, then?”

Robbe was sure his face was on fire. In fact, his whole body was probably igniting into flames this very moment. Goodbye, world.

“Right,” he said, looking anywhere but at the very attractive boy lifting very attractive eyebrows at him. “I guess I better—” Robbe was gripping his board and starting to walk away, but Sander spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry again, ….” he paused, waiting for him to offer up his name.

“Oh. Robbe. I’m Robbe.”

Sander smiled, a deep smile that seemed to reach to his eyes. It made Robbe a little woozy. Was he breathing?

“Nice to meet you, Robbe.” 

[omgjasminesimone]

Tattoo

Bryce x MC

Summary: Bryce thinks Casey needs a permanent reminder of how great she is.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1800

“We definitely didn’t need two orders of loaded fries. We could have shared one.” Bryce comments as he and Casey take a seat at the Shake Shack counter.

“Speak for yourself. I can definitely eat all of these.” Casey responds, tossing a fry into her mouth.

He glances at her while he slowly chews on a fry. “You’re not going to eat all of those. Not after all that pasta we had for dinner.”

“That was hours ago. We did a lot of dancing at the club. I’ve worked up an appetite.” Casey retorts.

He gives her a heated glance, admiring how good she looks in her tight black lowcut dress. “You’ll really work up an appetite later when we get back to my place.” He smirks as she blushes.  

She tosses another fry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “These fries are fantastic. I might get another order before we leave.”

“You will not. You’re not even going to finish that one.” Bryce insists, smothering his own fries with ketchup.

“Want to bet?” Casey asks, her competitive side coming out.

Bryce smiles, he’s competitive too. “Why don’t we make it more interesting?” He proposes. Casey raises a brow, silently urging him to continue. “Whoever finishes their fries first wins.”

“And what does the winner get?” Casey questions.

Bryce’s smile widens, twisting his stool away from the window to fully face the other doctor. He gestures to the 24-hour tattoo shop across the street with a tilt of his head. “Winner gets to pick a tattoo for the loser.”

Casey’s eyes widen slightly. Usually, the winner just gets a kiss. But her pride refuses to allow her to back down. Besides, she gives Bryce’s lean but muscular frame a quick glance, she thinks she can take him.    

“You’re on Lahela.” She cracks her neck, taking a sip of water to prepare. “Maybe I’ll add a tear drop tattoo to your pretty face when I win.”

Bryce smiles at her again, causing her stomach to flutter a little. She tries to squash down the feeling, she definitely doesn’t need stomach flutters if she’s going to out eat him.

“Since I’m bigger than you, it’s only fair for you to add some of your fries to my pile.” He offers.

Casey glares. “I don’t need any kind of head start. I’m going to beat you fair and square.” Plus, he ate way more pasta. And all the bread sticks. There’s no way he can have the abs she knows are under his loose black button up and eat like this. She’s got him.

“Don’t say later that I didn’t offer.” Bryce insists, turning away from Casey and facing his fries. “Ready?”

Casey nods.

“Go!”

They both start shoving fries in their mouths. About halfway through the fries, Casey is full. He’s right, they could have shared an order like he originally proposed at the counter. She’s not going to tell him that though, shoving more fries into her mouth and forcing herself to chew.

Casey takes a glance over to her handsome date, eyes widening when she sees he’s about ¾ of the way done with his fries. He is starting to slow down though, taking a break to sip on his coke, looking a little queasy. She has to speed up, she can still win this.

She finishes more fries, now down to about ¼ remaining. Bryce slams his hands down on the counter. “Done.” He announces smugly, turning to look at her.

Casey frowns, swallowing what’s in her mouth and pushing the rest of her fries away from her, not wanting to eat fries ever again. Bryce smirks, cheekily tossing some of her fries into his mouth and chewing loudly. She glares, but it just makes him laugh.

He hops up off his stool, offering her his hand as she stands as well. She takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I think visible tattoos are against Edenbrook policy.” Casey informs him as they walk out of Shake Shack.

“Don’t worry. I won’t put a tattoo on your forehead.” Bryce promises, tugging her towards the tattoo shop when the crosswalk flashes green.

A bell chimes when he opens the door, the sounds of a tattoo needle making Casey’s grip on his fingers tighten as she gets nervous. He squeezes her hand reassuringly, taking a seat on a couch in the waiting area and pulling her into his lap.

He grabs a binder off the small table in front of the couch, leafing through photos of tattoos. Casey glances at the photos, not seeing anything she would permanently want on her body. Casey doesn’t have any tattoos. When she was younger, she considered getting one. But ultimately decided against it when she shadowed at her first hospital and noticed none of the doctors had visible tattoos.

Bryce kisses her neck, then her cheek, and then gently turns her head so he can kiss her lips. “Relax, you’re so stiff. You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”

“No, a bet’s a bet. Just don’t put something terrible on me. Or your name.”

Bryce smiles softly, kissing her again and lightly tugging on one of her dark curls. “I don’t have to put my name on you to let everyone know you’re mine. That’s what the hickies on your inner thighs are for.” Bryce chuckles as Casey blushes, turning her head away from him and looking at the designs again.

He glances through a few more pages before tossing the binder back on the table, tapping her thigh to inform her to get off his lap. “I’ve decided.” He proclaims, walking over to the tattoo shop receptionist. He leans forward, smiling at the girl charmingly as he speaks softly to her. Casey can’t make out what he’s saying. He hands the girl his credit card before heading back to Casey, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you going to tell me what I’m getting?”

Bryce smiles. “It’s a surprise.”

Casey exhales irritably, feeling impatient. “Have you ever wanted a tattoo?” She asks to pass the time. She knows he doesn’t currently have any. She’s seen every inch of him since they’ve been casually hooking up for months. Lately, things have felt more serious. They’re going out on more actual dates now. She’s stopped seeing Rafael. And she hasn’t asked, but she thinks Bryce isn’t seeing anyone else either. But they’re still not official. She’s not sure how to bring it up, or if it’s really what she wants.

“I’ve always wanted a traditional Hawaiian tribal tattoo. A whole sleeve. My uncles have their whole chests done, both sleeves.” Bryce answers.

“What stopped you?” Casey asks, turning her head up from his shoulder to look at him.

His jaw clenches, and he looks like he might not tell her. “My father.” He finally says. “He’s one of those indigenous Hawaiians who rejects his own culture. Who looks down on his own people.” Bryce shakes his head. “But now I just have hospital policy to worry about. As an intern, probably wouldn’t be great for me to show up with a full sleeve. But when I’m a world-famous surgical attending who’s untouchable, I’m definitely getting one.” He states confidently.

Casey smiles, kissing his jaw. “World-famous?” She parrots.

Bryce smiles. “Of course, you know I have magic hands.” Casey rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling fondly. “What about you Valentine? Any cultural tattoos you’ve always wanted?”

She shrugs. “Well, as you know I’m a lot of stuff. A little Scottish, which is where Valentine comes from, but mostly Latina and Black. I wouldn’t know which culture to honor with a tattoo.”

He kisses her tan forehead, looking into her brown eyes. “You could get several, to honor all of them.”

“Let’s see how I do with this one first before I get three more.”

“Casey Valentine?” The heavily tattooed receptionist calls out.

Casey and Bryce stand. “It’s showtime.” Bryce says with a charming smile, gripping her hand and tugging her through the bead partition and into a room with several tattoo chairs and artists.

Casey winces as a teenager cries out as the tattoo needle digs into her shoulder. Bryce squeezes her hand once more. “Sure you don’t want to back down? I promise not to think any less of you.” He assures.

She hops into the tattoo chair. “I’m not a punk Lahela.” She insists. “Where am I getting tattooed?” She questions.

“It’s going to be somewhere you can cover up.” He promises.

“Like where? My ass?” She asks.

“No, your ass is perfect just the way it is.” He winks at her. “I was thinking…..lower hip” His fingers trail over her hip, leaving a fiery trail even though he’s touching her through her clothes. “Upper rib” His fingers trail to the 2nd option, tickling her a little. “Or….ankle.” He takes a seat in a plastic chair beside her, tugging her left leg toward him and kissing the inside of her ankle. “You can pick.”

She thinks it over. The tattoo artist arrives, putting on his gloves. “Of these places, where will a tattoo be the least painful? Hip, ribs, or ankle?” Casey asks him.

“Definitely ankle.” The tattoo artist responds.

“Ankle it is.” Casey decides.

“What are you getting?” He asks.

Casey gestures to Bryce. “Ask him. I lost a bet.”

Bryce and the tattoo artist converse quietly, Bryce drawing up a rough sketch of what he has in mind. Casey drums her fingers nervously against the leather chair, in disbelief that she’s actually going through with this. But she trusts Bryce, knows he wouldn’t put anything heinous on her body. She takes a deep breath, telling herself to relax.

Bryce grips her hand as the tattoo artist turns on the tattoo needle. “I’m right here Casey.” She nods, closing her eyes as the needle digs into her skin. It’s actually not that bad, and it’s over in mere minutes.

She opens her eyes. “That’s it?”

The tattoo artist nods. Casey sits up, glancing at her ankle and her mystery tattoo.

It’s a small shooting star. She looks up to Bryce. He smiles at her. “I wanted something you can look at and remember how great you are Casey. Something that will inspire confidence, which you should exude because you’re amazing. You’re a shooting star. Don’t ever forget it.”

Casey smiles, gripping his hair and bringing his lips to her’s.

“Do I get to pick a tattoo for you now?” She questions when she pulls away just barely, speaking against his lips.

“Not until you finally win a bet. You’re 0 for 8 now.” Bryce responds.

Casey laughs. “You know, a gentleman would let me win once in a while.”

“I am many things Valentine, but a gentleman is not one of them.”

…

..

.  

taglist: @octobereighth @sibella-plays-choices @hazah @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @professorortegasstudent

[tetrakys]

My rewrite of MCL UL first dates - Castiel

I liked the Episode10, I just think the writing could have dared more. Here’s my take on Castiel’s date.

I was finishing my shower when I heard someone knocking on my dorm’s door.

“Yeleen? Come in!” I wrapped a towel around me before going into the room. “Why did you…”

It wasn’t Yeleen.

I pulled my towel tight around me, making sure nothing was showing and let him in.

“What are you doing here, Castiel? Weren’t we supposed to meet at the Snake Room?!”

“Y-yes, but, do you mind getting dressed first? It’s kind of flustering to have a conversation like this.”

He tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t hide the heath in his eyes while he tried and failed not to stare at me from head to toe. Was he really a little flustered? The big bad wolf. The famous rocker, man of the world.

“My my… did you change your mind about that shower?”  I came a step closer grabbing the end of his tie nonchalantly “you are a little overdressed though.”

He looked me straight in the eye with a barely contained mischievous smirk at the corner of his lips and I realised… he was baiting me! He really was the big bad wolf! Damn… was I ever going to play on an even field with this guy?! Backing off before giving him a chance to call my bluff, pointing at the wardrobe behind him, I said “Just teasing” voice shaking just a little while avoiding his hot stare “move so I can grab some clothes.”

Instead of moving he rummaged through my closet for a few seconds and then handed me some clothes wadded up in a ball.

“I have always found your innocence so endearing, particularly when you try to act out all grown up.” He was openly grinning now, the asshole! “Get dressed, we’ll worry about that afterwards.”

I grabbed the clothes with one hand and locked myself securely up in the bathroom. Geez…

I straightened the clothes he had handed me and realised what he had picked. It was a little black dress he knew very well, he had given it to me as a gift for my birthday a few weeks before our break up. I had never had a chance to wear it while we were together and never had it in me to do it afterwards. I put it at the back of my closet and left it there for years but, for some reasons, I took it with me when I moved back in town. The subconscious can really work in funny and not-so-mysterious ways sometimes.

I put the dress on and realised right away that there were two big problems. First, my body had definitely changed in the past four years. Now I had boobs, and hips. The dress was very tight around my chest, making breathing a little more difficult than what it’s supposed to be, and short on my legs, reaching mid-thigh. This may have not been a great inconvenience if it wasn’t for the second problem: the bastard didn’t give me any underwear! I looked myself in the mirror and briefly considered asking him to get me something else to wear. Hell no, no tapping out. Endearing innocence my ass.

I quickly put on some make-up, just mascara and eyeliner, left my long hair still a little dump hanging on my shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom barefooted. He was looking out of the window and turned around when he heard the door opening. If I didn’t know him as well as I did I would have been a little disappointed because, as he started at me, he looked completely relaxed if not slightly bored. But I knew better, he had some tell-tale signs he wasn’t completely aware of that had been quite revealing in the past. When he was nervous he tightened his fists. When he was sheepish (crazy I know, but sometimes it did happen) he swallowed. When he was aroused he became very stiff, everywhere.

Right now? He was doing all of it.

“I though I was going to fall asleep”

I just looked at him without replying, sitting down on the bed, and his eyes didn’t miss how my skirt rose a few extra inches along my thighs. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“There was no way around it… There’s a huge crowd in town. It looks like there’s some kind of festival organised in the park. I’d barely left my apartment when a bunch of girls rushed up to me in the street. I tried to get to the Snake Room but I got followed.”

“You got rushed by groupies? High school girls, I assume.”

“At first yes, except the swarm kept getting bigger. They were asking for selfies every which way. I hurried towards the bar, but a lot of them kept following me. So I came here, thinking they’d give up at the campus entrance, but…”

“They followed you all the way here?”

He didn’t reply.

“They followed you all the way here!”

“Still, I managed to get into the dorm alone, but the rumour must have spread.”

I picked the key on my desk and hurried to lock the door.

“… I guess it’s not the night-out you were expecting.”

I could tell he was feeling guilty but, to be honest, I was happy to be with him no matter where we were.

“I’m sure we can have a nice time here. I can put on some music and we can chat. Well… I don’t have anything to drink, but other than that, it’ll be just like the Snake Room!”

“Hmm, I’d like to see that” he said with his typical lopsided grin.

I switched on the music on my laptop. Some nice background music, kind of rock, obviously. Then, I turned on the string of lights hanging over my desk. “So, impressed?” I asked sitting back on the bed.

“Very” he laughed.

“Still, is it always like this? As soon as you leave home?”

“No, we released a new videoclip… and it has done really, really well online.”

“Oh really?” I picked up my phone “Show me.”

“Are you interested?” he asked surprised.

“Of course.” He searched online and clicked on the video before handing my phone back to me.

The videoclip started up.. The music started with bass sounds, and all of a sudden the drums joined accompanied by the guitar. It was powerful, it almost sounded like heavy metal. Much gloomier than what they’d done up until now. The first person that appeared in the video was Castiel. He was at the wheel of a black car and tearing through the forest at top speed. I recognised him, without recognising him… even though he was barely wearing make-up but… He got out of the car, dressed all in black, low-cut jeans and a black tank top. As he moved to close the car door, you got a glimpse of his hip bone and V-line abs. He was… incredibly charismatic and sexy. As I watched the video, he got up and leaned against my desk, watching my reaction. His voice rose in the music, powerful and soft at the same time… In the video you saw him go into a huge castle and hurtle down the stairs four steps at a time before joining a young woman in a bedroom. She was just wearing a see-through, navy blue negligée. He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck forcefully, and she abandoned herself totally in his arms. Close-ups of certain parts of the two actors’ bodies were the only things the viewer could see… I felt bile rising up my throat and didn’t even dare glance over at Castiel. God, I was jealous. The video ended focused on her, totally nude on him, blindfolded. She hold a vial of poison between her teeth and pretended to kiss him so she could pour it into his mouth. Castiel pushed her away, she got up and run off, letting him strangle alone in the bedroom. The other musicians weren’t in the video, just him. And the directing was incredible. It seemed like a short film.

“So there…” he said maybe a little embarrassed. I laid my phone down.

“Wow, that was… I understand the infatuation better now. The video’s awesome.”

“Thanks.”

“Up until now your face wasn’t in the videos. But you’re a really good actor.” Too good.

“They convinced me to do it, telling me it’d be successful if I put myself in the spotlight. I wasn’t really convinced but… I was the only one against the decision. So I gave in.”

We heard giggling. I got the impression they were sitting right outside the door in the hallway.

“Looks like they were right” I said smiling.

When he told me he had put it online just early that afternoon I almost couldn’t believe it. There were already 400,000 views and thousands of comments. I scrolled through the comments, they were all about Castiel. Mostly stupid thigs like “Marry me” or “To think that this guy goes to MY school!” I saw a link about a fan page asserting they had all the info about Castiel and clicked on it out of curiosity. “Castiel…geez… look!”

The latest post online was a picture of my dorm room door, indicating: ‘He went into an Anteros Academy resident room! OMG!’ Castiel looked at the picture for a long time before reacting.

“Well now, it definitely looks like we’re going to spend the evening here. They’ll end up getting tired of waiting.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t care.” He sat down on my bed.

“Aren’t you afraid of what they’re going to say when you leave here?”

“There’s another solution…” he said serious.

“What, using the window as an escape route?”

“Never leaving this room.” He looked at me straight in the eye and my heart skipped a bit. I could feel my skin burn everywhere he was caressing it with his eyes, and I suddenly remembered that I was completely naked under that little piece of fabric that was supposed to be a dress.

“You know… You have no reason to envy the girl in the video.”

He could tell, could he. “And yet, there’s good reason to” I said matter-of-factly. She had had her hands all over him.

“You are so very wrong…”

He sat closer to me and laid his hand on mine gently before looking me in the eye.

“Castiel…”

“The proof… I’m here… with you. Not with her. And you’re the one I want to be with tonight…”

His gaze went down to my lips. He raised his hand to caress my thigh, up and down, and up again always a little higher… When he moved his face close to mine I could feel his cool breath caress my chin, and then he left a small tender kiss at the hollow between my shoulder and neck.

I was about to lose my mind, but he had said something that had ticked me off a little. He wanted to be with me tonight. Meaning what? Tomorrow he would be with her? Or someone else?

“Funny how you were the only one in the video though… your bandmates never showed up.”

“Of course not” he said in between kisses along my neck “the story is about me.”

He froze at those words, like he had shared something he wasn’t supposed to. And then it hit me.

Him running to her. The passion, the hunger, the love. Then she betrays him and runs away, leaving him for dead. The actress had my same hair colour. Similar high and built.

“To the risk of sounding really pretentious… was that video about… us?”

He didn’t reply and I knew I had hit the nail on the head.

I raised my hand to his cheek caressing him with fake tenderness and, with poison in my voice, said “what a nice opinion you have of me… a murderous bitch.”

“The video was filmed in the summer, before you came back in town.”

“Still…”

He pushed me and I fell with my back flat on the bed. Setting between my legs, hands at each side of my had, he brought his face close to mine.

“You have no idea… Four years ago… how I felt.” Oh he was angry, looking at me with dark eyes… but I was angry too.

“I think I kinda know” I spat out.

“You left” he growled.

“You stayed!”

VLAN!

What the…?! A big bang on the door. We both jumped fast. It was so hard I thought the door was going to break. We heard giggling in the hallway. “Damn, watch out, you’re going to bust the door! We could get into trouble with the administration!” a voice said. “It’s the only way to find out if he’s really in there!”

“Well, looks like we’re going to have to cut the evening short. I’m going to handle this once and for all!”

He got up, really pissed off, and I was sure the crazy groupies were only part of the reason. I grabbed him by his wrist.

“Don’t do that, it’ll make the band look bad, it’ll calm down over the next few days! Don’t do anything you’d regret.”

Still, he flung the door open, and about fifteen speechless girls stood face to face with him in the hallway. A long silence ensued.

“Excitement’s what you want? Here you go!”

He took my face in his hands and angrily put his lips on mine in front of the group of girls gaping in the hallway. He kissed me with fervour and hunger and, at first, I just stood there, shocked, letting him have his way with me. However my body quickly acted on his own grabbing his hair and following him in the kiss. When my mind finally snapped out of it and I remembered all those people staring at us, he pulled away.

“Hi there!”

Castiel cut through the group before running down the hallway towards the exit. I stood there in the same position for a second, in the doorway, as the girls stared at me in shock. I stepped back in my room as soon as I saw one of them rummaging through her bag to pull out her phone, and slammed the door hard behind me.

Wow. I shook my head as if to get my thoughts straight. What had just happened?

The night was going so well, amicably chatting and flirting a bit at first. Then things got heated and we were about to… when we started to fight, still on the bed though. Who knows what would have happened if we had been left alone. At this point we would be either making out or killing each other. Possibly both by the look of that kiss. A kiss he gave me in front of a bunch of strangers to… what? Make a point?

I turned around right away and locked the door, thinking that those maniacs could open it if they wanted to. I caressed my lips… despite everything, he had definitely just kissed me. Did he really do it just to shut them up? Even though… before those silly morons banged on my door, we were going to…

I checked my phone and considered sending him a message, but I didn’t know how… or what to say. I let myself drop down flat on my stomach onto my bed, arms spread out in a cross. What had just happened for goodness sake?!! I played his video again and watched it non-stop, until I finally dozed off.

[lamujerarana]

37, Spideytorch

Johnny has decided that he loathes high-society charity parties. The only reason he ever goes to them is because he’s an awesome younger brother and he wants to support his older sister.

It’s totally not because she’s completely intimidating and he’s a little bit afraid of her when she’s pissed because she makes him do things like cleaning the hangar bay with a toothbrush, just because he played an amazingly hilarious prank on Ben that left a huge mess, and she didn’t think it was funny. It’s not his fault that Sue has zero sense of humor. It’s just a curse he has to bear.

Sue’s been going through this big philanthropy kick these days, so Johnny’s had to attend so many of these parties, and he hates every second of being at them. He wonders if making him go to these things is maybe her way of paying him back for being a pain in her ass, but no. Sue would never stoop so low. He thinks.

He supposes Sue’s obsession with these charities probably has something more to do with the fact that the FF are all famous and rich now, and what you do when you’re rich and powerful and famous is use all of that influence to help other people. He’s glad Sue’s into this, he really is, especially since it means he doesn’t have to be.

All he has to do is go where she tells him and smile when she says to and look pretty for the cameras. Which he’s very good at.

When Sue told him that this party was a themed costume party — pirates, specifically — Johnny’d cheered. At least that was fun. He spent a month working with one of the most famous designers in New York on making the sexiest pirate costume anyone’s ever seen.

He thinks he was pretty successful, judging by the angry shade of red Sue’s face had turned when she saw his amazingly sexy outfit and the way Reed and Ben had face-palmed and then spent most of the trip over here looking like they really wanted to gouge their own eyes out.

He knows they all still think of him as being somewhere around five years old, but he is nineteen years old and everyone who isn’t Ben, Reed, and Sue thinks he’s totally hot.

What, like their costumes are any better. Ben’s dressed like Blackbeard, of course, because he really is the historical Blackbeard (Johnny’s sure that’s all he’s going to be talking about all night, so he’s already made plans to steer clear), Reed’s wearing a lot of frills and lace and Johnny thinks that’s a feather, and it’s just not cool at all, even though he does look unfairly good in it, and Sue’s dressed like someone named Anne…something.

She could’ve dressed up like a pirate wench with tons of cleavage, but no. She is dressed like a dude.

This is why Johnny has to bear the burden of being the hottest person in the family alone. Sue could be hot if she tried, but she really doesn’t try.

Sue’s still mad that she didn’t get to go back in time and meet real pirates like the rest of them. Johnny can tell. The fact that she’s still mad is probably why she made this party pirate-themed in the first place. It’s been four years, and she should get over it, Johnny thinks.

Johnny pops another caviar-covered cracker into his mouth, and then he makes a face. God, he hates caviar. It’s so slimy.

Why can’t they ever have, like, mini-hot dogs or burgers at these things? He’ll have to suggest that to Sue for next time.

His eyes wander through the crowd, and then he sighs, disappointed. Everyone here must be over forty. They’re so old. And none of them are hot.

This is why he hates these parties.

He perks up, however, when he spots that editor, J. Jonah Jameson, who is old and wrinkly and so not hot, but he is accompanied by a brunet photographer who most definitely is young, smoking, and just Johnny’s type. His back is toward Johnny so he can’t really see his face, but what he sees is great.

The photographer is wearing pantaloons, a bandana on his head, and a green vest with nothing underneath, and it’s a good look, Johnny decides, especially when the guy turns around, because, man, oh man, his abs are amazing.

Johnny promises himself that he’s gonna put his mouth on those before the night is through. He has a goal, and he is determined.

His eyes flick up to the guy’s face, and he winces. Aw, crap. That’s Peter Parker, that nerd Johnny’s ex-girlfriend Dorrie always used to go on about (“he’s so smart and responsible and better than you in every way imaginable,” is what Dorrie’s snide comments had typically amounted to), and who Johnny has understandably come to hate.

Who the hell knew that he was built like that under those awful sweater vests? Or that his face was actually not terrible underneath those very unflattering glasses and that gross haircut?

He’s filled out in the shoulders since Johnny saw him last, which was probably about a year ago. Johnny hired Peter to follow him around and take photos of him, and it’d ended badly, to say the least. Johnny had gone bald after he got frozen during a fight with Doom and that jackass Spider-Man had chipped all of Johnny’s hair off, and Johnny hadn’t been able to show his face in public for a month.

Spider-Man probably loved the whole thing, that jerk.

Johnny kind of doesn’t want to go talk to Peter because he knows it’ll be awkward given that Peter’s, like, his former employee, but also there��s no one else to flirt with, so he might as well give it a shot.

He weaves through the crowd and taps Peter on one of his nice, broad, muscly shoulders. Peter’s busy taking pictures of the crowd, which means he’s probably working or something, and he’ll probably be glad that Johnny’s brightening his day.

Peter’s eyes widen when he sees Johnny’s standing there, and then they narrow. Well, that’s not a good sign, but Johnny is nothing if not determined.

“Hey,” Johnny says, flashing his most charming smile at Peter, the one that makes all the girls and guys go weak in the knees, guaranteed, “what brings you here?”

Peter’s knees disappointingly do not go weak. “I’m working, Torch,” he says flatly. “Go bug someone else.”

Johnny would, but there’s no one else worth bugging. “Geez,” he says. “What’s got you so upset?”

Peter looks at Johnny as though he can’t quite believe him. “You never paid me for those photos I took of you.”

“Didn’t I?” Johnny says. “My bad. Send me the bill.”

“I did. You didn’t pay it.”

“Oh,” Johnny says. “I don’t really check my mail. Send it to my sister. She’ll pay it. She’s all…” He waves his hand around. “…responsible, and stuff.”

“All right,” Peter says, and then he mumbles something about how he could really use the cash.

Peter goes back to snapping pictures like the conversation is over, and he seems surprised when he realizes that Johnny’s still standing there. “Uh,” he says. “Was there something else?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it.” He might as well go for it, he supposes. He holds out a hand and says, “Wanna dance?”

Peter’s eyes narrow at the hand Johnny’s stretching out. He gestures toward the camera he is holding in his hands. “I’m working, Torch. For people who actually pay me at the end of the night.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna pay you. It’s not like I can’t afford it.” He wiggles his hand at Peter. “C’mon. You must get breaks or something.”

“I just got here. So no, not yet.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Well, when do you get a break, and will you dance with me then?”

Peter glances over at Johnny as though he’s trying hard to figure something out. “Why are you so interested in dancing with me?”

“Well,” Johnny says, “in case you haven’t noticed, everyone else here is like eighty.”

“Ah,” Peter says, like it’s all making sense now, “so you’re desperate and I’m literally the only option you have. Figures.”

“It’s not like that,” Johnny says, scowling. “You…look better than I remember you looking.”

Peter shoots him a wry look. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“You have abs,” Johnny says. “They’re nice. And the new haircut is an improvement. And I’m glad you lost those glasses. You look…not terrible.”

Peter looks amused. “Are you saying you actually think I’m hot?”

“I’m saying I don’t think you’re…not hot.”

Peter snorts. “Oh, wow. I’m so flattered.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “Fine!” he says grumpily. “You’re totally hot, and will you dance with me?”

Peter looks at Johnny as though he can’t quite believe Johnny just said that. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“I told you your abs were nice,” Johnny shrugs. “What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t…know?”

“You should consider never wearing a shirt again,” Johnny says. “You’ve got the abs, might as well show them off.”

“I don’t think that’s practical, Torch.”

“It’s good fashion advice.”

Peter’s eyes flick down. “Says the man in striped hot pants.”

“I look hot,” Johnny sniffs. “Admit it.”

Peter doesn’t say anything.

“Ha!” Johnny crows. “You do think I look hot!”

“Your abs are…nice,” Peter says, and Johnny’s pretty sure he’s trying not to smile.

“I know,” Johnny says, preening. “So does this mean you’ll dance with me?”

“Yeah, fine. Just. Don’t let my boss see us, yeah?”

Johnny tries not to smile too gleefully as Peter takes his hand and leads him toward the dance floor.

This is turning out to be a better night than he thought it’d be.

[olicitysecretsanta]

Worth Fighting For

This fluffy semi-canon fic is for you Liz @trippin-over-my-fandoms by @tangled23works!

It’s been a pleasure to write this story even though I’m sure it’s not exactly what you had in mind. I promise, however, there is a method to my madness. Hope you’ll enjoy it! Merry Christmas!

Summary : Oliver has a devious plan in order to charm his wife after a stupid fight. Meanwhile, Felicity may have been blind to the obvious.

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

Word count : 2217

***

The fight had started innocently enough. Oliver had made a rather self-deprecating comment which Felicity now couldn’t even remember and she had exploded like a bomb. A year’s worth of repressed emotions and negative thoughts had violently burst out of her like a swollen river. She had blamed him for things that he had honestly thought they had put behind them with all the drama that happened last year. She had accused him of having one foot out the door, always thinking of ways to leave her like her father. That comparison had hurt him more than anything else. In other words, she had had a major freakout. In her loud voice. 

To top it all off, she had banished her poor husband out of the room. Oliver for his part had accepted her decision, looking stoic as always. His eyes, however, his beautiful, blue eyes that never failed to pull her in had given away his inner turmoil. In a calm and collected manner, he had obeyed her wishes and slept on the couch. 

The morning after, Felicity had woken up on the verge of tears. The huge Christmas tree in the empty living room seemed to mock her. William was still in Cambridge and she missed him terribly.

Feeling desolate and alone, she had made a cup of coffee and had been considering the best way to apologize to Oliver when her phone beeped. Sighing, she unlocked the screen thinking that it would probably be her husband checking on her when she noticed that he had sent her not a message but an email with an attached photo. Intrigued, she downloaded the attachment while shaking her head at the fact that Oliver was incapable of using imessage or messenger or any other app more advanced that good ol’ regular gmail. 

At first she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Did Oliver send her spam?

The moment she turned the device sideways, however, she figured it out. The sneaky vigilante knew that she had a thing for his arms so he had sent her a picture of him flexing his biceps. She couldn’t see his face but she figured out that he was training at the Foundry 2.0, shirtless. It took a few minutes of daydreaming about her husband’s arms around her, caging her in, protecting her before she realized what the photo meant. Oliver was fighting for her, for them, in his own weird way.

Felicity sighed again - a much more satisfied sigh this time - and poured her awful coffee down the sink. The thing had tasted like dirt. Well, she had actually never eaten dirt on purpose but the coffee was dry and stale, hence the dirt analogy. She looked into the empty mug, worriedly. It was as if someone had drowned a cigarette in there. The thought upset her stomach so much that she made sure to stay out of the kitchen and as far away from coffee as possible for the rest of the morning.

At 2 pm, her phone beeped again. Felicity almost tripped in her haste to reach it. Feeling restless and on edge, she opened the attachment and moaned out loud. Her devious husband was shirtless and glistening with sweat on this one. Granted, all she could see was his glorious, scarred back and muscular shoulders but it was enough to make her flush all over. She bit her lip and felt the need to literally fan herself. If he was trying to woo her he was doing a damn good job of it. She ended up woolgathering for a ridiculous amount of time considering that she usually had the actual man in front of her and could stare to her heart’s content, before an unwelcome thought hit her. She furiously typed one simple question.

Who took this picture Oliver? 

His reply came a few seconds later, though it felt like an eternity to her.

Dig. I promised that we would never EVER mention it to anyone. 

Felicity giggled like a freaking schoolgirl at the thought of big, mean Spartan taking candid photos of the fearsome Green Arrow to help him win his wife over.

I also had to give him my precious Starling Rockets vs New York Yankees tickets. 

Aww, you must really love me.

She added several heart emojis to the last message just to tease him. Oliver didn’t reply but she could picture him grumbling to Dig, complaining about her inability to share his love for the Rockets and baseball in general. Happy to miss the diatribe that would surely follow - her husband was surprisingly eloquent when it came to sports - Felicity focused on writing the algorithm for her new and improved security system. It had been a month since the last update and she had work to do.

She had created the system last year after the Lizard’s attack (she refused to call him the Dragon, it was a matter of principle) and she was proud of it. Apart from providing protection for her family, the system had made her famous among tech companies. Several of the biggest names in the tech world had hired her and decided to trust her technology in the months that followed. Including a certain Mr. Dennis, current CEO of PalmerTech, but Felicity had graciously declined that offer. 

She was deeply engrossed in coding the next time the phone beeped. Felicity took a deep breath and refused to hurry, stretching instead to relieve the pressure from her sore back. Let Oliver worry for a few minutes. He wanted to break her resistance but she would not give in that easily. He had to work harder to change her mind. Although to be honest if he was naked in this one, she would definitely fold like a cheap deck of cards. But there was no way that her husband would risk sending a naked pic online. Not with all the Green Arrow media frenzy that followed his every move. Surely she had taught him better than that. Right? Right? 

Okay, now she was officially freaking out.

Felicity grabbed the phone and considered it for a moment. This thing was a bigger threat to her sanity than evil doppelgangers from Earth X. It was more potent than any guilty pleasure she could ever dream of. More potent than molten lava chocolate cake, more compelling than Oliver’s authentic Italian tiramisu, more powerful than creamy raspberry cheesecake… Trying to focus, she stared at the damn device as if it was the enemy.

Felicity huffed in annoyance. She was being utterly ridiculous and it was all her husband’s fault. She proceeded to download the photo and reminded herself that she was made of stronger stuff. She would not cave no matter what. 

“Oh my God!”

The good news was that Oliver was not naked. The bad news was that it was worse. Way worse. He was actually standing in front of the mirror, wearing his tuxedo (including the jacket and an unraveled bow tie) but he had left the shirt unbuttoned all the way down. The suspenders were hanging down making the whole outfit more sexy if that was possible. Adding insult to injury, he had taken a selfie. Not of his face. That would have been too kind. Of his gorgeous abs. 

Felicity enlarged the photo, staring at it, slack-jawed. The sight of his out of this world eight-pack abs caused her toes to curl like they described in romance novels.

“That’s it. I’m gonna kill him this time.”

She heard the front door open before she could finish plotting her nefarious revenge schemes. She couldn’t hear a sound but she knew who it was. There was only one person in Star City who could be so stealthy, moving silently like a ninja.

Felicity turned towards him steeling her spine. As soon as she came face to face with the source of her frustration though she felt her resolution crumble. He looked good enough to eat. Pun intended.

“You’re still wearing your tux!” she accused in a high-pitched voice.

“I know.”

He took one tiny step forward.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

Another step.

“Even if I’m not sure why.”

“I know.”

Another step.

“Oliver, I have no idea what’s going on with me. First, I get so mad that I want to throw stuff at you. Then, I get so horny I want to jump you as soon as you get home. And now, I feel…”

“What? Tell me, Felicity.”

He had almost reached her when he paused, waiting for her answer.

“I feel like crying. Which is unfair because I don’t know why I feel that way. And my coffee tastes like dirt and my back hurts and I’m miserable all the time,” she whined.

Felicity narrowed her eyes when she noticed her husband’s sly smile. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m smiling,” he corrected, “because I know what’s wrong with you.”

“You do?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded and another softer smile adorned his stupidly handsome face.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Why?”

“Because the moment I tell you, you’re gonna freak out. Because I’m worried you’re not ready for this. Felicity, I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you.”

It was her who covered the remaining distance in the end. 

“Oh, Oliver,” she whispered. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

He looked down, avoiding her gaze.

Felicity took his arms and placed them around her waist. She had to stand on her toes and lean her head back to meet his eyes but it was worth it.

“Hey, what’s wrong? I know I’m behaving like a hormone-crazed teenager at the moment but I swear that you’re not gonna lose me. No matter what.”

He shrugged and didn’t comment.

Felicity put her lips against his. Not kissing him, just that silly thing they sometimes did where they whispered their thoughts against each other’s lips.

“I’m glue, baby. Remember?”

His eyes lit up brighter than their Christmas tree at the reminder. 

“Hi,” he whispered, tenderly.

Felicity caressed the back of his neck adoring the way his scruff felt against her face. They had been through so much and they would probably go through a lot more in the future. But it was okay as long as they had each other. 

“Oliver?” she murmured.

He gave her a slow, wicked smile.

“Why are you wearing your tux? Is it because I got mad at you?”

“No.”

“Because it’s Christmas and you thought that I deserve a present?” she asked hopefully.

“You deserve all the presents. But no.”

“Then why? Are we celebrating anything today?”

She played with his hair while he mulled over his reply.

“Felicity,” he said at last, sounding gentle and unsure, “I think that you’re going to give me the best present of my life in a few months.”

Her eyes which had previously closed because of the safety of his warm embrace, flew open.

“No,” she denied.

Oliver stroked her back smoothly.

“Really?” she asked, unnerved.

“Yes.” 

“How can you know?” To say that she was feeling overwhelmed by the idea would be an understatement.

“Trust me. I know.”

The look in his eyes… In that moment, Felicity would have done anything to keep him looking at her like this forever. Like she was the one constant in his life that would never change. Like she was his anchor. Like she had wrapped the world and offered it to him as a gift.

And that was the thought that broke through her panic. Because Oliver was her anchor as well. He had given her the world from the first moment he had walked in her cubicle and trusted her with his life as the Hood. She might have doubted many things during the past year but she had never, not once, doubted his love for her. And she knew unequivocally, deep in her bones that he would always cherish their child.

“I trust you,” she breathed. 

To an outsider it might have seemed like she was replying to his earlier comment but Oliver understood. She was giving him back something she had kept locked since he had first lied to her about his son. She was giving him back a piece of her heart that she had desperately tried to keep safe.

They got lost in each other for a while, both misty-eyed but beaming.

“Do you think we’ll be good parents?” he said out of the blue. “I mean, William is already a teenager but with the life we lead, it might not always be possible for us to be there for this little one.”

“Then our child will grow up knowing that we did everything we could to protect him. He’ll know that his parents loved him even if we’re not there to show him.”

“Her,” he corrected.

Felicity tried to raise an eyebrow and failed.

“Her?”

“She’s a girl,” he announced in what Felicity called ‘his mayoral voice’. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

She shook her head in amusement. Girl or boy she had no doubt that her child would grow up loved.

“Best Christmas ever,” she declared, feeling happiness suffuse every molecule of her being.

And as Felicity rested her head on her husband’s chest, she realized that they were slow dancing without music.