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expectingtofly · 3 years ago

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Claire Novak's (Surprisingly) Not-So-Lame Day

this fic is written for @dean-has-great-taste as part of @starrynightdeancas' gift exchange. thanks sophie for organizing this, it was a lot of fun <33 and i hope you enjoy this, gen!!

*****

How did Claire find herself joining Dean, Cas, and Jack for an excursion to the mall?

Well.

Cas had texted her yesterday, with an extreme amount of emojis and emoticons that took some time to decipher, asking if she wanted to go shopping with him, Dean, and Jack. Apparently Jack needed new clothes and they needed a gift for Eileen’s birthday coming up, and maybe they could go bowling or something afterwards.

And normally she would’ve said no way because hanging out with old guys was lame and she didn’t like little kids, but she needed an excuse to get out of Jody and Donna’s weekend plans of cleaning out the garage. Plus, Kaia needed to study for a test—she actually enjoyed school, the weirdo—and had requested no distractions.

So that’s how she found herself sitting in the back of the Impala next to a carseat, listening to one of Dean’s old cassette tapes (which wasn’t too bad, but she’d never admit it).

“What’s that?” Jack asked, stretching against his carseat straps to jab at one of the pins Claire wore on her leather jacket.

“It’s the lesbian flag,” she told him. Cas looked back at them from the front seat, smiling.

“This one?” Jack pointed to the rainbow pin on her pocket.

“It’s the pride flag.”

Jack considered that for a moment before announcing, “I want one. And this one.” He pointed to the mothman pin on her lapel, then the big-eyed, green alien. “And this one... and this one, and this one.” (Alex said she had more pins than leather on her jacket, but sue her, she liked making her clothing her own).

Jack, it seemed, also liked… unique clothing. The kid was wearing rain boots even though the sun was out and overalls with embroidered flowers. He dressed weird, there was no way around it. But so did Cas, so there was probably no hope for him, poor kid.

“Okay,” she decided. “I know where to get you some.”

Jack beamed and swung his legs. “Don’t kick the seat,” Dean told him, and Jack pouted at him.

Claire was surprised Dean even let a carseat in his precious Impala. Pulling out her phone, she asked, “Can we listen to my music?”

Dean started to respond with a “Hell no,” but Cas spoke up first, “Of course.”

Dean spluttered as Claire connected to the bluetooth connector Sam had finally convinced Dean to install. The old man didn’t realize it was the 21st century, apparently.

“I wanna listen to Gaga!” Jack said, leaning over to look at her phone.

At first she thought that was some baby talk, then she realized Jack was into pop music. Ugh. But it would annoy Dean, so...

Leaning in conspiratorially with Jack, she let him scroll through her phone and choose which song to play. When “Born This Way” started filtering through the car, Dean groaned.

“Really?” he asked, sending her a glare in the rearview mirror. Mission accomplished.

Jack clapped along and Cas turned the music up louder. “Great choice, Jack,” he said.

Dean, for all his grumbling, didn’t turn down the music, and Claire caught him glancing at Cas, who tapped his fingers on his thigh to the beat. Dean looked like he was fighting back a smile and Claire rolled her eyes. Dude was so whipped.

When they parked at the mall, Cas grabbed Jack’s hand before he could sprint across the parking lot. “You have to look both ways,” he reminded him gently, and Jack nodded.

“Claire’s gonna buy me pins,” he said, jumping onto the curb.

“Yup.” Claire pat her jacket pocket. “Good ol’ credit card fraud.”

“Woah, now,” Dean started to protest.

“You and Sam are the ones who taught me!” Claire reminded him.

“We’ll pay for them,” Cas said, opening the door to the mall. Jack skipped inside, his rain boots squeaking on the tiled floor.

“We’re doing what now?” Dean asked Cas, taking his hand. Gross.

“Come on, Jack,” Claire said, catching up to the toddler. “Let’s go get you some style.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Meet up with you guys later.”

“Have fun!” Cas called.

“Don’t get kidnapped,” Dean added.

As they distanced themselves from the old geezers, Jack grabbed her hand, and Claire startled a little. “Do you like dinosaurs?” he asked.

Someone passing by gave them a smile, and Claire realized people probably thought Jack was her younger brother. She let him hold her hand anyway. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite? Mine is the bon-ta-sore-us.” He sounded out the word carefully.

“Don’t know. What’s the one with the spiky horns?”

“Ti-ce-a-tops?”

“Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“That’s my second favorite!” He started jumping from one colored tile to the next. “And the T-Rex. That’s Dee’s favorite. And Dad likes the steg-a-sore-us.” He peered up at her. “Did you know he got to see dinosaurs? Right in front of him!”

“You know what that means, right?” He shook his head. “He’s super old. He’s basically a dinosaur himself.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “He’s a dinosaur,” he repeated in a hushed whisper.

“Yup.” Spotting Hot Topical, she headed that way. “You should tell him that.”

Inside the store, Jack let go of her hand to grab a stuffed cat. “Claire! Like yours!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah.” So, she still had the Grumpy Cat Cas had bought her. She wasn’t cruel enough to throw it away when the guy was trying so hard to make up for walking around in her dead dad’s body. Plus, the stuffed animal was kinda cute. Not that she was going to tell anyone that.

“Here ya go,” she told Jack, finding a box of pins at the register. She brought the box down to his level and Jack ran over to look inside.

“I want a Doc McStuffins pin,” he said, plunging his hand into the box.

“I don’t know if they have those.”

As they rooted through the box of pins, she heard familiar voices and looked up to see Dean and Cas walking inside.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“I like this store,” Cas said and Dean rolled his eyes. Among the pleather and black, Cas’ dingy old trench coat—over a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt instead of a suit—and Dean’s ratty flannel and boots only looked more ridiculous. She took it back—even Jack dressed better than them.

“You guys don’t have to be in here,” she told them.

“What, we’re too old?” Dean asked defensively.

“Yeah, actually.”

Cas poked at a toy and it squeaked. God, could they be any more embarrassing?

“Dad!” Jack called, holding out a rainbow pin. “Look, they have soo many.” Cas joined Jack in going through the pins and Claire asked Dean, giving his outfit a meaningful look,

“Was the Army Surplus store too trendy for you?”

“Did they kick you out of Sephora for buying up all the eyeliner?“ Dean shot back.

Touché. In a truce, she held out a pin with the bisexual flag. She wasn’t really sure what Dean identified as, if he even gave it any thought, but guessed it was close enough. “For you.”

Dean rolled his eyes but took it. “I’m not weighing down my jacket with this crap, though.”

“No, ‘course not, that would mean having any sort of style.”

“Can I help you with anything?” asked an employee with two nose rings and jewelry up and down their ears— so cool. Claire saw the way their eyes flicked between them, probably thinking they made a weird group, and she took a step back, trying to silently communicate that yes, she was shopping with them, but no, she was not as lame as them.

“Just looking,” Dean told them.

“I like your drawings,” Jack said and the employee looked down at their arms which were littered with tattoos.

“Thanks.”

“My dad has a drawing. It’s Enochian.”

The employee—Wren, by the name tag—looked at Cas with new respect in their eyes. “Language of the angels. Sick.”

Cas looked pleased. “Thank you. It’s come in handy more than once.”

The employee went back to looking confused and, starting to walk away, told them to call if they needed anything.

“Do you want anything?” Cas asked Claire, and Claire looked through the box. She grabbed a pentagram pin and, seeming to copy her, Jack grabbed another one, clutching several pins already in his fists.

“You like bees, right?” Claire asked Cas, spotting a “Save the Bees” pin. She held it up for him.

Cas’ eyes brightened. “That’s a wonderful message.” He glanced back at Dean and frowned. “Dean, they’re not going to bite.”

Claire looked over to see Dean shying away from a few emo teens. “Look like it,” Dean muttered, joining them. Jack lifted up his hands, asking to be hoisted up. Dean set him on his hip and Jack showed him the pins he’d selected. He held a dinosaur pin to Dean’s collar.

“Do you want one, Dee?”

“He’s too lame,” Claire piped up. Not for the first time, she noticed the healed over piercing mark on Dean’s right ear and pointed to it. “Looks like he used to be cool, though.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Dean said dryly. His hand went to his earlobe. “Pierced it myself, in high school.”

“I think you’re still cool,” Cas told him, and Claire fake-gagged, making Jack giggle.

Cas took the pins to the cash register where Wren rang them up. Dean added the bisexual flag pin and Claire threw in a pair of spiky earrings, because, hey, they were paying.

“15.36,” Wren told them, dropping the pins into a bag.

“My dad’s a dinosaur,” Jack told them, trying to see over the edge of the counter. Wren raised an eyebrow, Cas looked surprised, and Claire stifled a laugh.

“Claire, help me,” Jack said, grabbing the bag from Cas as they exited the store. Moving to the side, Claire helped him attach the pins to his overalls. A smiley face, a pride flag, a grinning Stitch, a sunflower, a dinosaur, and the pentagram. The pins clacked as Jack tugged at his overalls, trying to look at them all. Overall, a chaotic look, but it kinda matched his vibe.

“Lookin’ good,” she told him, and Jack beamed.

“I’m like you!”

Alright, she wouldn’t take it that far, but, “Yeah, close enough.”

Cas attached the “Save the Bees” pins to his trench coat pocket and it ended up crooked. Rolling her eyes, Claire said, “Let me.”

She reattached the pin and stepping back to look it over, decided, “You could actually make that coat look cool if you added more stuff to it.”

Cas looked down at himself. “Thank you.”

“Nothing’s gonna save that sweatshirt, though.” Couldn’t let his ego get too big.

“Dean said he liked it,” Cas said, glancing back at Dean, who was shooting an evil eye at Claire. He quickly wiped it off his face and draped an arm over Cas’ shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s uh… Charming.” He guided Cas away from Claire. “Don’t listen to her, she still thinks sarcasm is a personality trait.”

“Screw you, old man,” she called. Jack skipped after them and she checked her phone to see Kaia had texted her: How’s everything going? They drive you crazy yet?

They’re so weird, she texted back. Then she added, They’re not too bad.

“Come on, Jack,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him, Dean, and Cas. “Let’s go get our ears pierced.”

“Yay!” Jack cheered. He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the mall.

“Woah, woah, you’re not doing that,” Dean protested like the wet blanket he was.

“You can get yours pierced too,” Claire told him, and he faltered,

“I don’t want, we’re not—“

“You know you want to.” She let Jack lead her away and Dean called after them,

“We're never bringing you shopping again!”

Grinning, she turned to shout over her shoulder, “You know you love me!”

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #established dean/cas #claire novak #toddler jack #dadstiel #fic #spn #expectingtoflywrites #im gonna post this on ao3 as soon as i figure out a summary lol

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

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

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

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

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

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

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

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

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #trans duck newton #reader request #meet ugly #boxer au

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malease00 · 5 years ago

Text

For the love of a myth prologue

quick creds: don’t own the picture, so the credits for it go to the artist. i honestly just found it on google.

So basically, for now at least, I think I’m going to stick to the mythical monsters, or legends. Monsters that you’d see on lost tapes.

Your nan had always warned you about legends. “Legends are to be taken serious.” She would always tell you as a young child. “They have a hidden truth in them, whether we’d like to believe it or not.”

Everyone in the family always laughed at her, treated her like she was bat shit crazy. You believed her at first, but as you grew in age, you began to see that maybe she was crazy. There wasn’t any tall scaling, big footed creatures in the forest. There wasn’t any lake, river, or sea monsters that you’ve seen. You’ve never even heard of any cases of a lizard man.

Even if you didn’t believe her anymore, there was two legends that still scared you at your current age. Of course they would. You were born and raised in West Virginia. Having two legends based in the area scared you to death.

Stories of the Mothman terrified you as a child. As a kid, you understood that when he was sighted a disaster followed. It was said that he gave clues to them as well. You grew up around the myth of his existence. Some believed, others didn’t.

You never knew if you should be terrified of him or take pride in a cryptid being based in West Virginia. As soon as anyone had mentioned his name, you left the room. You wanted nothing to do with it. Such as time like these.

***

It was late summer, or really the end of summer. It was cold and dewy in the early mornings, but as soon as it hit 10 o’clock it was as hot as ever. Although, as soon as the sun began to drop around 7 pm it seemed as if it were already mid fall. You loved cold weather, that was a fact. Even if you did, you didn’t love the typical West Virginia bi-polar temperatures.

It was beginning to get late in the evening, you had just planned on doing some quick, grab and go grocery shopping, but your nan wanted you to pick up a couple of things and bring it to her. Only thing was, she’s about an hour out of your way. She lives deep into the country side of town.

You wrapped your light jacket around you as you put the bags into the back of your car. In a hurry, you rushed to put the buggy back as the wind began to pick up. Taking a quick glance at the setting sun, you went back to your car with a slight shiver. Wind wasn’t always the nicest. You fixed your hair and composed yourself, getting settled in and shuffled your music, You had a slight trip ahead of you.

The sky was dimming, the sun setting over the gorgeous mountains casting a red halo over them. You loved it here. Sure, cities are nice, but you weren’t too fond of thousands of people. Cities were over crowded. This was the right place for you. Everyone in town knew mostly everyone, although even if it is a small town, everyone seemed to mind their own business. Traveling to major cities is an adventure, but you always knew that the mountains were home.

Glancing at the clock, it was now nearing 8 pm. You wanted to hurry, but at the same time you wanted to take your time. As much as you loved the mountains, wreaking in a sharp ass curve wasn’t on the bucket list. One wrong jerk and you could send your car and yourself over the mountain side plummeting to your demise. You shook your head to drive away that thought. It’s better to go slow and to be safe. You could always spend the night at your nans’. The fear of the legend was in the back of your mind. You tried to tell yourself that you didn’t believe and that it didn’t scare you in the slightest.

You knew the truth. It scared you to death. The legend of the Mothman terrified you to the core. It’s almost completely dark now. You weren’t but a couple of seconds away from her drive way now. You glanced at the clock one more time, but got distracted by a pair of glowing red eyes flying at your windshield.

You slammed on your break, a panic coursed through your veins. You jerked the wheel sharp to the left causing the car to do a spin. As the car spun, the tail end of it slipped a tree jolting your body, head smacking the window. A sharp pain erupted causing a painful hiss.

You clenched your eyes, a horrible headache was quickly developing. As you did so, a flash of the red eyes popped into your mind causing them to shoot open. “Oh, fuck..” You trailed off, hands shaking from the adrenaline rushing. Chest heaving in an attempt to get you to breathe, as much as you tried, you felt it constricting. It was beginning to become painful to breathe. “Oh god.”

You grabbed the steering wheel as a way to get your bearings. Sucking in a deep breath, you counted to ten before exhaling. You did this several times. You knew what you saw. Of course you knew what you had seen. You were told the legends. You knew it by heart. He wasn’t supposed to exist. Why of all people would he target you.

You looked out of the windshield to see that he had landed in the middle of the road, not even 50 ft in front of you.

‘What on earth could he want?’ You asked yourself, as you did his wings flexed. The way he raised his wings above his head terrified you.

You weren’t going to step out of that car, even if it would be the last thing you could do. There’s no way you could out run him on foot. You most certainly wouldn’t be going towards him. There was honestly only on thing you could think of. Of course, you didn’t have too much hope in your driving skills, but at the rate you didn’t have much of a choice.

Staring him down, he gave his wings a flap as he started to walk forward. Your heart picked up speed as he began to get closer. You threw the car into reverse, not even bothering to look into the mirror.

As the car began to pick up speed, you backed into your nans’ driveway not caring what was in the way. You’re 80% sure you ran over a flower basket, but that’s a feat for later.

A thud hit the top of your car, dents appearing as he hit. At this rate, you were absolute scared beyond your wits. You pressed your hand hard into the horn, holding it for a good twenty seconds.

Throwing the door open to the house, an old woman came marching out with a shotgun in her hands. “What in the heavens name are you doing, child?”

Inside the car, you pointed to the roof. She looked it over and shook her head. “Ain’t nothin’ there. Now, why in god’s name were you driving in here like a maniac? You even ran over my flowers!” She sighed aggravated.

You threw open the car door, tearing off your seat belt. “I saw him, nan. I saw him.” You teared up, one or two of them slipping from the middle.

“Him?”

You nodded, “He made me wreak, I have a gash on the side of my forehead.”

She sighed and patted your back, “Oh, baby... are you absolutely positive that it was Him?”

You nodded again, “ Red eyes, Wings, absolutely terrifying? It was definitely him. Why would he do that though? Why would he scare me? ” Your tears turned your eyes red.

“There’s no way to know hun. No way to know.”

#mothman x reader #mothman reader #male monster #female reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #human x monster #monster lover

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murder-cate-wrote · 8 years ago

Text

Something I wrote for a friend. RusPrus, part of a larger, unspecified domestic au that I haven’t quite figured out myself.

Enjoy.

Ivan rushed through the door. He tossed his bags haphazardly into their allotted corner, just past the entrance way. He heard the awkward rattle of an unsteady object nearly toppling over; it was the coat rack, which Ivan had flung his book-laden canvas and hand stitched satchel at. Ivan froze at the sound, staring in sheer horror as the treacherously tall and clumsy coat rack almost fell like an oak felled by a storm.

However, the rack did not fall, and settled back into place with one last rattle.

As soon as Ivan knew that the rack was out of danger, he released his breath and slumped over. He half wished his body would just let his legs go limp beneath him, the fall knocking him out cold. If he could've fallen exactly as the coat rack almost had, Ivan might be happy. But some primal message in the back of his brain stopped his legs from breaking down, and some other lurking voice laughed at him for this flaw.

Of course the first thing that Ivan did upon returning home would be almost making a big, ugly mess. Naturally.

There was nothing quiet about Ivan. Not the way that his feet dragged or stomped on the laminate wood floor, nor the way that he muttered under his breath and cursed many, many undeserving things on soft bits of air. Especially not the way that he finally got fed up with it all; trying to organize his thoughts and sort out what goes where.

What book did he need to look over, what questions that went along with the section? He didn't care. What project needed his attention, what piece was next in line? He didn't care. What about himself, what to eat, drink? Maybe a shower? Pajamas even?

Ivan didn't care.

He trundled into his small, though very well kept, bedroom. The door slammed behind him, and Ivan winced as he heard the walls tremble. He casually flopped down on the bed, dragging himself towards the middle, where a slight indent in the shape of his body indicated his favorite spot to rest. The bed groaned uncomfortably under his weight. The blankets had been well made before Ivan laid down and mussed them, and were rather stunned that someone was already in bed at this hour. It wasn't even quite dinner time; the sun still above the horizon, and yet someone occupied the bed. Either way, the thick, floral blankets had little say in the goings on of life. They silently accepted the staunch, unmoving occupation.

Ivan himself was surprised as well. This morning, he had left the room in utter disarray. Now, it was spotless. Of course it was, Gilbert couldn't stand a mess. And with a free day to do as he pleased, it seemed as if nothing pleased Gilbert more than simple chores and menial tasks that most people considered torturous.

Ivan had woken up early that morning, nerves shredded to bits at the thought of the day ahead. He had spent quite some time picking out what to wear, making a fiasco out of something so trivial. That little shirt and pants parade of his left various articles of clothing strewn about the room, Ivan much too nervous to worry about putting them away. It was as if he forgot about them until he was already gone from the house, unable to go back and put them away like he should have in the first place. It wasn't just that... Ivan remembered knocking a few things off of a shelf in his panic, some little picture frame or odd trophy, neither of which belonged to him. And, no, he hadn't bothered to pick either of those up, seeing as he was much too worried about himself to bother.

The memory summoned a rather hollow, dark feeling in his chest.

Ivan had made another mess the moment he had entered his apartment that evening. A clutter which Gilbert would come home to from whatever little escapade he was out on and gladly remedy. He would never mention it to Ivan, and probably wouldn't ever think about it again himself. Perhaps it was this quiet, peaceful acceptance that drew up a deep blame in Ivan. It was like the fault lines between the tectonic plates, slowly ripping Ivan apart.

He fell asleep, draped limp across the whole bed, flat on his stomach. It was a position comparable to one that an investigator might find the victim of a murder in.

Gilbert frowned, the edge of a snarl curled on the edge of his frustrated huff. He switched his truck into park, and slammed his hand on the steering wheel as if to prove to himself just how irritated he was. He snatched a box of pizza from the passenger's seat, then practically kicked open his door. He didn't really care for the truck that much- it was just an old red ford, with its fair share of dents and scratches- this physical abuse didn't even begin to make him feel guilty. He'd be getting rid of it soon anyhow. Maybe his brother would like it for his apprenticing shop, use it to teach the kids a few things.

Jumping down from the cabin of his truck, Gilbert slammed the door closed, relishing the clatter of metal slapping metal. It was chaotic and mindless and beautiful.

Unlike his mother, who had just spent the better half of an hour subjecting him to her own special mix of mental torture- a creative blend of his current shortcomings mixed with those of his past, all being communicated over the phone.

Yes, Gilbert had muttered. He remembered how he always forgot to do the dishes or take out the trash and yes, he was on top of that now, no need to fuss... and what was that? His grades? Hell, how had she even gotten ahold of those? Oh, yeah, Gilbert himself had sent her a short documentation via email, as his mother had requested when he first began attending college. A monthly report so that she could keep an eye on her little boy, and make sure that he was okay.

Like hell she did. She didn't give a damn, she didn't care! She was a control freak that exploited every single one of his flaws and never acknowledged any of his successes beyond a light pat on the back. She bitched and bitched and never thought one that perhaps some of Gilbert's issues were not with him, but with his mental affliction. Then again, Gilbert's mother didn't believe that ADHD existed anyhow, so why bother hoping that she might see it one day and get off his back?

Gilbert sneered, but quickly lost the glare in his eye as he caught sight of a moth fluttering around the dully glowing scone outside his apartment door. That was on the second floor, and Gilbert hadn't even reached the stairs yet. So that was one big fucking moth.

"Damn," Gilbert muttered, utterly amazed by the size of the moth. "Mothman's cousin must be trying to move in or something."

A mew to his right caught Gilbert's attention next, and he quickly looked down to face this new creature.

"Ah!" He cried in delight. "Mothman!"

Mothman, the amber eyed black cat, blinked lazily and meowed again. He was not looking at Gilbert, but at the pizza box he carried. Gilbert snorted. "Oh, don't even try and use me, cute face. It might work on softie, but not me. Besides," Gilbert squatted down, careful to hold the pizza out of Mothman's reach. "This is the good stuff, ya know? Not to brag, but it ain't Little Ceasar's. Cost me more than a couple pennies outta my own pocket, catch my drift?"

Mothman wound around Gilbert's legs, and all at once the tension melted off of his skin. His mother could go softly fuck herself for as much as he cared. Mothman was absolutely right, Gilbert thought as he stroked the cat with his free hand. There was no reason she should get up under his skin like that. Certainly no reason that she should make him so mad that he hurt someone else, aside from the truck that was used to the odd beating.

"Ah, fine." Gilbert laughed, giving Mothman one last, good cheek scratch. "I'll see if I can sneak out some for ya. For now, I gotta get up to the room. Ciao!" The last word, a farewell in an unfamiliar language, was spat out as cooly and stupidly as Gilbert could manage. He laughed at his own tomfoolery, while Mothman seemed to roll his stunning eyes.

Up the stairs Gilbert dashed, with his keys rattling in his pocket and the pizza expertly balanced on his hand. It was not long before he had reached his respective door, although he was rather disappointed to find that the moth he had spotted was long gone. Twisting the key in the lock, Gilbert shoved the door open with a quick yell. "Dinner is here!"

Upon receiving no reply, and observing the assorted books, folders, and sketchpads scattered on the table, a small, sad frown took over Gilbert's face.

"Bad day, huh?" He asked no one in particular.

He quickly found the bags that went with the various school supplies, and put them away as best as he could. The pizza had been set on a free spot on the table, which was clear after Gilbert had finished his small task. It was long forgotten by then, as was any hunger that nagged at Gilbert. His mother, surely, would've lectured him about eating consistent meals. But her son didn't hear her voice echoing in his head that evening.

There was nothing loud about the way that Gilbert moved. Not the way that his feet silently padded across the rug, nor the way that small concerns fluttered in and out of his thoughts. Especially not the way that he entered the shadowy bedroom, kneeling down beside it and resting his chin on the edge of the mattress.

Evening had long since claimed the sky, along with soft, unimposing clouds. The light from the half shuttered window was grey and calm. Gilbert could've fallen asleep then and there. He had, several times before in similar situations. But Ivan wasn't sleeping this time. Gilbert could tell by how the other man curled into himself, and by the anxiety that poured off his skin like a river of blood from an unseen wound.

Now, all Gilbert had left to do was be patient. Ordinarily, for Gilbert, this was like asking him to hike Mount Everest in a single day.

But for Ivan? God, he'd sit still for a week. He'd meditate and make peace with his mother and any number of ungodly things that Ivan would never ask of him. Gilbert grinned, lopsided. Ivan would never ask anything like that, even though he knew that Gilbert would act upon the whim of his word. How kind of him, honestly.

No, Ivan only asked for simple things.

Usually, forgiveness.

"Sorry." Ivan croaked. His voice was strained, absolutely pitiful. Usually, it had such a clear, golden tone, which floated up to a soprano's pitch. Gilbert admired it for its irregular beauty. Now it nearly made him want to cry.

But he didn't let the grey light and soft apology ruin him. He smiled wider, creeping up a bit further onto the bed, half on-half off. With his chin perched upon his hand, Gilbert said, "what for?"

Ivan shallowly shrugged. "The mess. 'm sorry."

"Nah," Gilbert swallowed hard before going on. "That wasn't a big deal. You know that. I tell you every time you supposedly 'make a mess'. It was my day off, and I should be thanking you, rather than you coughing up this... what should we call it this time?"

"Sob story?" Ivan offered.

"Yeah, this sob story... Like I was saying, I should be thanking you. I would've gone insane today with nothing really to do, so you helped me. Honest. You kept me sane, Ivan. As usual. You don't gotta be so glum about it for my sake, okay? You're good, you're good..."

Here, Gilbert paused. His mouth was half open as his tongue tried to come up with more words to fill the empty space of the swiftly darkening room. His eyes caught sight of the dim portraits the clung to the walls of the room. Pictures that he had taken. Mostly from his trip to Europe. The Coliseum in Rome, the Brandenburg Gates in Germany, a random bridge in France, a few sheep in the U.K....

"Hey." Gilbert whispered, a new thought having come to mind. He was proud of it, in fact, seeing as it was one that contained a slim memory which he expected himself to have forgotten. Yet, there it was.

Ivan grunted, permitting him to continue.

"How was that presentation today, eh?" Gilbert raised up, excited to hear. The thought that perhaps this was what caused Ivan's off mood never occurred to him. Not until Ivan groaned and rolled over. By then, it was too late for Gilbert to take his words back and take a more sensitive approach.

"Oh, God." Ivan nearly sounded like he was in tears right then and there. He sat up, and looked far more miserable than before. Gilbert couldn't tell for the dim light, but he hoped that tears hadn't already stained his cheeks. "It was so awful, Gil. So, so bad..."

"Hey, hey...!" Gilbert nearly jumped on the bed, trying to reverse his imperceptive mistake. Now even with Ivan, he searched the other's face once again for the stains left by tears... if Ivan had cried, that meant he had also...

Relief washed over Gilbert, a wave of ease relaxing his muscles. Searching his face, searching his arms, Ivan hadn't gone and done something stupid, he hadn't hurt himself.

"You couldn't have done bad." Gilbert whispered, and took Ivan's hands in his own. Ivan turned his face away and hid behind the shadow of his hair. "You prepared for so long. I know you did well."

"No." Ivan protested. "No, I didn't. I stuttered and I froze up and I forgot half of what I was supposed to say. I forgot my own story, Gil, the story I've been working on for most of the semester."

"Yeah," Gilbert leaned over, trying to find Ivan's face and meet him with another smile. "And I forget my own first name sometimes. Trust me, Ivan, I've been watching you work. You did awesome, I know it."

"You just said you don't know your own first name. How could you know anything about how I did, huh?" Ivan frowned, turning ever so slightly only to see Gilbert's wide grin. He nearly lost the grip he had on his glower.

"I said I forgot my name sometimes, not that I didn't know it." Gilbert corrected, bringing one of Ivan's limp hands up to his lips. He planted a quick kiss on Ivan's palm, which surely tickled the skin. Ivan jerked his hand back in surprise, and even in the low light, Gilbert caught sight of the dull red color on Ivan's cheeks.

"One thing I'll never forget, though, is that you do good work, Ivan. Who gives a damn if you get nervous sometimes? It happens. Your professor wasn't looking for an intensive speech on controversial topics, she was just looking to see the progress you made on your story board over the semester. I know for a fact that she's impressed. You put your soul into that thing, it's seriously impressive. You're really, really good at putting your ideas and images on paper, seriously. You don't even need to speak! Your art has a voice of its own. Just you wait until you go in tomorrow. I bet she'll say something to you about how fantastic it was." Gilbert finished, hesitantly awaiting Ivan's reaction.

He saw no real change in expression, only a small twinkle in Ivan's eyes. "I guess she will," Ivan murmured, and Gilbert felt elation spread through his veins. Had Gilbert really, finally convinced Ivan that he was as amazing as he knew he was?

"She will because you'll slip her a twenty, or make some shady deal. Scoundrel." Ivan added, and Gilbert tilted his head back and belted out in a cackle.

"Me?" Gilbert asked, recovering from his fit. His expression mimicked absolute astonishment. "Why, I'd never!"

Ivan just shook his head. Though a soft smile lit up his lips, Gilbert wasn't quite satisfied with that temporary change. It would be gone much too soon.

He laughed softly once more, then cleared his throat. Now, his voice had a far more serious, almost stern tone, that caught Ivan's attention. "Listen, Ivan, please don't be so tough on yourself. I bet no one even noticed that you stuttered or forgot anything. When I used to play for concerts, I thought every time I messed up that everyone in the audience knew. Well, the thing is, those suckers didn't know jack. And still don't. That's just the game. I know what's going on and what's supposed to happen, and they, the audience, can only assume that what happens is what's supposed to happen. You gotta own that sometimes, you know? You gotta own your errors, even if they haunt you when you sleep. Sometimes, it's better to pretend like you have ugly little children... but you still love them, yeah? Even though they're ugly...."

Ivan stared for a moment, then broke down in his own laughing fit. He allowed himself to fall backwards, landing on his back with a soft 'oof.'

"Where do you come up with this stuff, Gil?" He asked quietly, rubbing a hand across his face.

Gilbert crawled over to meet Ivan's eyes. His own were half lidded, as if he were dreaming. And his smile had curled into more of a devious smirk, as if he knew that he had gotten his way and won the battle. "Well, my mother always told me that my mouth was like a hallway, directly connected to my ass."

Ivan snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I know all about her and what she used to say... what do you think, though?"

Gilbert tapped his chin, feigning a period of silent thought. In reality, he had his answer within a moment. "It's the combination of our unique brilliance, that's what I think."

"Maybe you're just crazy, and I really haven't been keeping you sane at all." Ivan offered, shutting his eyes.

"Maybe." Gilbert creeped a bit closer, sitting right up against Ivan's side. "Maybe I don't care."

With that, Gilbert leaned down and connected their lips in a kiss that felt like the gentlest car crash to ever take human lives. He was perhaps a bit rough and silly, but then Ivan smiled against him and this was too enticing not to treat with some amount of seriousness. Gilbert felt himself pulled by a strong arm flush to Ivan's chest, and brought his own hand up to wind his fingers through Ivan's silken hair. A warmth as sure as death shuddered through his body, but Gilbert didn't give a damn if it meant he was on the road to hell or otherwise. This, all of it, was well worth its weight in gold, and then some.

Ivan was the first to break away. He blinked a few times but didn't say a word. His eyes were as soft as his lips, calm and satiated. In and of itself, this was an expression of gratitude that simple words couldn't express.

Then, he hugged Gilbert tight, offering no hope of escape. Gilbert accepted this with a strained, amused wheeze, his face afire and tongue in awe of the Ivan's subtle taste. Settling down and tucking his head as best as he could beneath Ivan's chin, Gilbert continued to absently work the tangles out of Ivan's hair. Ivan hardly noticed the occasional tug; he was simply entranced by how delicate and sensitive Gilbert's touch was. It was a ritual, and Ivan was the fortunate victim.

"Hey." Gilbert whispered.

Ivan hummed, giving permission for Gilbert to go on.

"I just thought of something else I'll never forget. Never, ever. You ready for it?"

"What's that?"

"I'll never forget how much I love you."

#rusprus #aph prussia #aph russia #domestic au #plot?#whats that #nah this is better #fluff #Adhd mention #self harm mention

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danvssomethingorother · 8 years ago

Text

Up For Adoption (the last one for now)

This last one for adoption isn’t even that old but I just can’t finish it. I started it before halloween, planned on finishing it but got busy and was going back to at the worst possible time, when Trump got elected.

I fell into a depression and just lost all motivation after that man won. I am just recently getting back any motivation to write again and just don’t want to work on this one because 1) its not Halloween anymore and 2) I stopped writing it because I was suffering from depression.

I had big plans for it, I wanted to include Wendy’s mom as a main character and have her, Dan and Ivan help Fidds save Tate along with a few other kids from the Kill Billies.

It was connected to my more to love series (found here)

But I don’t want to go back to this one, yes I like it still because it is so different but other things mean a lot more to me.

That is all for now! If you want to see any of the fics I put up for adoption they are here. Sorry about the dump but I needed to clean out my drafts.

---

Gravity Falls was run by an older more superstitious generation, making it harder for the youth to celebrate Halloween properly. A curfew was set each year at sun down for anyone under eighteen and any stragglers would find themselves locked up in the county jail until sun rise, for their own protection they would be told. Tonight when the harvest moon rose, there was going to be an even grander uprise of the supernatural then there was on any normal night in this strange little Organ town.

The residents of the little research cabin, tucked away from the town’s folk’s nosy eyes in the heart of the forest knew this better than anyone else in this town ever would.

Stanford Pines, the man who had started them down this strange path in life, planned to use this night to gather more research on what made this town attract the supernatural the way it did.

His brother Stanly, had more nefarious ideas in mind to profit off this night. Over hearing the town’s folk’s woes and worries for tonight, he had set up a safe haven of sorts for those who were “dumb enough” as he put it, to travel all the way out here for supplies necessary to keeping the supernatural far away from their homes tonight. The week before the night he began throwing together novelty items loosely based off of things he found in his brother’s research with cheap material to sell to anyone who feared the unknown tonight in a tent he had set up not far from their home.

He had begun setting it all up behind his brothers back and though what his brother had done irked him to no end, his research assistant and love of his life, had convinced him to allow his brother to continue his scheme, it was only for the night and the profits would only benefit their research and their son.

The hoards of towns folk congregating on their lawn, trying to sneak quick peaks into their home and place of research was making Ford’s teeth grind but he kept his silence not wanting his young son, never far away from his father, to learn any new “nicknames” to call his uncle.

Hours before our story truly begins, Ford had finally decided he had enough of watching his brother make a mockery of his work from the safety of his home and declared he was leaving early this year.

It was an hour before sun rise, Ford hadn’t slept any the night before trying to keep his mind of the loud group of people from his study before disappearing into the lab only emerging to get everything packed and ready to leave. The rustling of cloths and supplies being hastily thrown together woke Fiddleford from a dead sleep. He jumped up instantly calling out his son’s name fearing he was into something he shouldn’t be.

“Go back to sleep, dearest,” Ford whispered in his ear before kissing his eye lids in hope that they would shut, as they usually did, with the gesture.

“Ford…?” He grumbled between a yawn, squinting his eyes at his lover’s silhouette, “what are ya doing?

“I can’t take Stan’s mockery of my work any longer,” he couldn’t beat around the bush this time with his displeasure of what his brother was up to in his front lawn.

“Are ya really gonna leave without gettin’ any sleep…?” Fidds grumbled the annoyance at the edge of his words as he glared at the alarm clock telling him it was only three in the morning.

Ford smiled sheepishly towards Fidds who had finally turned on the light and was giving him his signature look telling him how much he disapproved of him running off so early without even planning on telling him good bye. Fidds’s stared him down, eyes boring into his back when he tried to ignore that look by continuing his packing. He grumbled under his breath knowing how Tate felt when he got his hand stuck in the cookie jar. He sank down beside his boyfriend who sighed loudly putting his fingers on his shoulder.

“What am I gonna do with ya, Stanford? If you wanted to leave this early ya shouldn’t have been up so darn late last night…” Fidds gently kissed him on the cheek before making to get up, “At least let me make ya some coffee before you run off.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed, dearest?” Ford asked focusing more on the twitching fingers in his lap then the man he loved. Fidds slid his arms around his neck kissing his cheek once more a tired smile rising.

“Are ya gonna go back to bed with me?”

“I would rather be gone before Stan wakes up…”

Fidds buried his head in Ford’s shoulder to hush the loud snorted laughter at the petty admission. Ford rested his hand on his head running his fingers from his hair before kissing him there, frowning at the musty smell meaning Fidds hadn’t had a chance to shower after the work he was doing last night in the lab.

Stan’s snores echoed in the hall way as they exited their room, Fidds took a moment to check on their son before they continued their way down stairs. They tip toed down the steps together and took the extra precaution of heading down to the lab where Ford already had a coffee machine set up. Fidds went to work making coffee while Ford packed up the cloths he had brought down with them ready to go after one last cup of coffee with the man he loved for a few days. Packing his supply bag he noticed the object Fidds had been working on the night before and picked up, quirking his eye brow at in amusement.

“You were serious when you said you were making Tate’s costume into an indestructible force?”

“I can’t be too careful for tonight,” he said firmly stirring the creamer and sugar into his coffee the worry already nestling on his face, “You know more than anyone that this is the most dangerous night in Gravity Falls but Tate is five years old now, he wants to go out and celebrate with his friends from school. I just want him to be safe while we’re out tonight.”

“Be back here by five,” Ford said firmly set his fully packed bag down and staring intently at Fidds who hadn’t looked at him yet,” I don’t want either of you getting hurt. If you want, I can---“

“No,” Fidds finally sighed out turning towards Ford, “I don’t want you to cancel your plans. The harvest moon brings out critters who you can only see this time of year. I’ll get Stanly to come, his shop should be closing its doors by three today knowing him so he can go have his own fun, he can accompany us before rushing off.”

Ford scoffed shaking his head, “Be back by sun down, promise me that.”

Fidds smiled and kissed Ford’s fingers gently before looking him straight in the eyes, “I’m not that dumb too be out after sun down. Ya can trust me with our child’s life. Now you promise me you will be safe out there in the middle of all of this all by your lonesome.”

Ford kissed Fidds on the tip on the nose and lead him over to the bench to sit for a minute and enjoy their coffee and all the while dodging his statement and concerns. Those primal fears were once more rising and clashing against his thoughts making his knee bounce as he tried to keep up with Ford and the research he planned to gather tonight. Tonight and only tonight, every creature in this town began to stir and more strange things then even usual attracted themselves to this town like a magnet. Tonight may be the night he hoped to discover what exactly did attract the strange and unusual to this town. With the rise of the harvest moon, the dead were always the first to stir from their graves before the blood thirsty monsters began coming closer to the town than ever before and even new and more terrifying creatures seemed to make their appearance known tonight. Ford had been going out every night for the last six years on this unholy night in hopes of finding some connection, just the right evidence that would crack open why this town was the way it was and finally solve the unified theory of weirdness.

Every year had ended in some type of catastrophe (some mildly amusing now that the anxiety cleared enough for Fidds to find some amusement in them) from the first year being held by the gnomes to be the main course on the Halloween feast to last year ending up in lock up for disturbing the peace (it was a very long and embarrassing story involving mothman, several broken windows and yelling obscenities the owners of The Dusk Till Dawn felt was uncalled for at a homeless man just outside the door that Ford would rather no one talked about).

Fidds saw his boyfriend out the door kissing him once before he watched him disappear on the horizon. His teeth drug across his lip as the anxiety began building in the back of his mind, the thoughts of finding out Ford wouldn’t be coming back would be shadowing over any pleasant thought he may have today. He disappeared down the stairs to continue to work on more precautions on his son’s costume Ford had helped him draw out before these thoughts consumed his thoughts.

Fidds stood there, barefoot and still wrapped in his bathrobe holding his third glass of now cold coffee, watching his boyfriend disappear farther and farther into the distance. He hoped he only came home in one peace and that’s all he could ever ask for.

He sat there until the sun began to rise taking soft, slow sips of his coffee and didn’t disappear back inside until it finally came to his attention how bad of an idea running outside at this time of year without socks was. He groaned knowing sock season had finally arrived and he would once more have to trap his feet if he didn’t want them to become as stiff and numb as they were now.

---

Some hours later, Fidds almost felt grateful for the circus out on his lawn.

He paused from once more fixing his Cubics Cube (unsurprisingly his beloved boyfriend had passed down to their son the annoying habit of rearranging it when he turned his back away) listening to Stan loudly announcing the sales that were today only. Want to keep those pesky goblins off your lawn? Try out the Pines Magic Crystals in festive Halloween colors! Guaranteed to be packed full of Magic to ward them off! No refunds!

Fidds giggled at the screams of the poor suckers falling into Stan’s trap, he set down his cube and looked out the window amused at the turn out today. He shook his head, all Stan had to do was slap the word magic and blood of X creature onto all his pitches and the people ate right out of his hands. Fidds raised his eye brow in amusement opening up the window, letting the crisp autumn air bring goosebumps up his arms (making quick note to bundle up his son before they left this after noon) watching Stan in the tux Fidds remembered the twins’ father giving to Ford as a graduation present, hair slicked back, eye patch in place and fez adorning his head yelling into his megaphone at the crowd about the deals ‘Mr. Mystery’ could only give them today.

He walked down stairs and smiled at his son, pressing his face against the down stairs window at the festivity going on outside. It had been a known rule the past week that Tate wasn’t allowed to go outside without one of his fathers accompanying him. Ford felt Stan’s ‘nonsense’ may give him the wrong impression about their line of work. He ran his fingers lightly through his hair that was unmanageable, always messy no matter how many times he brushed it, making the child jump before those big brown eyes met his.

When asked if he wanted to accompany him outside, the boy shot up and ran to collect his shoes. He shoved his father’s shoes in his hands chastising him about running outside with only his thick wool socks on and Fidds gave him a warm smile tussling his hair, putting on the shoes without a fight. Tate, like his father and uncle, wanted to take some of the south of him but that unfortunately was something that would never quite happen. It took many odd years for Fidds to accept that fact himself and with time the city slickers would too accept this part of him.

Tate separated himself from his father and ran to the pumpkin patch Fidds had planted himself during the beginning of the season on the edge of the house that Stan had set up shop hiring ‘boyish’ Dan Corduroy to help kids pick out and carve pumpkins (for a fee that sadly Fidds would find out the next morning included him as well). Fidds didn’t pay much mind to his son yelling for the teenager to help him pick a pumpkin, which was accidentally smashed in by the well-meaning teen who was kicking dirt on top of it hoping Mr. Mystery didn’t see the damage to his merchandise that would dock his pay and the kids were joining in on the ‘game’ with excitement.

Fidds walked past a group of old women eying a table of ‘marked down’ vampire repelling crystals with the blood of unicorns and garlic baked in to make them extra potent which just looked like broken glass with fake blood drizzled on and Fidds’s missing garlic Stan swore he didn’t see diced up and sprinkled on top. He rolled his eyes hearing them wondering if maybe they should by more than one or two, a bag full would give them better luck at keeping the vampires away!

A few years back Fidds found himself in the position of dealing with the undead and he was fine as long as he didn’t invite them in. He opened his mouth to inform the old women that so they didn’t waste their money on garbage when he felt an arm loop around his neck, tilting his glare up to hit Stan full on who was giving him his own death glare for trying to ruin his business.

“I just made enough for six months’ worth of groceries and extra for your gadgets, don’t you blow this for us with your bleedin’ heart,” he hissed into his ear before letting go of him and re attaching that sale’s man grin rounding an elderly man eying a row of vials on the table inside the tent.

Fidds scowled and blew a raspberry his way before entering the tent himself to see with his eyes what his friend had really been up to down on the lawn these last few days. His cheeky and defiant attitude was drowning out the anxiety of messing around with Stan’s work for now. When Stan gave a side glare back at him loitering in the entrance way he clasped his hands behind his back and gave him a smug smile before waltzing in farther, whistling off tune to get under his friend’s skin as he acted natural.

He was taken back recognizing who the older gentleman leaning heavily on his cane, eying the contents on the tables closely, picking them up every once and awhile squinting intently at them. It was the mayor of Gravity Falls, Eustace Befufflefumpter, with the sheriff at his side eying the items with a great deal of suspicion that made Fidds gulp. Stan straightened his tie and readjusted his fez before squaring his shoulders to build confidence to stand his ground against the eye of the law that had finally entered his establishment.

“Good after noon gentleman! What brings you here today?”

Such a show man Fidds thought to himself shaking his head leaning against one of the table’s enjoying the show. Was this the same man who told him it would be lying to not think his possum meat stew was a plague on humanity?

The swagger in his step amused Fidds to no end, he looked ready to wine and dine the public figure if it meant getting him to buy some of his cheaply made products. The sheriff, a man just as elderly as the mayor who had become rotund over the years, was squaring his shoulders and straightening his back making him a head taller than Stan without the slouch (Fidds related, slouching was just that habit he would never truly break), trying to give off the impression he was some desperado from the old west who could take Stan if he got up to his normal trickery but no one was gonna buy that after his track record of letting criminals get the best of him.

The mayor either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care about the standoff the conman and the law man were having and smiled brightly at Stan.

“I’ve heard good things about this shop you’ve set up, Stanford.”

Fidds choked on the laugh he was trying to keep back getting some odd looks from the people crowded next to him looking at the stakes guaranteed to go right through the vampire’s heart. Stan had the smuggest grin that the mayor was mistaking him for his brother.

“I’ve been seeing something peculiar around town...” the mayor kept on not noticing his mistake.

“You don’t say…”

The old man didn’t seem to sense the sarcasm but the old sheriff had and shot a threatening look Stan’s way who smiled innocently to the look.

“It’s an Eye, Mr. Pines, a devilish one I can’t shake from my back….”

Fidds felt a shiver travel down his spine at that, he knew precisely what the old man was talking about. He had felt the presence himself. He had first noticed the yellow eye from the artifacts Ford had been bringing home lately and now he couldn’t shake their gaze no matter where he went around town, seeing it everywhere hidden behind the mundane items throughout the town from marketing to the walls of the museum he had been giving a helping hand in lately to distance himself some from the strange his boyfriend surrounded himself wih.

“And I need protection from it in order to ward off its gaze and help me stay on this earth a little longer. With the rise of the harvest moon tonight and all the evil about, I need all the protection I can get!”

Stan side glanced Fidds and cast his eye roll over his shoulder that an elected official would believe in such medieval superstitions before setting his best poker face and presenting the mayor with a light blue amulet attached to a golden chain.

“This my friend will protect you from the evil eyes you have been seeing around town and help blind you to their presence long after this unholy holiday has ended but it will cost ya.”

“Come on now, Pines,” the sheriff cut in before the mayor had a chance to open his mouth, “That ain’t nothing but an ordinary necklace.”

“And how are ya so sure, sheriff?” Stan replied not losing his cool keeping up this charade of knowing what he was talking about, “This is no ordinary ‘necklace’ it was made by woodland sprites and blessed by the forest spirit himself to give its wearer protection. I should know, I research this stuff on a daily basis and I am giving the towns folk a once in a life time opportunity to get genuine protection from the things that go bump in the night. Just because I want to make sure the mayor is safe, I’ll throw in a few bottles of potion, specially brewed to keep any unwanted attention off anyone who drinks it.”

“Uh huh,” the sheriff grunted out with a roll of his eyes, “You even got the proper permits to run this establishment Pines?”

Stan had his hands in his pocket now and Fidds knew he was getting ready to throw down his smoke bomb he had him make specifically for instances like this. Sweat was beginning to run down his neck as he shifted on his feet, glancing behind him and locking eyes with Fidds silently warning him they may be making a dash for the car and not coming back to the house for a while if Stan wasn’t able to con his way out of this one.

Fidds was becoming concerned about what he would usually view as empty threats from the sheriff. Maybe due to his age or it was possible he was always this way but the law man never did his job unless the eyes of someone of higher power was watching him like the mayor with his brightest, oblivious smile was now.

Fidds didn’t let out the breath he was holding until the mayor broke their silent standoff once more with his bright proclamation.

“I’ll take it along with a year supply of the potion! Anything to keep me well protected from the eye that watches my every move! Money is no bother! As for permits, whether you had one or not I’m giving you a pass! My political advisor had quite the problem with the undead until he came to you and everything has been right as rain for the past six months!”

Fidds smiled brightly, silently thanking Ford for accidentally getting involved in that mess that consigned perfectly with his own quest to find out more on the blood sucking varmints. He was going to give Ford a long kiss next time he saw him for helping them inadvertly on this matter. Fidds didn’t want to pull Tate out of school and live a life on the lam with his friend over something this trivial.

Fidds felt Stan’s triumphet smile all the way over here and he watched as Stan negotiated a price with the mayor, high enough to shut down this little show early and probably never re open it. Fidds almost felt sad to see it go though, he was sure Ford will be head over heels to know this establishment would be gone for good but Fidds despite his limited exposure to it would miss it. He would miss how happy Stan was every evening and how he would brag about how many ‘suckers’ he persuaded to buy his merchandise. Fidds hadn’t seen Stan this happy in a long time, creating arts and crafts with Tate and testing out how scary the masks he would make for this special event on Fidds each morning when he got out of bed. The mild panic attacks he could live without he would admit but the smile Stan wore and passed on to Tate he would miss dearly.

“But oh dear me Mr. Pines, I don’t think this check for a grand amount of money is enough, you deserve something special for my gratitude…” the mayor began after shaking Stan’s hand, momentarily putting his check book down which made Stan pout slightly and not take his eyes from the hand holding the check book.

He reached into his pocket hand shaking and pulled out a golden invitation that blinded Fidds even with his distance from the ticket. He saw Stan’s jaw drop and could feel the glow of joy in his eyes he hadn’t seen since he unburied some of the gnomes hidden treasures (all sadly went back to the gnomes after a three-day raid on their home when they found it gone sadly).

The caligraphed NW catching Fidds’s eyes and keeping his gaze locked on the ticket, that one ticket was rarer than sighting bigfoot (Fidds himself had seen many pictures of him forced into his face by his over excited cousin, Thistleburt over the years and Stanford had sworn to catching sight of him years ago and was determined to get a better picture to prove to his cousin what the crypid really looked like).

“I was invited to this event many months ago but I fear I won’t make it tonight anyway since I will be busy hiding from the evil eye. Even with all these precautions, I would rather hide just in case the evil eye is still out there waiting for me to slip up.”

“I can’t say no to a gift like this,” Stan said keeping his voice level but Fidds could hear that excitement building from it.

The sheriff had a look of utter bewilderment, knees slacked and mouth ajar staring at an innovation Fidds would have guessed he hadn’t seen in his entire life like most locals of this town. An angry, dower expression settling on his face as he glared at Stan who paid him no mind opening his hand as the ticket was given to him.

“Then don’t Mr. Pines!”

He then proceeded to write the check for a high amount of money to help any of Fidds and Ford’s projects get off the ground and easily keep them in comfort for a few years all over a fake necklace Stan and Tate had made a few days ago and a few containers of garlic water with all the false hope to drown out any of the mayor’s fears. This town and its fears of what lurked in the dark lead to some very backwards thinking at times, even if those monsters truly did exist.

Stan flashed the brightest smile he could Fidds’s way before going out to announce the market would be closed early, to many a customer’s disappointment. Fidds meekly suggested they keep whatever they wanted free of charge much to Stan’s disapproval but it did help clean out all the cheaply made trinkets and clear out the crowd without the idea of ripping someone off who didn’t have the money to spare on garbage like the mayor who lived the life of luxury could afford to.

Stan didn’t stop his grumbled complains until the last of the crowd cleared out, while he still held an annoyed expression it had sobered a bit when he turned to look straight at Fidds once the last of the stragglers had exited their property with minimal property damage (Ford was not going to be pleased when he saw someone had accidentally toppled his shed when they backed into it in their haste to get home).

“Fidds, I’m a lot of things but I ain’t gonna break a promise to you. I’ll take you and Tate out and once yer safe and ---“

“No.”

Stan took a deep breath giving Fidds a once over taking in the way he firmly held himself up tight but his knees were quaking and his fingers were squirming restlessly on his folded arms.

“I seen what those creatures can do first hand and know what they have done to ya in the past,” Fidds dropped his gaze from Stan as he began, “I promised to take you and Tate tonight and I will. I know ya mean well Fidds, just wanting to give me a special night but no offense but I don’t trust you and the kid out there alone. Yer boyfriend ain’t gonna ruin my favorite holiday sending me to the morgue cause you two up and went missing on us.”

“It’s a once and a life time opportunity for ya, Stanly,” Fidds tried to reason resting his fingers on Stan’s shoulder, “I don’t want ya ta miss it on our account. The Northwest are very fickle when it comes to time, they close their gates early so no one without an invitation can get in. I don’t want ya waiting outside the gate when ya should be in there mingling with the elitists in this town and picking what ya can out of their pockets.”

Stan snorted and shook his head not knowing what world he just came out in that Fidds was encouraging his bad behaviors.

“I’ve jumped my share of fences in the past Fidds, the Northwest can’t keep me out of their snobby party if they wanted to. I have a golden ticket they can’t turn away anyhow…”

Fidds felt immensely guilty taking away an opportunity from Stan to do something so mundane they were going to be doing again once June arrived. He turned his head to the side trying to think of something to say and found his answer. Across the yard, ‘Boyish’ Dan Corudory was sitting at the picnic table he himself had put up over the summer telling Tate a rousing Tale about how he and his Pa only narrowly escaped the hide behind on their last trip.

He smiled brightly and turned to Stan, “Dan is still on the clock isn’t he?”

“For only another hour.”

“We have an enough for over time, don’t we?”

Both met each other with equally smug grins finding the solution to their problems in the teenager who was teaching Tate some very bad habits as he began punching the pumpkin for ‘giving him that look’ and Tate squealed in laughter joining the teen in his destruction.

---

Dan seemed disappointed about his new chaperone job but he took it as well as Fidds or Stan expected him to seeing as he needed the money for a date he had tonight that he took on this job to get money for. Stan ordered him to clean up the mess he made of the pumpkin patch and whatever else needed cleaning up before they left in an hour. Fidds feeling guilty about volunteering the teen to do something he most likely didn’t want to do offered to help him out and asked Stan to get Tate ready to go.

Fidds ended up doing most of the work, only asking Dan to fetch more garbage bags and throw out the left over junk the mobs of people hadn’t stolen not wanting the teen to work himself too hard since he would be spending the next two hours with him and Tate down town before he could even get to his date. As aggressive as the teen could be, he was a very friendly young boy who Fidds chatted with happily as he cleaned up the yard for him.

“What are gonna be for Halloween Dan? Do we need to stop by yer place to get your costume?”

“I’m already in it.”

Fidds paused glancing up at the teen, squishing the remains of what once was a perfectly fine pumpkin between his fingers squinting at the teen not understanding quite what he meant by that. Dan was clad in his usual flannel and didn’t even have a name tag Stan had been too cheap to purchase for his little business so Fidds had no clue what he meant. He stared at the young man in confusion for several seconds before finally vocalizing his question.

“Oh? What are you then darlin’?”

“I’m a better version of myself,” he clarified with the bold confidence that was beginning to wane the longer Fidds stared at him, a blush began creeping across his face as he shrugged and added, “My mom told me to wear confidence tonight for my date so I did.”

Fidds wiped the grime from his hands on his jeans trying not to get in on the Halloween sweater he and Tate had spent the last week knitting together. It wasn’t the prettiest sweater around and lord knew both the Stan twins hated for being ‘tacky’ but it wasn’t for them, it was for that little boy who spent hours in the craft store picking out just the right patches and string to make him a perfect sweater for making him a Halloween costume.

He smiled gently resting his hand on Dan’s shoulder and using his other hand to gently tilt his chin up so he could look him in the eyes.

“You look fine, Dan. I’m sure this young lady is lucky to have gotten a date with a gentleman like you this evening.”

“She’s the best girl in school, she got suspended twice for fighting and is at risk for expulsion,” he explained with a dreamy look in his eyes, Fidds chuckled nervously, he wasn’t one to judge. Stanford liked to take down monsters with an almost giddy smile every time he talked about how he took down the monster of the week with limited help from Stanly even.

“I promised to meet her after I got off work and I hope she understands why I’m late, I could use the money for that new truck and then I could see her whenever…”

Fidds felt another pang of guilt and sighed knowing if Stan found out he would kill him but he wanted to do right by Dan. He was gonna be in a heavily populated area, he shouldn’t have been making either twin feel guilty about him being alone in the first place, it was time he stopped worrying and fearing about every little thing.

“Dan if you can keep this between you and me, I’ll let you have the night off early. All you have to do is drop me and Tate off in town square and I’ll cover the cost of that truck ye want for being such a good employee for Stanly these last few days. We’ll find our own ride home.”

Dan was beaming as he winked and zipped his lips and threw away the key. Fidds smiled and pat him on the shoulder and resumed cleaning to get this place in shape once more before they left. They finished relatively quickly before heading inside, where Stan and Tate thought it would be funny to jump out and nearly give Fidds heart failure and made an inhuman scream shoot from Dan’s mouth as he caught sight of the very realistic rotting flesh make up Stan had put on them both in the short amount of time since he had seen them last.

Fidds had to save Stan from a frightened Dan who thought they had a real zombie problem in the house, all in all a pathetic sight that only ended in embarrassment for everyone involved. Stan promising to dock Dan’s pay for the lump on his head he was taking with him to his fancy party.

----

It was a short and uneventful ride into town, Fidds’s singing along to the pop songs had made Dan shut the radio off and if this wasn’t his father’s truck, Fidds was certain he would have thrown the radio out the window.

He seemed more then pleased when he kicked them out at their destination, Fidds yelled good luck to him and caught his face beginning to burn as red as his hair from the side mirror.

The town was alive and vibrant in a vacant lot not too far from the Dusk Till Dawn. A carnival had come just in time to set up shop around the town folk passing candy out to the children from the back of their cars.

Part Two

Dan nervously straightened his bow tie as he watched her from across the room, looking old enough to actually belong in this establishment with her thick make up masking her true age and provocative costume keeping the bouncer from getting a good enough look at her face to realize she didn’t belong her like Dan didn’t belong here.

He had chubby boyish cheeks and even his muscle couldn’t hide the lack of facial hair and still squeaky voice. He watched her for a few more minutes before downing the Pit Cola the bar tender did let him have not buying he was anywhere near twenty-one and was about to head on his way before curfew set in at eight when his name being screamed furiously caught his attention. He stood up just as Mr. Mcgucket slammed the door open, a nerd around his age at his heels as he continued to call his name.

“Daaaaaaaaan!” he called out his voice quivering and tears running from his eyes as he fell to the ground, his knees giving out underneath him, the young man rested his hand on his shoulder.

No one moved to assist Mr. Mcgucket in his distress, the workers pretended they hadn’t noticed him enter and continued to work while the bouncer kept his gaze at him ready to throw him out if his misery didn’t lead to a profit.

They entered the empty

Intermission

Stan sat grumbling in his jail cell, rubbing at his black eye only managing to irritate it more, if he was teaching Tate boxing the moment he got home to do the honorable thing and beat up a little snot for his favorite uncle. He slammed his fist against his open palm in aggravation, a once in a life time opportunity ruined for him by his sticky fingers and one nosy little dog ---or fox---whatever.

“Hey pops, when do I get my phone call?”

The sheriff who had been nodding off at his seat was shaken awake by Stan’s demand.

#fiddleford mcgucket #Stanly Pines #Fiddauthor #ford squared #Stanford Pines #Tate Mcgucket #Gravity Falls #Dan's Fics #adoption sweep

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent.

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship.

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style.

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling.

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare.

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling.

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed.

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined.

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly.

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

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

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw.

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking.

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper, covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town.

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up.

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-” He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone.

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

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch.

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

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

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise.

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold.

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.”

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her.

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno.

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air.

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

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

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best.

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing.

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards.

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates.

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company.

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.”

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame.

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider.

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs.

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee.

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck”

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right.

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body.

“More, please, god that all feels so good.”

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes.

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans.

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back.

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass.

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back.

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

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

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door.

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #ghost au

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

#56, OT4, NSFW if possible. Thank you for providing Winter-y cheer for us all!

You’re welcome! And this is indeed NSFW

56. my little sibling/cousin makes me sit on santa’s lap and when santa asks me what I want for christmas, I blurt “someone to love” and you’re the cute elf that overhears (or I blurt ….[insert here])

He’s exhausted, but he promised he’d take his cousins to see Santa after work while his aunt does some shopping. As is traditional, half the Newton family is already in town, even though it’s three and a half weeks until Christmas.

Dove and Robin each take their turns, and then insist in that terrifyingly forceful way of six year olds that Duck do so as well. Given he nearly blew it last year when they asked him if Santa was real, he decides he should play along. At least he changed out of his work uniform first so fewer of the other mall employees will recognize him as a twenty-three year old man sitting on Santa’s lap.

“And what would you like for Christmas, young man?”

“Ned, please, make this easy” he hisses at the man playing Santa.

“Well, then, answer the question dear boy.”

“I, uh, I really want…”

He can’t lie and say something bland, and the only thing he’s really hoping for this winter is-

“I want to get laid.”

He regrets the words and all of his life choices as Ned booms out a laugh. His cousins are too busy studying the toys strewn about the room to hear, so he counts that as his luck for the day, takes their hands, and hurries off into the mall.

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

“He really said that?” Barclay looks back at Stern as he restocks cookbooks.

“Yes. I was photo elf today so he didn’t see me cracking up.”

“Don’t know why they hide their cutest elf away like that.”

“Because I’m tall.”

Barclay turns, glances around to be sure no one is watching, and kisses his cheek.

“Nah, you’re perfect.”

He blushes; even after nine months of dating, Barclay has a way of acting as if he’s in a perpetual state of falling for him.

“What did the guy look like?”

“On the shorter side, and his eyes where two different colors. Works at R.E.I.” It’s his best attempt to protect Duck’s dignity.

A conspiratorial smile crosses his boyfriends face, “Keep an eye out for my manager for a sec, babe?”

“Of course. What are you doing?”

“Matchmaking. I hope.”

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

Duck’s on duty in the tent and sleeping bag area when Indrid Cold appears. Indrid works at the tattoo shop across the way, and has a habit of taking lunch the same time Duck does, sitting on a metal bench and trying to draw. The mall gets crowded and loud around then, and two months ago Duck started sneaking him into a back corner of the store so he can have lunch in peace. Indrid, a few years his senior, with his tongue piercing and tattoos, the ratty black pants and various tank-tops that show off a skinny frame Duck would love to get his hands on, is the kind of guy Duck would’ve had a crush on.

Now, Indrid is the kind of guy who makes him so hard he does embarrassing-ass things like say “I need to get laid” in front of his cousins.

Indrid leans his shoulder on the wall, grinning, red glasses making him resemble the mothman tattoo on his right arm.

“Howdy, sir, got questions about the tents?” Duck smirks.

“Indeed. Which one is best for sex?”

Duck barks out a laugh, claps a hand over his mouth when a nearby shopper gives him a funny look.

“Any that ain’t a one-person deal. That your way of tellin me you got a hot date tonight?”

“I might” Indrid peers of the rims of his glasses, “a little bird told me you had a rather, ah, explicit Christmas wish.”

“Aw fuck, who even heard me othern’n Ned?”

“I suspect it was Joseph. Poor man is stuck being an elf, and it was Barclay who texted me the hint.”

“Ughhhhwait-” Duck stares at him, “you came over here to ask me if, uh, if I wanted to, uh-”

“Yes. Oh dear, was my innuendo unclear? Or was it not even an innuendo?”

Duck has him against the wall in two steps, not touching him but bringing his mouth up to growl in his ear

“Your place, sugar?”

“I get off at seven.”

“Won’t be the only time you get off, I gauran-goddamn-tee it.”

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

Indrid’s grip is flatteringly eager as he pins Duck to the door of his trailer.

“Damn, sugar, didn’t know you wanted me that badAhnnnnnohfuckyeah.” He rolls his hips as Indrid yanks his collar down to set hickeys in his skin.

“I have though you were attractive from the moment I saw you, and have wanted to fuck you since that time you made yourself laugh so hard you nearly snorted soda out of your nose.”

“Kinky.”

“I meant” Indrid grabs and shoves and guides him across the floor, “that the moment I saw that smile I wanted to see what other smiles I could draw from you.” The kiss is a counterpoint the heated touches, so gentle and sincere Duck changes course.

“Fuck it” he hops up onto the kitchen table, discarded illustrations crunching under him, “I can’t wait anymore, you’re so fuckin cute, all fuckin romantic and shit.” He pulls him down into another kiss, groans as clever fingers undo his pants. Duck shifts as Indrid gets them mostly down, refusing to break the kiss all the while. The wire of the taller man’s glasses bumps his skin, and he finally gives in, pulling away so he can guide them off Indrid’s face.

“I’d very much like to touch.” Indrid’s fingers are tense, poised on Duck’s thighs. He looks shyer without the glasses, almost virginal, which is fucking remarkable for a guy who came onto him in broad daylight.

“Touch whatever you like, sugar, long as you let me do it back.”

“Gladly. I, ah, that is, should I stay on the outside?”

He thinks, trying to sty a step ahead of his own brain to see if this is a day where penetration might set it off.

“This time, yeah.” Duck hooks his legs round Indrids, keeping them close.

“Does...that mean there might be a next time?” Indrid is gnawing his chapped bottom lip.

Duck waits for him to meet his eyes, then nods so Indrid can know what comes next is pure teasing.

“Depends on how well you doOHfuck, ‘Drid, that’s it sugar, c’mon, jack me off.” He grinds his hips, Indrid experimenting with different movements, grinning every time Duck moans.

“Touch me, please, Duck, I want you, want you so much.”

It takes a few seconds of fumbling and two muttered “fucks” before he gets Indrid’s pants undone enough to get his hand around his cock. A tattoo peeks out over either hip, and Duck decides his new plan for the winter is to discover every inch of Indrid’s skin with his mouth and hands.

There’s a whine as Indrid buries his face into Duck’s shoulder, working him harder as Duck’s fingers go slick with pre-cum.

“I, I am not going to last very long, wanted this too long, too much”

“Then cum for me, sugar.” He picks up the pace and in four strokes discovers Indrid isn’t kidding, the silver-haired man cumming down his hand.

“D-don’t stop, don’t stop until I’ve made you cum. AH, ahnnnyes, yes” Indrid squirms with a delighted smile.

“You like that? Knowin I’m gonna wring you dry unless you get me off?”

“Yes!”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin needy, you’ll even take me bein rough just so you can fuck me.” He gives up on being gentle, moans when this makes Indrid find just the right pressure and speed. When he cums he let’s go of his cock, uses both hands to drag Indrid into a kiss and feels him shuddering with pleased little sounds.

“Jesus fucking christ.” He slumps back on his elbows as Indrid drops into a chair, forehead resting on the table “shoulda opened my big mouth in front of Joe sooner.”

“Mmmhmm” Indrid bumps his arm with his nose. Then he cracks his eyes open, the shyness back full-force, “if, ah, if you need to get home I understand but, ah, I was wondering if you’d like to stay awhile?”

“Told my folks I’d be out late. You anglin to cuddle and steal my body heat?”

“Maybe.” A kiss to his arm now, Indrid gazing at him adoringly.

“Then I’m gonna snuggle the hell out of you.”

Soon they’re nestled under the covers of Indrid’s bed, watching the Repair Shop and talking, Duck’s head on Indrid’s chest.

“Kinda funny that our exes set us up, ain’t it?”

“You consider Joseph an ex?”

“Kinda? Sounds better than “friend I fucked a few times Freshman year of college.”

“True. I must admit, the thought does make me wish I’d been a fly on the wall.” Indrid freezes as soon as the sentence hits the air, “ah, that’s, I apologize, that just sort of came out.”

“No harm done.” Duck kisses the top of his head, ignoring the ideas conjured up by the admission. Why stick to Indrid watching when he could be involved? And he bets Indrid goes full-on tease with Barclay, something he’d love to see, and there is definitely a recurring fantasy of fucking Joe from behind while someone else came down his throat….

Later. He can think about those things later. Right now, he’s utterly content and happy to focus on the lilting voice rambling about art restoration and the bony hand holding his own.

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

A side benefit of Duck and Indrid getting together is that they can now go on double-dates with himself and Barclay. Or, as Joseph is starting to call them “put all three men he’s attracted to in a room to see if he cracks” dates. He honestly didn’t mean for it to become that, but the more time they all spend together, the less he can deny the wish that it was just one, four-person date.

His feelings for Barclay are self-explanatory; he’s his boyfriend of nearly a year who, among other things, treats eating him out as something akin to a religious experience. Indrid, he now understands, plays at his long-running interest in the strange and unusual. The fact his intriguing exterior hides someone a little awkward and very well meaning makes it all the better.

And then there’s Duck. They’d hooked-up a few times in college, when Joseph was newly out as trans, and being with someone who wasn’t weird about it had been the icing on the beefcake (a phrase he used once and made Duck laugh and fall off the bed). Duck has only gotten better with age and, looking at his strong arms and rounded face, the ass he wants to sink his fingers into, Joseph understands that the awe he felt whenever Duck was naked wasn't solely to do with the newness of the act. If ever there was a body to be worshiped, it’s Duck’s.

So, yeah, he’s had a lot to think about while listening to parents art director their children for their picture with Santa.

Tonights “double date” is a little odd. He and Barclay are each getting a small tattoo (not matching, he’s too sure that’s a way to jinx things) courtesy of Indrid, with Duck tagging along so they can all go to dinner after. Barclay is the last client of the day, and Indrid’s boss locked the four of them in with a reminder to Indrid to arm the alarm when he leaves. Duck flips through magazines as Joseph reads off Buzzfeed Unsolved conspiracy theories for his entertainment.

“You should do one of those shows. You got that whole nerdy but stylish thing going for you.”

“Duck, my work uniform is an elf costume.”

“But the rest of the time you look like Special Agent Cooper.”

He blushes, “Special Intern Stern is more like it.”

“You’re gettin there, city mouse.”

He looks up at the old pet name, just in time to see Duck throw an Adbusters up as cover and start talking about the image he’s staring out. Joseph lets him. For now.

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

“There. A safely wrapped present to yourself.” Indrid double-checks the bandage on Barclay’s upper arm.

“Thanks, man. Can’t wait to see what it looks like all healed. Sure it’s gonna look fucking great.” Barclay still sounds a little shaky from the adrenaline.

Indrid allows himself a burst of pride that his friend thinks so highly of his work, “I just need to clean up and then we can be on our way.”

Barclay gives an affirmative grunt, staying in his chair. There’s a spike of fear in Indrid’s stomach; did he do something wrong? Is Barclay about to pass out?

Circling the chair to check replaces the fear with pure, skin-prickling lust.

“My, my, is this why you’ve waited so long to get a tattoo?”

Barclay whines, shaking his head, his eyes shut and his cock pitching an obscene tent in his jeans.

“Are you lying?”

“N-no. I, uh, I mean I like pain, but I didn’t think this would happen.”

“That’s a new development.” Indrid leans against his workbench, enjoying the view.

“Joseph and I have been trying out a bunch of things, figuring out what we like.”

“How very methodical. And unfortunate; if memory serves, once you get wound up it takes time for you to unwind.”

“Indrid please” Barclay’s gritting his teeth. Indrid’s remembering just how fun it is to have such a big man wrapped around his finger.

“Please what?” He cocks his head.

“I, fuck, I dunno, talk about weird morbid shit. Disasters. Anything that will make it go down.”

A sinful image enters his mind, unshakeable in it’s appeal.

“I can do you one better. Joseph? Would you come here? I need your help.”

Barclay’s eyes snap open, Indrid grinning at the excitement in them.

“Is everything alright?” Joseph steps through the door, Duck poking his head in worriedly after him.

Indrid points to Barclays cock, “I have to clean up, and that needs to be seen to.”

“And you want me to, um, see to it with you two in the room?”

“Only if you are both comfortable-”

“Yes” Barclay and Joseph say it at the same time, the dark haired man crossing the floor and dropping to his knees in front of his boyfriend.

“Should I, uh?” Duck glances between the three. So polite, even when Indrid can see the flush spreading up his skin from here.

“Please stay.” Joseph is panting, in spite of only now getting Barclay’s zipper down.

“Barclay?”

“Fine by me, man. Long as you know I’m gonna fuck your boyfriend into the floor for fucking with me like this.”

“That I’d like to see.” Duck shuts the door, grabbing Indrid’s chair so he can sit.

“There is one caveat, sweetheart; you are not allowed to cum right now. I promise I’ll show you new ways of being rough with me if you do.”

“You drive a hard bargain, sugar.”

“No fucking kidding, maybe you should get to fuck him before me since he’s being so meEEan, fuck, yes babe, goddamn I love your mouth.” Barclay arches in the chair as Joseph sucks him off. Indrid’s own cock perks up at the sight, becomes insistent as he turns his back and cleans to the sound of Barclay growling profanity in time with the wet sound of his cock defiling Joseph’s throat.

He gets things cleaned and in order as fast as his rapidly dwindling focus will let him, turns back to see Barclay whimpering as Joseph kisses and licks along his shaft. Duck is still seated, rubbing his thighs together as he watches them, hands digging into the faux-leather seat. Indrid supposes he should scold him for stimulating himself, but he looks so very handsome right now.

Instead, he strides over to the pair in his client seat and fists his hand into Josephs hair, gelled strands breaking free in his fingers as he guides his mouth back over Barclay’s thick cockhead.

“We do not have all night, pet. So get to it Snap twice if it needs to stop.” He pushes him down by his hair until Barclay’s pressing the back of his throat, then yanks him almost all the way up. Joseph moans steadily, blue eyes darting between him and Barclay beneath black lashes as Indrid forces him up and down.

“Fuck, babe, you look so fucking good on your knees, taking my cock like a good boy.”

“Ahem.” Indrid manages to look stern. Barclay is just able to tilt his head up enough for Indrid to dip down and kiss his full lips.

“Thank you, baby, thank you for letting me get offAHshitshit.”

“Close, dearest?”

“Uhuh, socloseohfuck”

“Do you want to cum down his throat?”

“So bad, Indrid, please.”

“You heard him, pet.” He holds Joseph’s head down, pre-cum thoroughly staining his pants as Barclay jerks up and Joseph frantically gulps him down. He brings his head up without warning, gathering the stray droplets of cum from his lips and fucking them into his mouth with his fingers.

“Good boy.” He purrs and Joseph whimpers happily.

He looks at Duck, and for a moment he’s terrified he went too far, ignored him for too long. His boyfriend’s eyes are wide and dark, locked onto where Joseph is still eagerly sucking his fingers. Slowly, his gaze drags up to Indrid, crooked smile blossoming as it does.

“Indrid Cold, you’re a fuckin genius, and I am gonna fuck you into next week.”

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

It’s not next week, but it is ten at night and Indrid is being fucked well into it.

They’re at Joseph’s apartment, his lack of roommates giving them optimal privacy, and Indrid is on his back on the tidily made bed. Barclay fucks him hard, grunting out thank yous for the privilege, which Indrid would reward with praise were his mouth not currently occupied with Duck riding his face. Joseph is near his head as well, having cum earlier via Barclay’s tongue (“this one of the best goddamn things in the world and I’m gonna show you two how to do it right”) and now rapturously groping Duck. Indrid can’t quite hear all the praise he’s directing at Duck’s body, but he’s going to hazard a guess he agrees with the statements.

“Can, fuck, can one of you make him cum? Wanna feel this demanding little ass tighten.”

“On it.” Joseph grips his cock and oh, no wonder Barclay looks so blissful most days. The man gives masterful handjobs and Indrid cums hard, whimpering when neither Duck nor Barclay lets up. The base of Barclay’s cock thuds against his ass so hard he’s wondering if that part of him can bruise, and Joseph switches his attention to Indrid’s nipple piercings, toying with him just like Duck demonstrated, Indrid squeaking as he sucks Duck’s dick.

There’s a groan as Barclay cums, working himself through it in Indrid’s increasingly sensitive ass while Duck cums on his face, petting his hair as his hips jerk.

When he’s finally able to sit up, it’s to a portrait of tender debauchery. Barclays head is on his stomach, his beard and hair a royal mess that Joseph is gently stroking down to some semblance of order. Duck is snuggled up beside him, kissing his shoulders and holding Indrid’s hand.

“That was, um, something.” Joseph murmurs.

“A whole hell of a lot of somethin.” Duck opens his free arm so Indrid can nestle against him, Barclay shifting to put his head onto Joseph's thigh.

“Is it...something we wish to happen again?” Indrid’s nerves creep back up.

“Hell yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Yep.”

“Thank goodness. I. Ah. I am realizing I am fond of all three of you and, ah, very attracted to all three of you as well.”

“We should lay out some ground rules, right?”

Barclay’s stomach growls, “For sure, babe. But can we please get dinner while we do? I’m gonna start eating the strap on.

“You better not, that one was expensive.”

They clean up themselves and the room, frequent kisses prolonging the process. As Barclay orders pizza and Indrid starts water for tea, Joseph loops an arm around Duck’s shoulders.

“We should get you to blurt out Christmas wishes more often.”

“You got a deal. Just, next time, not in front of Ned.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck #agent stern/barclay #sternclay #Mall AU #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #duck newton/agent stern #trans duck newton #trans agent stern #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #Indrid cold/Barclay #agent stern/Indrid Cold

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Text

Return (OT4)

Prompt for the 28th was: Costume

He might be showing off a little bit, carrying all the suitcases in at once, but Duck likes the appreciative look Indrid gives him as he does. The Sylph is already settled on the shoved together king beds, sketchbook in hand, eyeing the ranger conspicuously when he bends to set Joe’s bag down first, just as the agent finishes checking something off his to-do list

“Oh, thank you, um, honey.” The last word still comes out quiet. Really, the only time Joe says it loudly is when Duck has him pinned to one surface or another.

He smiles to show he heard him, but if he’s being honest his attention has been mainly on Indrid this whole day, watching for signs of discomfort or unhappiness. The Sylph has insisted over and over again that he wanted to come on this trip, that he would be alright, and that they could all stop fussing about this please and thank you.

But that doesn’t change the fact they’re in Point Pleasant.

They’re here for the Mothman Festival, Duck making good on his promise to Joe to go with him. He’s excited, and he likes seeing the agent happy. Indrid seems happy too, and Duck is trying to walk the line between letting him be and making sure he’s as alright as he claims to be. In spite of his experiences in Kepler, Indrid still sometimes takes unhappiness as inevitable, even when it’s his own.

“Okay” Barclay tucks his phone into his back pocket, “my vote is for that cafe a few blocks over; if we go early, we can beat the dinner rush. Plus, even though it wasn’t a huge trip, being on the road tires me out, so I wanna crash soon as I can.”

“That is your only reason for wanting to get into bed sooner?” Indrid sends a suggestive smirk his way, making the bearded man blush.

“Maybe. Depends on what everyone else is up for.”

The answer turns out to be a decent dinner followed by collapsing into bed in rapid succession. It doesn’t escape Ducks’ notice that Indrid stays in his human form and opts to nestle down between the ranger and the agent, holding Barclay’s hand where it’s draped over Joe’s waist.

He wakes up once during the night, the dim light of the alarm clock enough to sting his eyes. In his arms, Indrid takes several deep breaths, rolls to burrow his face into Duck’s chest. He waits to see if Indrid will say anything, but the next sound he hears is a gentle chirp-snore. So he kisses his forehead, and goes back to dreaming.

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

“Having been to the TNT plant plenty of times, I do not feel the need to go on the hayride there.”

“Yeah, think we can skip that.” Duck sips his coffee as they wander through the first few blocks of the festival. Joe’s early rising has them beating much of the crowd, though runners from the 5K jog by now and then.

“Why were you there, anyway? It doesn’t seem suitable for you.” Stern turns them towards the museum.

“The Winnebago’s previous incarnation wasn’t all that far away. Frightened humans are not known for their powers of observation.”

“True.” Joe and Barclay say as one.

They split up soon after, Joe and Duck into the museum while Barclay and Indrid scope out the food booths (“Being in a space with a great deal of inaccurate information about me is not my favorite). Wandering the exhibits, the agent’s fingers slip between his own, and Duck smiles when he sneaks a peek at him. He’s so relaxed, his dark hair out of it’s usual slicked-back state since he wanted to get out of the door quickly, looks utterly at home in his mothman patterned button up shirt, animatedly talking about the displays. Indrid is usually the one of them most likely to dump information out in one big flow, but Joe has his moments.

The building is warm enough that Duck unbuttons his overshirt, revealing the t-shirt beneath. Joe turns to tell him something, and stops, eyebrows zipping up his forehead.

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?”

Duck grins, looking down at the bright red letters reading “mothman is my boyfriend.”

“Juno bought it for me once she found out. Usually just wear it when I wanna make Indrid laugh. Plus, seen three people with similar ones, so it ain’t like anyone is gonna take it as confession.”

Joe nods, gracefully weaving through a small clump of visitors on their way to the gift shop. When Duck falls in next to him, the agent murmurs, “you’re worried about him too.”

“Kinda hard not to be.”

“I know. I’m trying to take him at his word but it’s, well, it’s difficult. It wouldn’t be the first time my interests turned people off. I’d hate for him to get overwhelmed by all this and try to hide it for my sake.”

“He ain’t bad at hidin things, but he’s also real fuckin blunt.” He puts his arm around Joe’s shoulder, “it’ll be okay, city mouse.”

After spending slightly more money than necessary (look, he promised lots of people souvenirs and also he needed to buy a few things for Joe for the holidays), they make their way back into the festival. On a bench near an outer edge, Barclay and Indrid are sitting thigh to thigh, Barclay feeding Indrid funnel cake. He says something and Indrid laughs.

“You know, even though it was fleeting, I’m glad they found each other all those years ago. One of the things I love most about Barclay is how he takes care of people, and I think Indrid needed that.”

“Not gonna lie, never expected the biggest softy in Kepler to also be Bigfoot.”

“You didn’t expect it? Think about how I feel.”

He laughs, “yeah, you got me there.”

They move through the festival as a quartet after that, Barclay delighted with his “Mothman Blend” coffee and Indrid with the sweater bearing his likeness and the words “live, laugh, lurk.” As noon approaches, more and more mothman appear, all in varying degrees of impressive or lackluster cosplays and costumes. Stern keeps muttering about scale, Indrid about wing placement, and Duck can’t help but think none of them get the color right.

“I have an, ah, an idea.” Indrid says, turning a mug reading “I Heart Mothman” over in his hands, “So many people are excited to meet those who look like me. I want to see what happens if they see the real thing.”

“Uh, that seems real-”

“Risky yes, but I’ve checked the futures and there is not one where I am identified as what I actually am.”

Duck and Barclay trade a skeptical look, but Joe has an uncharacteristically scheming glint in his eye.

“I know exactly how we can insure that. Duck, Barclay, wait here please. Indrid, come with me, we need to run back to the hotel.” He grabs the Sylphs hand.

“What are you--oh, oh yes, that is rather clever” is the last Duck hears before losing them in the crowd.

“....you wanna help me pick out a present for Jake?” Barclay still looks worried, so Duck nods and they set off towards a t-shirt booth.

Barclay is mid-anecdote about his run in with a cougar out in California when every visitor in sight starts whispering and taking pictures.

The cooks mutters “If this goes wrong, Mama’s going to lock all four of us in the safehouse for the rest of our lives.”

In his Sylph form, Indrid towers above the crowd. His arms are resolutely set by his sides and head held high, Duck gets a rare glimpse of how his boyfriend must have looked in the halls of Sylvain. All the same, his eyes are drawn to the antenna twitching with nerves as the onlookers get closer.

“If you could just step back from the specimen a bit, thank you.” Joe steps directly in front of Indrid, and Barclay lets out a soft, appreciative growl to Duck’s right. The agent is in a full suit, complete with sunglasses, a picture of handsome, aloof calm.

People in the crowd laugh,take more pictures as Indrid’s “handler” guides him over to Duck and Barclay.

“Do you just pack a suit no matter what, babe?”

“No. I, um, I know how much certain people like it when I wear one. I planned to bring it out this evening but this seemed like the better use.”

“It’s working splendidly. So far. Just keep people away from my wings; I only like it when you three touch them.”

“Roger that. Lunch?”

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way, mister man-in-black.” Duck steps aside so Joe can go first, clearing a path for them, Indrid staying close to the agent’s back. They opt for a waffle stand selling, among other things, waffle sandwiches and something called the “Mothman Delight” that consists of strawberry jam, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. Indrid orders one, only to ask Barclay to feed it to him to keep up the ruse of this being a costume. The cook doesn’t object in the slightest, though at one point he whispers something in high sylph that makes Indrid poof up with a chirp.

The longer they wander the festival, the more relaxed Indrid becomes, fielding questions about costume construction and wing mechanics with the ease of someone who spent a century constructing alibis for his very existence. Lots of people take pictures with him, Joe shepherding them into poses that won’t make the Sylph uncomfortable. Several inquire as to why he didn’t enter the cosplay contest.

“It wouldn’t have been fair.”

It’s when they’re debating when and how to get dinner that a family approaches. Sandwiched between her parents, a girl of about seven stares up at Indrid with wide eyes, clutching her stuffed mothman to her chest.

“Can, um, can” she looks back to her parents for help.

“She wants to know if she can hug you.” The woman says, as a child wanting to hug a massive monster is utterly unremarkable.

Joe glances at Indrid, who nods, “Yes, if she would like to.”

The girl hands her small mothman to her dad, takes four steps forward, and throws her arms around the much larger one. Indrid does his best to hug her back, settling for putting his hands on her shoulders.

“She’s just obsessed with cryptids.”

“You’re my favorite” she smiles up at Indrid.

“Mine too.” Duck chimes in, resting his hand on the smell of Indrid’s back.

“We’re out here because it’s all she wants for her birthday.”

Joe makes a high-pitched noise at the same time Barclay lets out an “awww.”

Indrid smiles, pats the child’s head, “In that case, would you like to take a picture with me?”

“Yes!”

“May I pick you up?”

She nods hard enough to send her alien-patterned headband down her forehead. Indrid picks her up, holding her while she beams at her mom’s camera.

“Are you liking the festival?” He asks as they pose.

“Uh huh. ‘Cept for the parts where people say mothman does bad things. He doesn’t, he stops them, everyone knows that.”

“She’s gotten in at least three arguments with classmates over that.” Her father adds, holding out his arms as Indrid passes the girl back to him.

“I, ah, I am glad to know the mothman has such determined defenders. Happy birthday, my dear.”

As they turn, the little girl calls out, “bye mothman! I love you!”

Indrid looks back, red eyes a bit watery, and waves as Duck murmurs, “Me too.”

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

Stern doesn’t regret how much he ate at dinner. He;s just glad he packed those antacids.

When he sits up, two bodies are missing from the bed, and it’s only the sight of a note on the nightstand that keeps him from bolting out of bed to look for them.

Indrid and I are out for a late-night walk. Back soon.

-Duck.

“Everything okay?” Barclay rolls over, brown eyes reflective in the dark.

“Yes” he pops the antacid into his mouth, “they just stepped out.”

“O-” the sylph yawns “kay.” Blinking sleepily, he smiles, “anyone ever tell you you’re the hottest thing on two legs?”

“You did, this morning.”

“Good, gotta meet my quota.” He opens his arms and Stern snuggles in net to him, “sleep tight, special agent.”

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

Duck didn’t see Indrid leave, but he’s got a hunch as to where he went. Still, he almost misses him, spots the silver hair in the moonlight right before a hedge obscures it.

Indrid sits in the middle of the embankment, the Ohio reflecting the night sky in motion. To a passerby, he looks to be studying the opposite shore. Duck knows that his gaze is closer than that, sweeping over air that wasn’t always empty.

“Huh, there was only one future where you followed me.”

“You want me to go back?”

“No.”

Duck picks his way down to Indrid’s side, finding a flat stone to sit on.

“It’s funny, the ways stories change. What they say about me grows further and further from what I say about myself.”

“‘Drid, you know this wasn’t your fault. No more than the Cottonwood or anythin else was.”

“That is the story I try to tell in my mind. That there are things that cannot be stopped or altered, that must only be endured. That was why I gave up for years. Then you and the others showed me that even the worst, seemingly inevitable futures can be changed. And that is good, so very good, but all the same it....it sometimes serves as proof of what I fear; that I could not stop these” he gestures to river, “disasters not because they were unstoppable, but because I was incapable.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Sometimes. Just as you sometimes worry you could have done much more good in the world had you neglected your powers. I wonder how much of my failure was out of my hands.”

“Drid” Duck cups his cheek, turning his head and gingerly tilting his glasses up his forehead, “You’re forgettin somethin; the cottonwood, the funicular, the end of the goddamn world, none of that was stopped by one person. It took a whole bunch of us, every damn time. You were alone. There’s only so much one fella can do on his own.”

Indrid closes his eyes, inhales and looks out over the river one last time. Then all his attention is on Duck.

“You’re right. I may not always believe that, but I know it’s true.”

“You know what else?”

The smile suggests he does. Indrid leans the few inches in to kiss him, the action dreamlike in its softness. Duck catches a hint of two different scents; a pine tr sop and a cologne. The Sylph is sheltered from the chill by a sweatshirt that started off as Barclays, but is routinely claimed by his boyfriends.

“You ain’t alone anymore.”

For the first time in decades, the mothman smiles while within sight of the rebuilt silver bridge.

“You’re right, my love. I’m not.”

#promptober #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends #sternclay #indruck #duck newton/agent stern #indrid cold/duck newton #agent stern/barclay/indrid cold/Duck newton #trans duck newton #trans agent stern

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