drunk rory

((A/N: This takes place years ago at the end of Foster and Ava’s relationship))

Rory wasn’t expecting to be woken up by someone banging on his front door. He wasn’t expecting anyone–he hardly had guests over at all. And even if he was expecting someone, it was nearly 3am.

He definitely wasn’t expecting to open the door and find Foster, bleary-eyed and slumped in the doorway, reeking of alcohol.

“Fos? Jesus, do you know what time it is?” Rory groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Still, he dutifully stepped aside, letting Foster come in. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Ava’s gone,” Foster mumbled, his words slurring thickly.

“Gone?” Rory echoed, looking confused. Then he sighed, understanding. “You broke up, you mean?”

Foster nodded, swaying a little.

“…She broke up with you, right?” Rory asked, admittedly seeing this coming. Ava and Foster had been arguing more and more lately, and Foster’s drinking didn’t help anything.  

Foster gave a dark chuckle. “Wow. Is it that obvious?”

Rory just sighed, closing the door before walking to sit on his sofa. “You’ve both been at each other’s throats lately, that’s all. What else would bring you to my place this late, this drunk?”

Foster scrubbed a hand over his face, leaning back against the wall to steady himself. “Fuck, Rory, I don’t know what to do.”

“Sit down,” Rory offered, watching Foster a little nervously. “You’re drunk as hell. How much have you had tonight?”

“Not enough.” Foster moved carefully towards the couch, slumping down heavily beside him. “She wouldn’t even look at me.”

Rory didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his own fault.

“Listen…you’ve had way too much, I can tell. Just stay the night here, sleep it off. We can figure things out in the morning.”

Foster shook his head. “I don’t wanna stay here.”

“You’re too drunk to be alone tonight,” Rory sighed, sounding as exhausted as he looked. “You’re staying here so I can keep an eye on you. You’re gonna end up getting hurt if you leave.”

“I don’t need you to babysit me,” Foster spat, lurching to his feet. He tilted unsteadily before righting himself and made for the door.

“You’re not leaving!” Rory shouted back, jumping up and running past Foster to block the door. “You’re done, Foster! The night’s over, you’re going to bed. Before you make more of an ass out of yourself.”

Foster bristled, eyes flashing. His hands tightened into fists, and for a moment Rory was scared that Foster would fight. But that wasn’t right. No matter how drunk or angry he was, Rory believed that Foster would never hurt him.

Sure enough, Foster’s fists unclenched, some of the fight seeming to go out of him.

“Fuck you, Rory. Get out of my way.”

“No,” Rory said firmly, though his voice was shaking a bit from a blend of anger and relief. “You’re acting like a child. This is…this is probably why Ava left you,” he said, knowing that Foster wouldn’t be happy with hearing it. “I’m your best friend, I’m telling you this because I love you. I’m worried about you, Fos. Will you please just stay here tonight?”

Foster’s gaze was trained on the ground in front of him, his long hair hanging in his face. When he didn’t answer, Rory grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Foster, look at me.”

Foster shoved Rory in the chest hard enough to make him stumble back a couple steps before turning and sprinting down the hall towards the bathroom. As Rory stood stunned, he heard the impact of Foster’s knees hitting the linoleum, followed by the tell-tale sound of retching.

Rory flinched at the sound, sighing as he slumped back against the door. Exhausted, and not just physically, he took a minute to just stand there in silence. He tried not to listen to the sounds Foster was making or the mean little voice in his head that said Foster deserved it. He just took a few deep breaths, willing himself to stay calm as he finally walked to the bathroom and stood in the doorway.

"Foster? You okay?”

He watched as Foster’s body lurched with another thick heave, trying to ignore the sound of vomit splashing into the toilet and the scent of alcohol it brought.

“Shit, Foster,” Rory sighed, quickly grabbing a washcloth from the countertop and wetting it in the sink. He knelt beside Foster, pushing his hair aside and pressing the cool, damp cloth to the back of his neck.

Foster’s chest hitched, and Rory braced for another wave of sickness. But it never came.

He heard Foster suck in a breath through his teeth, heard it catch in his throat and felt the way his shoulders trembled.

Foster was crying. Sobbing. Rory frowned deeply, pity and concern for his best friend overpowering his fear of possibly getting puked on. He swiped the hair out of Foster’s eyes, getting the strands off of his sweaty forehead. Seeing the tears in Foster’s eyes broke his heart.

“This needs to stop, Fos,” he murmured.

Foster swallowed thickly, shuddering. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Rory sighed, using the damp washcloth to clean the sweat and tears from Foster’s face. “I know you are.”

A New Beginning || Barry Allen x Reader

  Request:  Can you do prompt numbers 25 and 34 with Barry Allen? Lots of angst with eventual fluff and/or smut? You would make my day! (anonymous)

Prompts: 25. “Please don’t make me remember I can’t have you.” 34. “For you, I was just a chapter, but for me, you were the whole book.”

Summary: After two months apart, can Barry cope without you?

Featuring: Cisco Ramon, Caitlin Snow, Leonard Snart, and Mick Rory (before he was a LoT)

Warnings: nothing just 1,781 words of angst

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: wow that summary is actually shit. I promise it’s better if you read it :) it’s not very long, but it’s extremely detailed and has the cutest/happiest ending I’ve ever written. love you guys!

Originally posted by irissswests

Two months. Two months since you had left Barry Allen. Well, two months since he asked you to leave, actually.

There was no doubt Barry wasn’t in love with you. He adored you, with every bone in his body down to his very soul. He loved the way you said his name, the way you knit your brows together when you were thinking, the way your lips always tasted of your signature cherry chapstick, the way you flipped your hair over you shoulder, even when you called him a nerd, his heart ached at the thought of you.

It was only the incident with Snart and Rory that Barry understood that your safety was more important than your relationship, for he could die happy knowing you were out of harm’s way.

Keep reading

Flashwave first meeting

A spectacularly drunk Mick Rory wanders into a confrontation between some other drunk idiots and their cornered prey.

He doesn’t remember much about the actual fight, but he does wake up on a sofa he doesn’t recognize to the smell of coffee and bacon. A very cheerful if wary young man introduces himself as Barry Allen, a.k.a the man that Mick saved and then insisted on walking home before passing out in the doorway of Barry’s apartment. He also pointedly tells Mick that his dad is a cop. Mick is gruff and a little embarrassed by his behavior, so he apologizes and offers to leave. But Barry thanks him for helping last night and invites him to stay for breakfast. Mick agrees because hey, what else does he have to do?

Also, very few people have ever smiled at him the way Barry does.

anonymous asked:

Prompt in which Sara and Leonard are teenagers Sara is the best at every sport in their school and Leonard is a complete nerd and they have their first time together

This is going to be less of a drabble and more of a oneshot, but … I want to share what I have so far. So I’ll keep you posted as to how it develops.  

Anonymous said:

Prompt in which Sara and Leonard are teenagers Sara is the best at every sport in their school and Leonard is a complete nerd and they have their first time together

The secretary glared quietly at Leonard’s boot that was atop a stack of neatly placed pamphlets detailing the horrors of premarital sex, peer pressure, and the likely cannibalism that could result from one puff of ‘the marijuana’.

Leonard lifted an eyebrow and smiled wryly at her.

His boots hadn’t been shiny since the day he had bought them with funds that he may or may not have procured from the unguarded locker of a linebacker that had flaked on his payment obligations.  They had since been scuffed up from jumping fences and muddied from unplanned detours through backyards.  They were in a perpetual state of being haphazardly untied, placing him at the constant risk of faceplanting in front of his fellow students—though, that had never happened. He sank further into the uncomfortable forest green couch of the main office and crossed his ankles a little more pointedly on their pristine, modern glass table.

He smiled when he heard it. “Send him in,” Principle Stein’s voice crackled out of the intercom.  


“Yeah, yeah.” He called out over his shoulder as he sauntered past her.  

The room reeked of Stein’s cheap potent cologne, making Leonard’s stomach turn.  His many awards littered the shelves.  A small image of his wife was shoved behind his educator of the year award, his wife’s face obscured by a coat of dust.  

Leonard plopped down and dropped his satchel loudly onto the floor beside him.  

Stein’s eyes narrowed.

Leonard remained passive and waited patiently.

Principal Stein wretched one of his desk drawers open and pulled out a large envelope, tossing it angrily on the table in front of him.  

The College Board:

Leonard Snart

Comprehensive Score


A smile tugged at the side of Leonard’s mouth.  “How about that,” He drawled.

Stein pushed his glasses further up his nose.  “How did you do it?”

“Hardwork and dedication,” Leonard noted with a heavily layered false sincerity.

“Enough, Mr. Snart. I hardly believe that a student of your caliber could obtain a perfect score.” He slapped his hand on his desk angrily. “You are not the kind of student that could have gotten a mark this good.”

“Well, golly, Martin—“ Stein stiffened up at Snart’s flagrant disrespect, “If they hadn’t wanted me to make a good score, then they should have made the questions a little bit harder.”

“It’s painfully obvious that you cheated.”

“Did I?” Leonard leaned his elbows against Steins desk, eyebrows raised with his pointer fingers steepled against his mouth.

Stein seethed. “I am one hundred percent certain of it.”

Leonard kept his face blank, letting the moment swell and ebb in the already tense room.  He grabbed his satchel and hefted it over his shoulder.  “Good luck proving it.” He jabbed quietly before making his exit.  

He could hear Martin sputtering and cursing as he shut the door soundly.  

There wasn’t a damn thing Stein could do about it, because as always Leonard had gotten away clean.

It wasn’t until he made it back to the waiting room that Leonard felt a twinge of panic in the normally monotonous and uneventful environment that was Central City High.  He lost his footing slightly when he saw unfamiliar faces seated across from the secretary’s cheap pressed board desk.  

Two blonde girls that could have been literary foils of one another were bickering quietly.  The first girl was prim and proper with ironed folds in her clothing and tan pantyhose that were run free and painstakingly modest.  

The second…

The second made him stumble.

He met his gaze as soon as he saw her—her blue eyes quirking in amusement at his obvious stumble.  Her wide necked black top hung loosely off of one shoulder, revealing a blaringly pink bra strap and a delicate collarbone.

Her jeans might as well have been painted on.  

Through the haze he could hear Martin grumbling through the intercom.

Her sister coughed pointedly.

His eyes widened before he schooled his expressions beneath the surface.  

He whipped around to face the secretary.  “Clarisse, did you need anything else?” He drawled drumming his fingertips across her ugly desk.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Snart.” She pursed her lips as if her words had left a foul taste in her mouth. “For now,” she added.

“Wonderful.” He said dryly.  “Good day to you, Clarisse.  Always a pleasure.” He lifted his eyebrows at the newcomers, winking for emphasis.

He could have sworn he heard little miss queen of the virgin parade call him a “Neanderthal” on his way out. That alone brought a grin to his face, but it was short-lived when her more intriguing sister insisted that he was most certainly a dork.

To be continued (immediately).