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vampiresuns · 4 years ago

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Corazón Sufriente, Corazón Sangrante

3.5k words. The Crews of The Jagged Ruby and El Corazón Sangrante spend the night in Hinode. However, Captain Syd and the crew of Inuwashi cross the waters of the Strait before they even set sail the next morning, rattling the beings that inhabit it. Having no option but to sail as soon as they can, they are forced to face the storm waiting for them in the water.

The crew of The Jagged Ruby, El Corazón Sangrante, and Inuwashi belong to @apprenticealec. You can also check her map and lore about the Strait of Sirens here.

This is the second and last instalment of Part VI of Secrets of An Ancient Moon Series.

Want to read more of these series? You can find it’s masterpost here.

CW: Brief mentions of unhealthy family dynamics.

Rodrigo was something completely different from Jacqui. An entire different type of fish — an analogy he had hated. Not that him hating it was about to stop Jules from using it.

They had known him for less than a day, yet they had already argued about at least five different topics. All of them unprompted. They had argued about slang, about whether their shared mother tongue was actually called Alzor or Nopali; Jules said both were acceptable, Rodrigo wasn’t so convinced. They had also begun bickering because Rodrigo, finding them again after docking in Hinode, tried to make for their ‘interrupted’ introduction earlier that morning, only to be met with Jules laughing through their nose and telling him he was shorter than Saoirse. They did not expect to touch a nerve, but they did.

Then it was some random thing neither of them knew how they ended up talking about, Jules ‘hoarding’ Jacqui, and finally because Jules had had the gall to make an assessment out of Rodrigo and be right about it.

“You too, huh?” Jacqui asked him. “What did they tell you?”

Rodrigo grumbled something about ‘hearts’, and ‘choices’, and people like ‘us’. “Anyway, I told them there could be an ‘us’ if they wanted to, grabbed their face and the next thing I knew fucking Saoirse was standing right behind me, like what the fuck.”

Jacqui laughed. Rodrigo looked at him as if he had just told him the worst of insults.

“You know they do that because they think it’s funny, right?”

“Shut up, Jacqui.”

Rodrigo’s Quartermaster looked over his Captain’s shoulder, snorting at the same time as Saoirse said: “Hi, Rodrigo,” making him jump from his chair.

None of those wouldn’t be the last of Julianus’ offences against Rodrigo that night. The crown jewel of them all would come when they asked him and Jacqui for how long they had been together. While Jacqui clammed up, Rodrigo answered ‘20 years’ like it was nothing. However, when Jacqui tried to tell him Julianus didn’t mean as Captain-and-Quartermaster, he laughed, and left.

“So it’s not like—? Oh.” Saoirse laughed softly, and kissed their temple.

In hindsight Jules should’ve anticipated Rodrigo coming back to steal their drink, since they “weren’t going to finish it.”

In any other circumstances, Jules would’ve rolled their eyes, yelled something smart back at whomever took their drink, and carried on. That drink, however, had pisco mixed with a soft drink. It was a popular mix in Altazor, but slightly harder to find in other places — mostly due to the lack of pisco— and, it was Rodrigo who had taken it.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

Rodrigo began walking away faster.

This would be one of those moments which Julianus would never forget. The blur of faces as they chased Rodrigo in the tavern part of the Inn, Manolo’s and Manuela’s concerned faces. Walking over someone’s table after climbing on a chair without thinking too much about it. Or rather, without overthinking about it. There were no what-abouts, no ifs, no what-will-whoever-thinks. Just them, trying to calculate their odds as they tackled Rodrigo into the ground. He yelled something about his coat getting dirty, Jules told him he shouldn’t have stolen his drink.

Neither of them were putting on a real fight, though at the same time they were. Rodrigo fought better, but Jules was more slippery and had, per Saoirse’s own confirmation and now for everyone to witness, an unexpectedly strong thigh-lock.

Meredith was yelling insults at Rodrigo and cheering on Julianus, with either ‘you go, Sanlaurento’, or ‘that’s my legal bastard’. J. C. would not register it until hours later, and while they suspected it was solely because they were fighting Rodrigo and had tackled him to the ground, it still brought a smile to their face.

Looking at them as they fought, Saoirse and Jacqui stood together. Jacqui refused to get involved, claiming this wouldn’t have happened if Rodrigo had not stolen their drink.

“You know those fights between siblings which start to get too serious?” He asked Saoirse.

“No, not really.”

“Well, this is a little like those.”

After a moment or two, he spoke again. “So, this is ‘your Julie’.”

Saoirse’s smile was the brightest Jacqui had ever seen in them. “Sometimes I think I will anticipate their thought process. Sometimes I do. Others…,” there it was again, the smile, “I have no idea.”

The fight ended when Saoirse got Jules another drink, and helped them get off from Rodrigo who was yelling at them not to get his face, while Jules yelled at him that he got theirs first. They were both perfectly alright, despite their dramatics, but in the morning Julianus’ forehead would develop a small bruise right where their hairline began, Rodrigo having accidentally elbowed them. It was, for once, a legitimate accidental blow.

Later, Saoirse would say that Jules had a very thick head, as they held ice to their forehead just in case. Jules was sharing a bedroom with Theo, and while the ship’s medic would’ve been able to do just the same, Saoirse wanted to do it. They, on the other hand, had to sleep in the same room as Meredith, to keep the Queen safe.

Theo had offered to change places with Saoirse, swearing ‘most ardently’ that he would never let anything happen to Meredith. Saoirse, bound by the code by their own choice, declined.

When the two of them were alone, Saoirse having left to their own bedroom, Theo gave Jules a sympathetic look.

“You look melancholic, my dear friend. Empty bed blues?”

“No, not really. I do know how it goes, and besides, it’s their job. You don’t see Saoirse complaining about my law books, do you?”

“So what is it? If you wish to talk about it,” he said as he sat on Jules’ bed, “I am happy to be your faithful confidant.”

“Thank you, Theodore. Do you promise not to think it’s stupid?”

Theodore crossed his heart, then put his open palm above it and raised his other hand. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Jules was silent for so long, gathering their thoughts, that the doctor thought they’d never speak. However, they did, turning to them with such vulnerability in their face that Theodore, poetic and candid as he was, almost gasped.

“I’m not used to being in a place where I want to find out what happens tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after. It’s like my mind decided to have this moment, out of all possible moments to realise I am not going anywhere.”

“Anywhere how? Oh, Meredith wouldn’t turn you away!”

“No, not like that. Anywhere as in here, in this world. That this is my life and I get to live it, for many more years than I ever thought I’d get to live.”

Theodore hugged them. Jules didn’t expect the gesture tensing for a fraction of a second before fully leaning into it. Theo was hugging them with both his arms, but he was doing it around their side, not in front of them, which made returning the hug a little awkward. Jules still did their best.

“I’m so very glad we are friends.”

Jules smiled. “So am I, Theo. You deserve good things.”

“So do you.”

“Just take the compliment.”

“Pot and kettle! You take the compliment!”

They bickered some more, like old friends who have known each other for their whole lives, until Theo sent them to bed on Doctor’s orders.

They would both sleep happy, soundly. Julianus would dream of sweet nothings and their feet would stay warm all night with the weight of Marcius over them. Yet that wouldn’t last until the morning. Everyone slept in a little later than they did at Sea, only to be woken up with alarm from members of both crews announcing Inuwashi had crossed the waters of the Strait.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They could’ve waited a couple days to pass, but the fear of not making it to Ethari on time was worse — Jules had no idea until then, but due to a couple of reasons beyond anyone’s control (namely the weather and some routes alterations) they were behind schedule and could not afford any more delays. It meant they’d head to risk going through the waters with its very, very angry sirens.

This time, no crew song appeased them. The message was clear: anything or anyone they got their hands on would not see the surface again.

On the distant horizon, Julianus could see the outline of a ship. It looked tiny in the distance and by the way Meredith cursed in it’s direction, they assumed it must be Inuwashi. Meredith cursed again — it had begun to drizzle, and it looked like a storm was beginning to brew.

Saoirse, for once, looked concerned. “Jacqui says Rodrigo exhausted his illusion magic, they’re too uncontrollable for him to properly cast anything on them.”

To make matters worse, a ripple went through the water. With a violent halt, both of the ships stopped moving.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! If I could kill Syd, I fucking would!” Meredith yelled.

“I know,” was Saoirse’s serious reply. “But I don’t think that was Syd.”

“You’re seriously going to tell me that wasn’t Gharial or however the fuck they’re called?”

“No, it was, but Syd is not stupid enough to endanger you right before a Quinquennial Meeting without a loophole, and Gharial just likes getting Syd into trouble.”

“It doesn’t fucking change anything.”

It was chaos as everyone snapped into action to make the ships move again. The sooner they were all out of the Strait the better and by the turn of events it was going to be a long, tiring task.

“Alright!” Meredith yelled, raising their voice so everyone listened to her. “Keep everyone from the railings and if you can move with a lifeline, do it. I want all of them secured! I will only say this once: if anyone falls, we will not be able to retrieve them so anyone with a range weapon — do whatever idiot that falls a favour if they do.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

What nothing told you about life or death experiences was how absolutely absurd they were. There were no big revelations, no reel of your life going before your eyes, no philosophical moments where the ulterior meaning of life was revealed to you. It was just you, and whomever else was with you in that moment, running around as survival instincts kicked in. As they did, the realisation that you might as well die came to you, and instead of thinking about everything you did not get to do, or everything you could’ve done differently, all you did was noticing really stupid details, about really stupid shit.

Julianus didn’t need to wait to have another experience with death to know whomever said otherwise was fucking lying.

Instead of thinking about anything that would’ve risen up to the dourness of the hour, they were thinking about their art teacher from Altazor, the one they had when they were in primary school and they had taken an art extracurricular. When they were around ten, they went through a phase where they only wanted to paint the sea. Their teacher had shown them a Neviv painter who painted ships and stormy seas, and Julianus had decided they only wanted to paint the sea from then on.

The sky looked like the paints of that painter. Julianus couldn’t even remember the name of the painter.

They had stopped taking the extracurricular not long after that. Part of an ongoing issue they had associated with lack of confidence in their sense of self, and their struggle to keep habits. The former had to do with having been indirectly punished for their openness of self, which left them more vulnerable to other people’s opinions. A vulnerability they were never given proper tools to deal with. When they tried to find who they were in front of the world, too many factors had convinced them for years that who they were was inherently wrong. From mean peers to their own parents, or the expectations of their family, and no matter what image they projected, it all weighted them down.

The other had to do with a long time undiagnosed hyperactivity and focus divergency. No one believed them about it until they took the matters in their own hands, because how could someone ‘as smart as them’ have it. It simply had to be laziness, or something other. They had been over this already, about how too many people had opinions on who Julianus Sanlaurento had to be, or was, without actually bothering to check who they actually were, or even given the chance.

The other extracurricular that succumbed to all of that was magic. However, they had taken it up again in their last years of schooling before university, as they had in free hours they were left alone to their own devices. That halt in their studies had made them more knowledgeable in the history of it and the relationships different cultures had with it, than to the practice itself. It was one of the reasons why the Sea Palace had had no interest in them, besides the fact they thought (both Jules and the Scholars) they did not have any particularly differential ability in it.

They never stopped practising it after that, even if they never mentioned to anyone, unless they were forced to. They had taken it up under a mentor again in Firent, where they took it as a university extracurricular with a magician who was adept to energy manipulation — electricity in particular. Jules had taken to it like fish to the water, even if, once again, they ended up using it for little.

She always said plasma and electricity weren’t harder to manipulate than other types of matter. People tended to be more afraid to do it, because it required the magician to make themselves a receptor of that energy, and for a series of reasons, people did not seem comfortable with malleable matter that may or may not zap you.

Somewhere to their right, Drew hissed.

“Are you alright, darling?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, I just grabbed my knife and I got a static shock.”

Jules snapped out of their trace. “Swords work as conductors of electricity, right?”

“What?”

“Like, you can catch electricity with a sword, can you not?”

Drew and Elizabeth looked at them with concern. Also, like perhaps, they had gone a little crazy.

Theo, however, had their answers. “It’s metal, so in theory it would work. Though not all metals conduct the same way, but that’s the principle of a lightning rod… why do you ask?”

“If I do something that’s potentially really stupid, involves magic, and I technically know how to do but haven’t done it in years and never outside of the context of a classroom, do you promise to not let me fall into the water? I don’t actually want to die.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Julianus was either a genius, insane or terminally stupid. They were about to find out.

Storms had always been their favourite weather and they knew an electric storm had to be in the making. Sounds around them were too clear, humidity was annoyingly oppressive, there were no birds flying, Marcius was hiding under the covers of Saoirse’s bed (Jules double checked he was safe) and it smelled like a storm.

Electric storms came with lightning. With the right magical knowledge, anyone could manipulate them. However, they needed to get to the Beak of the ship, and there was no way Saoirse would let them do that if it put them at the risk of falling into the water. El Corazón Sangrante, however, wasn’t that far away from the Ruby. It was a sensible jump, even by their poor eye-estimation of distance.

All they had to do was try.

From the perspective of anyone else in the crew, this was what happened: Julianus used a rope from the rigging to jump from one ship to the other (a very bad experience, which they would not like to repeat). They told something to Jade, Rodrigo’s sailing master, and for some reason, Jade agreed to it. Perhaps, she was as desperate as everyone else to get out of the strait. Meredith, still on the Ruby yelled-asked who let Sanlaurento do such a thing. Saoirse looked at them with confusion as they ran with the rapier they had gotten for them during a raid in hand; said confusion turned into dread when they realised what part of the ship they were running towards.

The panic they felt when they saw them climb past the forecastle and onto the very narrow surface to stand before the bowsprit began, threatened to dissolve the body they chose to use every day. They ran towards the bow of the Ruby, ready to jump into the water if they needed.

“Julie!” They yelled, trying to make them turn, but it was like they didn’t listen.

A thunder broke behind them as they lifted a leg over the railing. That’s when they saw it. With both arms extended, their sword on the left hand pointing towards the sky, a lightning strike hit Julianus.

Jules condensed it in their free hand as it sizzled and crackled without harming their skin. Angling themselves, they threw it into the water, hitting one of the sirens straight on the chest.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Having to face the Siren songs that close to the water was, perhaps, one of the worst life experiences Jules had ever gone through. It was something about their rabid eyes and the promises they sang of.

They could see them, almost. They could see themselves in it. A model child, a partner, two children and a pet. A stable job. A good relationship with their mother. Esteem and respect from the social circle they had grown in at the expense of nothing. The sirens sang and they went to a different school, they had different tastes, they had more knowledge, a better capacity to concentrate, a different career, they were more athletic. They were immaculately perfect, always pleasing everyone and always knowing the right thing to say. Whomever that abomination the Sirens sang about was, it wasn’t Jules.

They could see why. They could see how they would twist their fear of never being enough, their fear of being utterly mediocre, against them. They could see how they took that away, and left a perfectly sanitised carcass that, in a lower point of their life, they would’ve given into.

The wind played with their hair as they felt one thing, and one thing alone: rage.

Their frown was set as they began feeling static build around them and with steady breaths they stood in posture. They lifted their sword as their angry, teary eyes met with the fishy ones of the sirens in the water. It wasn’t about being stronger than them or more powerful than them. Neither was the case: They were just Jules.

Just Jules. Poetic, hopeful, intelligent, strong-willed, imperfect, full of love and terrified to give it, yet determined to plant the garden of their life no matter how many times it was destroyed. Jules who was full of grief, and full of happiness, and Jules who knew they would never have the life that was promised to them, because that life required of them something they would never be able to be without sacrificing who they truly were.

It was okay. It was okay not to have that life and not to be that person. Whoever they were now was better anyway.

Lightning struck their sword. They knew what to do.

When the Sirens went quiet, numbed by the electric sock, they slid their back against the wood of the ship. Hanging on some rope and their sword for dear life they sat down with their head between their legs.

Saoirse found them moments later, pulling them up and carrying them back to Meredith’s ship in their arms.

“I can walk you know, I’m just a little dizzy.”

Saoirse didn’t put them down. “Were you going to tell me you could manipulate lightning, or was I supposed to find out this way?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant to mention. Did it work?”

They let out a noise of annoyance. “Yes, yes it worked. But if you want to do that again, it’d be better you practised. You could’ve fallen into the sea, you could’ve—”

“But I didn’t. I’m here, Saoirse.”

They shot them a look, but the relief that it worked, and the wonder that their Julie could do such a thing won this time. They kissed the crown of their head. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“I mean it. Let’s get you some water and something to eat.”

“I’m sorry I scared you, I really am.”

Saoirse sighed. “You’re forgiven. You did great.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Beyond the Strait of Seals, Captain Syd of the Inuwashi looked at the lightning strike back in the waters of the Strait. Hideko stood besides them.

“I didn’t know Saoirse could do that.”

Heron spoke behind her. “Are we sure that’s Saoirse?”

“Well, colour me surprised Cabin Boy, I don’t remember asking your opinion.”

#the arcana #the arcana oc #is it at this point tho?#my writing #secrets of an ancient moon series #jc sanlaurento #saoirse #joirse #meredith #captain rodrigo #jacqui #syd h. jeebies #syd and the jeebies #dani's ocs #saoirse my beloved i'm so sorry i put you through so much stress here

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insidetheacademy · 5 years ago

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Say You Love Me | vi

pairings: Peter Parker x Reader (both are 18+)

chapter summary: Peter came to Paris to visit Reader

warnings: fluffs, language?, reader is having a hard time with her art, intsy teensy jealous!peter

author’s note: so sorry if its short and late!! i’ve been trying my best to weave the plotline gently. enjoy, though! happy reading! (taglists are still open)

series masterlist || previous part

it has been a month since you moved to Paris. needless to say, there was a lot of stress-crying, the feeling of homesick, and just plain happiness. but as of lately, your mojo has been off. you scraped a lot of paintings of your own because it doesnt feel right

when you told your newly best friend about it, he would push you (in a good way) to get out of that zone. he would definitely try to take you out to get some fresh air but it always ended up with the two of you sitting on the couch watching Netflix.

you haven’t had an art block since forever so it was shocking when you found out the next day that you feel as if you can’t paint or draw right. you ended up accidentally throwing your paintbrushes on the floor out of frustration and that was when Jules came in to check on you.

“is everything alright?” he said soothingly. you looked at him with crystal eyes that could shatter any moment. you took a seat and sob quietly.

“I don’t understand,”

“You don’t understand what, Y/N?”

“Why am I suddenly like this? at the peak of my career?” you muffled through your hands. Jules took a seat beside you and rub circles on your back,

“Hey, don’t be too harsh on yourself. you know everyone loses their inspiration every once in a while right?”

“I know but not this long,”

“Don’t compare yourself to others, Y/N. You’re you and thats enough,”

you sighed trying to make sense of the world again. you moved your hands to breathe right again. “Come on,” Jules stood up “We’re going to get ready and really get you out of this house.”

you smiled to Jules and said okay.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

you were sitting on your vanity trying to clean up your face and make it less puffy and dead. your bedroom door were wide open when you heard a doorbell ring.

“Jules! will you get that?”

no answer

“Jules!”

and still no answer.

you groaned and pushed yourself to the door with the most annoyed face plastered on. you opened the door slightly, “Can I help you?” and that’s when you saw a brown hair boy on your porch.

“Peter?” you gasped, shocked that your crush friend is right in front of you.

“Is that really you?” you cupped his face

“The one and only!” Peter smiles

Peter opened his arms to celebrate you with a hug, you hugged him, inhaling the smell of his cologne that you will never get tired of.

“What are you doing here? Are you here with MJ?” you pulled back from him and took a good look of him

“Actually, I’m just here by my own,”

“Y/N? who’s at the door?” Jules voice becoming more and more clear as he walks to where you were at. “Jules, this is Peter! Peter, Jules,” you introduced them both.

Jules took his hand out wanting to shake Peter’s hands but Peter just wave it off leaving Jules hanging.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to go out anymore?”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, Y/N.” Jules said with a smile and just like that he went out to probably eat or something leaving you and Peter alone at the small house. You invited Peter in and showed him the couch.

“So you and that guy?” Peter says with a hint of jealousy in his voice. You chuckled, “Yeah, well, no,” Peter raised his eyebrows, “He’s just my roommate and co-worker,” you said explaining to him.

“That does not make any sense. How is that allowed?” he asked

“Its just the company that I’m working with thinks that it might good to have a co-worker who leaves in the same house to help with the project.”

Peter formed his mouth into an ‘o’ signalling that he understood.

“Are you here by yourself?”

“Yeah,”

“MJ is coming here too later today! maybe we should hang out?” you suggested

“About that... MJ is not coming,”

“Oh no! what happened?”

“Nothing happened! She was never coming here in the first place,”

you had a confused look on your face,

“so she doesn’t want to see me?” you said with sadness laced in your voice

“N-no! She lied! for me!” Peter tries to assure you,

“W-what?”

“Truth is, I missed you. I felt like I could go crazy if I have to go another month without seeing you,”

He took a deep breath

“So I made her lie to you that she’s coming here so that you won’t know that it was actually me. I want it to be a surprise, y’know?” he said in his Queens accent.

you were frozen to your seat. you felt so... full? is that even a right word– you missed Peter too but you didnt expect him to go this long just because of a silly reason. you punched him on his arm,

“Ouch! what was that for?!”

“for lying to me!”

“It was for a good reason!”

“Still!”

you put on your best mad face to make him feel intimidated and you can tell it was working when you made the one and only young Avenger avoiding an eye contact with you.

you burst out in laughter,

“what’s so funny?” he said offended,

“I’m just joking! I miss you so much, Peter!” you said and embraced him with a hug once more.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

the whole day was well spent with Peter. the two of you ordered a take out food for dinner. you were sat comfortably on your pale blue bedsheets while Peter is taking in the view of your bedroom.

“do you like that one, Parker?” you teased when uou saw he was staring at a naked figure that was a part of your anatomy self project.

he blushed and rubbed the back of his head.

“These are amazing, though,” he said staring at the wall that was half full with your artworks and stickers. you love that part of your room, if marrying a wall was the norm, you’d marry it in no time.

“Thank you, it’s not done yet,” you said looking at your laptop trying to find a movie for the both of you to watch

“Are you going to finish it?”

“I was going to finish it this week but everything feels like hell,”

“Whats wrong?” he asked while dipping into the bed with you

“I don’t know, I can’t paint right these days. whenever I do, I just ended up tossing them in there,” you pointed to the dustbin

“Sometimes I wish I could just drink something that would make me have my mojo back, y’know?”

Peter nodded

“But you have to understand, Y/N. These art blank are just gonna get worse if you keep forcing it,” he paused looking for the right word to say

“You have to stop overworking yourself because you’re not a robot,” he held your hands

you smiled at him, “It’s art block, Pete,”

“What?”

you chuckled and “It’s not art blank, it’s called art block,”

“Yeah, whatever, they’re the same thing,”

“Right, but thank you anyway. I really needed to hear that from the right person.” you laughed.

he took your laptop from your lap and put on the most basic film ever; Shrek. you raised your eyebrows at him but he ignored it and said it’s a good film.

slowly and surely, you felt your eyelids getting heavier as you lay your head on Peter’s chest. breathing steadily as he wraps his arm around you.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

you woke up with coldness next to you that was once filled with Peter’s warmth. you rubbed your eyes and figured that he went home early. you went to the kitchen to meet the sound of pans clanking and something smells good.

“Good morning, Jules,” you assumed

“Good morning, Y/N!”

you rubbed your eyes again to see if that was really Peter standing or if its just an hallucination and thank God it was real.

“What are you doing?”

“Making pancakes,” he said while flipping he pancake on the pan

“Burned pancakes?” you jokingly said but you were fully aware that he had made you your favourite comfort food; chocolate chips pancake.

“Ha ha, very funny.”

“I thought you went back to your hotel room,” you said pouring yourself an orange juice

“would you be upset that if I did?”

“maybe.” you smacked your lips.

you head to the breakfast table that has already been set with forks and knife.

“Good morning, y’all,” Jules said through a yawn

“Morning, Jules,” you respond

Peter just stood there infront of the stove, keeping his focus on the pancakes.

Jules made himself a cup of joe and went to sit down with you at the table. Peter turned off the stove and set the plate down in front of you. it was awfully nice at how he stacked three pancakes together with a berries that has been cut and has been carefully placed into a smiley face.

“Looks delicious, Pete,” you kissed his cheeks and smiled

“If you want there’s more at the counter, Jules,” Peter said trying to be on his best behaviour

“Nah, I’m all good. I’m on a diet,”

“Yeah, right,” you said as you sliced the pancakes

Jules rolled his eyes while Peter had a disgust face on. what? do you think you’re better than my pancakes? Peter thought to himself. Jules excused himself to his bedroom. Now, its only you and Peter.

“When are you going back home?” you asked with mouthful of pancakes

“the day after tomorrow. I have a lot of things I have to do,”

you frowned not wanting him to leave, almost regretting that you had asked him that

“Would you mind staying here?”

“You know I can’t do that,”

“No, I meant, stay here until its time for your flight to go back home,” you suggested

“Where will I sleep?”

“You can take the bed! i’ll take the couch!” you eagerly said trying to convinced him

“I can’t let you do that,”

“Oh,”

“I can’t let you sleep on that couch, I’ll take the couch,” he smiled

you quickly embraced him and pulled back, you had a huge smile on your face. you can’t wait to spend the rest of the next few days with your best friend.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

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@imawkwardandhereweare @canyonmoonspidey @thebadassbitchqueen @thequeenreaders @averyfosterthoughts @a--1--1--3 @prkrholland

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker angst #peter parker x you #peter parker fluffs #peter parker x you fluffs #peter parker fanfics #peter parker series #tom holland fanfics

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years ago

Text

Dalton Big Bang day 22 - That’s What We’re Here For

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Logan in therapy is a thing I care about very deeply and he needs a good therapist to help him out. Did you really think I'll write about anyone else in therapy?

"This is Dr. Blake's office," Johnny told Logan as they left the horrid medicinal smell of the office building and entered a room that could best be described as what would happen if a unicorn projectile-vomited.

Well, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but still! The walls were a light lilac color, decorated with fairy lights and childish doodles painted on colorful paper; the wall near the door had several bookcases on it, full of crafting supplies and tabletop games and books Logan didn't care to check out, and next to them was a white desk with two colorful chairs right up against the wall.

There were also a small coffee table and a light blue suede couch opposite the desk and chairs. The couch was covered with plushies and there was a soft blanket folded neatly on the armrest. That was the biggest offender in his opinion. That couch in particular.

On that couch sat a young man, about somewhere in his thirties, sipping a cup of tea and looking straight at Logan. He sported slightly messy light brown hair, in a way that still seemed intentionally so, and frameless glasses that sat high on the bridge of his nose; Logan believed that, had the glasses been different, maybe his green argyle sweater vest and khaki pants combo would look less nerdy and more… well, more like something. Anything, really.

"Dr. Blake," John greeted the man, nodding a bit as a courtesy.

"Senator Wright." His voice was calm, but as his face broke into a smile Logan could hear it change into something else. "And this must be John—"

"Logan."

"Yes, of course. Excuse me." As the therapist stood up, Logan could see him grab a cane he hasn't seen before, that until now was resting on the small table. At a closer glance, he could see the man's leg wrapped in a bandage of some sort. "It's nice to meet you, Logan. I'm Arin Blake, you can call me Arin, or Dr. Arin, or Dr. Blake if you so fancy, I honestly wouldn't mind."

"Yeah…"

"Don't fuck this one up," Johnny threatened Logan as he turned to leave. "Your psychiatrist recommended him to us. Don't make her regret it—"

"Actually, Senator, I'd rather you joined us today."

The man was already on his phone by then, but at least he didn't leave, which meant he listened probably. Still surprised at the suggestion though, which showed on his face. Logan just scowled as he went to sit on the truly offensive couch - as instructed by the doctor - and grabbed a cat plushie to hold.

A brown cat plushie, not too fluffy, with embroidered black eyes and a stupid expression.

Kinda reminds him of Julian. In a way. He's not sure which.

"In order to understand what we're working on here, I'd like to also hear your side of the story," Blake continued as he sat down in a chair in front of them. Johnny took the other side of the couch. "Can I offer you coffee, tea? Water?"

"Coffee is fine," Logan shrugged.

"To me as well."

"Just remind me for a moment, which medication are you prescribed?"

Logan may have rolled his eyes at that.

"Prozac, and I'm starting to take adderall soon."

"I see…" he hummed to himself as he got up and left the office, leaving Logan and Johnny in uncomfortable silence.

Dr. Blake's cup of tea was in a big blue mug, decorated with a print of tiny cartoon citrus slices. A clear plastic teaspoon stuck a bit over the top, and Logan inspected the little tag on the tea bag. Hibiscus apple cinnamon. Sounds fancy enough.

He just about took his phone out and started playing something when Blake came back, hopping on one leg almost, and put two disposable cups in front of them. Johnny's was a cup of coffee. His, though…

"I asked for coffee."

"And isn't this it?"

He took a sip. "It's… it's fine." It wasn't. There was too much milk, he could tell just by looking it. This was just a confirmation. "Thanks."

"So how about you both tell me why you're here?" The doctor sat back down in his chair, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know if you've heard in the news, but there was a fire at Logan's school—"

"Don't act like that's the reason we're here." Logan waited for his father to get red in the face. He always did. So he just leaned back and counted the seconds. "You brought me here because you think that everything wrong in your life is the result of me simply existing, and your only excuse to actually do it is that the people you dumped me on when you couldn't bother with keeping me around anymore can't look after me now."

"How do you think people would have reacted to my campaign if they knew—"

"Oh, come on, not everything is about your FUCKING JOB!"

"Okay, okay, Logan put that cup down." He did as he was told. After all, he can't fuck this one up, can he? "Now, without exploding on each other, please tell me what's going on."

"Logan's school burned down back in March—"

"February."

"—and he's only been getting worse since. He's always had anger issues, but since then he won't stop acting out. Usually over quite… petty things too."

Blake pushed his glasses further up, if that was even possible. "Petty things like what?"

"Like…" Johnny faltered, fumbling for words. So Logan spoke for him.

"Like that time last week when I asked if I can go visit my friend in California and you said I can't because what if his mom says no."

"Ms. Larson is a very busy woman, Logan. You can't just expect her to let you stay over because you wanted to on a whim."

"Well, I'm not five anymore, I don't think it really matters so much whether or not she can—"

"Let's stop it right there, again, Logan." Dr. Blake's stare made Logan curl up into himself. "Repeat that, now calmly."

Logan swallowed rather hard before talking again.

————

"Tell me a little about your friends," Dr. Blake asked at another meeting, about five weeks later. Logan sat on the chair closest to the desk, hugging the cat plushie again, and focused on drawing some flowers.

Lily of the valley. It was the only flower he could draw well. And isn't that just sad.

"There's Derek," he started, drawing the stems. "He… well, if he put half as much energy into caring for himself as he does for caring for me, I think the world would be a much better place. I think he's trying to compensate for this with girlfriends. It's kind of worrying, to be honest."

"But he cares for you?"

"Yeah. Sometimes a bit too much. It's… it's funny, actually, because… he really needs to work on himself. He can't fix me no matter how much he tries, because he's not some miracle worker and my mental health isn't fixable—"

"But it is treatable. And that's what we're here for."

"Yeah. I just… I find it funny, because he spends so much time trying to fix me that he's completely ignoring himself, and then he goes off and thinks having a girlfriend is a good replacement for self care. But I can't just tell him that… he'll get upset and then say it's not important and I'm just obsessing over it because reasons, and then when I get upset over not understanding he says it's my anger issues and I should be medicated."

"And why do you think he's doing this?"

This was the type of question that Logan quickly learned Blake loved asking. 'Why do you think', 'why do you feel', as if he wasn't the expert here. It was weird, having someone interested in his opinion without calling it anger issues and shutting him up, or telling him it's stupid and all that. He wasn't sure he could get used to it, but he certainly felt like he was, and it scared him.

"I think… I think he's just worried… he has anxiety, and I think he's reflecting it onto others because he doesn't know how to deal with it himself…? I know his parents don't know how to. So neither does he."

"And your other friend?"

Logan put down his pencil and picked a yellow one, throwing Blake a look.

"Julian is… he's cool. I miss him, I haven't seen him in months and he can't come over for vacation because his mother won't let him."

"Is he just cool?"

"I mean… he's one of my best friends, so… he's cool. He's very snarky sometimes… well, most of the time… and we talked about it a while ago, about why he's like this, and it was before revising my diagnosis, and he didn't really understand that I was insulting him back as a fight or flight response and he thought I was enjoying it… umm…"

Blake just pushed a mug closer to Logan. It was a clear mug, full of a bright red liquid. The hibiscus apple cinnamon tea. He made it for Logan today, as an attempt to get him to like something with no caffeine. Apparently coffee was bad for adderall. He assumed it'll be okay though.

"We're working on it now. And he needs physical therapy, so it's not like we really can do it in person, but we call each other every day and stuff…"

"You should visit him, then," the doctor suggested, making Logan snort.

"I don't think he wants me around… his boyfriend is there to keep him company. It's fine. Well… not his boyfriend. I'm not sure what they are. It's complicated, I think. Jules says they're not dating but they sure have a—"

"Dearie, are you jealous?"

He just laughed again. "Of Julian? Nope. Not in a million years. Of Sebastian? I… I don't actually know. I mean, he and Julian aren't together even if sometimes it feels like it, and Jules did say I'm his best friend and stuff, but on the other hand he makes him happy, and…"

"And being jealous is okay, so long as you put it into a healthy outlet and not into anger. Talk to Julian about it. See what he thinks and says."

"But… we talked about it… kind of… he said he's in love with me, but it wasn't at a very ideal situation, and… we agreed to not talk about it. Just… let ourselves work through it, figure out what we really feel… what he really feels… and then we'll see where we go from there."

"That's good. But ask him for clarification, okay? Don't make your head spin like this."

Logan just nodded along, grabbing a blue pencil to shade in the flowers themselves.

"So I think I'm going to visit Julian soon," he continues. "I'll ask Derek to join me too… maybe I can buy him a gift…"

"That's a nice idea. What does he like?"

"He likes… cats, and candy… maybe I can get him new sunglasses. I think he'll like sunglasses. Or coffee…"

"Is coffee a gift?"

"Expensive coffee, maybe."

The doctor just laughed. "How about starting small… what about flowers?"

"...I can get him flowers…"

"That you can. I fear we're running out of time, though." Logan looked up from his drawing, a bit disappointed. "We can keep talking about this next week too, okay?"

"Okay… sorry for wasting time like this."

"You've wasted no time, dearie. It's all good. Just remind your father to write me a check, yeah?"

————

Logan crashed on the blue suede couch and covered himself all the way up over his head the second he made it to Dr. Blake's office that day. Sure, he was still wearing his huge coat — New York was especially snowy this winter, like, much more than usual — but he didn't really want to show his face to the world, and the receptionist who asked him to wait earlier was on the receiving end of his panic attack. It wasn't fair to the others, and it just… it wasn't…

"Do you want me to make you tea, dearie?" Blake asked him, rubbing his back. He sounded worried.

Logan just nodded and whimpered.

"Okay… try to breathe while I'm gone, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four. Think you can do that?"

He nodded again.

"I'll be right back."

As Logan waited for Blake to come back, he started crying again. Winter vacation wasn't treating him too well, between fighting with Julian back at school right before coming home and getting yelled at by his father for flirting with the son of an associate (well, the guy was pretty cute, and certainly down to fuck) and probably the cherry on top, he was late. It wasn't as bad as the others, but he was late to this appointment, and he had so much to talk about, and…

"Logan, can you hear me?" Blake asked after what felt like forever, holding his hand. Logan whimpered again in response. "Come on, let's breathe together. I'll count."

He didn't even feel how long it took before he was sitting up, a second, weighted blanket on his shoulder, drinking his tea. Dr. Blake was still there, helping wipe his cheeks with a tissue as Logan tried to calm down.

"...Julian and I had a fight."

"Okay… what was it about?"

"I… I tried talking to him again, about… about us, and our relationship, and where does our friendship go, and he screamed at me that he's tired of talking about it and that I need to stop bringing it up, that he's with Sebastian and that's it, and then I yelled back and I… I may have slapped him, but…"

"That's bad, dearie. You know it's bad."

"I know! And I hate myself, I hate myself so much for doing this! He doesn't deserve a friend like me, I'm… I'm possessive and an asshole, and he just…"

"Okay, here's where you're wrong," the doctor told him, taking one of his hands. "You're wonderful, Logan. You're a great friend, and Julian didn't tell you he hates you. He didn't say you're terrible."

"But he implied it."

"He did not. It was an intrusive thought. What did Julian say, exactly?"

"...he… he said it's, he said that he's tired of talking about it, and that… that he already has a boyfriend, so I can't... " He hiccuped.

"Exactly… nothing about you as a friend. Open your phone and call him for me, okay? I want you to talk to him, and I want to see you do it."

Logan just nodded, a bit hesitant. He fumbled with his phone, trying to avoid looking at Julian's number, but ultimately he just… did.

Julian answered at the third ring.

"Hey, Lo."

"Hey…" he sniffled a bit. "I just… I need clarification on… on something." He looked at Blake for approval, wiping his eyes with a finger. Blake just nodded.

"Sure, what's up…?"

"Just… when we… had the fight. And you screamed at me and I screamed back, and…" Logan took a second. "Jules, do you hate me?"

"...are you high right now? Seriously. Are you?"

"No… I'm in… never mind."

"Okay... Lolo, I can't hate you. You're my best friend, you know how much I love you, but sometimes I can get mad or frustrated. Just like you do." He could hear the disappointment in Julian's voice almost. "I'm with Sebastian now. I'm happy with him. I love you, I really do, but you constantly asking me if I'm sure I'm happy and if we can give it a chance is getting tiring. I'm sorry, but it's getting really difficult."

"I… I'm sorry… Jules, I—"

"I accept your apology. I'm not mad at you, you don't have to get so anxious about this. You're starting to act like Derek."

"I'm still sorry…" he could finally take a breath, looking at his therapist for approval again. "That's… that's all I… I'm just in therapy, and…"

"Okay… go back to therapy. Don't waste time talking to me. I love you."

"Yeah… me too."

Logan hung up after that and turned to sip his tea, which has now cooled down.

And then the doctor spoke. "I'm proud of you. You don't need to apologize so much, you're doing just fine, but you did great. I'm so proud."

"Thanks." Logan forced a smile.

Maybe… maybe things would be okay, at the end of it all. He sure hoped so.

————

"I'm going to ask Julian out," Logan announced one day, two years into seeing Blake, just waltzing into the office. He may have caught his doctor by surprise, but as he sat down and grabbed his cat plushie, Blake straightened back up and cleared his throat.

"Doesn't he have a boyfriend, though?"

"Not anymore! And he said he doesn't want a rebound but then we talked about it and—"

"Okay, slow down. Let's start from the top. Julian broke up with his boyfriend?"

Logan nodded, then started rambling — "apparently they grew apart, at least it's what he told me, but I'm kinda pretty sure Sebastian cheated on him with Blaine? Blaine is my ex, he's kinda… meh. But yeah. So they broke up, like, three weeks ago, and Jules said he doesn't want a rebound so fast after the relationship, but I can build up to it! I can… I can start talking to him about it, right?" — all while Dr. Blake listened, nodding along to what he was saying.

"...okay… we can build up to that, then. I can help you do it if you're nervous about it."

"I'm really nervous about this…"

"Okay, okay, I can help. But first, how was your week? I made you tea."

"I saw that, thank you, but…" his stomach fell. "My week was so boring… college is boring. I have an exam in two weeks that I'm not sure I'm ready for, Alex had a mental breakdown the other day that I had to help with because nobody else was around, my dad visited…"

"And how is your dad?" Logan rolled his eyes at this question. "No, no no no. You answer me. How is your dad?"

"He still thinks I'm gay for the rebellion part of it. I mean, he'll get over it, I have faith in Michelle to make him change his mind, but… he and Michelle visited, and it was really nice. I missed both of them so much. But the second he saw my friends again he started talking shit, because Drew's voice dropped a lot since the last time they met and he started making transphobic remarks and it was… it was bad. It was so bad."

"Did you help Drew out?"

"Yeah… and then my dad got mad at me and we went into a screaming match. But it's okay, Michelle… did her best to get us to talk. I think he understands it now… not the gay thing, but… the transgender thing."

"That's good…"

Logan opened his phone right before the end of the session, as Blake was reminding him to remind his father to pay and that next week they'll talk in video chat, same day same hour. He nodded along, looking through to his messages to Julian — there — and getting up and out.

Lolo: I know you said you don't want to get back at it this early, but when you're ready, wanna go on a proper date…?

Lolo: also, can we talk about something? I have an exam soon and I'm anxious as shit

He kept staring at it as he went downstairs and to his car, watching the text on the screen dance with a pain in his chest.

J is typing...

#kylo cant write #daltonfic #daltonficbigbang #day 22 - therapy #logan in therapy is obvious but so good #logan needs help folksies #also his therapist is heavily inspired by bdg because why not

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scatterpatter · 4 years ago

Note

15 w Corren!

15: What is your characters background story?

OHOHO, so I’m going to leave One Detail Out because there’s one part of his backstory I don’t wanna spoil for Jazz yet, but... >:3c

Also it’s under the cut because i totally infodumped and then some OOPSIE

oh also cws: serious illness, death, domestic violence, depression

Corren Hartwell grew up the youngest of 3 siblings, the oldest being his big sis Mila and the middle child being his bro Julian. Their parents were pretty detached emotionally, but that’s pretty par for the course where he was from, and they provided for the kids so it really wasn’t all that bad. Not a perfect family, no fam ever is, but they were happy.

His race’s culture is super inclined to intelligence and studying technology, the mind, etc, so Corren spent his childhood being a total bookworm. Studying history, arcana, all sorts of stuff... he never really minded it, though. He was actually quite good at what he did!

Mila was a spellcaster- I honestly forgot what school of magic she was in OOPS, and Julian dual-classed as a Necromancer and Bard! Jules and Mila were both pretty close in age, and they were like besties on top of being siblings, and they’d often team up to do small adventuring jobs: hit up the help wanted board in town and take care of short deliveries or a monster stalking a farm or something like that- both for the thrill and to also earn some extra gold for the family. They loved Corren, but they couldn’t take him with them because it was too dangerous for him since he was still just a little kid. Still, Corren admired them and wanted to be just like them(better, even?) when he grew up! ... Oh yeah I always forget this detail but Corren’s totally trans XD He came out pretty young but his family was chill with it so like... ayyyeee

Though one day, Mila started getting sick. Corren doesn’t really know what it was, but for whatever reason she wasn’t able to heal from it with simple healing spells. It was a slow process, but she was just getting worse instead of better, and one day she passed. The family was a wreck, understandably. The issue is... Corren and Julian had... different ways of grieving. Corr was still young, the equivalent of like someone 10-12 in human years, so he didn’t fully grasp the concept of death just yet. He retreated into himself a lot, had trouble grounding himself to the present and really struggling with depression. Julian, about the equivalent of someone 16-18, had a better understanding of what was going on, but he was wrecked. He wanted their sister back, and was so upset he couldnt do anything... but he wanted to try. He ended up doing something rash, and... well, spoilers ;) (dont worry he didnt hurt Corren or anyone else, but... he Fucked Up in what he tried doing)

Things quickly went downhill from there for the Hartwells. There was often a lot of fighting between Julian and their parents, or Corren would be chided for being unable to focus, like, at all, and... Corren and Jules never really fought, but there was a clear rift between them after what happened. They still loved each other, but it was so obvious their relationship would never be like what it was when Mila was still around, and that hurt both of them so much.

A few months later, things reached a boiling point and Julian was kicked out of their home. Before he left, though, he found Corren and gave him something: a small amethyst pendant on a necklace chain, something Julian used to always wear. They made a promise that this wasn’t gonna be goodbye, that they’d find each other again, and then Jules was gone. It was just Corren and his mom and dad.

Things were still strained, and Corren just did his best to keep to his studies to distract himself from everything. Not wanting Corren to end up like his brother, his parents forbade anything necrotic in the magic he learned. The problem was... Corren still loved Julian. And still wanted to be like him, to a point, so... he would study necromancy in secret. It was kinda like his little lifeline like “hey Jules is still here to an extent if I know the spells he does”, and things seemed to be going okay, for the most part

Well uh... one day his father caught him practicing his necromancy and... well, was far from happy about it. An argument quickly erupted between them both, a lot of yelling back and forth, and before Corr could react properly, his father grabbed something from the desk and struck him with it, giving him a pretty bad cut across his right eye(the smol scar I always draw? Yeah...). In a panic, Corren’s flight of fight kicked in as he cast a magic missile at his father in retaliation. Corren isn’t sure if his attack just stunned, knocked out, or killed his father, but the flight of fight-or-flight kicked in as he just ran from the situation. He had no idea what he was to do or where to go, but he just knew he couldn’t go back home after that.

SO this poor kid, probably the equivalent of a 14-15 y/o, is out on his own now... and he sure does his best. He mainly spends his time hopping from town to town, taking up small jobs to get some gold in his pockets, and is just... focusing on surviving. Going from this sheltered lifestyle to suddenly on the streets was a wake-up call and then some, but he found ways to make it work. Luckily his background of studying all the time gave him enough intelligence to take up tasks others weren’t as capable of, but it was still... far from easy. But he made it work!

One day he’s in a city known as Lilenthemar, just taking a break in one of the town squares, when an Elven man takes a seat on the bench next to him. They both sit in a comfortable silence for a while... but the elf then strikes a conversation. Corren, socially awkward like no tomorrow, tries to keep up the conversation... key word tries. The man introduces himself as Jethro, and I imagine the conversation took a turn like this:

Jethro: I don’t see many Marelienths around here, are you new in town?

Corren: Yeah, just passing through I guess. ... Gotta say, wasn’t expecting to see the Dragon Saint of the Green as I came here, though.

Jethro, laughing: Ah, yes, Raerose. Don’t worry, he’s a kind dragon. Though, it’s certainly surprising to those who are new to the city.

Corren: Oh, no, I know all about Raerose and his connections to this city and the Edgewoods. I just wasn’t expecting to... you know, run into his path as quickly as I did.

Jethro: Oh, so you’ve done your research, I take it?

At that point, Corren does what any neurodivergent would do when asked about his hobbies: Infodumps the hell out of what he knows. He’s far from a great scholar, considering he’s only the equivalent of someone 16-21ish at this point and spent quite a few years away from studying in favor of surviving, but he was still very intelligent and knowledgable about what he talked about. Jethro, picking up on this, decided to offer Corren a temporary position as a Family Historian. Jethro was actually a noble, something Corr somehow didn’t pick up on, and not only could’ve used the help... but also, he kiiiinda picked up on the fact that Corren looked like a kid who could use a place to stay for a while. Corren, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, immediately accepted the offer.

Now, Corren wasn’t intending to stay for long. A few months, maybe a year or two... but. He realized he was building a pretty stable life by having a consistent job for the elf- it didn’t make much sense to just leave that in favor of hopping from place to place with no purpose. Not to mention, he was actually growing quite close to his boss. They’d often spent time together during off-hours, sitting in a comfortable quiet, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. Jethro’s actually the only one Corren ever opened up to about his past, and over the years Corren really grew to love him in a strong platonic way. They both struggled with their own grieving, Jethro with his passed wife and son he hadn’t seen in years, and Corren with his passed sister and brother he hadn’t seen in years, which only helped them grow closer, since they understood each other’s pain, in a sense.

He still struggled with depression, but overall Corren was doing pretty damn well in life. ... Many years later, Corren being 44(idk which human-equivalent this would be. Mid-Late 20s? Early 30s?), actually gets to meet Jethro’s son, Jericho, and the party he traveled with... called the F.U.C.K.s. ... I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried. They needed help getting to a place called the Menoa Tree, which Corren happened to have studied for a long while, so he offered to help the party. ... They totally broke him with their antics. He proceeded to have a mental breakdown in front of them, and essentially went “FUCK THIS IM GOING HOME AND TAKING A NAP”. Jethro got a laugh out of the furious rambling Corren came home with.

... But despite that, something stuck with him. He just couldn’t quite get the party out of his mind. Something about them, as frustrating as they were, was almost... magnetic? ... Well, weeks later, word came to Lilenthemar about a war that had been raging on for years now... but specifically of a battle at a city known as Joshua, the forces being lead by Jericho alongside many others. Jethro was of course worried about his boy... and Corren... well, something in him changed. He wanted to know more about the FUCKs and just WHAT their deal was, and he wanted to ease Jethro’s worries, so... he grabbed a sniper rifle and decided that he’d go help protect Jericho and his friends as they fought.

He eventually caught up to the party, convinced them to let him help, and after many battles... the war was won(Corren kinda came in at the tail-end of it all). The only thing is... after that, Corren didn’t really want to go home just yet. He actually enjoyed spending time with the party... and then it clicked: They were powerful adventurers who were totally crazy, stupid, and had no sense of self-preservation... they were just like Julian. And Corren loved it, even when they drove him crazy. He felt alive, which is something he realized he hadn’t felt in a long time... and quickly grew attached to his party, Alistair now taking the reigns as leader as Jericho retired from adventuring. And, well, he’s stuck with them ever since!

He still has Julian’s amethyst, as they’ve yet to reunite(yknow, assuming Jules is still alive even), but... certain events are causing some concern with the story I’m telling. Mainly... Corren is slowly facing Aboleth Corruption(he doesn’t know this yet, but is starting to suspect there’s something wrong with him), and that’s causing parts of his memory to be... patchy. Certain things aren’t lining up, and there could be more(or just different altogether) pieces of this story than what I’ve just told... but we’ll have to wait and see until we get to the quest that deals with that before we find out what’s REALLY going on ;)

... HEY UM I HOPE YALL DONT MIND THE IMMENSE INFODUMP IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR THEN THANK U FOR CARING ABT MY BOI ;-;

#corren #OHHHH DONT MIND THE BRICK WALLS OF TEXT #YKNOW THIS WAS FUN ACTUALLY #I TYPED UP A BACKSTORY BEFORE BUT LIKE #SINCE ITS BEEN A FEW MONTHS SINCE THEN IT FELT NICE TO LIKE #JUST GO OVER CERTAIN PARTS OF IT AGAIN AND GIVE IT KINDA A FRESH RE-TELLING #dnd ask meme #ironically corren is the only one that has THIS much backstory of all my charas HVSFHBDS #phonepastry

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winterisakillerwrites · 5 years ago

Text

Realization

One Shot: Last Minutes & Lost Evenings 2/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Love was never supposed to be part of the equation.

Rating: PG

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the second part of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

For the first time in far too long, Tom felt as though he could breathe.

The past few months had been nonstop motion. He seemed to fly from promotion to promotion. An interview here, a photoshoot there, pre-production meetings, it never seemed to end. He had smiled and flirted and been the Tom Hiddleston everyone expected of him. It was draining. He had felt himself slowly dwindling down, his temper flaring far more often and far hotter than situation allowed. He was tired. Not just physically, though god knows he could feel the weariness straight to the bone, but emotionally as well. Exhausted and weary and frighteningly near the end of his tether.

But here, now, he felt at peace. It amazed him still, the comfort her small apartment brought him. Or well, if he were being completely honest, that she brought him. Everything was simpler, easier. He could just be and dear god it was wonderful. It was his own personal heaven and he would guard it fiercely.

The apartment was quiet. He could hear the soft patter of Rosemary in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets; the soft chink of a spoon against the sides of a mug. Tea, he realized, lovely. It brought a smile to his face, these simple things she did for him. The quiet, warm affection she bore him.

His smile widened as she appeared in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand. He took his, offering her a small nod in thanks. A warm smile spread across her features, answering his own. “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” he nodded, pushing his admitted shaggy hair back from his forehead, “Very much so,” His voice was still scratchy with sleep. He waved his hand, beckoning her to join him. Her smile grew as she climbed onto the bed, settling comfortably against him.

She felt wonderful pressed against his side, her head resting against his bare shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, rubbing his free hand quickly up and down her arm. He’d always found any excuse to touch her, to hold her. She always seemed to fit so perfectly against him. They had passed countless hours in just such a manner; huddled together in her bed, on her couch, in her minuscule kitchen. They had talked about everything and nothing. It was comfortable. Just to be simply Tom and Rosie. No commitments, no demands.

He cherished these stolen moments. He had done so for the nearly year and a half that they’d been doing this. She was a safe harbor.

His eyes landed on the digital clock sitting on her bed stand. It was fast approaching late morning and he knew she would have to leave him, if only for a few hours. Usually their time together was just theirs, neither letting their real lives encroach for as long as possible. But his arrival had been unannounced. He’d found himself free and in desperate need of her so he’d come, knowing full well she very likely had commitments that she could not shirk. He was being utterly selfish.

“When do you have to be off?” He tried to keep his tone as neutral as he could.

“I don’t,” She smirked, snuggling tighter against him. “Perks of being your own boss. Jules is running things today. So it looks like you’re stuck with me for the time being, mister.”

He grinned, delight etched across his features. “Wonderful.”

I love her. The thought flitted across his mind so swiftly he wasn’t quite sure he understood it at the time. Rosie was wonderful; simple and elegant, warm and open. She had become something so vital in his life, it was impossible for him not to care for her. But love? It was ridiculous. He couldn’t love her. But I do. God help me I do.

What he didn’t know was just what he could, or honestly should, do about it. He was well and truly fucked.

“You alright there?” Her voice snapped Tom back to himself.

It took him several moments to gain hold of his voice. “Yes. Sorry, my mind went on walkabout for a moment there.” He took what he hoped wasn’t a shaky breath, pushing his startling revelation aside. He would think on it later, because venturing down that rabbit hole could only lead to disaster. Better simply to let it be.

He placed another kiss to the top of her head. Just let it be, Hiddleston. Just let it be.

~*~*~

He really was absolutely stunning. Rosemary could easily spend all day just watching him do the most mundane of tasks, truth be told she often did in the sixth months that they had been doing this. He had an unassuming grace about him that effortlessly drew you in. He was currently working through an impressive pile of laundry. He’d come straight to hers from the airport, something that happened more often than not lately, his large and rather beaten lone suitcase in tow. How he managed to cram so much into one case she couldn’t fathom; even if it consisted of several of the same jumpers and dark jeans with a handful of t-shirts and dress clothes for variety.

She smiled at the way his forehead wrinkled, his mouth upturned, as he focused on sorting through each article and loading them painstakingly in her tiny washing machine. Why he didn’t use his own, she’d never understand. She knew better than to offer help, she’d tried the first time he’d descended on her and he’d outright refused. “I’m already invading your life, the last thing I want, darling, is to ask you to do my washing.” She had protested this, but Tom had stood firm. Whatever they were, and she never dared ask him to provide a label, she was neither his laundress nor his mother. Stubborn bastard.

“When you sit there staring at me like that, I can’t help feel a bit like a performing monkey.” He announced, his voice warm with humor, his attention never wavering from the pile of clothing before him.

“I thought you liked putting on a show?” she teased.

His eyes flicked to her then, a knowing smirk crossing his features. “If this is your idea of a show, Rosie my dear, you most certainly need to get out more.” She felt the familiar flutter in her stomach when he called her Rosie. He was one of the few who did. She lived her life as Rosemary, occasionally Rose to an older acquaintance. She was Rosie only to her family, and now to him. It was silly, really, that something so simple could mean so much. It made her feel special. Cherished. She mattered enough for him to give her a pet name. God, she was ridiculous.

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s the most entertaining show I’ve ever seen. It could use a bit more skin for my taste…” She quirked an eyebrow, returning his smirk.

Tom sighed, turning his attention fully to her. “You only want me for my body.” His eyes were wide, plaintive and forlorn. “And here I thought you actually cared.”

She groaned internally. Fuck this man and his fucking expressive face! God, he must have been an absolute terror as a child. “You really don’t understand the concept of playing fair, do you Hiddleston?”

“Why ever would I do that?” His face transformed once again into a bright smile. “It’s far too much fun this way.”

“You’re a jerk,” she retorted, unable to mask her own smile.

He laughed heartily, his attention turning back to the clothing piled before him. “And yet you love me anyway.”

Rosemary nearly started at the statement. It had been a throwaway line, she was quite sure he hadn’t even realized what he’d said, but she knew in that moment that it was true. She loved him. She had to fight to keep herself from laughing aloud at the thought. Jesus, she loved him. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Of course she loved him, how could she not? He was a good man. Stubborn to a fault, yes, and guarded at the best of times, but a good man. He was kind and patient and he cared. She knew that, it was clear in every action, every touch, but she was no fool. Caring for someone and loving them were two vastly different things. And while she was assured in her own feelings, how she could ever not have realized how deeply she cared seemed utterly absurd, his were less certain. He cared for her, he was fond of her, that she knew without a doubt. He seemed content in their arrangement, though, in their careful construct of sex and companionship, in the ability to hide himself away in their tiny, little world. There were no commitments, no complications, no demands. And given the life she knew he led, the fluidity of their arrangement had to hold a strong appeal.

This revelation would throw a wrench in that, she was well aware. Feelings weren’t ever a concrete part of this. She was an escape, pure and simple, she knew that. Accepted it. Putting a voice to to her newly realized emotional state could well drive him off. Not that she believed Tom would be so callous. No. But he could, probably would pull away. And somehow that seemed worse. And even if he didn’t push her away, if he loved her in return, what would that honestly mean for them?

She shook herself from her thoughts. There was no sense in fretting now. Not while he was here. There would be plenty time after to figure things out. To make sense of it all. He was here now and that was what she needed to focus on. Tom, it seemed, hadn’t even noticed her inattention and for that she was grateful. She swallowed and forced herself back into the present. He was with her now and she would make the best of that. There would be time later to dwell on just what she was going to do.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Rosie #Last Minutes & Lost Evenings

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lunaschild2016 · 6 years ago

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Close To You - [Eric/Devi] Part 2

Rated: M

Title and inspiration from Close To You by Maxi Priest

Summary: Devi and Eric’s story continues, but this time we see things from Eric’s eyes. It was her belief in him that sparked them finally coming together, but where did it really start for Eric? The life of a childhood sweetheart, conspiracies, and the fate of the city all hung over his head. He didn’t need to be wondering how to get close to the tiny amity with fire in her eyes and a mouth to match. He didn’t need to worry and wonder about how he could find a way to just be close to her.

@kenzieam @pathybo @jaihardy @every-jai @ericdauntless@beautifulramblingbrains @bookgirlthings @jojuarez26@oddsnendsfanfics @offroadinjandals @singingpeople@iammarylastar @irasancti @captstefanbrandt @clublulu333@fuckthatfeeling @tigpooh67 @ex-bookjunky @jughead-wuz-here wuz-here @badassbaker @beanzjellly @beltz2016@meganbee15 @affabletimelady @scorpio2009 @gylisaa@geekybeyondallreason @violetsonthelam @kyloswarstars@emmysrandomthoughts @kgurew @beltzboys2015-blog@slytherin-princess-25273 @whatwouldbuffydo666@jaiboomer11 @holamor @wealwayskeepfighting @original46 @blakefc @xtheserpentx @artisthedgehog

Part 2

The buzzing of the tattoo gun is hypnotic. Combined with the sensation that the needle piercing my skin brings, I’m drifting into another zone. My head is laid back against the leather headrest and my eyes are half-closed. It’s a state of relaxation that seems ridiculous considering what’s being done to my skin at the moment. But that’s exactly what this is for me.

Relaxing.

I hadn’t believed Ronin, a Dauntless-born that I’ve made friends with when he claimed that tattoos are addicting. His skin is already riddled with them and he seems to be the most tatted up guy among the bunch of Dauntless-born in our year. So, I just thought that particular opinion wasn’t common going by that information.

I scoffed at my friend the same way I had at Jules when she teased me about being covered in ink from head to toe the next time she saw me. Now I’m not sure they weren’t right about that.

The thing is, out of everything that Dauntless has on offer to help me unwind, this is the one place that I’ve truly been able to.

Drinking is all well and good, but I don’t drink to get shit faced. Besides most of the crap they have here for mass consumption, and what us lowly initiates can afford, could strip paint it’s so strong.

Hooking up seems to be another favorite way to pass the time here. I would’ve thought initiates would find slim pickings for that, but apparently, we’re all considered fresh meat. It’s not like my body isn’t all for it but my head is all kinds of messed up right now and getting involved with anything like that isn’t a priority for me.

The first couple of weeks here I had more difficulty with learning how to deal with this after my usual glares and silent treatment had no effect. Until Ronin came along and was happy to take any action off my hands that I didn’t want. I definitely got some shit from him about that, but I played it off as me being too focused on finishing initiation and getting first rank. I guess that was believable enough because he stopped giving me shit as much and seemed to pass the word around. I stopped having so many women coming onto me.

The other forms of blowing off some steam were all found in the bars and entailed either dancing or fighting. One, I wouldn’t be caught dead doing, and the other isn’t something I’m allowed to do.

Entertainment fights are off-limits to all initiates from actually fighting in. I can watch them all I want, but what’s the fucking point of that? So, the only real kind of release I wanted at the moment is denied to me.

Which brings me to the tattoos.

I hadn’t planned on getting anything done, tattoos or piercings, until I’m actually a member. I kept to that plan for the first month and a half that I’ve been here so far. But as of three weeks ago, that got shot to hell.

That’s all my little one’s fault.

Devi.

Against all odds, predictions, and everything going against her, the girl’s still here. Still here tormenting me, but she doesn’t have a clue about that. Honestly, I doubt she even knows I exist. That fact still hasn’t stopped me from watching her. That’s how I knew that she now spends every day after training until just before lights out at the tattoo parlor. And that’s what also drew me here for the first time.

Really, I’m not sure when it started for her. Devi seems to be even better at slinking around unseen than fucking Four. While Four has at least has made friends with a Dauntless-born in our class named Zeke Pedrad, Devi talks to nobody and no one talks to her either, at least not in a pleasant kind of way.

The first week here she kept silent, even when the others started in on her, but as time went on her keeping silent went away. Now she doesn’t hesitate to give them back as good as they’re giving her. She might not win many physical fights, but I’ve seen her cut a few of the girls to pieces with her words before she storms away, looking like she’s barely able to hold herself back from getting physical.

I know, since I know what’s really going on with her that some of her fight and loss of temper is from her withdrawal. A common side effect of detoxing is mood changes, but I’m guessing with what she was on and for how long she was on it, it’s even worse. Everything that I've been able to find out about that shit is bad news.

I got access to a tablet shortly after my brother letting me know what’s going on with her. I couldn’t help myself.

Ronin’s got a brother who works in a high enough position that he’s given a tablet and managed to borrow it for me for a few days. Enough time for me to pull up any information I could find on the most commonly used serums in Amity. They have two main serums and several others that used but not as frequently. All of them are mood and behavior-altering, but Peace serum is the worst of the lot since it’s actually a combination of a few of them.

Out of all the substances that Erudite has come in contact with, peace serum has been the most damaging and dangerous to break a person from. Which is kind of fucking ironic considering that Amity is all about doing no harm and all that other hippie nonsense.

The serum is composed of several different serums in higher dosages and it forces the person to be calm and happy, as well as being very open to suggestions. Any negative thoughts or feelings are pushed away completely, and they don’t have to cope with those things either. Devi was on a lifetime of the shit. A lifetime of never having a bad or negative feeling means that she also never learned to cope with any of that.

Things learned and experienced during puberty were completely suppressed and that can’t be a cakewalk for her to suddenly be feeling all at once. I don’t blame her one bit for keeping far away from anyone and everyone. It doesn’t help that the other initiates’ behavior has actually gotten worse when she does have to be around them.

I think it pisses them off and offends them that she isn’t just hanging on by the skin of her teeth, but actually improving. Devi is a fighter, through and through even if physically she doesn’t look it. She’s shit at fights, there’s no doubt about that. More times than not she has to be helped or carried off the mat, bleeding and hurt.

That’s been complete fucking hell to watch when it happens.

I still have a few more weeks of fights before the end of the first stage. Thank fuck we aren’t expected to fight every day. They do at least space them out and alternate activities to allow our bodies to recover a bit. But I’m counting down the days until the second stage starts and we won’t be expected to do much more than making sure we’re keeping up with workouts while we are doing whatever else they have planned for us.

So far, I haven’t had the match up I dread most, being put against Devi. Internally I’ve been hoping like hell that luck will hold out and I don’t get put against her. Based on a few things I overheard when Amar was talking with a couple of the leaders on the day they deigned to make an appearance and check on us, I think there’s a good chance I won’t have to.

They were discussing fights and how everyone is doing. I heard one of them ask Amar about the Amity girl in a condescending tone, probably expecting to get a few laughs at how poorly she’s doing or at least some kind of smart-ass comment back from Amar in agreement of how unsuited she is for Dauntless.

What he got instead was what I felt deep inside of me that night I carried her to the clinic.

‘If all of our people had as much fire as that girl does, then there would be nothing stopping our faction. That little girl might not look it, but I tell you she’s all Dauntless.’

She’s a true Dauntless and it shows, which is why I think the others are so hacked off at her. The tiny girl from the faction of peace lovers is making all of them look like fools with how they grumble and complain or try to worm their way out of their next match after being on the receiving end of a beating.

Not Devi though.

She leaves that mat a bloody mess and turns back up for her next fight with a fierce look on her face and little fists clenched at her sides. She doesn’t blink, no matter how unevenly matched the fights are, and she refuses to concede even when she’s being pulverized.

I can’t count how many times I’ve watched her refuse to tap out and have to be knocked out instead, or a trainer call the match before some real or permanent damage can be done.

Amar let both Max and Oliver know this very fact. Then I heard them discussing future pairings. Max had been all for seeing how she would do against a higher-ranked fighter and would’ve pushed for that happening until Amar let him know that one of her previous matches was against Four. That satisfied their bloodlust but it only inflamed mine against the stiff.

He was all apologies and reluctant looks before the fight, but once he got in there he didn’t seem to have any problem landing more than a few punches that made her bleed. Then there had been how he finished her off by locking her in a hold until she passed out all while she struggled and screamed her rage at him before finally the fire in her eyes dimmed and she was out.

That image fucking haunts me and I’ll never forgive either of them for it, but the stiff especially. I’ve just been waiting to get a little payback when my time comes to face off against him.

For some reason, all of the leaders seem hesitant to make that happen right now. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s obvious enmity on my side or what, but it’s been pissing me off that the one match I’m looking forward to most isn’t happening.

“Let’s take a break. I need a smoke.” Bud, the tattoo artist currently working on me grumbles out drawing my attention back to what I’m in the middle of.

“Okay,” I say with a shrug and remain in the chair while Bud puts the gun up and clears a few things before moving off towards the back and behind a curtain that Tori, the other tattoo artist just disappeared behind in a hurry.

I watch him for a second wondering why he’s going to the backroom for his smoke break when the other times he usually goes to stand outside of the parlor. With another shrug of dismissal, I look down and inspect the work done so far.

I now have two tattoos and after Bud comes back it’ll be three. The first is the smallest and is about the size of my fist. The placement for that one is at the top of my spine and is a riff of the Erudite symbol combined with the Eye of Horus in an all-black tribal style of tattoo.

The two I’m getting worked on right now cover the forearm on both of my arms and are a combination of black and rust color. I wanted something geometric and found a maze design on their wall of art so that is mainly what the design is made up of, broken only by the interjection of various symbols.

The design for all of my tattoos have been me telling Bud and Tori what I wanted and then them coming up with something. Tori suggested I stick with using things that look like the Egyptian symbol from my first tattoo for the ones on my arms, so that’s what we did. Bud let me use his tablet and I spent a little bit of time searching the archives on the network. I eventually found some others I liked but from other old-world cultures. They all run along the same lines of meaning that the Eye of Horus has. Strength, Power, Health, and Wisdom. There are a few others that I put on there that are things I hope to work towards. I let my fingers trace the arm Bud has done so far, checking out how the reimagined design melds into the tribal style.

Sounds from the back area distract me and pique my curiosity, especially when I clearly heard a particular name being mentioned. It has me easing out of the chair and sliding towards the curtained off area. I didn’t step through but I stayed close and pretended to be looking at some of the flash on the wall there.

“She should go get checked out in the clinic at the very least.”

“She’s not going to do that anymore than she’s going to report the attack, Bud. I don’t blame her with the way shit’s been going around here. They're not going to do anything to the girls that did this and she says it would just make her more of a target with the other initiates.”

“Maybe I should go find them and have a few words with them then.”

“Don’t go doing anything stupid. Besides, Devi says she gave them as good as she got. You just go back out there and finish with that nose’s tattoo. I don’t feel comfortable having him in the shop longer than is needed. ”

“Still don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone, Bud. Especially someone from that faction. Not after George.”

There is rustling behind the curtain and I know I won’t make it back to the chair, so I slide further down the wall and think about the shit I’ve just heard while I try to look like I’m just checking out the art on the wall.

Bud comes out just seconds later, looks at the chair and sees me not in it then swings his eyes around to find me. He narrows his eyes for just a second before he smirks and motions with his head towards the chair and turns to walk towards it himself.

I follow behind him casually and work to keep my composure. It’s a hard thing to do when I just want to leave here and go find whoever the cowards are that hurt Devi. Luckily, Bud doesn’t seem to realize where my mind is headed right now and he doesn’t press to talk.

He finishes my arm, seeming to work much faster than normal because before I know it, he’s wiping it clean and about to start smoothing the lotion that will prevent scabbing and heal the area.

“There you go, all finished.” He pronounces with a nod then turns to start cleaning up his gun.

I sit there inspecting the work and contemplating saying something or not to him but think better of it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I find the girls and I don’t know Bud to trust him either.

I don’t spare another glance at him as I take care of paying for today’s session then walk out into the compound.

****************

Jocelyn and Portia.

I should have known it would be those two. They were complete bitches in Erudite and Dauntless just seems to have enhanced that. They’ve been the worst of the girls and relentless in their insults towards Devi.

It took some investigating and me bribing Ronin to get access to the cameras but I was able to find out that Devi was attacked sometime after we were dismissed on Friday, which was shortly after lunch, and just after dinner. With there being no training scheduled for Saturday or Sunday, the initiates all scattered and it took scanning camera feeds to track everyone down. Not that the piss poor quality of most of the cameras made it easy but at least I was able to narrow down the likely suspects and eliminate them as I was able to pick them up. The only two I couldn’t find were Jocelyn and Portia. I was able to confirm with Candice in the clinic that they stumbled in late Friday evening.

Technically we aren’t supposed to be sleeping anywhere but the dorm. Leadership doesn’t really care enough to have anyone enforce that rule. So the Dauntless-born will generally go back to wherever they were living before initiation started or with friends. The transfers either found members to bunk in with or stumbled in for a few hours sleep before heading back out to party again.

I’ve had a lot of time to figure out what to do but what I decided on is nowhere near where I started at. Especially when Devi made an appearance at lunch yesterday, Saturday.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t already been injured pretty badly from her last fight. With what she got during that fight and then the attack, I get why Bud was insisting she go to the clinic to get checked out. It took every bit of restraint and a few long hours of staring off into the Chasm to calm down instead of hunting them and throwing them into those raging waters.

The entire time, I heard Eli and Jules in my head, cautioning me to play it smart and not lose my cool. Warning me not to do something that would put my position here at risk, to not put Devi at risk, any further than we already are.

It’s been two days since they attacked Devi and one since I found out it was them. I’ve been biding my time and last night, after those two were returning to the dorm from wherever they holed up at, I happened to run into them and shared a few words.

So, how did I get even with those two cowards? By promising to make their lives absolute fucking nightmares. By using every Erudite tactic to mess with their minds that I know. To have them jumping at shadows afraid to even breathe wrong around me for fear that the veiled threats I’ve made will be carried out.

You see, those two were in Erudite with me and they at least know or suspect my involvement with Jeanine. Even if they don’t know about that, they at least know my personal reputation. I wasn’t known as a very nice guy to people that I found beneath me. I’ve made it clear that they are very beneath me and not fit to be at Dauntless, and one way or another, Dauntless will weed out the weak.

Now, I wait. And I will reinforce that message as many times as it takes for them to cut their losses and get out while their ahead, before the little conscious I have fades altogether.

This isn’t about Devi. This about what I can allow in my faction and what I can’t.

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

****************

“I know you did something to them.” The tone is low and is probably supposed to be threatening, but I just find it irritating and ridiculous.

I knew there was a reason the damn stiff has been sticking to my side for the last few days. I’ve been waiting for him to get the balls to actually confront me on it. I didn’t think he would, but of course, he picks just before we’re about to face off against each other in our fight to start something.

I don’t respond, instead, I just try and focus on what’s ahead of me. Besides, it seems like my tactic of ignoring him seems to be grating and riling him up a little.

Maybe I can get him unfocused enough.

It seems to work because I can tell Four is losing all that carefully bottled up anger he likes to pretend isn’t inside of him before he launches into his next accusations.

That he saw how I was always hounding and sniffing around Jocelyn and Portia.

Hounding and sniffing? Really stiff?

I barely ‘ran’ into them a few times while they were traveling along some fairly dark and unstable hallways. It’s not my fault they weren’t watching where they were running to, even if they were trying to avoid me at the time.

He saw all those looks I kept giving the two girls and knows I was up to something with them.

No shit Sherlock, you’ve already covered that, move along.

At this point, I’m amused and probably doing a piss poor job keeping that from showing. Not so much at his words but how flustered he seems to be getting about it all.

He starts throwing out insults at me, calling me names that he thinks will offend me but honestly, how am I supposed to get offended at someone calling me a ruthless bastard? That’s a fucking compliment in my book.

When that doesn’t work he changes things up and goes for an accusation that has me losing all my cool, all my amusement, and it just pisses me off even further that I’m letting him get to me.

His accusation that assaulted them shreds the last of my restraint.

This was very fucking fortunate timing because it was about then that Amar called us both onto the mat.

I think I hear Amar saying something low enough where just the two of us can hear as we both glared at each other hatefully. I think he might be trying to tell us to keep things clean but there so fucking chance of that.

Number boy wanted to get dirty and I’m all too eager to oblige.

#fanfiction #divergent fanfiction #eric coulter fanfiction #oc fanfiction #divergent au #romance #smut #eric x oc #oc #eric coulter #jai courtney #diane guerrero

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sheepsandcattle · 6 years ago

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Chapter 14

Jordan’s bed makes Curly’s feel like a plank. Also, his heating’s not broken which is a nice change and makes mornings a hell of a lot easier. They’re not really the cuddling type (at least not in bed) but sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night to Jordan’s face pressed to the back of his neck, or with his weight draped over him and it leaves him with this overwhelming need to make himself small and press up close to his side.

They’ve not really labelled what they are, but it’s exclusive. Has been since June.

It feels a bit juvenile because they haven’t even kissed yet and it’s been over a month but sometimes, when Jordan gets hold of another borrowed car, he picks him up on the way to the supermarket in trackies and his glasses (he wears glasses - as if?) and they buy food for that night and it feels domestic and exciting.

Curly only ever stays for a night or two because, although Jordan knows about the reliance that seems to have crept up on him, Curls doesn’t fancy shooting up in the guy’s living room... Out of sight, out of mind - if only for a day or so. He usually manages to get a hit in before those headaches he’s been having have a chance to come back in full-force.

But yeah, when they aren’t in bed or watching hours of 90s films, they’re food shopping (but never for anything more substantial than pizza and garlic bread) and driving about in their pyjamas. They find out they’re both ace at bowling, spend hours comparing tattoos and sometimes Curly makes detours after deals, picking Jordan up at weird times just to go for nice long drives, aiming to get lost just for the fun of it.

A lot of the time they just park up in that same carpark. Jordan likes to place a hand on Curly’s thigh when it’s dark and they’re whispering, muffling laughs into each others’ jackets and rolling up the windows when they hear sirens and can’t air the car out fast enough anyway.

Most of the time, Jordan’s ridiculously understanding of Curly’s weird-as-fuck chastity situation. Sometimes, in the morning, he’ll wake up to fingers tickling his back and when he turned over once to look at him, Jordan’s hand had trailed up to his shoulder, then his neck and he’d traced his jaw, eyes all sleepy and hazy and glassy. His thumb had brushed Curly’s mouth and he seemed distracted for a second before he cleared his throat and sat up so fast it made Curly jump. He’d mumbled something about breakfast as he left the room.

And there’re the texts too: on the nights they sleep apart on the rare occasions he’s not overdone it and his head is still on his shoulders even after Jordan finishes work in the early hours. They’re never overly graphic (God, Curly wouldn’t even know what to do with that), but there was that time J had gone for a shower, texted ‘alone :( what a drag’ and Curly took seven minutes to reply ‘lol!” Because what was he meant to say?! But Jordan didn’t push it - never has.

Did he think about that semi-racy text a little later on when he was in bed and alone and horny and fed up? Yes. Was he ever going to tell Jordan or make any move to make whatever fantasy he’s mustered up that night, a reality? Absolutely not - are you dizzy?

***

Tonight, they’re sat around Jeff and Dean’s coffee table, cards out between them and a bottle of beer each as they play. Curly’s won every time so far - naturally. It’s not like playing against Jules and Oscar, though; there’s nothing on the table; no baggies or notes or pills piling up as payment. He keeps those things far away from this circle.

He’d caved this morning, taking a hit in Jordan’s bathroom and feeling guilty as he cleaned up after himself. Jordan knew though, he must have, because they ended up leaving half an hour late after the man had insisted Curly sat down for a while, told him to drink some water because he didn’t “look right,” and gave him a knowing look like he wanted to say, “it’s okay, but this isn’t.”

“I’m surprised you’re not into gambling,” Dean jokes as Curly places his last card onto the pile, shrugging smugly.

“Don’t give him any ideas,” J warns, punching Curly’s shoulder lightly as Jeff and Dean look on, confused, trying to work out when exactly it was that they got so close.

They don’t mean to, but they’ve been distracting each other all night, forgetting the game was taking place. They keep pulling each other into conversations, getting lost talking about the cafe last night or the guy that dropped the soda can in the supermarket and how they had to hide behind a bargain bucket to avoid the blast when the pop exploded.

“You still thinking about moving out, Curls?”

He’s not sure when he mentioned that to Jeff. Maybe Jordan let it slip.

“I mean, I am, but it’s not happening soon. I’m skint. Anyway, Jules and Oscar—” he shrugs and they all scoff. “Listen, they’re decent blokes. Good mates— shit roommates, but good mates.”

“They’re good for nothing,” Jordan argues as he collects everybody’s cards, like he barely even means to say it but clearly has no plans to take it back.

“Stay with us a while, man,” Dean offers then, exchanging a look with Jeff, who nods his encouragement.

“Hey, you can keep on top of the cleaning,” Jeff muses, presumably because he knows the likelihood of that is slim. Curly’s room is an absolute sty so the idea of him keeping things steady to earn his keep is almost laughable.

The fact of the matter is that Curly’s only making so much from dealing. He can’t get a real job because nobody wants him and his criminal record (one count of possession - just one for Christ’s sake) so he’s out all the time, trying to make connections, dealing to people too fucked up to know better. Never to anyone too fucked up to handle it - he’d never stoop that low - but still, he’s bent a few morels already. Something needs to change if he wants to move on.

“Or you could stay with me.” All heads turn to Jordan, who shrugs once and starts shuffling the cards. As far as their friends are aware, he’s a perfect introvert; doesn’t like company; likes his space to be his space and especially doesn’t share it with boys he barely knows. He sounds defensive in response to the two pairs of puzzled eyes as he says, “I mean, I have the space since Rhys moved.”

Curly has no idea who Rhys is, but Jeff and Dean both grimace and shake their heads in a similar way to how they reacted to Jules’ name. Jordan points between them, says, “don’t,” but he looks vaguely amused.

“Who’s Rhys?”

Jordan’s still laughing but it’s hollow now as he watches his hands intently, still messing with the deck. “Nobody,” he says as he shakes his head again, then hands the cards over to Curly instead.

Curly’s mint at shuffling.

He occupies himself with strip-shuffling the deck, showing off to anyone who’ll watch, as Dean says, “Rhys is the last pretty boy that needed a place to stay—“

“Temporarily,” Jeff cuts in, finger quotations and all. “How long was it again? A year?”

“Fuck off,” Jordan groans like he’s sick of hearing it. Curly wonders how often this Rhys bloke comes into conversation. This neck feels hot.

They continue to bicker and Curly keeps himself busy. The cards are properly shuffled by now but the conversation doesn’t feel like one that he’s supposed to hear. Or maybe it’s just not one he wants to hear. It’s probably daft that he never imagined someone like Jordan with anyone else in that way, and the thought makes him feel aggy suddenly, made worse as a few cards slip from his circuit and onto the ground.

He grumbles as he collects them back up and places the deck on the table.

“You’ve met Rhys, Curls. You must have,” Jeff says. “Were you at that party where Oscar puked in the fireplace? When he—“

“Yeah, he was,” Dean pipes up then. “You were hiding under the kitchen table with Jules for half the night, then--- Wait, no. You met him before that; when you were talking shit about… The moon or something.”

“Moon night!” Jeff pipes up with a laugh and Curly is a bit puzzled - since when did they have a name for that night? But then Jeff squints his eyes, puts on a dopey English accent as he mumbles, “have you ever uhh… seen the moon when it’s… covered…”

“Alright, mate, I get the point.” He sounds nothing like that.

He remembers now. In the kitchen - Freckles and some other boy. He hadn’t put the two together until now and…

Oh, and he supposes it was the same boy from the night Jordan helped him cut his shirt, was it? He learnt his name and he was nervous about going out with his new hair cut, but J touched it and said he liked it. Or, he was about to until somebody -Rhys- stole him away. He remembers waiting patiently for Jordan to quit wrestling with some guy and come back to him, only for a pretty boy with golden-blonde hair and olive skin to steal him away.

Curly nods slowly. “I think I remember him. Lip ring.”

“Not the only piercing he has if you ask Jor—“

“Shut the fuck up, Jeff.”

Even if Jeff and Dean don’t get the ‘fun’s over’ memo, Curly does, keeping his head down as Jordan scowls.

Dean is already setting up his next punchline but Curly is quick to speak over him, says, “whatever, doesn’t matter anyway as long as he’s gone now, ‘cause I could do with somewhere to kip tonight, as it happens.” He gives J an expectant look. “Jules is inviting this prick -Blake- ‘round. Can’t stand him.”

“I guess I could make up some space, just for a night.” He winks, and Curly loves that they have this little secret that they’re keeping just for the fun of it. Still, though, he feels restless now, dissatisfied with a lack of... Shit, something. “Better not leave my place looking like yours, though.”

“Quit being so cold, J,” Dean says because he doesn’t look up to see Jordan smiling.

Neither of them bothers to correct him, all getting distracted by or from the game. Jordan reaches out to split the deck again but when the group gets distracted by a new conversation, Curly abandons his new hand in favour of laying back on the carpet, all overwhelmed and warm and… Overwhelmed and warm.

Rhys really was something else. He remembers trying to give himself a reason to dislike the bloke. It’s not nice, feeling so in-the-dark where Jordan is concerned, especially when their ‘relationship’ so far has been in their own little, secret bubble. He wonders how long Jordan and Rhys were a secret for, or if they shouted it from the rooftops from the start.

Maybe they weren’t in a proper relationship at all, he thinks, maybe Rhys really was just some bloke that overstayed his— Curly knows he’s being naive, though. Not that he has any good reason to be. Just because he doesn’t have any relationship history, doesn’t mean nobody else does - especially not someone like J.

It feels so out of character for him; jealousy.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jordan says an hour later, back in Curly’s car as he drives back to J’s apartment where his belongings for the night are already tucked away in the man’s room and have been all along. “About Rhys.”

Curls had said he was tired. Jordan probably thought the withdrawals were giving him a rough time and Jeff and Dean probably thought it was the opposite. Probably thought he’d snuck a hit after taking a piss. His brain was similarly foggy but he was simply distracted by…

“Rhys?” Curly frowns, eyes on the road. “I aren’t thinking anything about him,” he lies and shrugs. As if he’d admit to being jealous of Jordan’s ex this early on in their non-relationship.

“Oh.” A fake-cough. “Right.”

It’s the first time he’s really felt immature around Jordan. Their relationship so far has been innocent and clean, but even after asking the man not to kiss him, and squirming when his hands wandered and feeling his neck go hot when conversations got explicit, he’s never felt ashamed by his immaturity. Feeling jealous over his boy-who-isn’t-technically-his-boy is embarrassing. Juvenile.

“Do you feel threatened by him?”

Jordan’s either lapping this up or genuinely doesn’t know when he’s being blunt and insensitive and a bit of a prick. He’s frowning when Curly darts his head to look his way though, so he guesses the latter. He should have known really, though; he doubts Jordan even knows how it feels to be embarrassed - or threatened in the first place, for that matter.

“No. Why would I?” He laughs, then pauses and it’s too quiet so he laughs again, shakes his head, tuts and lets out what he thinks sounds like an amused sigh. Funny funny funny. Why would he?

“You’re distant and making things weird.”

“You’re making things weird.” ‘Yeah, nice one,’ he thinks, ‘that’ll make me seem more mature.’ He huffs his defeat, shoulders slumping as he forces himself to look his way again. “I don’t need any reassurance if that’s what’s happening.”

“Right, got it. You don’t need reassurance.” Jordan just shrugs and sits back, pulling his feet up onto the dashboard and Curly lets out a mental sigh of relief. “But if you did-“ For fuck’s sake. “-I’d say that he was way too infatuated with Shakespeare and talked too much.”

He hums.

“And he’d smother you in fake kindness to make himself feel good.”

Another hum.

“And he had tiny nipples, Curls,” Jordan so diligently adds.

“Alright, I—“

"Like, tiny.”

Curly swears he manages to cover his laugh. “Yep, got it. Cheers, mate.”

“Not your mate.”

“Oh,” he huffs a laugh. “If you're not my mate, then what are you then?”

The right indicator is the only thing filling the silence as they stop at a light, ticking rhythmically as they wait, Curly’s eyes on the road and Jordan’s on him. They’re both still smiling, but Curls furrows his brows to hide it.

Say it.

“My boyfriend, I hope.”

The sodding smile rips its way through his frown and his cover is obliterated as he asks, “you hope?”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ hope. You think I’ve been jacking off in secret and eating your hair in my sleep for fun? No, moron. I like you.”

The road before and behind them is empty. The light is green now but he doesn’t move.

“J, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Fuck. You.”

#ch #ch14 #writing #me @ jordan: 😙#Sorry for typos I made so many last minute tweaks

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winterisakiller · 6 years ago

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Realization

One Shot: Last Minutes and Lost Evenings 2/16

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/ Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Love was never supposed to be part of the equation.

Rating: PG

Warnings/Authors Notes: This is the second part of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings, this series is currently on-going and will flit back and forth between past, present and future.

For the first time in far too long, Tom felt as though he could breathe.

He cherished these stolen moments. He had done so for the nearly year and a half that they’d been doing this. She was a safe harbor.

“When do you have to be off?” He tried to keep his tone as neutral as he could.

“I don’t,” She smirked, snuggling tighter against him. “Perks of being your own boss. Jules is running things today. So it looks like you’re stuck with me for the time being, mister.”

He grinned, delight etched across his features. “Wonderful.”

What he didn’t know was just what he could, or honestly should, do about it. He was well and truly fucked.

“You alright there?” Her voice snapped Tom back to himself.

He placed another kiss to the top of her head. Just let it be, Hiddleston. Just let it be.

~*~*~

“I thought you liked putting on a show?” she teased.

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s the most entertaining show I’ve ever seen. It could use a bit more skin for my taste…” She quirked an eyebrow, returning his smirk.

Tom sighed, turning his attention fully to her. “You only want me for my body.” His eyes were wide, plaintive and forlorn. “And here I thought you actually cared.”

“Why ever would I do that?” His face transformed once again into a bright smile. “It’s far too much fun this way.”

“You’re a jerk,” she retorted, unable to mask her own smile.

He laughed heartily, his attention turning back to the clothing piled before him. “And yet you love me anyway.”

#tom hiddleston #fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x original character #last minutes and lost evenings #Tom & Rosie

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dcarevu · 6 years ago

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DCAU #16: The Cat and the Claw (Part 1)

“Never trifle with the affections of a woman!”

15 episodes into Batman The Animated Series and, hey, we’ve finally arrived at the first episode! Isn’t that something! Yeah, I’ve stated a few times that this show was aired in a very different order than how it was produced. Some people like one way vs the other, although I’m a production-order guy myself, but I’m not gonna pretend like this doesn’t make a decent first episode. It has a pilot quality to it, and the way the episodes sounds in particular make it seem like it would come before episodes like Heart Of Ice. But whichever way you prefer to watch the show, let’s agree on one thing: airing part 2 seven episodes later was not the best way to watch the show. For anyone that’s curious, though, this was done because the way weekend airings vs weekday airings worked. Part 1 was shown on a weekend, so part 2 was shown the weekend after.

Episode: 15 Robin: No Writers: Sean Catherine Derek (story), Laren Bright (story), Jules Dennis (teleplay), Richard Mueller (teleplay) Director: Kevin Altieri Animator: Sunrise Airdate: September 5, 1992 Grade: B

Saying that this episode has a pilot-quality to it isn’t exactly a compliment, as in some ways it feels like we’ve again taken a few steps back here. This episode sits right at home with On Leather Wings, Nothing to Fear, and even The Underdwellers. It’s not bad, but the footing just isn’t there, and the vibes are very similar to those three. Looking at the credits only backs up this observation. Some of the lower-tier episodes we’ve seen have come from these writers. I think that so far this is one of the better ones they’ve worked on, but it didn’t blow me away or anything. Sunrise handled the animation, and it worked for the most part in Pretty Poison. Here, though, there were some weird things. There is a shot of Catwoman climbing up a building that looks pretty damn awful. It’s quick, and most may not notice it, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter because someone working for Warner (probably an intern or something) chose this shot for the DVD menu on disc 3. What the hell? You turn on the DVD and you get this awkward, misshaped Catwoman that gets worse the longer you stare. Like god, it’s ugly, guys. And Catwoman is an attractive character! I can only imagine that they were pressed for time or something. I’m mostly just bringing this shot up because I find it funny, but there were some other things too that stuck out like sore thumbs. This included some weird facial expressions (like the goon at the end or the dude constantly gritting his teeth like an old Looney Tunes antagonist), some overall messier work, and the lighting was all over the place. A lot of shots just seemed a little bit too bright for the show. It’s not all unsightly, though. Sunrise have a weird, weird style, guys. There are some scenes that I think I like the looks of, much like some moments in Pretty Poison, but really nothing I was blown away by. I hear Akom did part 2, so I am actually genuinely excited to compare them. I’ve been okay with Akom so far.

So this sounds like a recipe for disaster so far, I know. But the episode is generally enjoyable, despite. I have no idea how they pulled it off either. Where the visuals fail, the magnificent, ballet-esque score picks up the slack. While the lines don’t always stick with me, they don’t downright flop, and the characters are great. Catwoman really impressed Char (who, once again, is a newcomer to the DCAU), and like some other rogues, I don’t know if she was necessarily expecting much beyond a typical villainess dressed in a distinguishable suit. In fact, I wouldn’t necessarily label Catwoman the villain at all. Yeah, she shows that she has a robbing hobby at the beginning, and I’m not gonna defend that, but she spends the rest of the time attempting to get her way with the animal preserve and genuinely showing that in some ways she’s pointed in the right direction. I’ll talk more about her character, along with Batman’s, in a bit, however. But before diving into some of the more social/psychological aspects, I wanted to note how fun the beginning of this one was too. It was a unique start for the series, and watching these two run around on the night rooftops is fascinating to watch. I was almost sad when it ended. Especially since a lot of the other action in this one was a lot more par for the course. When we cut to a police chase going on, I internally groaned just a little bit. I feel like that is one of the most common things to happen on this show, and there was no real twist on it. Things are calm and casual, then out of nowhere some guys with machine guns are being tailed by the police. Maybe I’m imagining things, but I think it’s getting a little bit stale. Oh, also, just as an observation, I felt like everyone was whispering throughout this one. Catwoman, Batman, and Red Claw all said their lines in such a soft manner, and while inside some of the buildings made sense, I’m surprised they didn’t have a tough time hearing each other on the rooftops at times. That’s what I mean when I say this one sounds like an early one. Anyone else feel me on this? Like, did the actors have to be quiet because another show was being voiced or something? That’s a joke, by the way.

A big plus was getting to dive into our main characters. Batman and Selena’s chemistry is fairly natural, despite them not sharing too-too many lines with each other, at least in costume. Yet it just works. Batman is a man of few words sometimes. I don’t think his ways of communication and relation necessarily rely on English. You get a sense of chemistry from watching them soar among the turbines, free fall toward the street, and basically try to keep ahead of each other in an almost playful way. We even see Batman crack a smile as he talks to his new, curious friend, and it’s not even weird to see. Add in that downright beautiful score, along with them mixing as their civilian selves, unbeknownst to them, and it starts to become a shame that you know that in their current ways, they’re not gonna work. It’s as both of them worked together to say; there is something in between them, that thing being the law. Parts of me reluctantly want Batman to just give in, but admittedly, that would be rather hypocritical of him. Ha. Yeah. Imagine how that relationship would go. “Hey, honey, have fun hitting the Smiths’ house tonight! I’m off to stop a robbery!” Would make for a decent parody, though, for sure.

Even without Batman, though, Catwoman is an interesting character. I love how strong and dedicated she is. She knows what she wants, and she’s not gonna back down until she obtains it. She goes a little too far with taking things into her own hands because, well, she’s literally taking things that don’t belong to her into her own hands, but you get the feeling that she works her ass off with her conservation efforts and doesn’t take shit. This is another factor that makes her relationship with Bruce so interesting. She first flat out tells him that she’s not interested in dating him. He politely asks her if they can just try it out once, she agrees, but she actually ends up cancelling to do something that she sees as more important. She’s not about to feel bad about it either, and why should she? You get the feeling that in some ways she is equal to Bruce, and if she were a lot weaker than him, then their midnight meet ups wouldn’t be nearly as interesting. By the way, a cartoon show displaying a strong, independent woman acting like a hero, but also performing cat burglary? Some parts of me are surprised that at the time this was let through. She is clearly someone to admire in some aspects, but not necessarily in others, which is kind of a complex, abstract idea for kids.

Of course, you wanna talk about strong women, we can’t leave out Red Claw, the terrorist leader. Now this lady, she is not someone I’d ever wanna mess with. She looks like she could pound me into a pancake with one whack. Char was not a fan of her design at all. When she walked into the screen, I heard her go, “That design is shit.” It didn’t strike me nearly that hard, and while I don’t find her to be awesome-looking, her design never really bothered me. Char mentioned it being the way she was proportioned. I did think that she looked a little bit…hm…maybe hefty is the word? But I sorta dig that choice. It adds to her intimidation-factor. She looks like she’d be a challenge for even Batman to square up with (even though this is likely not the case if we’re talking strictly hand-to-hand combat). But maybe the strong reaction to her design was simply Char finding the model off-putting, and maybe Akom can amend this next time. We shall see! I’m also hoping that she’s not wasted potential. I get that most of the emotional depth should be focused on Batman and Selena, that’s obvious. But I at least want to avoid Red Claw being obvious stock. We have a whole extra near-half hour to use, so let’s hope the writers learned from their light mistakes in previous episodes and deliver a thrilling conclusion. Char really loved this episode (she liked it a lot more than I did), and was very interested at what was going on basically the whole way through, plus I think Catwoman is going to be a new favorite of hers. Don’t want it to let her down! Even if this one is an episode that I don’t consider amazing, it brings me a lot of joy to see it getting so much mileage with someone else. This is part of the reason I’m doing these blogs, people, and I hope that many more of you in the future will end up following along and coming to your own opinions that you can compare and contrast with mine. It’s no fun if everyone feels the same way and makes the same observations, right?

Oh, we both agreed that this one had one of the best title cards so far, by the way. And after the episode is finished, you go from thinking it’s a Catwoman reference, to realizing that it almost seems to be referring more toward Red Claw with that scratch mark!

Char’s grade: A

Next time: The Cat and the Claw (Part 2) Full episode list here!

#dcau #dc animated universe #catwoman #the cat and the claw #batman #batman tas #batman the animated series #red claw

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thekitsune · 7 years ago

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A Very Oblivious Marinette Chapter 12

New chapter! Very Juleka (Julenette) focused in this one! Also the whole beach art thing is still going on. If you don’t know what I’m talking about I explained in the last chapter if you want to check it out ^^

Juleka sighed to herself while she sat under an umbrella. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her legs while she rested her head on her knees. Looking across the beach at Marinette and Kagami, she let out another sigh before looking off to the side with a small frown.

"Hey Jules, what's wrong?" Juleka looked over at Rose as she walked up to her. Glancing up at Rose, Juleka sighed again before looking back at Marinette. Rose followed her best friend's gaze and smiled slightly. "Are you jealous of Kagami? Well, I mean we all are, but are you especially jealous? I know how much you like her."

Juleka sighed once more before shaking her head. "I...I'm just...really jealous of Luka," Juleka whispered out which Rose just barely heard. Seeing how upset Juleka looked, she knew it was more than just a case of jealousy that her friend was feeling. Everyone who was aware of the friendship between Marinette and Luka was cautious when the two spent time together. Luka was even more dangerous than Adrien when it came to Marinette; because, he was aware of where he stood when it came to Marinette. Juleka had it worse though because she had to watch her own brother gain the affection of the girl she liked while her mother supported him.

"What happened?" Rose asked her friend while sitting down next to her. Juleka slowly fell sideways until her head rested on Rose's shoulder.

"My mom did all she could to try and get him to join us on the trip here, but he had to stay home so he could continue rehearsing with the band for an upcoming event," Juleka simply stated which caused Rose to stare at her for a second before tilting her head slightly in confusion. Nothing seemed wrong about that. It seemed like what Juleka's mom usually does when it comes to Luka and Mari...oh.

"You know Juleka, I'm sure your mom would support your feelings for Marinette as much as she does Luka's," Rose told her friend who just let out a small 'hm' as she changed her gaze from Marinette to the ocean. Rose just shook her head. Juleka could be so hard headed sometimes. "Juleka. I know how shy you are. Heck it took you forever to tell me about your feelings for Marinette (even though you know I like her to), but that does not mean you should keep yourself from telling your mom. Luka knows you like her. The only one who doesn't is your mom."

Juleka brought her hands into her lap and remained silent as she thought about what Rose said.

"...I...I still think she wouldn't cheer for me as much as she does Luka..." Juleka quietly muttered causing Rose to sigh as she shrugged her shoulder to make Juleka sit up. Rearranging herself so that she'd be sitting on her knees, she looked Juleka in the eye.

"Juleka. Your mother loves you. And she supports you no matter what happens. The only reason she cheers Luka on as much as she does is because he doesn't keep his feelings hidden from her. I promise you, the moment she finds out you like Marinette to, you will be receiving as much support as Luka if not more," Rose explained while Juleka just curled back up.

Rose groaned before looking over at Marinette. It seems she's done with Kagami at the moment. Watching her head towards Alya and Lila, Rose knew she needed to act fast. "Juleka, you are going to cheer up," Rose simply said before standing up and calling Marinette's name at the top of her lungs shocking everyone.

Marinette turned around and spotted Rose. "Yes Rose?" Marinette asked her peppy friend. Rose motioned for Marinette to come over to her and Juleka, who was busy trying to hide her head inbetween her knees. Rose saw Lila and Alya glare in her direction so she subtly brought her hand up to motion to them that she'll explain in a moment.

Lightly skipping over to the best friends, Marinette smiled at Rose who blushed lightly at her crush's smile. The sunlight bouncing off Marinette really did make her look beautiful... 'Snap out of it!' Rose thought as she mentally slapped herself back to attention.

"Did you need me for something? I was about to hang out with Alya and Lila," Marinette questioned Rose who chuckled nervously at the glares the two girls sent her way over Marinette's shoulder.

"Juleka isn't...feeling well. I was wondering if you could cheer her up. I can't seem to do it, but I know how good you are at cheering people up! I know you were going to spend time with your friends, but I'm really worried about Juleka," Rose told Marinette while making sure to keep what was wrong with Juleka out of the conversation. Marinette gasped before quickly shooting down next to Juleka's side and wrapping her arms tightly around the quiet girl which caused her to let out a silent 'eep!'

"Juleka! Are you alright?! You can tell me!" Marinette questioned the girl who looked down shyly as her face began to heat up. Rose smiled slightly before walking away from the two. Looking over and seeing the still furious Alya and Lila, she changed course to go explain to them what was happening. --- Juleka was blushing brightly as she felt a still wet Marinette hugging her tightly. She never expected this to happen after telling Rose why she was upset. Then again, her friend loved putting her in awkward situations... Should she be upset with Rose?

"Juleka, please tell me what's wrong. I don't like it when you're upset," Juleka heard Marinette say which only made the blush worse. She knew Marinette meant that she hated seeing her friends upset, but still there was a part of her that wished she meant what she said in another way.

"I...I'm scared to tell my mother something," Juleka quietly explained to Marinette. Marinette's head tilted to the side with a look of confusion. Juleka had to keep her face hidden thanks to her blush widening.

"But why? I tell my maman everything because I know she will always support me or help me if I'm in trouble. Why are you scared?" Marinette asked Juleka who let out a sigh.

"...Because...Luka likes the same thing I do...and she heavily supports him liking this...item. I'm scared...that if she learns that I like it to, she will not support me as much as she does him..." Juleka trailed off as she changed her gaze to the sand.

Marinette looked at her with concern. She knew that Juleka had trouble dealing with her problems at times. She was really happy that they weren't in Paris at the moment or Juleka could have been re-akumatized. Sighing, she brought her hand up and began rubbing Juleka's back in a soothing fashion to try and comfort her.

"Juleka. While I don't know exactly what you and Luka like, I know how much your mom loves you. She does not love Luka more than you and if she found out that both of you liked the same thing, whatever it is, I am sure she would support the both of you equally. I know my parents would and your mom is a lot like my maman when it comes to how much she cares about her kids. So if it is really hurting you this much to keep it a secret, then you need to tell her. I promise things will get better if you do," Marinette explained as she pulled Juleka into a hug while continuing to rub her back.

Juleka felt tears begin to form in her eyes, but she quickly rubbed them before hugging Marinette back. Rose and Marinette were right. Her mom would never support Luka over her in something this important. Feeling a small smile form on her lips, Juleka looked at Marinette before letting a small blush form on her cheeks.

Before Marinette could say anything, Juleka had leaned in and kissed her cheek as swift as lightning. Staring back at Juleka with a shocked look, she saw Juleka looking away in embarrassment. It took only a few seconds before a small blush popped up on Marinette's face as she smiled back at her friend. "Hehe! You're welcome Juleka!" Marinette happily chirped out.

Juleka nodded her head shyly before feeling Marinette take her hand. Looking at Marinette, she saw her smiling back.

"If you don't mind Juleka, I really need to apply sun tan lotion to my back, but I can't really reach it that well. I was going to ask Alya or Lila for help, but since I'm here, do you mind helping?" Marinette innocently asked Juleka who froze on the spot as her face continued to brighten. Marinette looked at her in confusion before giggling and taking Juleka's hand as she dragged her over to Marinette's towel. Juleka could be so shy at times!

Juleka just continued to stare straight forward while only faintly listening to Marinette compliment her lilac one piece swimsuit.

'I'm not ready for this...' Juleka thought as her mind began to go blank while her body continued to follow Marinette.

Off to the side, Alya and Lila were biting their towels as hard as possible while veins kept throbbing in their foreheads. Rose's eyebrow was twitching slightly, but she kept a smile on her face. "Just remember girls, this is to help Juleka. I'm sure you can apply Marinette's lotion tomorrow," Rose told the two who just angrily nodded their heads as they watched Marinette hand the bottle to Juleka who just numbly took it.

Juleka is in the lead today! But the day isn't over yet!

#miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Juleka Couffaine #Julenette #MariHarem fic #Chapter 12 #Oblivious Marinette #A Very Oblivious Marinette

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itallcomesdown · 4 years ago

Text

TGI Tuesday

Something intensely un-good was happening to Yvonne.

She was missing calls. Daydreaming. Humming and smiling to herself.

These were not normal.

Yvonne didn't notice the change at first but, looking back, she knew when it started.

It had started four days prior, on a Tuesday. Worst day of the week because you haven't braced for it like Monday, it's pre-the-work-week-hump and it always feels like there's three years before lunch but then 6 second until EOD.

Anyway, it's a Tuesday. Yvonne is wearing Tuesday-ish clothes. Nothing fancy. A little bookish, a little muted. No meetings, no lunches, no plans.

Just a fucking Tuesday.

Except not just a fucking Tuesday because that was the day she walks in. Like a warm breeze in autumn, full of non-specific nostalgia and hope for a little more good weather.

Damn. That kind of flowery bullshit was also not normal. This was clearly getting worse...

She walks in like it was nothing. Like she was not heartbreak waiting to happen. she walks in, right, and just smiles.

Who does that? Who smiles like that? Like- Stop. Yvonne put a heavy lid on that little line of evocative imagery.

So, she smiles. But not at her. She was smiling at Yvonne's colleague, Adam.

Adam was a perfectly nice guy but Yvonne spent as little time with him as she could. It wasn’t personal, it was just better if she kept her coworkers at arms length. Life is too short to spend it doing drinks with Lisa from accounts. Again, nothing personal.

The smiling spreads ripples around the office. Everyone was hot and bored so this new energy was invigorating. The urge to smile infects some but mostly it sparks whispers.

Yvonne's desk mates gossiped around her. They'd grown too weary of her polite brevity to try to include her but this time her ears tuned in.

From hushed snippets, she pieced together that this was some kind of relative of Adam's, staying with him for a few days. Apparently Adam had been lobbying for time off to play host to this highly favoured relative but it fell through. When talk shifted to whoever's early labour torpedoed Adam's plan, Yvonne switched off again. She hadn't even realised anyone was pregnant and obviously she was too late to invest in that story line.

Adam's whole body lit up at the sight of his family member standing near the entrance of the open plan office. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to describe their movements towards each other as "bounding", not unlike littermates reunited after a long separation. But surely these two had seen each other that morning?

Yvonne picked up her mug, along with the pretense of nonchalance, and walked over to the small crowd that had formed around her colleague and his new visitor. She didn't want to get too close, she just wanted to bask in the warmth of her- Nope. She rapped her fingers against the plan white cup, trying to drown out her softer self.

Lost in her attempts to regulate her emotions, Yvonne didn't notice that she was in the middle of a plan being hatched. The relative had come to pick Adam up for lunch and extended the invitation to any willing party in the office. It'd be a short walk to a street food market then a leisurely stroll through a park on their way back.

A tap on her shoulder nudged Yvonne out of her daze.

Was she coming?

To?

Before she heard the answer, that smile caught her eye. This time, it's full brilliance was directed at her.

She nodded without internalising what she was agreeing to. It didn't matter. She would walk a thousand miles for that smile. Fuck.

The pack scattered and regrouped in the time it took Yvonne to remember that she needed to put her mug back. She got swept up in the mass exodus before she made it to her desk. Someone took her cup out of her hand and spirited it away as they hustled her out of the office. It was an ambitious trip, they had to make good time on the first leg or they'd have to rush back.

The cheery horde funneled down the stairs and out the door into the open air, chatting amongst themselves and around Yvonne. She was not a regular fixture at non-mandatory work social events so she fell through the cracks as friendship groups found each other. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. She could spend the time thinking about what to do with the meal she'd brought from home that was sitting in the communal fridge.

Arms folded and shoulders tight, she ran through her options in her mind. Would it keep til the next day? Should she take it home and eat it? Maybe if she just bought a drink at this food market, she could eat her lunch at her desk while finishing her reports...?

One of the splinter groups slowed to let Yvonne catch up and the apparent leader struck up a conversation. Had she ever been to the market before? Did she have any food allergies? Was there something she was hoping to find?

Yvonne sense the group wanted more than her three short no's so she added a little colour. She was a fan of spicy food and had once gone to a food festival which featured competitive eating. She had, on the spur of the moment, decided to try her hand but came 3rd from last out of ten.

The group seemed more impressed than she expected! They all congratulated her on trying, each insisting they would have passed out if given anything hotter than supermarket sweet chili sauce. Yvonne felt her own smile tugging at her lips but she didn't let herself feel it.

Getting to the market took less time than expected and Yvonne had been too busy small talking to finish meal planning. It didn't matter though because she never would have envisioned the array of options. It was almost overwhelming and made worse by the heat of the sun which seemed to linger at its peak long after noon.

Someone from the splinter group fell into step with Yvonne and began chatting energetically about a particular stalls which specialised in gluten free fried chicken. The sauces were apparently to die for but this person had avoid one of the options because it had a five chili rating. May Yvonne would like to give that one a go?

Yvonne didn't know how to say no to this new, earnest friend. They'd listened to her, thought about what she would like and then came forward with an idea for her. She'd have to eat her packed lunch for dinner and muscle through these wings to avoid awkwardness but honestly, Yvonne wasn't mad at it.

The wing stall was a little deeper into the market than the stalls most of the group had picked. Yvonne followed closely behind her workmate. Bobbing as they bobbed and weaving as they weaved. It was only a few moments but something about the synchronised movements felt fun, though Yvonne couldn't put her finger on the memory that was causing it.

Before she could fully assess, Yvonne bumped into her colleague who had abruptly stopped to greet someone. Actually, two people. Adam and his relative were a metre away and beaming. Yvonne felt sick.

She was completely caught off guard. All these new feelings and interactions had pushed the original purpose of this excursion out of her mind. Now, faced with the object of her curiousity and with hardly any buffer between them, Yvonne was beginning to regret her decision to leave the safety of her desk.

Adam spear headed the unification of the two pairs into one, hungry super-group. They were both looking for the wing stall and his relative, a cousin, was keen to try the hottest sauce available. What a wonderful coincidence! Obviously this merger had been pre-ordained. They would search as a unit. Eight eyes were better than four.

Yvonne's arms crossed themselves over her chest. She hadn't even noticed them relaxing down to her side but the tension was back. Adam was keen to introduce her to Jules who was keen to say her name over and over as part of a memory trick. Six to make it stick...s. Everyone chuckled.

Ali, Adam, Jules and Yvonne. From 13, to 2, to 4, but still no food. Time was ticking away.

Ali took charge of the expedition in peak Ali-fashion, or at least what appeared to be a pretty consistent pattern of behaviour over the 20 minutes Yvonne had observed. Being the only two who had ever see the intended destination, Adam and Ali paired up to lead the pack. It was a second or two before Yvonne realised what that meant.

If you've ever seen a dog chase a car and then have no idea what to do when the car stopped, Yvonne was the dog. Feeling infinitely foolish and clinically awkward, she wordlessly fell into step with the reason she was out in the sun, hunting an elusive chicken wing vendor on a Tuesday afternoon.

Jules seemed content to maintain the silence but with far less observable angst. Yvonne pondered the causal relationship between hotness and being able to withstand heat because, while she was painfully aware of the sweat under her rather flimsy blouse, Jules seemed icy cool in an uncomfortably thick hoodie. While Yvonne's hair clung to the moisture from her scalp, Jules' shoulder length locks seemed completely unaffected.

Yvonne realised that Jules had noticed her stares later than she should have. There was that fucking smile again. If her cheeks could glow red, they would. They talked. It was nice. Jules was staying with Adam until paperwork for a rental was approved. Adam had a spare room and loved having guests, it gave him an excuse to do tourist shit. He had a surprising fondness for kitsch.

Jules had the kind of voice you wanted to listen to and a laugh you wanted to share and hair you wanted to run your fingers through and lips- You get the picture. Jules drew you in then made you feel like you were meant to be there.

They walked and talked and smiled and laughed and bumped into each other as they maneuvered through the crowd. Yvonne's heart didn't know whether to race or jump for joy so instead it just pumped hard enough for her to feel it in her earlobes. If only the hour could last forever.

That wistful thought snapped Yvonne back to reality. She stopped. Where were Ali and Adam? Where was the rest of the group? What was the time?

Gone, gone and too late to keep hunting for the stall. She would have to walk pretty briskly to make it back on time. Jules quickly understood her wordless panic and grasped her upper arm to reassure her and then grabbed her hand, leading the way.

Half walking half running, they made it back to the main doors with enough time for Yvonne to catch her breath. More laughter. They could both do with paying more attention to their cardio.

Maybe they could be workout buddies?

Yvonne grinned, nodding enthusiastically as she breathed deeply. She had a couch to 5k app on her phone that she had never opened. Jules asked to see it so she obliged.

As she handed over the unlocked device, Yvonne noticed a familiar face in the distance. It was Adam and Ali, each carrying a pair of boxes and mildly confused expressions. They'd forged ahead but didn't notice the separation until they had reached their destination. Once there, Ali ordered while Adam called Jules. The minutes ticked away so eventually they decided to head back to home base.

Yvonne sincerely apologised for wasting their time and reached for her phone, intending to pay them back on the spot for the food, but Jules pulled it just out of her grasp.

"It was my fault, I owe all of you so I'll get you back for today and then I'll take you all out for lunch again this week?"

She was about to protest but then Yvonne noticed something pass between the cousins. Ali opened his mouth to respond but Adam spoke over him. It was fine, he and Ali had managed to eat as they walked so Jules shouldn't worry about them.

"I guess that leaves just me and you."

They'd been texting and calling everyday since then. It was sickening. The make-up lunch got pushed into the weekend then became a dinner then a dinner before a small comedy show. A full on date but without the word.

In the time between that Tuesday afternoon and the Saturday evening Yvonne had planned 6 different outfits, two comprising of clothes she panic bought on Thursday. One included a heeled boot that she had to fish out from under her bed. None of them fit like she wanted them to.

By the time Jules was 20 minutes away, Yvonne had pulled together a 7th option that she convinced herself would do. They had met on a Tuesday where Yvonne had dressed like a Tuesday so all she had to do was look a little better but not so drastically different that she looked like she was trying too hard.

The Final Outfit gave solid Thursday afternoon vibes.

Nothing fancy. A little fun, a little playful. Some sparkle, some flair, some skin.

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dust2dust34 · 8 years ago

Text

Pieces of Always: September 3, 2017 (FICoN ‘verse), Explicit

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: Life rarely goes according to plan, but sometimes that's a good thing.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick for the quick beta!)

A/N: Please note the ratings change!

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

A/N from Janis: Thank you for sticking with us guys!! My move has been crazier than expected, but I'm hoping to be back to writing regularly (and responding to comments and questions) by the week after next. For now, Bre wrote a chapter to mark the date yesterday... because September 3rd of 2017 is awfully important in the FiCoN 'verse. Enjoy this very NSFW chapter. :)

(read on AO3)

September 3, 2017

It’s nearly three in the morning when Oliver wakes up. It happens in stages, like it has every single night of the last two weeks, with him slipping from dreams that still hold a tinge of fear to a world covered in midnight. He hears the tree branches scratching at the window, the slight creaks and groans of the brownstone settling, and his own barely-audible breathing.

Oliver doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that he’s alone.

A burning ache resonates in his chest and he turns on his side to face the empty bed.

He reaches a hand out, smoothing it over the untouched sheets. She told him to make it a habit to sleep in the middle of the bed, which supposedly helps with the fact that he’s currently missing his other half. He tries, but every single morning he still wakes in the middle of the night on his side, his arms reaching for her.

It’s only been two weeks, but it feels longer. Like an eternity… an eternity of his wife being halfway across the world and a new syndicate based in California setting up a base in Starling City with a new gun running scheme, of Jules being sick with a fever that he could not control no matter what he did and hearing from Roy that Thea’s recent treatments had hurt more than helped, that her absence has been because she can barely stand, much less interact with anyone…

These past few weeks have been a trial on every level and the mostly-healed knife wound in his back hasn’t made a damn thing easier.

He’s tired. He wants the world to pause, just for five seconds, so he can take a breath without worrying that he’s paying too much attention to one issue while another one literally burns to the ground. He and Felicity talk every day, but nothing can replace the comfort that comes with having his wife at his side.

He misses her with a fierceness that takes his breath away.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, is helped by the fact that today is the one day where things were supposed to be calm, if just because they damn well deserve it. But that hasn’t happened. Right now, Felicity’s in Russia handling a merger that had been going sideways while he’s here in Starling, enduring the longest two weeks of his life. Which is saying something.

He barely sleeps for more than an hour at a time, mostly because he can’t sleep alone anymore, but also because he’s drowning himself in worry about her being so far away - in Russia, no less - and the new gang infiltrating his city and Jules being sick enough that he’d thought about taking her to the ER a hundred different times before her fever finally broke. Reprieves are few and far between - usually linked to Jules’ smiles or when Will comes over or when he hears Felicity’s laugh over the phone. It’s selfish to want Felicity back for his own reasons, and he knows that. Her place at the helm of Queen Consolidated - sorry… Queen Incorporated, now - is new and the company needs her firmly, decisively in command.

But I need her, too.

And he knows she’s not handling the distance very well, either. He can see it in her face when they talk, about Jules and what’s happening in Starling - even if he tries to divert the conversation - and he can see her frustration that her trip keeps getting extended.

Until today, that is.

Warmth replaces the ache and he lets himself smile, even if it’s a ghostly hint of one.

She’ll have to go back, yes, but she’s flying home today.

Because today is the day they conceive Ellie.

“Not to put any pressure on us or anything, jeez.”

Felicity’s voice rings in his ears and he snorts. He will never forget the first few days after Ellie had gone back to her time. The pure desperation on Felicity’s face, the way her voice shook as she made him promise that no matter what was happening or where they were - physically and emotionally - that they would come together on September third of 2017 to ensure the conception of their daughter.

He’s so damned glad that their years together have given Felicity the solidity that she clearly craved so much at that time. Gone is the uncertainty and worry about their place in each other’s lives. It’s been replaced with a whole new kind of concern: “I better be awake enough to ravage you all day.”

Oliver laughs under his breath, still feeling her smiling lips against his when he’d dropped her off at the airport two weeks ago. Her soft, “I’ll be back,” had whispered over him and he’d carried those words with him every single day, holding onto them, knowing that she would come home to him.

Where the last two weeks he’d woken in the middle of the night from worry about Jules or from a nightmare or from an urgent alert from Felicity’s systems, now he’s sure the reason he’s up is because he gets to see his wife in a few hours.

God, he can’t wait.

Oliver pulls her pillow into his arms and buries his face in it, inhaling deeply. He can still smell hints of her shampoo from nights she goes to bed with wet hair, and her perfume, and just Felicity. The ache comes back with an alacrity that makes him groan, but it’s tempered by the knowledge that in a few hours he’ll be able to hold her in his arms, be able to reacquaint himself with her scent and warmth and love.

He tries to fall back asleep with her pillow cradled in his arms, but it’s useless. He’s awake. He thinks about calling Felicity on the jet, but he doesn’t want to wake her if she’s asleep. He supposes he can get started on some laundry and at least start cleaning up behind the tornado that is Julianna Queen now that she’s coming out of her haze of sickness.

The reminder that his daughter is feeling better makes Oliver smile as he climbs out of bed.

He shrugs on a t-shirt and sweats and heads downstairs to check on Jules. As he quietly descends the stairs - careful to avoid the fourth step that squeaks now - he thinks about what else he can get done.

Lyla is supposed to be picking Jules up in a few hours so he and Felicity can spend the day together, and then they’re going to get her barring any complications from the real world, and then spend the night together before she gets ready to go back to goddamn Russia… It just had to be Russia, didn't it? He’s not sure if that’s ironic or just a sick twist of the fates, but the idea of his wife in that country without him will always make his insides twist. Maybe he could go with her on the second leg of her trip. Oh, his mother would love that. She’s been letting him juggle as much as he can from home these last few weeks, but her newly-minted chief of staff being in Russia for an extended period of time? He can see her look now. His next thought is about what to make for dinner and then how early they can get Jules down so they can spend a little extra time together…

Jules’ bedroom door is open.

Oliver freezes, the hair on the back of his neck rising as all his senses shift into high gear. She’s climbed out of bed a dozen times already, but she hasn’t been able to reach the door. Not yet, anyway. She’s not tall enough, but that hasn’t stopped him from being extra cautious with gates at every level… The gate going upstairs is wide open. He hadn’t locked it behind him. Shit. But he hadn’t heard anything - no thud, no cry of pain, not even her inquiring, “Da?” He would have heard any and every sound if she’d gotten out of her room, which meant…

The chances of anyone getting into the house are slim - especially without him knowing - but it’s not impossible. It’s quiet, nothing out of place that he can tell, but his instincts still take over as he makes his way swiftly into her room. A thousand possibilities rocket through his head - someone followed him, someone is after the Queen name, something happened to Felicity and now they’re here for Jules…

Experience has him expecting the worse and bile claws its way up his throat as he rushes down the rest of the stairs.

But then he sees the purse dropped haphazardly on the ground by the door.

His heart stops for an entirely different reason. Elation and surprise rocket through him and the swing between emotions has his head spinning as he enters the room.

Oliver doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he sees his girls.

The only illumination in the room comes from Jules’ nightlight on the opposite wall. It casts the perfect glow across Felicity and Jules where they sit in the rocking chair, both of them gone to the world.

He wants to bound over and sweep them both up into his arms, but he grabs the doorjamb instead, taking a moment to drink in the sight.

It’s obvious by the way Felicity is slouched that she’s been here for a while. His heart stops at the thought of her being here without him knowing it, of her flying back early, of her being here at all. Even in her sleep Felicity has a solid grasp on Jules where the toddler sleeps on top of her. Her head is pillowed on Felicity’s breast, her dark hair a shocking contrast to her mother’s white cami and pale skin. Jules’ bow-shaped mouth is gaped like it only is when she’s in a deep sleep, a large puddle of drool darkening the fabric of Felicity’s top under her pudgy cheek. He knows firsthand how heavy his little girl is when she’s fast asleep, which tells Oliver exactly how tired his wife is.

They’re so beautiful and perfect his chest aches.

His family is together again.

Oliver can’t stand the distance anymore.

The second he reaches them, he smooths his hand over Jules’ head before leaning over to press a lingering kiss to the top of Felicity’s head. She’s warm and soft and home. He breathes her in, and he’s so overwhelmed for a split second that tears burn his eyes. He shakes his head at himself - the power of the love he has for his life now will never not amaze him - and kisses the crown of her head again, brushing his fingers through Jules’ soft locks.

Neither of them budge.

Huffing out a small chuckle, Oliver stands to evaluate the situation before sneaking his hands underneath the sleeping toddler.

“C’mere, baby girl,” he whispers as he picks her up. Jules doesn’t mind in the least, absolute dead weight in his grasp, her head lolling without a care in the world, but her mother? Felicity immediately tightens her hold on her daughter and stirs, her brow furrowing. “It’s just me,” Oliver says, kissing her forehead. “I’m putting her back to bed.”

Felicity relaxes, giving him a mumbled, “Mm’kay,” before relinquishing her hold.

Oliver hauls the two-and-a-half year old up, ignoring the slight twinge in his healing wound, cradling her close. He straightens her shirt and rubs his hand up and down her spine, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. She’s a limp noodle, never waking, perfectly content, perfectly safe. That makes Oliver smile as he settles her back in her bed. He rearranges her so he can pull her comforter over her and then grabs her elephant, tucking it in with her. He pauses, gazing down at her, taking those few seconds to revel. He brushes his fingers through her hair with a quiet, “I love you to the sun and back, Julie-bug.”

With the satisfying knowledge that his child is warm and safe in her bed, he turns back to his wife.

She’s fallen back asleep.

He can see the circles under her eyes from her own lack of sleep, tell from the creased lines on her face that she’d caught a few hours of rest on the plane back, but it clearly hadn’t made a dent in her exhaustion.

“Felicity.” Oliver rubs her shoulder, pushing his hand over her tense muscles to cup the back of her neck. She moans, sinking into his touch and his thumb brushes over her pulse point as he whispers, “Hey.” She grunts, but she doesn't wake. He smiles at the way her face crinkles before moving to pick her up. “Your turn, honey.”

“Wha’?”

Oliver picks her up, gritting his teeth as the movement pulls on his wound. It's nothing near what it was, but it still has a rush of pained heat skating over his back. Compared to having his wife in his arms, though, it’s nothing. He readjusts her, cuddling her closer, nuzzling her temple with his nose and lips. The two week span had been horrible when he didn't have her, but now that he does, it feels like it's been even longer than a handful of days.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, sighing deeply.

Felicity smiles, her fingers scraping over his chest. She makes a tight fist in his shirt, winding her other arm around his shoulders, nuzzling him back. She kisses the underside of his jaw and he angles his face down to capture her lips

It's soft and perfect and everything.

Just like her.

“I missed you,” she replies against his lips, and the weight in her voice tells him how much she means it.

Her love wraps around him just as securely, encompassing him in all its warmth. For the first time in weeks he takes a deep breath and his lungs fully expand, the oxygen properly suffusing his body with energy and life.

Oliver heads to their room, pausing long enough to let Felicity pull Jules’ door shut behind him. At the base of the steps he kicks the gate shut - just in case - and heads up with his wife securely in his arms.

“You’re early,” he comments. “I thought I was picking you up around nine.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” Felicity lays her head on his shoulder, her fingers dragging over his neck. His heart flutters and he holds her closer as he reaches their floor. “I wanted to check on Jules, first, see how she was doing. She was wide awake, staring at the lights on her ceiling.” She waves her hand, her voice fading with her sleepiness. “You know when the moon comes through the trees and it’s windy. She loves that. I didn’t plan on falling asleep.”

Oliver nods as he reaches their room. He moves to the bed, but she straightens, shaking her head.

“No, I want to take a shower first.”

“Honey, it’s three in the morning,” he says, kissing her temple. Stray hairs from her ponytail tickle his nose. “You can take one in a few hours.”

But she keeps shaking her head. “I smell like travel.”

Oliver smiles. “What does travel smell like?” he asks, turning to the bathroom despite his inner protestations. He wants to hold her forever, but his back is starting to hurt and it’s either the bed or the bathroom counter. He’s not about to argue with her about this right now, so he does what she says. Just a quick one.

“Like I’ve been sitting in a box of shipping peanuts for ten hours.”

He chuckles, setting her on the counter. He turns the light on and she blinks adorably. Her eyes slip shut despite herself - she’s so tired - and he cups her face. She opens her legs for him, grabbing his waist to pull him closer. She leans into him, knowing he’ll be there to catch her, to carry her weight, no matter what. The blind trust she gives him will always be staggering. She trusts him with something as simple as not letting her fall off the bathroom counter and she trusts him with her heart, her soul, with an entire lifetime of happiness.

Oliver kisses her, smiling when she sighs, leaning into his lips and the palms of his hands. He nibbles at her lips, earning a little moan from her.

“You’re not too tired?” he asks, smoothing his hands over her hair.

“I am,” she admits. “I shouldn't be because I'm usually wide awake right now, but I tried to sleep so I could be awake to surprise you and then I tried sleeping on the jet but I can never sleep when I'm coming home, and… and I just really want a shower.” Felicity pulls back to look at him. She makes tight fists in his shirt, urging him further between her legs. “Join me?”

Her voice is husky and even though he knows it’s because she’s so thoroughly exhausted, it still has his body tightening in response. The question is quiet, leaving room for him to say no, although they both know he won’t.

“Always,” he whispers, kissing her again.

This time she opens for him, her tongue tasting his lips. He groans, sliding his fingers into her hair, angling her head so he can suck her bottom lip into his mouth. God, he’s starved for her. She tastes like absolution, like heaven, like home. Oliver sinks into her embrace, drinking from her lips, delighting in their moans, a mixture of happy and the always present need that simmers just below the surface. If it wasn’t three in the morning and if they weren’t both so tired that they could drop, he’d be ripping off her clothes and burying himselves between her thighs.

But they are tired and it is three in the morning and as much as he really wants to make love to his wife right now, they just don’t have the energy.

Oliver pulls back, but not before taking a few more lingering kisses. He kisses her nose, her forehead, her brows and then her cheeks, light as feathers, raining his love and gratitude on her, trying to imprint into her skin how much he missed her. Her eyes flutter shut, and she leans into every single one, her hands slipping up under his shirt, fingers brushing over his burn scar with a reverence he feels in his bones.

Even after all this time her touch is a balm, reminding him that his past is what helped shape him, but it’s not what defines him. The way he lives is, though. The way he chooses to live, with her, with their children.

With love.

And it’s that love that’s going to create a new addition to their lives. It’s funny that all he’s been able to think about lately is how hectic things are, but he’d have it no other way, because it’s easy when she’s by his side.

It’s worth it.

He finally turns on the shower, and as the water heats up, he helps her undress.

Oliver removes her glasses as she toes off her heels. She pulls her ponytail out as Oliver grabs the hem of her camisole, tugging it over her head. Her eyes drift shut every few seconds and she sways, but there’s a smile on her face that tells him there’s no other place she’d rather be. That, yes, their lives are turning out to be a constant parade of fires they have to put out, but that it’s worth it.

It’s so worth it.

As Felicity reaches back to unhook her bra, Oliver’s fingers find her chin, tipping her face up to his. Her smile widens, fully expecting a kiss, but not yet. He just stares at her, drinking her in. Steam fills the bathroom, some of it billowing out the open door, but it’s nothing compared to the steady warmth flowing between them.

Her smiles turns coquettish and she winds her legs loosely around his, locking him in her embrace as she reaches up to tap his cheek. “Don’t waste that look,” she says. “There’s a lot of baby making to be done today, so save it for later. I hope that sounded as sexy as it did in my head, but I’m too tired to be sure.”

Oliver laughs, turning to kiss her fingers before kissing her lips. “It was very sexy,” he assures her. “Trust me, I never thought the words ‘baby making’ could be so incredibly damn sexy.”

Felicity snorts, but he doesn’t miss the shiver that falls down her spine.

He’s not the only one.

With a smirk, he kisses his way down her cheek to her ear. He kisses the shell before sucking the lobe between his lips. Even her exhaustion can’t hide the way she responds to him, the way her nails dig into his back, her thighs tightening around him, her nipples hardening through her bra.

“Felicity,” he says, his voice low, almost Arrow levels of low, something he knows very well how much she likes. She gives him a whiny breath in response. Oliver scratches his stubble over her cheek, moving just enough so his chin passes over her earlobe before he presses his lips to her ear and whispers, “Let’s make a baby.”

Her reaction is instantaneous.

She shudders and with a moan of his name grabs his face, pulling his lips to hers. The kiss is electric, all heady passion and need, love and happiness bursting in it. She tilts his head to deepen the kiss and he follows her lead without hesitation, groaning when she lifts her legs to pull him closer to her, when his growing hardness presses to her center.

They’d been planning for this day for years. Literal, actual years since the second his future self had told them which day they needed to make sure they had sex on, come hell or high water. This day, September 3, 2017, had been a topic of conversation a hundred times over. Whether it was concrete plans - “I’ll stop my birth control a few months ahead, which means we’re going to need condoms for a while. Lots and lots of condoms” - to contingency plans - “I don’t care if the city is on fire, we’ll find a room that is fireproof for at least a quickie, Oliver” - and much more sexy plans - “We could do a romantic picnic in the living room, and yes, I said living room, because licking chocolate sauce off my wife’s naked body isn’t appropriate at the park” - to romantic plans at an actual restaurant that included “candles and Italian and my foot sneaking up your pant leg.”

Of course, nothing goes to plan. Ever. But Oliver’s learned that’s where they thrive. When things are at their worst and falling apart around them, they’re at their strongest.

So today is going to be everything that they planned and everything that they didn’t plan…

Which is a thought that Oliver’s pretty sure makes sense in some capacity, but suddenly Felicity’s tongue is in his mouth and he forgets how to think.

The kiss escalates quickly, ramping up until they’re both panting and clinging to each other.

Oliver laughs against her lips. “The only thing stopped me from ripping your pants off right now is that the water heater is starting to act up.” Felicity gives him a puzzled moan, kissing him again before he replies, “If we want a hot shower, we need to get in.”

Felicity pauses and then pulls back. She gives him a little pout and Oliver has to capture her bottom lip between one more time. “Stupid water heater,” his wife mumbles, finally pulling her bra off. Oliver unabashedly stares at her naked breasts and he just can’t help himself. He palms them, squeezing them. Her words falter, her breath hitching when he presses them together before swooping down to capture one nipple between his lips. Her hand cups the back of his head as he sucks the bud into his mouth, his tongue darting over it. “Stupid travel…” she manages, her voice breaking. “Stupid dirty travel.”

He chuckles, standing up to kiss her lips. “Let’s get you clean then.”

Felicity hops off the counter, undoing her pants, wiggling her hips to get them down, drawing his eyes like a moth to the flame. She pulls his shirt off and he pushes his sweats down as she gets rid of her panties. She brushes her hair quickly, pulling on a few tangles and he grab a the baby monitor from the bedroom. He places it on the counter and checks the water temperature. It's holding steady. He adjusts it so it's perfect.

His wife winds her arms around him from behind, pressing her face into his back.

“C’mon,” he says, lacing their fingers together and pulling her into the shower with him.

It's all about her.

Felicity tries to argue, urging him to do his own ablutions, but he’d already grabbed a quick one when Jules finally fell asleep. When he tells her to relax, rubbing his hands over her shoulders and down her arms before going back up, his lips light on hers, she finally nods, giving herself over to him.

It's as much about helping her get clean as it is welcoming her home.

Oliver takes his time.

The heat from the water has a lulling effect and about twenty seconds in she just closes her eyes, letting him do everything. He washes her hair, careful to keep shampoo out of her eyes. She moans as he rinses it out, her hands finding his waist for something to hold onto. Her nipples are still pebbled and his growing erection threatens to get in the way, but he doesn't let it. He wrings her hair out before adding conditioner. He has the routine down pat, as much for sexy reasons as for when he'd helped her shower the few times he found her crying in the tub during the tumultuous months after Jules’ birth. He knows exactly what she likes and it's only when the conditioner is in and he's got her body wash in hand that he lets himself indulge in a little more.

Felicity is limp in his arms, leaning against him, what sound like happy little purrs slipping from her throat. He smiles, leaning over to nuzzle her throats and kiss her collarbone before turning her around so her back is to his chest.

He starts with her shoulders and neck, massaging as he goes, slipping his fingers up the base of her skull to the delicate space behind her ears before moving down. He doesn't miss a single spot, doing her back first, running his fingers down her spine and back up. His thumb lovingly drifts over the scar on her shoulder. It’s habit now, paying special attention to that one spot, as well as feeling the familiar swell of gratitude that there aren’t more scars.

He does her arms, hands, her sides, avoiding her chest and abdomen and the apex of her thighs for the moment. He kneels down behind her, and it’s easy to ignore the dull ache in his knees with her under his hands. She melts, leaning against the wall as he works his way down her backside. He takes extra care with her ass, enough that she starts giggling, which makes him chuckle.

“Oliver,” she breathes, her voice dragging as she reaches back to drag her fingers over his shoulders and then through his hair. “You don’t have to do this. It's so late…”

“I want to,” he replies, turning her around so he can wash her front.

Water sluices over her, washing away the soap from her back as she looks down at him where he kneels before her. Her fingers brush down the sides of his face and he turns to kiss her wedding rings, running soapy hands up her legs, his eyes never leaving hers. With every brush of his skin against hers, her lids grow heavier with a need he’ll never tire of seeing directed his way. A dark pink flush covers her chest, coloring her skin beautifully. His hands move of their own volition, up to her breasts. They’re heavy, and they fit into his palm perfectly. Felicity mewls, her head rolling back, arching into his touch. The water washes the soap away as he works his way down her stomach, the rounded planes heavenly under his fingers.

He stops right at the top of her mound. Her eyes darken, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

Oliver slips his hands behind her to cup her ass. Her mouth parts in a pant as the water rinses his hands and he slowly turns her so her back is to the wall.

Felicity falls against it with a dull thud, using him as an anchor to stay standing. He takes every bit of weight she gives him, sliding his hands down her thighs.

He picks up her leg and rests her thigh on his shoulder, spreading her open for him. He catches a hint of her musky arousal and he licks his lips, aching to taste her.

“The water heater,” she croaks, not making a move to stop him. It’s the last thing he expects her to say, but in a strange way it’s also perfect.

“I'll be quick,” he promises.

Felicity shudders, digging her nails into his scalp, her hips rocking forward.

Oliver’s gaze stays locked on her as his fingers spread her nether lips open for him, as he leans forward, instinct guiding him. His nose brushes over her clit and his tongue licks a stripe right up the center, brushing over her entrance where she's already wet for him and up to the little bundle of nerves.

Even if the water heater was working just fine, he doesn't have the patience to take his time. The second he tastes her he's lost, burying his face between her legs with a groan. She makes tight fists in his hair, her back arching off the wall as he eats her out with an eagerness that is both soft and harsh at the same time. He wants to feel her flying apart at the seams, wants to hear her gorgeous cries, taste her juices as she comes, feel her body trembling with pleasure.

He licks and sucks, teasing her clit to the point of frustration. They'd had a few intimate phone calls the last two weeks when they caught each other at the right time, but that’s nothing compared to having her in his arms again, his tongue buried between her folds, her ragged breathing filling the bathroom.

Felicity rocks against his face and he slips his hand between her legs, pressing two fingers into her wet channel.

“Ooh…!” she gasps. Her silken walls suck him in deep and he curls them with a needy moan all his own, wanting to feel them clamp down around him. Her legs are quaking around him all too soon and he thinks about throwing both her legs over his shoulders, but he doesn't trust his back quite yet. That only means he needs to be quick about this, to push her over the edge faster. He thrusts his fingers into her, fast and hard… “More,” Felicity whimpers. “Inside me. Oliver…”

God, the thought of surging up to his feet and picking her up, slamming her against the wall as he buries himself deep inside her… His cock jerks, swelling with need.

But not in here.

Oliver pushes a third finger inside her. She cries out so loudly her voice echoes off the walls. He wraps his lips around her clit, flattening his tongue against it, giving her a place to ride him as he thrusts into her. Her hands tighten in his hair, pulling on the strands so hard it hurts. He feels her orgasm fast approaching, but judging by the way she shakes above him she isn’t quite…

Before he can remedy it, she does it herself.

Felicity grabs the back of his head with one hand and digs her heel into his back for leverage as her other hand finds her breast. It's stunning and so goddamn sexy that he growls against her, pushing his fingers in as deep as he can. The vibrations in combination with his fingers pushing in and out of her radiates through her sex and it’s the final edge she needs. She pinches and kneads her nipple, cupping her full breast, and Oliver watches the little bud redden, standing tall under her ministrations. Her clit swells under his tongue and he sucks…

She comes with a wild shout, her entire body jerking as her orgasm rips through her. Her juices coat his chin, mixing in with the cooling shower water as her hips rock against him, riding her pleasure out.

But she only has so much energy.

Oliver pulls his fingers out and quickly stands, never letting her go. His damn knees bark at him, but it’s easy to ignore when the pleasantly limp form of his wife falls against his chest.

“That was wow,” she mumbles, the words muffled, and he grins, kissing her temple.

He turns her with a low, “That was just the beginning,” before he urges her to stand on her own just enough for him to rinse the conditioner out of her hair.

Oliver can’t look away from her. He doesn’t want to. Felicity’s eyes are closed, a look of perfect serenity on her features as he runs his fingers through her long strands. He knows dull pleasure is humming through her system, lulling her even closer to sleep, but a lot of that serenity is that she’s back home.

With him.

It satisfies him in a way that’s indescribable.

They rinse off together and get out, drying off. Oliver expects her to wave him out so she can finish her routine, but she doesn’t. Instead Felicity grabs the baby monitor and shuts the bathroom light off before pulling him into the bedroom. She drops her towel on the ground and tugs his off where he’d tied around his waist and steps back, taking him with her, until her knees hit their bed.

“C’mere,” she whispers, sitting down, never letting him go, urging him to follow her.

His heart climbs up his throat and entire body tightens in anticipation as he goes where she does, his eyes drinking in the way her body moves as she scoots to the center of the bed. Every move she makes is a wanton signal that hits him right in his center, from the way her legs brush together to how her breasts sway.

“Felicity…”

“Make love to me,” she breathes, pulling on him until he’s hovering over her. She spreads her legs, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her wet hair spills over the mussed sheets, the fading moonlight catching the varied hues. She looks positively ethereal where she stares up at him and Oliver doesn’t hesitate, blanketing her body with his. He settles between her thighs, both of them sighing when he brushes against her wetness. Felicity hikes her legs up higher, wrapping one around his hips, her other foot resting in the crook of his knee, spreading herself even more. She’s so soft and warm from the shower, skin still damp. She brushes her fingers through his hair, cupping his cheeks, her nails scraping over his ears. “Make love to me, Oliver.”

The whispered plea is impossible to ignore.

Oliver’s mouth slants over hers. The kiss is wet and messy, and perfect. She’s trembling, or maybe he is, he’s not sure. He kisses her lips, then her cheek and jaw, her throat, his mouth finding her ear before he buries his face against her neck. He pulls back his hips…

“Yes,” Felicity whimpers, pressing her face into his hair. Her breath is hot as she gasps his name just as his erection finds her entrance. “Oliver.”

He thrusts home.

The moan she makes as he fills her is the most erotic thing Oliver’s ever heard. He loves that sound, loves how she reacts to his length coming inside her, especially when so much time has separated them. Oliver moans, losing all sense of time and place, of everything but her. Her inner walls pull him in deeper, deeper, until he’s fully seated inside her. God, it’s perfect.

It’s home.

Ecstasy fills him and with a whispered, “Felicity,” Oliver pulls out and thrusts back in. Felicity shudders, just as lost in him as he is in her. They move together, falling under the tidal wave of sensation and emotion crashing together inside them. Her hands are uncoordinated as she pulls his face to hers, her lips brushing over his stubbled cheek before finding his mouth again.

Oliver moans, and she deepens the kiss.

More, more, more.

He needs to be closer, so much closer.

Oliver pulls a leg up, pinning her to the bed as he pushes his arms underneath her, wrapping her up in his embrace. He cradles her to his chest, drinking from her lips, warmth and love suffusing every inch of him as he makes love to his wife. There’s more to be accomplished here - like the conception of their future daughter - but all he can focus on is that Felicity is home.

Her name is a litany on his lips as they wrap themselves around each other, locking together.

A mortal lock.

It doesn’t matter how much time has passed or what’s happened, they always have each other, always know that they can and will find their center in the arms of their love.

They slowly rock together, their pleasure building, soft cries filling the room.

It isn’t long before Oliver feels the telltale tingling at the base of his spine. He tries to stave it off, wanting this to last - forever - but exhaustion and distance have pushed him too close to the damn edge. He releases her lips with a whimpered, “Felicity,” pressing his forehead to hers. She feels so good underneath him, so damn good. White hot pressure starts to coil in his core, pleasure flooding his veins, making him grit his teeth. He digs his fingers into her, trying to push it back, but… “Oh god, Felicity, I can’t… Are you…?”

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around him, dropping soft kisses across his face with a silent, ‘It’s okay,’ but he isn’t deterred.

“I want to feel you,” he says in a frenzied whisper, moving faster. “I want to feel you come, Felicity.” Oliver pushes one hand down her back to cup her ass and he pushes up as he changes the angles of his thrusts so he’s rubbing right against her clit. Felicity’s fingers spasm, her thighs tightening, her mouth falling open with a soundless cry as she jerks against him. “Please,” he begs, squeezing his eyes shut, concentrating on her. “Please…”

A torrent of uneven cries fall from Felicity as the changed angle suddenly pushes her own pleasure to the brink. It amplifies his as the ridge of his erection hits her in a whole new way.

Oliver’s moans are broken as he whispers, “Please, please, please…”

“I’m… yes… There, there…!” Felicity cries, suddenly arching into him, meeting his thrusts. She digs her nails into him and he cries out, his pleasure spiking, burning hotter. “Oh… oh god…”

His name falls from her lips in stilted gasps for air as they move together, his pelvic bone rubbing her clit, pushing her higher as his own crisis grows at an alarming rate. Her body tightens, her thighs shaking, her toes curling against him. White noise fills his head as his own pleasure peaks, and he thrusts faster, barely cognizant of the noises he’s making as he focuses on her, only her… only ever her…

Felicity suddenly grabs him so tight it hurts, shouting, “Oh, oh, oh!” and then she explodes around him, coming with a violent jerk in his arms. Her inner walls clamp down around him hard and Oliver loses all sense of rhythm, thrusting into her with abandon.

Pleasure rockets through him with enough force to make the soles of his feet tingle. Oliver comes with a series of gasps and moans that echo through the room as he falls against his wife, every single nerve in his body firing as he spills into her. He keeps thrusting, riding the pleasure out, filling her with everything he has, and she welcomes every single bit of it, holding him tight when he finally stills.

It’s… everything.

She’s everything and he never wants to move again.

Oliver’s not sure how long they lay there. His arms start to tingle, falling asleep under their combined weight, and he slowly pulls his arms out from underneath her, but he doesn’t climb off of her, not yet. Her breaths slow, the little puffs brushing over his lips. Her heart still pounds, radiating into his chest, and he savors it. He cups her head, pushing his fingers into her wet hair. Felicity whispers his name, words of love on her tongue, and when she kisses him, he can taste them, feel them filling him.

They stay connected as long as they can, moving, wrapping around each other tighter… until the pull for sleep becomes too much.

Oliver kisses her forehead, dragging his lips down the bridge of her nose to her lips. When they touch, he finally pulls out of her.

They readjust just enough to pull the comforter over them. They don’t speak as they wrap around each other, Oliver pulling her in as close as he possibly can, pressing his face to her hair, inhaling deeply. There’s plenty to talk about, so much they need to catch up on and tell each other, things that phone calls can’t cover, but that’s for later. Right now it’s just them, and it’s all they need.

Exhaustion takes over and for the first time in weeks, they both sleep soundly.

Until the day simply refuses to be ignored.

Oliver’s alarm goes off three hours later.

He turns it off four times until the doorbell ringing rouses his wife. He mumbles something about Lyla, reminding Felicity of the plan, and she gets up, grabbing the first thing she can find to cover herself up long enough to hand her daughter over to her godmother. Lyla wears a knowing smirk when she sees Felicity’s disheveled state and she makes a dry comment about her coming home early. With a kiss to Jules’ forehead and a comment about her getting a far better breakfast with Uncle Diggle and Sara, Felicity watches Lyla drive off, smiling when Jules waves at her before the car disappears.

She’s more awake when she goes back upstairs. When she reaches their room, she pauses, taking a moment to drink in the sight before her.

Oliver is fast asleep, having only moved enough to turn the alarm off. His hair is askew, and there are red marks and scratches on him she doesn’t remember making a few hours ago. Felicity could sleep for another twelve hours, and had it been any other day, she would have crawled right back into that bed and slept the child-free day away with her husband.

But it’s not any other day.

The urgency she expected to have when September third finally hit isn’t there as she makes her way back to her husband. Maybe it’s because she’s tired, or there’s more than enough going on to worry about, or…

Or maybe it’s because she knows that today was going to happen exactly how it should.

Felicity crawls under the comforter, snuggling against her husband’s chest. Oliver instinctively cuddles her closer. He smells good, and he feels even better.

The touches start innocently - her fingers brushing over the scars on his back, her lips kissing over his Bratva tattoo, her foot dragging up his leg, smiling when she feels his cock hardening against under her ministrations. She places a soft kiss over his heart, another, and another… And then her hands join in and she gently urges him onto his back, pushing the comforter out of the way as she licks her way down his body, pausing only to drag her teeth of his nipple and enjoy the sharp lines at his pelvis before she takes him into her mouth.

She slowly wakes his lower half, sucking and licking, dragging her tongue up his length until it’s trembling, until his cock jerks against her lips, a salty bead of precum on her tongue. She takes him into her mouth and bobs up and down, cupping his balls, dragging her nails over his sensitive skin. She wants to stay right there, wants to taste him. It’s been too damn long since he’s come in her mouth, but they have a different mission in the works for the day.

That makes Felicity chuckle - orgasm missions - and the vibrations make him moan.

Oliver wakes on the cusp of orgasm.

He has just enough state of mind to pull the blanket back the rest of the way and catch her eye before she releases his glistening cock with a loud pop. He’s completely at her mercy as she crawls up his body and reaches between them, grasping him tightly before sinking down on him. Her head falls back with a moan. She's so wet and ready for him, but that does nothing to diminish the feel of him filling her so completely. She starts rocking her hips, riding him with ease, and Oliver cries out, his eyes squeezing shut, his head flying back at the sensation. Felicity's fingers finds her clit, wanting to come with him, but he's so close. His guard is deliciously down, letting her do whatever she wants with a sleepy trust that has her own pleasure spiking. His hands grasping her waist through his shirt, helpless moans falling from his throat as he gets closer and closer…

“Oh god, Felicity.” His muscles tighten, his eyes shutting, his mouth going slack. “Ooh…!”

He comes with a low cry, one that instantly dissolves into desperate whimpers as he spills inside her. He watches through heavy lids as his wife throws her head back, a delicious moan slipping out at the sensation of him filling her. She spasms around him, pulling him in even deeper, milking him for all he has. Her nipples are hard where they poke through his t-shirt, her hair messy from late-night sex and their shower, beard burn decorating the long column of her neck.

It’s a long moment before he falls still beneath her.

With a satisfied moan, Felicity falls back against her husband, but he’s already moving. She barely has a chance to open her eyes and ask him what he’s doing before he’s pulling her down to his chest and spinning them so she’s on the bottom, the move is so seamless that he doesn’t fall out of her.

He’s still half-asleep and his orgasm didn't help anything, but that doesn't stop him from bracing himself over her and pushing his hand between them to her sensitive clit. It's already primed, just waiting, and the second he touches it her hips jerk up. He meets her little thrust where he's still semi-hard inside her, rocking back and forth just enough to give her friction.

“Oh god,” Felicity gasps, grabbing onto his shoulders, her head falling back. He rubs her hard and fast, just how she needs it, catapulting her right to the edge. It's so swift and powerful that she almost jerks away from his touch but he's got her pinned to the bed. All she can do is feel and oh god, it's so much, sensation crashing into her in tidal waves that take her breath away. Pleasure burns in her core, a white hot heat that surges through her veins, focusing on her center. Her entire pelvis hums with it and her toes curl, her eyes squeezing shut as she loses herself in his thrusting hips and hard, demanding fingers. “Yes, yes… ohgodohgodohgod!”

White sheets over her eyes as she crumbles in his arms, making sounds she can't even comprehend as pleasure rockets through her. He doesn't stop, not yet, urging more from her, his own choked cries echoing hers as her silken walls clamp down on him where he's buried inside her.

When they can’t take anymore they fall into a tangled heap. Oliver slips out of her but that's all the energy he has before he falls into the bed. His wet member presses into her hip where he lays half on top of her, his face smashed into her shoulder, and Felicity curls around him as much as she can, kissing his forehead.

In a sleepy voice, he whispers, “Did Lyla get Jules?”

“Mmhmm.”

Oliver manages a nod and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Gonna make love to you,” but then he's out again.

She smiles, hugs him close, and joins him.

They’ve only been asleep for a few hours when Felicity gets an emergency call from her assistant in Russia with yet another fire she needs to put out. Despite her obvious displeasure - he wants to protest, too, he really, really does, but he doesn’t, because he knows how important the company is to her and to their family, as much as he knows she won’t stay longer than she has to - she climbs out of bed and heads to the newly rebuilt Queen Incorporated building downtown.

Oliver follows her an hour later with lunch.

A quick stop at the security desk with his patented Oliver Queen smile that is far more genuine these days gives him pause when he sees who’s manning the desk.

Chris and a lush bouquet of flowers smiles back at him.

The flower service Felicity found doesn’t bring anything on the weekends, especially since Felicity maintains that people don’t need to work on their days off unless the world is ending. Eyeing the brightly blooming buds, the smile on Oliver’s face becomes a little more forced. The guy’s crush on his wife had been amusing at first, because who could blame him? She commands every room she walked into and it doesn’t matter who you were, she always shares the natural light she carries inside her without hesitation.

It’d been amusing, that is, up until Oliver noticed Chris starting to wear a light shade of stubble in the last few months.

Really?

It’s harmless, and Oliver knows it. He’ done his own “background” check on the guy, something that goes far beyond what Felicity does with all her employees. His wife had huffed in outrage and slapped his chest hard enough to leave a mark when she found out he’d tailed Chris for, oh, a week or so.

Still.

Patchy beard aside, the fact that Chris had obviously bought flowers because he knew Felicity was due back in town today was a bit much.

Before heading upstairs Oliver makes a point to approach the desk with a forcefully light, “Hi, Chris,” offering his hand. When the young man takes it, Oliver squeezes a tad too hard. His smile never falters even as Chris’ face does with a choked, “Mr. Queen.”

“Nice flowers,” Oliver quips, and when Chris flushes, Oliver almost feels bad.

Almost.

Maybe it’s that he’s had to share his wife with this company way more than he’d planned, or that she’s here at all on today of all days, or because he didn’t get nearly enough sleep. Oliver mulls it over as he makes his way up to his wife’s office, and he’s at the point of feeling a tad guilty…

But then he sees what she’s wearing.

Her shorts had not been that short when he saw her off from home.

Oliver pauses in the doorway of her office. She’s on speakerphone, painstakingly going through something or other about a thing that has something to do with… something. He’s not exactly sure because she’s braced on her elbows on the edge of her desk, her ass up in the air, hints of the round cheeks peeking out.

A low burn settles in the pit of his stomach at the sight.

To say the urgency between them was growing was an understatement. This morning had been about reacquainting himself with his wife after so many weeks apart, and when she’d woken him with her lips around his erection, well, that… That had just been amazing, beyond words, and the quick-burning passion had been fueled by exhaustion.

But now that they had gotten some sleep… that Felicity had had to come into the office on her day off - especially on this day - well…

The urge to walk up and push her forward so he had her bent over her desk was almost too hard to ignore.

Oliver clenches the paper bag in his hand instead, alerting her to his presence. She glances over her shoulder and her face instantly brightens with a smile, the stress from the call she’s on melting away for a split second. It’s that gorgeous grin that has his attention diverting, his own smile on his lips.

That he can bring her that quick second of relief means everything and he relaxes…

But then he remembers the flowers and that kid’s attempt at stubble.

Oliver’s closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye.

Felicity ends the call and turns to face him just as he reaches her. She lets out a startled, “Oh,” as he drops the bag of food on her desk and grabs her, his lips slanting over hers. There isn’t an ounce of hesitation in her as she responds, pushing up onto her toes to get closer. He growls low in his chest and dip down just enough to grip her ass tight. Felicity breaks away from him with a short cry as his fingers slip under the shorts, finding her bare ass. “Oliver…!”

“These are very short shorts,” he whispers, kissing her again, lifting her off her feet slightly.

She giggles, holding onto shoulders, kissing him back. “They aren’t that short.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Oliver replies, wiggling his fingers further up the material, making her laugh again before the material pulls tight enough to press against the sensitive flesh between her thighs. The moan she gives has him hardening instantly and he pushes his hands up even further, earning another breathy little sound. “I see your admirer brought flowers in today.”

It takes her a second to register the words - really, to register the meaning behind the words - but when she does, she smiles.

She smiles.

Oliver narrows his eyes, knowing he’s in trouble.

“Do you think he noticed how short my shorts were?” Felicity whispers.

Oh, Oliver’s positive he did notice, and that she’s even teasing him about it has possessiveness flaring in his chest.

“Felicity…” he replies, dragging her name out.

Mischief and lust fill her eyes as she licks her lips. “I did drop a few things when I first got here,” Felicity says, and Oliver narrows his eyes. “I had to bend over to pick them up and I’m sure he saw all sorts of…”

With a growl from deep in his chest, Oliver digs his fingers into her ass hard enough to make her yelp before he kisses her again. She grins against his lips, humming her approval when he backs them up until they run into her desk. All thoughts of food and taking their romantic time together - he even brought candles - evaporate as images of her bent over fill his head.

Not skipping a beat, Oliver pulls back just enough to spin her.

Felicity gasps, and he doesn’t give her time to react, flattening his hand against her spine and pushing down over the desk. Her hands smack the surface, pushing paper and files and pens out of the way.

“Oliver,” she whines.

He leans over her, nipping at her shoulder through her t-shirt before saying, “Shorts off.”

She doesn’t have to be told twice. Felicity instantly starts undoing them and Oliver damn near rips his own pants apart in his haste to them out of the way. She wiggles to get her jeans over her lush hips, and the movement sends pleasure sizzling over the surface of his skin. They’re a lingering result from her first pregnancy. The thought of seeing her fill out with with new life again has a primordial rush of arousal crashing into him.

God, he can’t wait.

Felicity’s shorts hit the ground and she’s got her fingers hooked in her polka dot green thong but he stops her with a ragged, “Leave those.”

She shudders, looking back at him over her shoulder. He meets her gaze as he pushes his pants and boxers out of the way. Their locked eyes never waver as his hardness springs free. Oliver brushes his hand over her backside, making her twitch before smoothing his hand up underneath her shirt. Goosebumps cover her skin as his fingers work up her spine until he runs into her bra.

Without words, he urges her to lean forward again and steps up behind her.

Felicity braces herself against her desk, pushing up onto her toes, her breaths already harsh and uneven. Keeping his hand on her back, Oliver pushes his other one between her ass cheeks, dragging his fingers down the line of her thong before slipping them down to where her juices have already soaked through the thin material. He groans, his other hand digging into her back, his cock swelling with desire. She's so damn wet, and it thrills him knowing part of that is because of him from their times this morning as much as it's from her need for him, a need that matches his own. They match each other in every single way, and he will forever marvel at how damned lucky he is that he found her. Really, that she found him. That they can share this, be so open and real and unhindered, trusting each other, loving each other. That's the real aphrodisiac right now, the reason why his hardness jerks with need, why he shudders and plasters himself to her back.

“God, Felicity,” he breathes, the words choked. He pulls her thong out of the way and grips his erection, guiding himself to her entrance.

She whimpers just before he thrusts into her.

“Ah!” Felicity gasps.

Her inner walls flutter around him in a tiny burst of pleasure, making him hiss. Holding onto her bra, Oliver’s other hand grabs her hip and he pulls out, thrusting back into her with enough force to make her lose her balance.

It's quick and hard and fucking amazing as he plows into her from behind. His flesh smacking hers fills the room, the hard thrusts radiating through both of them. Felicity falls forward onto her desk, her hands flying out to grip the edges of it for leverage, but he's too tall and she isn't wearing her usual stilettos, leaving her completely at his mercy.

That alone has both their arousal ratcheting up.

Oliver blankets her body with his and slips his hand around her and between her legs. His fingers find her clit and he wets them with her arousal before he starts rubbing the hardening little pearl. The sounds that erupt from her throat are heady and addicting and he wants more, more, more. He has far more control this time and he concentrates all his energy on pushing her as high as he possibly can…

Until her phone rings.

They both freeze. Neither of them move for a few seconds, their ragged breathing the only sound before the phone rings again.

“Frak,” Felicity moans, moving underneath him and it's enough to remind both of them of the very precarious position they're in. She groans a few curse words under her breath that have him both chuckling and hardening even more as she props herself up onto her elbows. “I told Alisa to call me back.”

“Is it important?” Oliver asks, his voice low. Arrow low. She moans, her silken walls spasming around him, pulling him in deeper. He leans forward, pushing her into the desk, and she whines his name over the sound of the ringing phone as he finds her ear. “I just need a few more minutes to make you come so hard you'll be seeing stars, Felicity.” Her response is a mess of indecipherable noises. “Tell her five minutes,” he continues, nipping at her ear. “Five minutes and I'll let you finish up here so I can take you home and make love to you until you can't walk.”

“Oh my…” Felicity shudders, another string of curse words slipping out, ending it with a desperately breathy, “Oliver.”

The phone rings a fourth time and she grabs it.

“Hi, Alisa,” she says, her voice surprisingly clear, something he takes as a little challenge. “Hi, yeah, I need a few more minutes.” Oliver pulls out of her and the rest of her words break off. When he thrusts back in, she has to bite her lip to keep quiet. “Oh!... No, I'm fine, I, uh… I… I stubbed my toe.”

Oliver buries his face into the back of her shoulder to hide his laugh.

She quickly ends the call and snaps, “You jerk.” But he can hear the grin on her lips. That doesn't stop her from reaching around to slap his arm and back, wherever she can reach. “Well now I'm going to time you, see if five minutes is really…”

He cuts her off with a thrust that rattles her entire desk.

Oliver stays true to his word. He attacks her, pinning her to the desk and thrusts into her hard, his fingers finding her clit again. He has her right back on the edge, and he pushes her even higher. He digs his face into her back, his lips soothing where his stubble scrapes…

And then he bites her shoulder.

Felicity jerks up with a wild, “Oh god, oh god!” her hips bucking without rhythm before exploding around him. She comes with a cry that he's positive can be heard throughout the entire floor and he's quick to follow, holding onto her so hard he’ll leave bruises, his back bowing as he buries himself as deep as he can inside her.

They fall forward together in a panting mess. Felicity murmurs under her breath, whimpering with every after-ripple of her orgasm, scratching at her desk. They stay there, Oliver digging his face into her back, Felicity slowly collapsing under his weight. He’s not sure how much time has passed, but he’s sure it’s more than five minutes.

“I think you need to make a call,” he whispers. She whines in response, the sound becoming a guttural moan when he slips out of her. He rubs her back, dropping a kiss on her shoulder and spine before standing up. She doesn’t move and he chuckles tiredly as he tucks himself back into his boxers, tugging his pants up his hips. He straightens her thong, replacing it where it belongs. She shudders, prompting him to tug on it so it’s firmly in place. He plucks at it, making it snap against her skin. He grins at her barely audible outrage and leans over her with a, “Don’t take these off.”

Felicity moans at the command. She chuckles, shaking her head as she finally pushes herself up. Oliver leans down and helps her with her shorts before she turns around. She gives him a lazy smile as she re-buttons, her lids heavy with residual pleasure. Her hips shift, and he knows there’s ample wetness between her thighs. Pride swells in him and he grabs her, leaning in for a kiss. She instantly deepens it and he groans, leaning into her, the kiss turning sloppy before breaking away.

“Mm,” Felicity whispers. “I love jealous you.”

Oliver grins. “I know.”

With a sigh, Felicity finally pushes him back so she can stand. She pulls her hair out and puts her ponytail back in place. She starts dialing the long number for Russia as Oliver grabs the paper bag. “Eat while you talk?”

“Yep.” Felicity nods. When he moves to step around her desk she grabs a belt loop on his jeans and tugs him back for one last messy kiss. “And then we’re going home,” she says, insinuation dripping from the word.

“God yes,” he sighs, kissing her again just as the call connects.

They eat as Felicity works.

When she’s determined she’s done for the day, they celebrate with Oliver planting her on the edge of her desk and burying his fingers inside her. He wrangles one more orgasm out of her before they head downstairs.

They’re about to turn the corner out of the elevator bank when Oliver slides his hand further down Felicity’s waist - this time she does roll her eyes at the obvious possessive display, but she doesn’t move it…

Except they don’t make it.

Felicity’s phone erupts with notifications and about four seconds later Oliver’s phone is ringing with a call from Diggle.

A sensor had been tripped at one of the warehouses they’d been monitoring for a potential landing spot of the gang Oliver had been watching. Digg had ready access to the bunker’s feed and sent Oliver a video from the sensor, showing men carrying crates into a warehouse.

“You want us to meet you at the bunker or…” Diggle asks.

“No,” Oliver immediately replies, and Felicity furrows her brow in question. “It's not all of them,” he explains, indicating the video. “I don't want to spook them with a full on raid. I'd rather use this to track the crates.”

“You sure?” Diggle asks.

“Yeah,” Oliver confirms. “Besides, you already have the girls. I'd rather you stay with them.”

“Alright, man,” Digg says. “Call if you need us.”

“Will do.”

“No rest for the weary, huh?” Felicity says.

Oliver sighs and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. “This'll be quick,” he promises.

It's not.

By the time they get to the bunker and he gets changed and Felicity gets behind her desk it's already almost four in the afternoon. She loads him up with tracker devices and he heads out only to be stuck waiting in the shadows as gang members filter in and out.

“They can't possibly need that many people to babysit guns, right?” Felicity asks. Oliver grunts by way of reply, having moved close enough that anything above a whisper might give away his hiding spot. Felicity continues on. “I could maybe sound a false alarm and draw them away. Although what false alarm is the question…”

“No,” Oliver whispers. “I don't want anything to tip them off.”

“Yeah, well, I want you to tip me off, if you catch my drift,” she replies. His lips twitch. “And I want to tip you off. That isn't as sexy as it probably could sound, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.”

Oliver's smile grows, his eyes never leaving the moving bodies before him. He's positive they're about to leave, but they keep coming back into the damned warehouse. She has no idea how many other things he'd rather be doing to her right now. He wants to tell her every single one of them, in explicit detail, but that's all they need: getting caught whispering about exactly how he wants to fuck her against a wall isn't something the Arrow needs right now.

No, they need a win, so…

Quiet.

Felicity isn't hindered by any such restriction.

“I guess I could…” she begins and her husky tone has him freezing for an entirely different reason. He chokes on his next breath when she whispers, “Do you know how wet I still am, Oliver?”

He listens to the rustle of her clothes as she readjusts and be can only imagine what she's doing, how she's moving, if she's spreading her legs or if she's feeling how wet…

“It's a little bit of me,” she continues, and his eyes slip shut, the front of his leathers growing tight. “And a little bit of you. Remember when you had your fingers inside me earlier? Remember how wet I was?”

“Felicity,” he growls and the instant he realizes what he just said he clamps his mouth shut, gritting his teeth.

“Shh,” she whispers, the soft squeak of her chair leaning back sounding.

He swallows hard, readjusting where he's perched, his hand grasping his growing bulge. It's the wrong damn thing to do because his mind fills in the blanks and suddenly it's her hand touching him and he nearly bites through his tongue in his effort to stay quiet.

“I'm touching myself,” Felicity says, her voice light and breathy. “Just like you did. Touching my clit and…” She cuts off, her breath catching. “Oh god, I'm so sensitive… ooh, god. You put your fingers inside me, and you… you… you curled them. I love when you do that, Oliver, especially when you pull my bra off…”

She pauses and he knows she pulling her t-shirt and the cup of one breast down, exposing it. The visual of her pinching her nipple hits him hard and he cups himself. He’s not thinking, not at all, and even though he's in a potentially highly dangerous situation, that doesn't stop him from closing his eyes and rubbing himself lightly, imagining her delicate little palm doing it for him.

This is dumb, so dumb, but he doesn't stop. The urgency he feels to find her and bury himself as deep as he can inside her is almost punishing.

More, more, more.

“I love when your mouth is on my breast, when you do that thing with your tongue…”

Push her hard nipple against the roof of his mouth, rubbing it back and forth until she’s weeping with pleasure.

“Oliver…”

Felicity whimpers and he barely cuts himself off before groaning out loud. His eyes snap open, analyzing the situation before him. Nothing’s changed, nothing except the whispered gasps of pleasure coming from his wife over the comm.

“Shit,” he breathes, closing his eyes again.

“What?” Felicity asks, her voice still uneven but suddenly so much clearer. He hears her sitting up with an alertness that is somehow sexier than anything else as she rolls back to her desk. “Oliver?”

“You,” he replies, the whisper choked for air. “I want to pick you up and push you up against…”

A ringing cellphone cuts him off.

He freezes, all his attention snapping back to the world around him. Felicity hears it, too, and she stops everything, waiting to see if that’s a sign that this can finally be over… or if someone had heard her husband whispering naughty things over his comm and that ringing is reinforcements calling to say they’re on their way.

Thankfully, it’s the latter.

“We’re out,” a voice snaps, the sound echoing through the warehouse.

“Oh thank god,” Felicity breathes over the line.

Oliver slowly stands, silently cursing at how unwieldy the bulge in his pants is - goddamn leather pants. He watches the gang members leave, sliding the large door shut behind them, casting the room in darkness.

“Alright,” his wife says, all business. “Here’s how you…”

It’s such a stark contrast to her breathy moans that it leaves him stunned for a moment, and a little bit annoyed because he was the one whose life was on the line, shouldn’t he at least be the one who can go about his business without missing a beat? Instead he hobbles out from his hiding spot as Felicity starts rattling through the places she wants him to place the trackers so they aren’t detected.

“I’ve got it,” Oliver interrupts with a little too much force, whipping the trinkets out of his pocket.

Felicity pauses on the other end of the line, and he can practically hear her raising her eyebrow. “A little hot and bothered, hon?”

Her amusement does nothing to make his job easier and he narrows his eyes as he whips through the task at hand. He doesn’t respond as he goes through the crates - there’s at least twenty five, which has his insides twisting because he’s positive this is just one location of at least a dozen if the size of the operation he saw was any indication.

It takes a while, but he finally finishes.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity says, her voice softer. “I was just teasing.”

“I’m on my way back,” Oliver replies gruffly. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

“Okay.”

Her hesitation is obvious and he almost puts her at ease… but then he decides not to. He has something else in mind. The ride back to the bunker takes forever, both of them silent as he races through the streets. He finally pulls into the garage and kills the engine, hopping off.

She’s waiting for him when he walks into the main room.

Felicity turns in her chair, biting her lip. She laces her fingers together as she watches him approach. He drops his bow on a table he passes, dropping his gloves on another one. He leaves everything else on save for his hood and mask which he slips down so it’s hanging around his neck as he closes the distance between them. He must not be wearing the look she was expecting because her lips part in surprise at the intensity in his eyes and she moves to stand, but he’s already reached her.

Oliver pushes his hand into her hair and pulls her up out of her chair, his other hand cupping her jaw, angling her head as his lips cover the shocked gasp she gives him.

The instant they touch, any and all control they might have had disappears.

Felicity grabs his suit, moaning against his lips as he damn near devours her. He pulls her closer, a tight fist in her hair, his other arm dropping to wrap around her waist. He kisses her with a ferocity that leaves both of them breathless, one that leaves her whimpering under the onslaught.

He spins them around, walking her backwards until he finds a pillar.

There’s not time for words or pauses, no time for careful removal of clothes or gentleness. Raw animal instinct drives both of them. Felicity almost breaks the zipper on his jacket to get underneath it as Oliver does rip off the button of her shorts, shoving them down her hips. They slip down her legs, pooling at her feet, her wet thong right behind it. Felicity’s fingers work at the buttons of his pants, but she’s not going nearly fast enough. Stepping back, he quickly undoes them and pushes them down.

She’s absolutely stunning where she stands panting against the concrete pillar. Her hair’s a wild mess from his hands, her lips painfully swollen and red, her cheeks flush with color and her eyes wide and bright. She’s a damned siren, calling to him. She always calls to him, but today…

Today’s different, but not in the way he thought it would be. He thought they’d be careful and easy, take their time, make sure things were done right to ensure the conception of their daughter, but that wasn’t the case at all. And it shouldn’t be, because that’s not them. They are ruled by their emotions in the best and worst ways, in a way that strips them of any control, that forces them to respond to their baser needs. It’s a fundamental need he feels to fill her with his seed, to share their essence, to create life, and as much as he needs his wife, this… this is different.

It’s amplified to the point of pain and if he doesn’t get inside her right now he’s going to scream.

Oliver’s on her in the blink of an eye. He grabs her ass and shoves her up the pillar, making her yelp in surprised pleasure. Her legs immediately wind around him, tightening them hard enough to make him gasp as she yanks him against her body. With nothing between them his erection slides through her wetness.

Without preamble, he pulls back and thrusts home.

It’s pure passion. He fills her over and over, his forehead digging into hers, their breaths mingling between broken, wet kisses. It’s hot and hard, and he holds onto her and the pillar for leverage, pinning her to it, plundering her mouth with his tongue as much as she does him. She winds her fingers through his hair, pulling on the strands, dragging her nails against his scalp before grabbing his neck and shoulders, digging in, holding on, which is all she can do as he takes her.

Pleasure burns, sweeping them both away, pulling them under and forcing them up at the same time. Their combined cries fill the bunker, growing louder and louder. Felicity starts to quake around him, her legs tightening, her hips stilling, her mouth falling open in a soundless cry…

When she comes it’s with a shout of his name that sends his own pleasure right over the edge.

Her head falls back against the concrete as he thrusts into her, harder and harder, his pelvis slamming into hers, his groans muffled where he buries his face against her throat. Her skin is hot and salty and he opens his mouth to taste her, to feel her racing pulse, to mark her…

Oliver comes, and this time he absolutely falls to pieces with her.

His shaking legs give out a moment later. He grabs her, spinning, taking both of the down to the floor in a mess of limbs that is the opposite of graceful, something his wife comments on with a wry chuckle. He grins, but he’s too out of breath to respond, to do anything really but just sit there with her cradled in his lap, his cock slowly softening inside her, their combined juices making a mess that he doesn’t mind in the least.

The still-healing wound in his back starts to ache a bit, and the exertion he used catches up with him, leaving him damn near wilted in her arms.

She isn’t much better, dozing against his shoulder, her heartbeat slowing, her breaths evening out.

Felicity finally sits up, moving almost in slow motion. She cups his face, scratching at his long stubble before kissing him.

“Today…” she whispers between kisses. “Was perfect.”

Oliver nods, cradling her against his chest. “It was,” he agrees. “It really was.”

It takes them a long while to finally get off the floor and clean up. They take a quick shower together, neither of them having the energy to do much besides help each other clean and steal a few kisses and touches before getting out and heading to pick up their daughter.

The rest of the day is perfectly uneventful, at least by Arrow standards.

By Oliver Queen’s standards?

Well… it’s the most perfect way to end the day, cooking his girls dinner, giving Jules a bath before a bedtime story - Oliver and Felicity alternate voices, much to Jules’ delight - and then dozing on his wife’s shoulder, falling asleep to her fingers brushing through his hair as she whispers her plans for Ellie’s room.

It’s perfect.

And he knows it’s only going to get better.

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse!

#olicity #olicity fic #olicitysquee #olicity fanfiction #ficon #forever is composed of nows #oliver queen #felicity smoak #jules queen #my fics #my fics: cowritten #fanfiction #arrow #dust2dust34 #so-caffeinated #pieces of always

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queenofcats17 · 8 years ago

Text

Aftermath

So, this week’s episode wrecked me. Now, I basically want to wreck some feelings.

Taako:

He wakes up and there’s this awful emptiness in his chest. Something’s missing, but he doesn’t know what it is and it’s killing him. He looks around, unsure why he expects someone else to be there with him. He’s sitting in a stagecoach, decorated to resemble a kitchen. He knows he’s never been here before. Is this supposed to be his home? He leaves the coach and finds Sizzle It Up With Taako painted on the side. He’s Taako, he knows that much. But what is he doing here? The last thing he remembers....He shakes his head, finding only static instead of anything useful. He pulls on the brim of his hat irritably. This is getting him nowhere.

“Excuse me?” He turns to see a man approaching. Tall and broad, he appears to be half-orc. Despite his size, the man is timid, almost drawing in on himself as he moves closer to Taako.

“Yeah?”

“Are you Taako?”

“What’s it to ya, my man?”

“My name’s Sazed.” The man sticks his hand out. “I was told you were offering a job.” Taako shrugs slightly. If this stagecoach truly is his, then he must have some sort of cooking show. Oh well, he could use a driver.

Those days he spends doing Sizzle It Up are some of the best days of his life. He loves hearing the crowds cheer for him. He loves being loved. But no matter how much fame he achieves, no matter how many fans he has, that feeling of emptiness never goes away. He constantly wakes up expecting to find someone other than Sazed laying beside him. When he cooks, he feels as though there should be someone beside him, cooking with him. He tried letting Sazed cook with him, but it’s not the same. It makes the feeling even worse, so he never lets Sazed do it again. This leads to Glamour Springs, although Taako doesn’t know at the time that it was Sazed who killed those people. When he runs, the deaths weigh heavy on his mind, joining the aching in his chest. Then he meets Magnus and Merle, and it’s like coming home. The ache in his chest lessens around them. Even though he won’t ever admit it, they mean more to him than he could ever say. He’s scared of losing them once he has them. He doesn’t want to go back to the way he felt before. When he sees the umbrella in the cave, held in the grasp of the skeletal figure in the crimson robe, he feels something different. He doesn’t know why, but when he sees the robe and the umbrella he feels....Well, it’s not quite sad, but not quite happy either. Having the umbrella with him makes him feel safe in a way he can’t explain. But seeing that figure....He feels more upset than he ever has before. So he puts it out of his mind, focusing only on his work and his friends. He meets Angus, Carey, Killian, Avi, Johan, Kravitz, Ren. He and his friends save the world time and time again. He lets himself be...happy. And then the Hunger finds them and he remembers again. He remembers all that he lost. He remembers Lup. Now he knows why seeing that skeleton made him so upset. That was his sister. His first response is to be angry, furious even, at Lucretia. She’d taken everything from him! But he doesn’t have time to dwell on what she’d done. Not now. The Hunger is upon them.

Magnus:

Magnus wakes up in a house he doesn’t recognize, with nothing but the clothes on his back and some sparse furniture. Something is wrong, he knows that, but he doesn’t know what it is. Without thinking, he gets up and goes to a workbench. He takes down a block of wood and a knife, his hands going to work without the need to think about it. Before he knows it, a shape has begun to emerge. He smiles softly. It’s a duck. He knows it means something to him, but when he tries to remember what it is, there’s only static. This frustrates him even more. He knows something happened before he woke up in this house. He knows someone he cares about did something that made him very upset. He still has that lingering feeling of disappointment and betrayal. But all he can remember static. He carves duck after duck until he finds himself calm again. The ducks make him feel better, even if he doesn’t know why. People start coming by a few hours later. A lot of them like his ducks, so he sells them. Soon enough he has orders coming in for things that aren’t ducks. He doesn’t know if he can do it in the beginning. He’s not sure he knows how to make anything other than ducks. But he manages. He likes woodcarving. It calms him down.

Eventually he gets invited to Hammer&Tongs, and that’s where he meets Julia. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and when he enters the shop she’s hefting a block of wood onto her shoulder to put on the worktable. The block is almost as big as her, but she lifts it easily. Magnus falls in love in that second. As he gets to know her, he falls even more in love. She’s a no nonsense kind of woman with a sharp tongue who knows how to run a business. And she’s planning a rebellion. When Magnus arrives in Raven’s Roost, Julia and her father are planning a rebellion against a man called Governor Kalen. Magnus finds himself swept up in the revolt, standing at Julia’s side. The two of them plan attacks, coordinate fighters, and in the end drive Kalen out of Raven’s Roost for good. They know he’ll be back, but driving him out is a victory for all of them. They rejoice with marriage. It’s one of the happiest days in Magnus’ life that he can remember. Julia picks him up and carries him down the aisle after they say their vows. Everyone in the town comes to their wedding, wanting to celebrate their heroes. Then he leaves for the showcase, and that’s the last time he ever sees her. He remembers the last words he said to her.

“I love you Jules.” He never forgets those words. It takes a long time for him to move on again, but he does. He devotes himself to helping people. He meets Taako, Merle, joins the Bureau. He kept his hope all this time, and being with them makes him feel as though his hope was justified. He can do even more good with the Bureau. But Refuge shakes his faith. He’s one of the red robes the Director warned them against. He gave the citizens the Temporal Chalice. His hope withers and dies, especially in Wonderland. He loses his youth, his body, his memory of the man who took his wife from him. But he remembers the red robed lich. He’s beginning to remember. Lucretia has been lying to them. Like Barry, Magnus is angry. As he splits the voidfish’s glass case and reclaims his body, he is angry. He drinks the ichor and remembers, and he is furious. The Hunger has arrived and he couldn’t stop it.

Merle:

Merle is happy for a long time. He meets Hecuba Roughridge and the two of them start a family. However, he quickly realizes that he and Hecuba aren’t right for each other. So...He walks away. He still pays child support payment, still visits his kids, but he doesn’t see Hecuba. He wanders a lot until he meets up with Taako and Magnus. He finds himself reminded of his kids when he’s with them, and he likes that. They’re nice kids. He enjoys being around them. The Bureau is something knew, but he takes it all in stride. He enjoys the company of Lucretia as well. She’s easy to talk to, very calm. She makes this ginko tea that helps with his memory when he’s had a bad day. There’s something familiar and calming about sitting with her and drinking tea. Then comes Wonderland. Wonderland is...Something different. It’s a test of his will. He’ll sacrifice his stamina, his eyes, but never his memories. He doesn’t know why, but the thought of losing his memories terrifies him. It’s only after Wonderland though that he starts to remember. They meet the lich and learn of the true nature of Barry Bluejeans. He learns Lucretia lied to them. She stole their memories. He remembers. Remembering hurts, because he realizes what Lucretia did to all of them, and he wishes he could have stopped it somehow. She shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. She shouldn’t have tried to go it alone. But now he stands in the main hall, watching as the Hunger approaches. It’s time to have another talk with John.

Davenport:

He doesn’t remember who he is or where he came from. All he has is his name, and Lucretia. He can remember things he’s already learned, but his past eludes him. He tries not to let it bother him. After all, thinking about it too much just causes his brain to be overcome with static. It’s more trouble than it’s worth to dwell on the subject. He works diligently under Lucretia. He watches Reclaimers come and go, watches person after person pass through the doors of the Bureau. He listens to Johan play his harp. Then comes Wonderland, and everything changes. The Tres Horny Boys come back sans Magnus. Then Taako and Merle break into Lucretia’s office along with a man Davenport swears he knows. They give him something that looks like the ichor of the voidfish and suddenly, he remembers. The first thing he feels is disappointed. Why would Lucretia do this to them? Why would she try to do this all by herself? There’s no time for contemplation though. The Hunger is here.

Barry:

His body falls to the Earth and he floats out of it, surveying where he’s landed. He knows he has to find Lup, has to find some way to counteract whatever it is that Lucretia has done. He spends a long time looking for Lup, but no matter he goes, he can’t find her. He knows he can’t let that happen though. If he gives up, then he may never find her again. So he doesn’t give himself time to give up. He throws himself into finding a way to counteract Lucretia She’s put up a barrier to keep him out. It hurts, knowing she wants to keep him out so much. He remembers the days the two of them would hide away, their little human support group for everyone who wasn’t Magnus. He remembers both of them answering question after question from the nonhumans about whether things that Magnus did were Magnus things or human things. He had clung to that sense of camaraderie during their time on the ship. He watches the people who were once his friends as they go about their new lives, unaware of his presence. He watches them be taken to the Bureau, watches Lucretia draw them back into her fold. He knows she’s turning them against him. But still...he holds out hope that they’ll still listen. He sees the umbrella and knows Lup is with them. In Refuge, they tell him they don’t trust him. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Taako doesn’t trust easily. Merle is old and tired. Magnus has forgotten the bond they had. It still hurts, seeing the looks in their eyes and knowing they don’t trust him. Wonderland comes and they finally begin to trust him. He looks out for them, opens their eyes to the truth. He gets his body back, drinks the ichor, and remembers. He’s angry, as he has been for a long time now. He wants to hate Lucretia, but no matter what he can’t hate her. So he holds on to his anger, even as the Hunger descends around them.

Lup:

She’s in Wave Echo Cave when she feels Lucretia’s plan begin to take hold. She knows exactly what Lucretia was doing the moment she felt the touch of the voidfish. And the worst part? She understands. She understands why Lucretia would try to shut them out like this. But Lup can’t forget. Not now. She has mere minutes in which to preserve her memory. So she settles down in a corner of the cave, and goes into her umbrella. Immediately she feels the faint tingling subside. Her memories are safe now, but she’s trapped. She’s alone in this cave, with energy to feed off of. She stays in the umbrella for years, growing weaker and weaker with each passing day. She sustains herself with her love for Taako, for Barry, for everyone else she’s spent the past century with. The days begin to blur together. She misses her brother, she misses her lover, she misses her friends. Sometimes she thinks she can hear their voices, and that makes it hurt even more. Then, one day, she does hear their voices. They’re faint at first, but they’re there. She can feel the sound vibrating off the cave walls, and her heart soars. She’s finally going to be back with them! Then it drops again when she remembers. They won’t remember her. Even Taako, her brother, the one person she’d been able to count on her whole life. Even he wouldn’t remember her. Seeing Taako’s face almost brings her to tears. He looks older, but his ridiculous fashion sense is the same. Merle tries to pick her up first, but she isn’t have any of that. Only Taako is allowed to take her. Just being near him makes her feel like everything is going to be alright. She wishes she could warn them about the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet. In the end what happens in Phandolin is the same thing she’s seen so many times before. All that’s left is that same black glass circle. She withdraws into the umbrella until they reach the base of the Bureau of Balance. It breaks her heart when she sees Lucretia and Davenport. Lucretia looks so old, so tired. And Davenport...Seeing her old captain reduced to a shell of his former self, unable to say anything but his name. She can’t look. She wonders briefly where Barry is. He can’t have gone along with Lucretia’s plan. He must have gone to lich form. But she doesn’t know where he is. So she waits and bides her time. She likes Angus a lot. He seems like a sweet kid, and she knows Taako likes him. When they meet Barry, she begs for her brother and her friends to trust him. But they don’t. Why would they? They don’t remember anything. She’s not too terribly fond of Kravitz in the beginning. He hunts liches and he tried to kill Taako. But then again, he’s a gigantic dork, so she supposes he’s someone she doesn’t have to worry about. The days begin to blur together again, but in a good way this time. She’s content being by her brother’s side for the moment. As long as she has him....As long as she has him, she’ll be okay. Then Wonderland comes, and know sees Magnus begin to remember. Barry forces them to listen to him. She starts to get her hopes up. They go back to the base and they remember. Taako remembers. But when their memories come back, so too does the Hunger.

Lucretia:

She tries to convince herself this whole time that she’s doing the right thing. That everyone is safer where they are. Wherever they are. But it’s so so hard to do it all alone. She finds herself longing for the days on the ship. She misses the companionship she had with the other members of IPRE. She can’t keep going by herself, so she creates the Bureau. She sees people come and go faster than she can keep track of. Davenport stays with her through everything, but it’s just not the same. It hurts to be around him, seeing him like that. She had to do this, she reminds herself. It’s necessary. She directs her employees, calm and in control. It feels so strange to be in charge after following Davenport’s orders for 100 years. But she can handle it. She can always handle it. When she sees Magnus, Merle, and Taako again, it’s almost like breathing a sigh of relief. Having them back is a weight off her shoulders. She can make sure they’re okay now. But there’s also the possibility that they’ll do some digging and discover the truth. And they do discover the truth. She should have known they would figure it out. This was her family, after all. They would never stop until they had the truth. She’s briefly destroyed when she hears of Magnus’ death, but seeing him burst through those doors eases her pain. She can see the anger in his eyes, though. The same anger she sees in Barry and Taako’s eyes. Merle just looks tired, which makes the whole thing worse. They all hate her for what she’s done. And now the Hunger has found them. It was all for nothing.

#the adventure zone #the stolen century #taz spoilers #fanfiction

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