The Odd Couples
Hi, tumblrs! I’m back with yet another AU of one of my favorite AUs: it’s the DC gang, paired differently.
(I know I haven’t written anything DC AU-related in a long ass five minutes, and I swear Chapter 6 of the original series is practically ready to post, just needs a deep-dive edit)
So, this story is the product of two separate ideas: First, what if I hadn’t followed canon/fanon/personal head canons when pairing the couples up/off? And the second idea comes from the What If episode of Friends where that gang ends up with someone different (Phoebe x Ross, Monica x Joey, Rachel x Chandler).
Side note: Using throwback DC crew (Liam, Riley, Max, Leo, Liv, Drake, Madeleine, and Penelope). Also, check out the link to Leo’s shirt (if you make it that far). It’s the Leo-est shirt ever IMHO)
Side Note 2: Mixing the pairings up means I have/will be writing pairings that others write/have written and are generally associated with said writer(s). While I am fully aware that no one owns ships, I realize this is a fandom and strive to be mindful of those who write rareships and respect their pairings.
This is simply my take on my version of these characters when coupled differently in my world.
To those who read over this story in parcels, pieces, and in whole ...THANK YOU!
For those who do read this fic, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize.
Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. Microsoft Editor rates this piece as 99% error free.
I’ll be back sooner rather than later with a submission for Hana Lee Appreciation Week, an angsty Driam/Riley love triangle, and some Stormholt.
Pairings: SGL x Olivia; Drake x Madeleine; Leo x Riley B; Max x Penelope
Rating: M for Mature themes
Liam Rys tipsily followed Olivia Nervakis into the hotel room, hip-checking the door to shut it while Olivia occasionally paused her steps to turn on table lamps. Her black stiletto heels made no noise against the carpet; however, the swish of her highly starched black and white polka-dotted dress sounded scratchy in the silent room.
“Do you have to turn on every light?” Liam complained as he fastened the deadbolt.
“It’s not every light, and not our electric bill,” his girlfriend responded tartly as she flipped yet another switch.
The couple was in Baltimore for the weekend, attending a costume party thrown by Liv’s employer. There had been a buffet; an open bar; and a prize for the best costume, which Liam and Olivia did not win. Carlos Santiago, a member of the Environmental Services team, and his wife and three children came costumed as The Birds and The Bees and won the prize.
Liam and Liv were The Ricardos: Olivia’s red hair was done up in Lucy’s signature poodle hairstyle, and her dress was a dead ringer for the world’s most famous housewife’s iconic frock. He had wanted to wear a tuxedo and carry a conga drum but settled for Ricky’s purple, polka dot silk smoking jacket with shawl collar, black pants, and black velvet slippers.
“I can’t believe we didn’t win!” Liam muttered beneath his breath as he came behind Olivia, arms encircling her waist; his palms splayed against her flat, toned stomach. She responded by leaning against him, her back pressed against his chest.
“Don’t hate!” she admonished. “With those Korean features and Boston accent, no way were you a convincing Cuban band leader. Besides, you have to admit Carlos had a pretty creative idea.”
“Not more creative than my SOCK GAME! I mean, Liv … you gotta admit, it’s damn good tonight!”
He was wearing black, knee-length socks with red hearts inscribed with “I Love Lucy” scattered all over. Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation at the mention of his sock game.
This man and his socks! Liam thought his sock game could cure cancer and bring about world peace.
“You’re sock game is great as it always is, darling. But it was a costume contest,” Olivia placated in a soothing tone as his fingers began removing bobby pins from her hair.
She spun around, facing her boyfriend as her hair fell in soft curls that framed her face. Her green eyes twinkled as she pressed a quick kiss against his lips.
“You big, spoiled baby,” she teased. “Wanna smoke, take the edge off? I brought a couple of blunts along.”
He quickly shook his head. “No way am I going to be in BALTIMORE off some loud.”
Olivia grabbed the lapels of Liam’s smoking jacket, pulling him closer to her. The tip of her tongue swiped his lower lip. “Makes sense,” she agreed.
Liam pressed his palms against her ass cheeks; he sang softly in her ear as he swayed his hips against hers.
And life is heaven, you see
'Cause I love Lucy, yes
I love Lucy
And Lucy
Loves me!
“My name’s Liv”, Olivia corrected with a giggle as she gently wriggled out of Liam’s embrace. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed,” she urged as she headed for the bathroom.
Liam stuck out his tongue at her retreating back before glancing around the room. It was a typical hotel room, nothing really standing out or making it different from any other room.
The door that led to the balcony was all glass with a brass doorknob; the hotel promised a 360◦ view of the city’s famed Harbor from the patio. The couple planned to have breakfast there in the morning.
There was a workstation; a large, wall-mounted television; coffee maker and microwave; and the bed: queen-sized, four-poster, and centered against the back wall.
His eyes widened when he saw the wall to the side of the bed. It was covered floor to ceiling, and side to side with a … mirror.
Well, that was different.
Liam approached the bed, kicking off his slippers as he went; he stared curiously at his reflection before climbing atop the bed and resting on his haunches. He then lay on his back, turning his head to continue staring at his reflection.
He impatiently pushed his hair off his forehead before rolling over onto his stomach; pressing his palms against the bedcovers, Liam pushed himself up with his arms, still watching himself. He imagined Liv beneath him, her pale legs scissored across his back as they watched themselves.
“LIVVY!” he yelled excitedly over the sound of water running in the sink. “There’s a MIRROR! On the WALL! By the BED!”
The water turned off; Olivia sauntered into the room; her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, damp ends of her hair curling, and wearing a red lace bra with matching panties. A sultry smirk curved her lips.
Liam caught sight of her in the mirror’s reflection, and visibly gulped. Liv only wore matching underwear when they were going to have sex.
“Ai yi yi yi”, he muttered as he bounded off the bed and hastily divested himself of the smoking jacket.
Olivia was now standing directly in front of Liam; after guiding him to the other side of the bed, directly against the wall so he could see them both in the mirror, her red-tipped fingernails trailed a path from his throat to his belt buckle before unfastening the belt. She slid to her knees, pulling the pants zipper down with her teeth. Her eyes looked up at Liam.
“Care to hear me do some ‘splaining?” she purred as her hand reached inside the opening and pulled his cock out.
Liam never answered; he was too busy staring at Liv’s reflection as her mouth swallowed his manhood.
“Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue,” Madeleine demanded.
Drake’s chocolate brown eyes stared up at her before raking over her body, his gaze settling on her chest. “Take off your shirt,” he countered.
Madeleine exhaled a frustrated sigh that fluttered her bangs as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Damnit, Drake! You’re sick, and I need to take your temperature to make sure the meds are working.”
Quickly covering his mouth, Drake Walker let out a series of deep, wet coughs that rattled the congestion in his chest.
“It isn’t”, he rasped as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Tits would help. For sure.”
With a horrified look, Madeleine hastily grabbed and thrusted a bottle of hand sanitizer in his face. “WIPE!”
Rolling his eyes, Drake took the bottle; he then complied with his girlfriend’s first request. He slathered the disinfectant over his hands while Madeleine inserted a thermometer under his tongue.
His temperature was 102◦; two degrees lower than it had been three hours ago. Uneasy relief washed over Madeleine’s features.
“You should take the meds on a full stomach. You hungry?”
Drake turned onto his side, adjusting the pillows beneath his head as he did so. “Not really, but we both know you’re gonna harp on it until I give in. I think I have some canned soup in one of the kitchen cabinets.”
Madeleine nodded absently as she stepped into the bathroom to run the instrument under hot water in an attempt to kill the cooties her boyfriend more than likely transferred onto it. She heard Drake’s question when she turned the water off.
“When are you giving up that broom closet you’re living in to move in with me?”
“Don’t start,” Madeleine warned with a shake of her head as she re-entered the bedroom.
“Start what? You’re paying $1300 a month to RENT A ROOM! You could move in here with me and pay HALF that and it would be a whole ass apartment! You could start saving, pay down that credit card debt of yours …”
“I prefer to have my own, Drake!”
Madeleine’s boyfriend rolled his eyes. “You HAVE your own RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW! Clothes! Shoes! Makeup! Oat milk! And if we’re talking preferences, I prefer to wake up with you in my bed every morning. I prefer to glare and glower at you from across the room when we argue instead of sitting on the phone in awkward silence. I prefer to not have to wait for make-up sex!”
Madeleine shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the carpet. Her green eyes peeked up to sneak a glance at Drake, whose bleary eyes stared at her with a mixture of frustration and hopefulness. His fingers idly played in his chest hair.
“Why won’t you just accept this greatness?” he huffed accusingly.
Madeleine rolled her eyes in a here we go again way.
She and Drake were in love with each other. They were the odd couple of the group: The WASP and the Blue-Collar Worker, but they fit each other like a glove. Most of the time.
Cohabitation should have been the next logical step in their relationship.
Madeleine found it nice to come to his U Street apartment after work and find him cooking them dinner while she mixed killer cocktails to help them unwind from their day.
Or for her to be the first one awake and cook them breakfast, making sure to prepare the thick-cut bacon he liked, and brew the dark-roast coffee that was his favorite before sharing morning-breath kisses.
Drake making sure Madeleine had the apricot and cream body wash that cost a small fortune, and high thread count Egyptian cotton towels she insisted upon for her showers.
While their relationship was highly sexual, it was not sexually based. There were debates and discussions covering a gambit from international events and politics to cooking meats with mustard. The only thing they could never agree on was music: Madeleine was a Swiftie, and Drake was 70s rock and country. They shared a love of exercise and the outdoors; weekends usually found them taking day trips to Shenandoah to hike the trails, snacking on the beef jerky Drake loved and Madeleine tolerated.
But people broke up all the time … over the most minute and ridiculous things. And Madeleine knew she could be an anal-retentive pill most of the time. She wasn’t going to be heartbroken and house hunting if things went south with Drake.
Madeleine had been instilled from an early age that God blessed the child that had their own.
“I’m not going to be that chick if we don’t work out," she stated in a small but firm voice as she sat at the foot of the bed; close enough to show support and comfort, far enough away to maybe being in a germ-free zone.
“You’re saying that after I just asked you to move in with me for the 100th time?” Drake huffed before another coughing fit overtook him.
While Drake hacked up a lung, Madeleine looked around the bedroom, wondering if he had any masks around. The couple locked eyes briefly, chocolate fastened on emerald.
“You could dump me at Target or something!” she countered as she alternated between awkwardly patting his back and scooting further away from him.
When the coughing subsided, Drake pointed to the nightstand on Madeleine’s side of the bed.
“As for dumping you, you don’t shop at Target; it’d have to be Macy’s.”
Leo Rys hefted an oversized, too-full sriracha red snapper taco in both hands before greedily biting into it. He let out a low grunt of satisfaction as flavors and spices exploded over his tongue and crumbles of taco shell fell onto his plate.
Saturday afternoons couldn’t get much better than this: wearing his most comfortable shirt; hanging with his girlfriend Riley Brooks, who was his favorite person in the world; and lunch at his new favorite eatery, Tia Maria Tacos. Bonus: they had scored an upstairs window booth that overlooked the Potomac River.
Normally for the pair, Saturdays were for sleeping in and being lazy; 24 hours of partial nudity and horizontal positions suited them just fine after clocking out of work on a Friday afternoon. Especially if they had worked a full week.
But Riley had been in a funk lately; she had been to five job interviews over the past month; good interviews, where she had been a top-two contender. However, that hadn’t been good enough. Riley had been passed over every time, for each job.
Requests for feedback had not been helpful; hiring managers told her they couldn’t go wrong regardless of who they chose for the position. Riley’s ego was bruised, her esteem low. Despite her having a job that she had worked for the past 10 years ... a job she did damn well ... she was now comparing herself to Penelope, for Chrissakes.
Leo knew he had to do something, so he planned Date Day.
They began at Lincoln’s Waffle House for breakfast followed by a couples’ massage in Cleveland Park. Riley wanted to visit a tarot shop; Leo was agreeable. They both got readings, and she purchased a deck of tarot cards along with a strand of chakra beads.
From there they went to Georgetown, navigating the crowds and perusing shops. A French bakery was offering a European tea meal; Riley looked at Leo with hopeful eyes that quickly filled with dismay at his emphatic refusal. An hour later, laden with bags from a vintage clothing shop, a sex store, and a spice-filled storefront, they decided they were hungry; Leo suggested tacos.
He took a long swallow from his bottle of beer, his gaze fixed on Riley who had a plate filled key lime shrimp, Korean BBQ, and spicy chicken tacos, along with a serving of nacho fries. She felt his gaze and looked up to smile at him before taking a healthy bite of the shrimp taco.
Her eyes widened with surprise before closing in bliss.
“Hmmmmmm, this is soooooo good, Leo! I mean, it ain’t Chinese food but still like, hella good! Thank you for suggesting this place!” she said around a mouthful of food.
“Anytime, boo,” he replied with a wink as he reached into her plate for fries covered in nacho cheese and seasoned ground beef.
“And thank you for cheering me up today. It’s the reminder I needed that the Universe is just doing what it does, and all those hiring managers are just bitches and heifers.”
Leo dragged his fork through seasoned beans and rice. “They weren’t the jobs for you,” he assured her. “YOU are smart, funny, kind, and the greatest asset any person or job can have, and the right organization will recognize that. Not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous, and do you have any idea how hot you are?”
Riley bit into the spicy chicken taco, and quickly took a sip of her Sierra Mist with lemon. She nodded at Leo. “How hot I am? Yeah, I know ... and the answer is not very.”
Leo chuckled as he shook his head. This woman.
He and Riley were the couple that were never supposed to be. Both had had extremely bad luck with love, resulting in deeply rooted trust issues; the issues were more prevalent on Riley’s end than Leo’s.
They were both ambiverts, which loosely translated meant that there was no guarantee that plans made at 10am would still be in effect at 5pm. And you couldn’t be angry about it.
Physically, neither was the other’s type. Leo was a touch too lanky and fit for the buxom Riley; for Leo, Riley had a few too many inches in height, and was a tad curvier than he was used to. They met via Tinder, and it was supposed to be a one-night stand.
But their chemistry was off the charts.
But the sex was too good.
But their pillow talk left them curious to know more about each other while fully clothed.
Long story short … she kept him wild, and he kept her safe.
Before Leo could reassure his girlfriend that she was indeed VERY hot, her eyes trained on someone at a table near the back wall; they narrowed in anger as she tossed her food onto her plate while muttering, “What the actual FUCK?”
Leo looked around puzzled, wondering WHO happened. Because with Riley, it was never a what. If he could change two things about his woman, it would be her incredible grudge-holding talents and her penchant for public confrontation.
Only one table in the far corner was occupied. A Latina, facing them, was excitedly showing off one of her purchases to her male companion; Leo squinted, determining that the girl was proudly displaying a pair of earrings.
He swung back around, a look of confusion on his face. “Who are we hating on here?”
Riley dramatically pointed her index finger at the Latina. “HER! She told me I was a SHOO-IN for that freaking job!! AND THEN WENT WITH SOMEONE ELSE!”
Leo looked even more confused. “Which job? There were five of them!”
Riley didn’t answer. She was too busy scowling at the woman across the room while alternating between shaking her fist and making symbols with her fingers.
“Babe, what are you doing?”
“DC DOESN’T HAVE GANGS!” Leo argued.
So much for a peaceful outing and letting the Universe do its thing.
“I cannot believe you right now, Pen!” Maxwell Beaumont seethed as he rubbed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.
The Communications and Marketing Director inhaled and exhaled deeply, slowly. It was rare that anyone or anything upset Maxwell, much less angered him; but if anyone could knock him off his equilibrium, for certain it was his girlfriend, Penelope.
His girlfriend stared at him with her wide, pansy-blue eyes before quickly licking her pink-glossed lips. She ran slender, pale fingers through her black hair, then tightened the belt of her pink silk robe. Penelope outstretched her arm, her fingertips grazing the fabric of her boyfriend’s shirt; at his look of frustrated rage, she quickly pulled her hand back.
“Max,” she began in her breathy voice, “I know you’re upset with me, but I HAD to leave that godawful job! The commute sucked and who knew data entry was so … exacting? It’s a miracle I lasted as long as I did!”
By the time she finished her explanation, her hands were gesticulating wildly about, and her tone of voice had become a shriek.
Maxwell turned his back on Penelope to go into their kitchen; still hot Italian food sat on the stove, wrapped in plastic bags. He hollered at her while he began unpacking what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner for Penelope’s new job.
“IT WAS A TELEWORK POSITION! That you were LATE for BOTH DAYS you worked! And it was MAIL MERGE, NOT DATA ENTRY!” He turned to glare daggers at her. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you put forth entirely ZERO effort into at least TRYING to become a member of the working class, or that you lied to me the entire week about still having the damn job!”
An angry retort sprang to her lips; Penelope debated continuing the argument but thought better of it. She had known the lie would catch up with her, but she had been hoping it would have been after the dinner. Carmine’s had the most amazing food, and Penelope was in love with their broiled Lobster Oreganata, Porterhouse Pizzaiola, and pasta with meatballs and sausage.
With Maxwell’s back facing her, Penelope quietly tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to neither be seen nor heard. She peered over her potentially ex-boyfriend's shoulder, salivating at the sight and smells of containers filled with pastas, meats, and sauces.
Maxwell felt his girlfriend’s eyes on him and exhaled a silent breath. He should have known from their first meeting that Penelope was not relationship material.
They met at 9:30am on the elevator at the office building Max worked in; it was Penelope’s first day at a company occupying the entire third floor. At 11am, Max was back on the elevator hellbent on a Starbucks run; the elevator stopped at the third floor and Penelope entered, her blue eyes filled with tears.
She had been let go from her new job in less than 90 minutes.
Max was a sucker for a damsel in distress. He dried Penelope’s tears, treated her to a coffee, and offered to take her out on a date. That had been over two years ago, and if the woman had worked a cumulative 40-hour work week since, he knew nothing about it.
He had asked the gang if their companies were hiring; Liam laughed so hard, his drink came out of his nose. Riley, who worked with Max, rolled her eyes as she muttered, “You already know.” Everyone else shook their heads vigorously.
For a brief period, he had even let her be a stay-at-home girlfriend, but that definitely didn’t work out; Penelope couldn’t cook and had no concept of housekeeping. He had to pull from his savings to replace his wardrobe when she tossed his lights, darks and half a bottle of bleach into the washing machine. She was asleep when he left for work, and asleep when he returned home.
Irresponsible was too inadequate of a word to describe his girlfriend. She was a money pit in addition to being careless, thoughtless, and an emotional vampire.
But Maxwell Beaumont loved Penelope Ebrim. She could be sweet, buying him small gifts that brought a smile to his face. She mixed mean cocktails, had a killer sense of humor, and was a terrific dancer. She just needed to find her way.
Apparently, God had chosen Max to help her do so.
“Pen, you have GOT to find and keep a job!” Max stated in a firm tone that brooked no argument as he prepared her a plate of lobster, pasta with garlic and oil, and shrimp parmigiana.
When Penelope saw Maxwell piling a plate with Italian yumminess, she had moved to the cabinets to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was setting them on the dinette table as she debated coming clean in her reply.
“I may have found something; I’m supposed to have an interview Monday.”
Max set the serving spoon down as be swung his head to look at his girlfriend in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I was waiting until afterwards so I could surprise you!” Penelope crowed happily.
“Well, where? With who?” Max’s smile covered his entire face as he resumed plating food.
Maybe things were looking up.
Penelope expertly removed the wine bottle’s cork and began pouring sparkling merlot into the glasses.
“The interview is at The Greene Turtle, and it’s with a temp agency called Daddy’s Little Girl. Basically, I would be having lunches and meetings at hotels with older men for an hourly rate.”
Maxwell had plates in both hands, which he slowly lowered onto the kitchen counter; his every movement displayed his disbelief. There was no way his girlfriend had applied for a job as an escort.
“You’re going to be a prostitute?” he choked out.
Penelope had just taken her seat. She looked up at Maxwell in horror at his words.
“NO!! Why would you say THAT? How could you even THINK THAT of me??’ It’s like lunch meetings or something!”
“NAKED LUNCH! Pen, NO ONE is paying a woman … a PRETTY WOMAN … to just “have lunch”!! And meetings in HOTEL ROOMS? What the ACTUAL fuck?”
“It’s working lunches, sometimes dinners, with out-of-town business entrepreneurs who need someone to take dictation!”
Max’s face dropped into his open palm.
“The going rate is $150 an hour! I was told with my looks and appearance, I could be in huge demand,” Penelope argued.
“WHEN DID THEY SEE YOU?” Max yelled as he threateningly shook a plastic spatula in Penelope’s direction.
“I saw the ad on Craigslist and called the number in the listing, then did a Zoom with the manager.”
Maxwell Beaumont stared at his girlfriend for a long, silent moment before exiting the kitchen and heading for their bedroom.
“MAX! Where are you going??”
“To have a talk with God.”
Penelope stared at his retreating back with a furrowed brow before shrugging and rising to fetch her dinner.
“Tell Him I said heyyyy.”
Max’s response was to slam the bedroom door.
Tagging: @ao719 @jared2612 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @mom2000aggie @liamxs-world @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @beezm @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @gardeningourmet @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @lovingchoices14 @lady-calypso @walkerdrakewalker @queenjilian @kristinamae093 @choicesficwriterscreations
