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imagine-always-and-forever · 4 years ago

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Flutterings & Tequila - Part 13

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: you’ve decided to go clubbing with your best friend the last summer before college starts to take your mind off of the Mikaelsons who have invaded your life this summer. Specifically, you’re trying to distract yourself from Niklaus Mikaelson and the flutterings he has caused you. Tequila is your friend tonight.

Part Summary: Clue hunting.

Warnings: typical stuff you’d see in the show

Word count: 3,115

Tags: elle88531, violentmommabear42, pisicakawritesshitatfour, a-quarter-horse-called-biscuit, hoeofnjadaka, thegingerthatwaited, despressolattes, aomi-nabi, pie46733, (let me know if you want to be tagged or I missed you out on the tag list!)

Authors note: so I’ve been saying I’d get back to this for ages. I know. But truthfully I hit such a brick wall that writer’s block as a concept had to add another tier to it’s existence just for me. Thankfully, for no clear reason whatsoever, it poofed away as some strong desire to write this again came to me after work. So... tada? Also I am sorry but so so many of you asked to be tagged (I’m very flattered!!!) that I think I’m missing a bunch of people. If I missed you send me a message and I’ll add you to the list. Enjoy 😊

You’re trembling slightly as you walk down your stairs, breath coming out shakily as you try to calm yourself down. You had 24 hours to find out at least something about what the Mikaelsons were doing here. 24 hours and no clue where to start.

Through the back window you could see Klaus and Elijah making their way out of the guest house. Their expressions were drawn and Klaus had a small black bag clutched in his hand. Your eyes darted to the door to the house. Were you that stupid?

The fact that your feet were already moving you forward gave you a clear yes, but at least you could report back to Josie that you did, despite her belief, have some sort of self-preservation. It was just a really fucked up kind.

The door to the guest house opened with ease. Of course the Mikaelsons didn’t think to lock it. What was the point? Who would try to get in to their home without their permission and who would live to tell the tale?

Well, hopefully you.

The painting supplies were still right where you left them. Your eyes swept across the room in front of you, cataloging what you saw. You’d helped Josie redecorate last summer, but it looked like the Mikaelsons took it upon themselves to do some of their own renovations. It was a little bit embarrassing how little of the place you’d payed attention to when you were here with Klaus.

They’d rearranged half the furniture for gods sake and you hadn’t noticed at all. With a frown on your face, you examined the new layout of the room. You wondered what prompted the rearrangement. The couches being moved about made sense to give Klaus extra space for his easels. But what was the purpose of switching the office area with the dining room?

The office, which you were truthfully rather proud of last summer, looked like Elijah’s doing. Two bookcases now sandwiched in the desk against what was supposed to be the accent wall of the room. Not a single bit of the pop of color on the wall was visible now. The imposing set up didn’t even look touched. You could feel your eyebrows tense as they tried to furrow further with your deepened confusion. Dust collected across the books on their shelves. You swiped a finger through it. Coated.

It surprised you that Elijah wasn’t as much of a neat freak about his environment as he was abou his appearance. Though, you suspected if he was he’d have spent most of his millennia+ on earth cleaning up after his siblings. You snorted to yourself. Didn’t he already do that?

A blank space on one of the shelves drew your eye. Amongst a sea of books and paperweights, a patch of dustless real estate on an otherwise packed bookcase stared back at you. If those Nancy Drew books you read as a child had taught you anything, that prominent rectangle of empty space meant that something had been moved. And recently.

That, you smiled to yourself, was a lead.

A scan of the desk and the rest of the shelves confirmed that whatever it was hadn’t simply been reorganized. You pulled open the drawers of the heavy oak desk. Pens, paperclips, highlighters, sticky notes, stapler, hole punch, scissors, and more pens. No. Notebooks, empty folders, the coffee maker’s instructional guide. No. Empty space with a single pen cap rolling around. No.

A dead end.

You got down on your knees. The floor was clean. Under the couches, too. The ottoman with the lift up storage option, empty. The side tables small draw with it’s tendency to stick (a single missing screw from Ikea can really screw your building abilities), empty. You moved to the TV console, frustration building.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

You checked the shelves. You were too short to reach the top ones but the Mikaelsons weren’t. You grabbed a chair and stepped up. It was in vain. Careful to put it back as you’d found it, you moved the chair in defeat. You checked the kitchen. Drawers and cupboard were empty. The fruit salad in the fridge seemed to judge you and you sighed. You didn’t expect it to be in the fridge but it was almost eight at night and you’d torn the downstairs of this house a part.

The Mikaelsons could be back any minute and you’d found nothing. What if there was nothing? Had you wasted hours of your short time frame on trying to find something that didn’t exist?

It dawned on you that Klaus’s little black bag just might have –

A groan escaped your lips. What a colossal waste of time. Time that to you did not have to waste. You closed the fridge, head coming down to lean on the cool stainless steel door in defeat. Maybe there was a clue you could find back in the main house. Josie’s room might have something that you could give Jess.

With a deep breath, you straightened up. No point in giving up until Jess’s voice was ordering you to kill yourself. Josie would expect nothing less from you, and in truth, so do you.

As you walked through the house to the door you passed by one of the many shelves you checked and just like in one of those long rumored witch’s intuition stories, something pulled your eye to it once again. Something pulled your eye directly to an unassuming wooden framed photo that you didn’t register as new. So, something you’d had to have seen a million times by now, surely. But why then did it feel so very important to look at it?

You walked over, cautious of this intense urge in your blood. It was often hard to tell with magical urges if something was for good intent or bad.

The photo was in black and white. A little girl sat on a dock, one tooth missing right in the front. A man in an ornate three piece suit that had to predate the Georgian era stood by her, looking out of place but pleased with himself. Beside him was a boy that looked around your age. He was scowling in the photo. In his had he held something tightly, as if he would die if it were ever lost to him. Your eyes scanned the photo back and forth, that feeling still present. What was it? What were you supposed to see?

The background of the photo was just water. A lake most likely. There were no lakes here. Where were they? Who were they? You leaned in to get a closer look. The photo quality was bad and it wasn’t until you looked hard that you realized it wasn’t a photo at all. A painting. A small, incredibly detailed painting.

Klaus?

But no. How? You knew this painting wasn’t unfamiliar to you. You also knew that some how you had never noticed it. How could you go so long seeing something so often, convinced it was just a photo of something unimportant?

Almost like magic. Why would anybody spell this little painting with an unnotable spell? More specifically, why did Josie (because it had to be her) cast this spell when you were the only other person than her to see it? You didn’t have guests usually. It was why you had been so surprised when she had announced the renovation of the guest house last summer.

The moment the skin on your fingers touched the painting’s surface, a vision clear as an actual photo slammed into your mind’s eye. Blinded by the image, nothing existed but it and you were enraptured what you saw.

It was the exact image that had been painted, but the details were sharp. You could see the threads of the man’s suit. The pours of the little girl. The splintered wood of the old dock. Everything of the moment preserved perfectly in a snapshot.

There was no sound. You felt nothing from the scene. This was not a vision of the past that let you experience the moment with those in it. You could see the wind sweeping through the girl’s locks but you couldn’t feel a thing. This was the scene of the painter through the painter’s very eyes.

But who’s eyes? And who were these people?

You looked focused on their faces. The little girl’s slightly downturned nose and her rounded jaw clicked in your mind as your eyes rested on her’s. Josie. A young Josie. This made sense. This was a memory Josie had that she wanted to keep private. But why? And why keep the painting if she wanted it secret? The man beside her was probably her father, right?

As your eyes shifted to his features and they sharpened into view for you, Josie’s body blurred away. No, you realized. That was not Josie’s father. Though you had never met the man or seen his photo before, you knew this was not him. Because this was Elijah Mikaelson.

At least it made sense now how they knew Josie. Old friends indeed. But what on earth was Elijah doing standing on a dock on some lake with a Josie when she was a child and a boy? As your eyes darted to the boy, the change of the image didn’t surprise you. Josie and Elijah blurred and he came into focus.

Despite not having known him for as long or studying his face too much, it was clear by his eyes that you were staring at a teenage Jess.

You gasped and were ripped from the image.

Around you, the guest house came back into view. In your hands, clutched tightly, was the photo. Your heart rate was up and you didn’t know when you had started to breath so quickly or so hard. You blinked your dry eyes. Josie, Jess, and Elijah?

The sound of wheels pulling up on the gravel drive had your head shooting up. They were back. You didn’t have time to get to the house and though beautiful, Josie’s flower filled garden didn’t actually give you much cover to hide. Without a second thought, you dashed up the stairs.

The bathroom door was open and from downstairs, it was easy to see. Too obvious someone was here. The bedroom beside it was locked and you didn’t have time to find the spare key somewhere on top of the door. The closet next to it was too small with the vacuum in it. It wouldn’t do. You spun around, unsure how close the Mikaelsons were and if they were listening.

The other bedrooms had their doors open. Shit. Too suspicious. One door, directly across from the stairs remained. Could you even make it before they opened the door?

You didn’t have a choice. The handle to the room jiggled and the door clicked open. You slipped inside and went to close it as gently as possible when the front door opened. You froze. The door was still a jar. They’d notice if for sure.

“Well that was fun,” Kol sighed and you heard him flop onto the couch.

“It wasn’t supposed to be fun,” Rebekah huffed and her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way through the house.

“Drink?” Elijah asked nobody in particular.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah said with a short tone and you almost squeaked in fear as you realized she was starting up the stairs.

“Don’t be so dramatic, sister!” Kol called after her.

“You’re a reckless idiot without a scrap of self-control,” she seethed back.

“It’s not like he actually liked you,” Kol scoffed.

Something expensive sounding shattered followed by Kol’s laugh.

“May I remind you that this is not our home?” Elijah’s calm voice of reason came.

You waited with baited breath for something to happen next. If Kol could get one more quip in to make Rebekah break something else you could use the distraction to close the door properly.

“What happened?” Klaus said, evidently just entering the house.

“I’m going to bed,” Rebekah stated and you closed your eyes as a curse tried to come out of your lips.

“Sister,” Klaus stopped her and his voice was much closer now. He was on the stairs with her, you guessed. “You cannot get angry every time one of your many suitors gets eaten by our brother. You know how he is,” he explained in a hushed voice with a taunt.

Something smashed against the wall again.

“KOL,” Elijah reprimanded.

A thud sounded against the wall and you reached for the door, ready to close it if another opportunity struck.

“Enough property damage,” Klaus told his brother.

“It was her fault anyway. You know it,” Kol argued.

“I was getting him to trust me,” Rebekah’s voice was further away. She must have joined her brothers down stairs again.

“And that involved opening your legs for him, did it?”

You knew it was coming so as Rebekah jumped to attack her brother, you ceased the moment to shut the door. The soft click would be lost to them as they tried to pull their sister and brother apart.

The room you were in hadn’t been touched since the renovation. You walked over to the window to see if there was any feasible way down.

“Deal with it,” Klaus’s voice came from just outside the door.

You whipped around, eyes wide, as you realized they solved the little dispute far faster than you thought they would. You dropped to the ground as you heard Elijah reply to his brother. The door clicked open as you lifted the duvet and scooted yourself as quietly as possible under the bed.

Luckily, Klaus’s instructions invoked a lot of opinions from his siblings. He stood in the doorway and barked out orders at them. Something else was thrown. As you spelled your breath silent, you spared a thought for all the things you’d have to replace by the time the Mikaelsons moved out.

Klaus shut the door with a harsh thud and switched on the light by the bed. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sheer bad luck you had that this of all the rooms was his.

Klaus moved around the room, silent except for his steady breathing. Something was placed delicately on a surface in his room. Then, he moved to the window and you heard it slide open. He breathed deeply. The rustling sound of fabric peaked your interest. Something landed on the bed. The unmistakable sound of a zip had a flush come to your face. Oh no.

Another thing was thrown on the bed. You imagined Klaus’s shirt and jeans piled on his sheets. This was bad. He was going to bed. You were going to be stuck down here for the night.

Klaus opened his door. Huh? And then he left. Wait what?

Cautiously, you lifted the duvet and peeked out. Nothing. You scooted to the other side of the double bed, wincing as the underneath spring of the bed caught your hair and it pulled. The other side confirmed that he had definitely left and shut the door behind him.

Apparently the plus side of hiding under the bed of a paranoid hybrid with even his siblings at times out to get him was that he kept his room strictly closed off to everyone else.

You scooted out from under the bed. The window, now open, was your best bet. Who was to say if the path to the door was empty or if you could open the front door without alerting anyone. A well timed cushioning spell would make the rose bush you’d land on hurt a little less. The thorns would still be a bitch though.

A sudden realization hit you that you forgot the painting at some point in your scooting. You rushed back to the bed and had to scoot back under a bit to reach it. As your hand touched it, you were once again rushed into the snapshot of the scene.

This time you knew you weren’t the painter. You looked down to your right at the top of Josie’s head. To your left was Jess. This was Elijah’s view. Which meant, if you looked straight ahead you’d most likely see –

It wasn’t Klaus.

You frowned. You were sure it would be Klaus. But you didn’t recognize the man painting on the tiny canvas in front of him with a concentrated look on his face. He had brown thinning hair and a sullen face with cupid bow lips and a nose people would pay good money for. He was an odd man that was handsome and not. You wondered who he was and tried to get the image to focus in further to find some distinguishing feature of some sort.

You were once again ripped back into reality as you registered the sound of footsteps outside the door. The window would have to wait and you dived back down and rolled under the bed, hitting you head as you did so. You bit your lip in pain as the door opened.

Klaus was back.

You couldn’t say if he was gone long or not as you had no idea how much time you had been lost to that vision. It didn’t seem long, but then again they never did.

Klaus sighed. The distinct sound of a towel rubbing against hair was the only sound in the room for a while as you put together that he just came from a shower. So, he was probably naked. You bit your lip for a different reason. You listened as Klaus toweled himself dry. He pulled a drawer open and assumingly put on some kind of clothing. You hopped it was at least a pair of underwear.

The bed dipped as Klaus sat. The lamp was clicked off. Shuffling from above. The bed dipped in different places as Klaus got comfortable. As luck was not your fan, he settled directly above you. You didn’t dare scoot one way or another. He’d surely hear it.

So you were spending the night here then. Great.

Klaus fidgeted above you again, having the gal to not find a comfortable position for the night. You stared at the springs and mattress centimeters from your face in annoyance. To be fair, this could have been the comfiest floor in the world and you still wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Not with Klaus above you and the rest of the Mikaelsons scattered about the house. No hope of escape until morning.

A sharp inhale cut through your self pity. Another one. Was he…?

#Klaus Mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikealson x reader #the originals imagine #flutterings & tequila #part 13 #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #oh my god it's been over a year since the last part #damn writers block and inspiration really be like that #idk why i'm back at it either but let's hope it lasts i'm having fun

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holylulusworld · 4 years ago

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Interest

Request: Have you ever considered writing a mafia!reader x Dean? like maybe he need more money to help Sam in school but what he earn isn't enough so he start to hustle at pool but then he plays one of her men and when they took him to her, she doesn't punish him because she remember he and Sam were the only one not afraid to be her friends in school. She gives him one of her clean activity so he can help Sam and stay safe. I think it would be an interesting scenario to see

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x Mobster!Reader

Characters: Gadreel ‘the slammer’ Angel, Bobby ‘Papa’ Singer, Gabriel ‘dog around’ Angel, Ruby ‘the dame’ Demon

Warnings: angst, language, mobster business, mentions of abuse during childhood (implied), fluff

A/N: Please excuse the awful mobster nicknames. 😉; Gabriel and Gadreel are brothers for my story. (Please consider their surname, just like Ruby’s a joke)

Part 1 - Debts

Divider by @firefly-graphics

“Enough, Gadreel,” you slam your hands onto the desk, glaring at the tall man. “You tried to bring Dean Winchester to the cleaners. Unlike you, he admitted that he tried to trick you and the others. Gabriel made a joke, Jimmy shrugged, calling himself an idiot. You are the only one not stopping to complain.”

“He tricked your men,” Gadreel grunts, jaw tense he holds your gaze. “If we show weakness, we lose everything you worked for, just like your father.”

“I said enough!” now you furiously grab the stapler to smash it into the wall. “I punished him. He had to quit his job, pay 15 percent of his income to me and you got your money back. Lousy two-hundred and fifty bucks, I may add. Jimmy lost six-hundred bucks,” you rub your forehead, not believing you have to explain yourself to one of your men.

“That guy showed no respect, Y/N. He will get you into trouble and I am afraid it will not end well for him either,” arms crossed over his chest Gadreel won’t change his mind.

“Dean apologized. I know you do not like him or my decision but you’ll have to live with the fact I did not kill someone who only tried to make fast money to help his brother pay for Stanford. The brothers were the only ones not scared to play with me,” Gadreel’s features soften, knowing about your miserable childhood.

“Boss, I am worried, is all,” you nod, rounding the desk to pat Gadreel’s cheek. “I don’t want to lose you too. You’re the little sister I never had.”

“Gade, you are one of my best men and I appreciate your worry, but Dean won’t get me into trouble. Now back to the numbers. Do I need to know anything else?”

“How is he doing, Bobby? Do you think it was the right decision to let him work here?” Bobby nods, pointing toward Dean who works on a car. The muscles in his arms flex when he lifts a tire to carry it toward the car and you feel your stomach do somersaults.

“Boy is good at his job, Y/N. Talented, fast, and a hard-working man. Worked overtime yesterday to help me fix another car,” Bobby hums, watching Dean work at the car, fixating the tire. “If he paid his debts, I’d like to keep him, boss.”

“Me too,” you giggle, bumping your hips against Bobby’s. “I never thought I met the boy who gave me my first kiss again. It is an odd feeling having him around. Dean is so…,” in lack of the right word you look at Bobby.

“Normal? Not used to doing anything illegal?” Bobby offers, giving you a warm smile. “I know you never wanted to take over the family business, but you are doing well kiddo. Dean, he’s a nice guy, and maybe he’ll bring a bit of normalcy into your life.”

“Normalcy or another life lost because of me? Do you believe my concurrence will not take advantage of me having a normal guy in my life? Dean would always be in danger, Gadreel made me see my mistake,” you sigh, not taking your eyes off Dean.

“That is bull, you know it. Gadreel is a jealous idjit, nothing else. Dean is a good guy and the old times are over. We are civilized, make deals, and have conversations instead of killing each other. This town is peaceful thanks to you and your men,” your godfather pecks your cheek before he calls for Dean.

“Lunch, boy. Look who came around to join us,” Dean smiles cheekily, waving at you. “Y/N will have lunch with us, and you can discuss your debts, interest and if she needs more practice to become as good as you at hustling pool,” Bobby snickers when Dean nods eagerly.

“I like the pie, sweetheart,” Dean chokes on his words, looking at you with wide, even fearful eyes. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” You chuckle, patting Dean’s hand to let him know it was nothing to worry about.

“I remembered you like pie, Dean. But,” clearing your throat you place the fork onto your plate, becoming serious, “the pie is not the only reason I came here. You see, you paid back eight-hundred bucks over the last weeks.”

“Do I need to pay interest too?” desperately looking at you Dean let out a deep sigh when you shake your head.

“Bobby wants you to stay and work for him when you are done. He’s impressed and likes you, Dean,” you offer, glancing at Dean. “You’ll have 15 percent more per month when your debts are paid.”

“I make more money here minus 15 percent than at my old job. It’s just,” you nod, clearing your throat as Dean tries to tell you he doesn’t like your kind of business.

“The garage is one of my few legal businesses, Dean. Nothing illegal, I swear,” he gives you a soft smile, holding out his hand to seal the deal. “I appreciate you want to work for me, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean, ma’am. I am not my father,” you groan at the mention of Dean’s father. “You never liked him…”

“He was an ass, Dean. All he did was yelling at you, forcing you to raise your brother and not caring if you got anything for lunch. Your father was, excuse my language, an asshole,” adamant your cross your arms over your chest. “And he ruined our first kiss.”

“My ass was black and blue,” Dean grins, stealing another bite of the pie you bought, “but the kiss was worth it, Y/N.”

“It was,” you smirk, leaning closer to remove a crumb from Dean’s lips with your thumb. His tongue pokes out to lick it off your digit and you feel your heart flutter. “You know, it was my first kiss, Winchester.”

“I am shocked, sweetheart,” snickering Dean looks at you, giving you a boyish smile. “Never thought you were such a prude. Never been kissed at the age of eight.”

“How about we talk about permanent employment tonight? We can have dinner and discuss the details. I’d like to talk about your living situation too,” you watch Dean’s face fall. “I know you live at a motel close to the garage.”

“Last month, I didn’t have enough money for rent and Sammy’s study. I had to choose and,” while you watch Dean, adoration in your eyes, he feels ashamed.

“You are a good big brother, Dean, the best,” you get up to peck his cheek. He’s nervously mumbling something when you do it again. “I own the house across the street to my house. I wanted to sell it or rent it out. You can live there until you found a new apartment.”

Dean wants to protest, but you grip his chin tightly, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“I wasn’t asking, Dean. You played with my men, stole their money so I have no other choice and must keep an eye on you,” when he finally nods you pat his cheek, nodding before you leave the room, swallowing the lump in your throat.

How should you admit you want him to be around? How could you explain you missed someone normal, someone, who has no blood on his hands in your life?

Would Dean even understand how it feels to be surrounded by people who took lives?

“Burger, pizza, and pie,” Dean smiles widely at your choice of food. “I think I died and ended up in heaven.”

“Back to business before you pass out,” you snicker, watching Dean stuff food into his mouth. “I got a contract prepared. You will get the wage you got, plus the missing 15 percent. If you keep up the good work, you’ll get more in a few months.”

“Sounds fair to me,” nibbling at a fry Dean looks at the contract. “Shall I sign it tonight or tomorrow?”

“You should read it first, Dean. Maybe I included you will sell your soul to me or something,” you tease, poking Dean’s upper arm, causing him to chuckle.

“If you are the devil, I’d sell my soul to you in the blink of an eye, sweetheart. I mean, not that I am stupid, I know your business, it’s filled with violence, blood, and illegal stuff, still, you kinda kept a part of the ‘old’ Y/N.” Dean watches you swallow thickly, not wanting to give away you had to do things you hate.

“I am not the girl from back then, Dean. I did things, awful things to keep my father’s empire. Not that I wanted to, but I am not innocent either,” bringing your bottle of beer to your lips you sigh deeply.

“Anyone in your position would’ve killed me, or at least broke my patella. You showed mercy, Y/N,” Dean gives you a soft smile, followed by a grin. “Do you remember when we stole booze from my dad?”

“Damn, we were drunk as fuck,” you giggle, stealing a fry from Dean’s plate. “My father, he didn’t let me leave my room for two weeks. I could only go to school and back.”

“Dad, he,” nodding you watch Dean nervously play with his beer, peeling at the label. “John showed me what happens if I ever dare to drink before I turn twenty-one. Maybe that’s the reason I barely drink anything harder than beer.” You would laugh at Dean’s words but now you imagine what John did to your friend.

“If anything does not feel right for you, Dean, you have the right to tell me so. I want to know if any of my men treat you badly or threatens you,” you hand Dean another beer while he gives you a soft smile. “You are officially under my protection, Dean Winchester.”

He looks up at you, giving you a cocky grin. “Always wanted to have my private bodyguard, sweetheart. Sammy will freak out.”

“How is he? Did he grow even more?” Dean huffs, nodding. “Don’t tell me he’s taller than you,” you poke your finger into Dean’s chest, snickering as he nods again.

“He’s taller, freaking sasquatch, Y/N,” whilst Dean gets his phone out to show you the latest pictures of his brother, someone enters the room without knocking.

Gadreel does not like you placed your hand onto Dean’s shoulder to have a look at his phone.

“Boss, Ruby said she got all the things of that guy,” your head snaps upward watching Ruby, one of the few women in your organization, waltz into the room.

“The guy has a name, Gadreel. As long as he’s under my protection, you’ll pay him respect, as much as he did by apologizing and admitting his mistakes. It takes courage to do so, don’t you think?” Gadreel nods, but you can see the anger in his eyes.

“I got everything, including a freaking huge collection of Busty Asian Beauties magazines,” Ruby smirks, watching a blush creep into Dean’s cheeks. “Even the early ones. I must admit, I am impressed.”

“Uh-erm, those are not all mine,” Dean stammers, playing with the napkin on his lap. “Some are from my dad.”

“Don’t be ashamed,” Ruby hops onto the table, stealing fries from Dean’s plate. “I must say, you’ve got a great taste. I liked Voluptuous Asian Lovelies, vintage but damn hot.”

“Can we stop talking about magazines and come to the point where you explain why you let him move into the house you wanted to sell?” Gadreel will not let up, even dares to step into your personal space, causing Ruby to step between you and the tall man. “You shouldn’t benefit his behavior. He shouldn’t live in that house.”

“You are right,” Gadreel smirks, hearing you will give in. “Dean should live here, in my house to make sure he’s safe from any enemy,” you purse your lips, glaring up at Gadreel. “I do not like your tone, Gadreel. I never thought the day would come that you are not the most trusted person among my men.”

“Boss, Y/N,” gasping Gadreel visually flinches at your words. “I only tried to keep you safe. Spare you another mistake.”

“Another mistake,” you laugh bitterly before your hand collides with his cheek. “My husband was not a mistake. I loved him, Gade. I know you never respected him, but I did love him. I dare you to ever mention him again.”

“Gadreel, brother,” Gabriel steps into the room, “how dare you to talk about him. We agreed to never mention that person again.”

“Why?” Gadreel furrows his brows. “As no one dares to admit he was a rat, sneaking his way into Y/N’s heart, bed, and house? Do you remember what I had to do to keep you safe?”

“I’ll never forget, Gadreel. The man saving me back then was my friend, my sworn ally. Are you still that man or did jealousy and anger change you, Gadreel?” the room falls silent as he looks at you, giving you a sad smile.

“I am sorry, Y/N. I…I crossed a line and need to ask for your forgiveness. It will never happen again…” Gadreel excuses himself, almost running out of the room.

“What the fuck was that?” Ruby blurs out. “I’ll check on him,” she looks at Dean’s phone, licking her lips. “Nice little brother, though. Maybe bring him around next time…”

“Ruby!” She smirks, running out of the room to talk to Gadreel.

“That’s the bedroom, the bathroom is through this door. My bedroom is at the end of the hallway. Kitchen on the first floor,” you show Dean the guest room, while he looks around the large room.

“Y/N, Gadreel was right,” Dean looks at you, feeling his heart beat faster when you step closer to place one hand onto his heart, “I shouldn’t…” you press your lips to Dean’s, cupping the back of his neck.

“I decide who I let into my life, Dean. If you want to stay, you will stay. Your brother can come around if he wants to visit you,” pecking his lips again you smile as Dean cradles your face to kiss you back, a bit too eager. “Slow down, tiger. Let’s see if you can keep up with my poker skills.”

“Sweetheart, you met your master…”

>> Part 3

SPN Forever Tags

@donnaintx

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@sister-winchesters99

@mogaruke

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@heartislubbingdubbing

@kitkatd7

@doctor-hp-mcu

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

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-j2

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@negans-lucille-tblr

@deans-baby-momma

@thefaithfulwriter

@squirrelnotsam

@roonyxx

@underthewrap

@deansgirl-1968

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

@butifulsoul125

@lyinginthegingerlocks

@neen-illustrates

@janicho88

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@thevelvetseries

@dreaminemz

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@caligraphee

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@justanotherwinchester

@multisuperfandom

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@psychicforest

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@magssteenkamp

@palefiregiver

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@jxackles

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@addictedtofictionalcharacters

@gabifernandessn

@waywardrose13

@team-free-will-you-idjiot

@myopiamystical

@rintheemolion

@isthatabutterfly

@bluecornflowers

@rosalynshields

A/N: If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you.

#Interest #sequel to debts #angst #MOBSTER!AU #mobster au #mechanic!dean x Reader #mechanic!dean winchester #mechanic dean #mechanic dean winchester #dean winchester x mobster!reader #mobster!dean x mobster!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester x reader #spn au fanfic

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handthigh · 4 years ago

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Soooo I may or may not have gone crazy and gone stupid and wrote a whole ass one shot fanfic of Tianshan in the office AU

ETA: this is now also available at AO3! (ETA 2: This is now a multichapter fic!)

Big thanks to the people over at Tianshan discord for taking a read and giving me the feedback. The fic follows right after this paragraph, with notes at the end of the fic.

He Tian (Work):

Little Mo, pass me a stapler (6:35pm)

Frowning at the message notification, Mo Guan Shan wordlessly takes the stapler lying on his desk and wheels his chair out of his cubicle to pass to his next door neighbour who grins upon receiving the stationery from the redhead. The reciprocity is not returned however, as Guan Shan wheels back into his cubicle to complete a report the supervisor had dumped onto him 15 minutes before the time he ends work. It is already bad enough that he is working overtime on a Friday while being the only one stuck with He Tian, the last thing he needs is for the annoying colleague to interrupt his progress.

The report turns out even more taxing than expected, further souring Guan Shan’s mood. He glanced at the time displayed on the laptop, “6:55pm”. Great, the report’s barely done and closing time sale at the nearby sandwich shop is already over. So much for a “quick task”, he scoffs bitterly at his supervisor’s words.

As if He Tian can read his mind, comes another text:

He Tian (Work):

Little Mo, are you cursing out the boss in your head again? (6:57pm)

Damn it, not another interruption. Glancing at the new message, Guan Shan cringes at the accuracy of the guess. Guilt quickly turns into irritation however, as he glares at the cubicle separating him and the culprit of these messages. This has been going on for about 3 months now, ever since he was assigned to be seated with He Tian at the corner of the office. The reason? The supervisor claims that only the short tempered Guan Shan is immune to the raven haired’s hunky looks while workers of all genders in their department are too busy admiring He Tian to work productively. Guan Shan tries to suppress his gag upon the memory.

First of all, Guan Shan does not appreciate being called short tempered. He just has little patience and a lot of irritation for mindless small talks and forced formalities, that’s all. Second of all, seriously? Of all words, hunky? While Guan Shan admits that He Tian is a looker because after all, he has eyes; but that is certainly an exaggeration. Sure, He Tian has the physique and face for the magazine covers, but he’s not that good looking. Especially not when he assigns Guan Shan that stupid nickname and constantly texts him for no justifiable reasons despite already repeating many times that he only wants to reserve the texting to a minimum and keep it strictly to work matters.

Wait, what the fuck? Why is he thinking about him again? Ugh, this is why he emphasises on keeping social interactions to a minimum! The report and the constant texting must have really gotten to him, because the next thing he knew, Guan Shan picks up his phone and types at his source of annoyance.

Me:

Yes, genius. Since you’re so smart and volunteered to OT with me, why don’t you make yourself useful and help me out with the report then you chicken dick! (7:05pm)

Normally Guan Shan tries to keep his temper in check, wanting to believe he is no longer the moody middle school boy that he was. Besides, this is the first job he managed to get right after graduating university 6 months ago, just in time before the recession. Thus, he is not trying to screw up an opportunity just because he got involved in some petty office drama. However, the combination of working overtime, growing hunger and unnecessary buzzing of his phone followed by He Tian’s unnecessary messages is making Guan Shan throw both caution and formalities out the window.

He is not the only one surprised by his own outburst however, as He Tian guffaws and rolls his chair out of the cubicle to meet the redhead, currently glaring at him and asking what’s so funny.

“Chicken dick? What kind of insult is that? Also, I dunno, I just thought you’d never asked me for help.” He Tian replies with a shrug and his signature grin.

He Tian is not wrong - Guan Shan seldom asks for help, believing that it’s better to be self-sufficient than to rely on someone else. Furthermore, it allows him to avoid having to keep up with forced interactions with others. But it’s getting late and the report doesn’t seem to be finishing soon, and there is someone in the office right now, might as well right?

“So are you going to help me or not?”

“Sure, anything for you Little Mo~”

“Stop calling me that! Give me your email, I’ll share the document with you on the cloud.”

So, here they are at 7:30pm, working in a shared online document together - cubicle to cubicle. Guan Shan mainly typing out the content of the report while He Tian formats, elaborates and adds any figures and charts where appropriate; explaining his rationale to the other while he works.

As Guan Shan sees the report transform before his very own eyes, he is now confronted with the thought he’s been trying to will away for 3 days, ever since he overheard the company executives discuss whether to promote He Tian.

As much as he hates admitting it, He Tian is talented and hardworking when situations call for it. Not only is he able to easily handle the tedious formatting that is typically required of such reports, he also goes the extra mile of further perfecting any tasks assigned to him. It also helps that he has great social networking skills to accompany his equally great looks, not only charming the other coworkers around them, but also clients and other company staff alike in network events.

Attempting to ignore the ache of admiration growing in his chest, Guan Shan wonders why is someone as good as He Tian working at an entry level job like him in a medium sized company when the latter can easily negotiate for a much higher salary in a conglomerate. What he heard about his raven haired coworker isn’t helping much with his curiosity either.

While Guan Shan prefers minding his own business, he also doesn’t live under a rock. He has heard the rumours - that He Tian had interned for various big names while he attended an Ivy League business school and graduated a valedictorian. He was also rumoured to be taking over his family’s multinational company branch in China while his older brother gets based overseas to look over their international branches. Yet somehow, here he is, working overtime in a too small cubicle with an aloof coworker who has nothing to boast for. After all, Guan Shan’s resume mainly consists of mediocre grades in a local university that is far from being a C9 League, one proper internship experience and multiple part time odd jobs to help him pay his student loans.

He Tian has everything going for him, and yet, why? Guan Shan is so lost in his own thoughts that he does not notice an arm reaching out to his laptop and folding it down, clasping his fingers that are resting motionlessly on the keyboard.

“Ouch! What the fuck?!” Guan Shan stands up and yelps in shock, spinning around to glare at the culprit. This proves to be a mistake as he realises he is face to face with He Tian, barely an inch away.

Suddenly, the room feels hot and all Guan Shan can hear is his heart rapidly beating in his ears as he sees a totally different expression from the latter: lips twitching up, high cheekbones raised making them even more pronounced, coupled with a pair of grey eyes sparkling and curving in childish amusement. Even though he knows that He Tian is laughing at his expense, somehow, Guan Shan could not bring himself to break eye contact, wanting to look as long as possible until he commits He Tian’s genuine smile to memory.

“Earth to Little Mo, I said I was done with the report and had emailed our supervisor, and was thinking of treating you to a sandwich as a thanks for your effort.” He Tian replies, amusement laced in his voice as he breaks the silence.

“...How do you know I like…” Guan Shan dumbly replies, still feeling overwhelmed by the close contact to even retort He Tian as he feels his face getting even hotter.

Breaking eye contact, He Tian steps to the side and fishes out his car key, hooking the key ring to his finger. As much as he finds his flustered colleague both amusing and endearing, he makes sure to give Guan Shan some space in case the other gets too stunned and passes out. “Well, who else in this office eats those except for you? So what do you say, it'll be my treat and I can drive us there.” He Tian says as he leans back on the cubicle wall, spinning the car key around.

“.... Uh… mm” Guan Shan nodded, feeling too light headed to speak properly.

“Let’s go then.” He Tian steps out of the cubicle, making his way out as he turns off the office lights.

Guan Shan’s mind is reeling as he follows He Tian from behind. Why is he suddenly reacting like this? Why did he agree to have dinner with him? Most importantly, WHY IS HE SUDDENLY HAVING SUCH THOUGHTS OF THAT ANNOYING CHICKEN DICK?

God, he hates working overtime.

Notes:

If you made it here, thanks for reading! I’ve been wanting to write a fluffier, slice of life office romance with Tianshan for quite awhile now - an AU with no mafia drama, no She Li being a creep, just coworkers dicking around and relatively normal problems here and there. I only committed after getting reminded of this official Tianshan art by Old Xian on the discord. Aside from 19 days, I also draw inspiration from a webcomic called Senpai ga Uzai, Kouhai no Hanashi. I’m a huge sucker of slow burn fluffy Tianshan where Guan Shan is initially annoyed at He Tian and slowly and reluctantly falls for him. Hehehehehehehehe *continues to laugh in fujoshi*

Not going to lie, I do feel nervous posting it. However, after seeing many Tianshan fics (they are good! don’t get me wrong) that doesn’t have a workplace AU, I thought I’d manifest it onto the internet space! Do let me know what you think, as I am considering expanding this into a multi-fic once I stop being lazy.

#19 days #he tian #mo guan shan #tianshan #fanfic #office au #oxian #old xian

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percontaion-points · 3 years ago

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Foxhole Court chapter 8

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions.

Chapter 8

"You have five seconds to get your retarded psycho ass to my apartment!”

This is a thing that Sakavic said “You know what? This is fine for a novel that's to be published in 2013! This is fine!”

"We only gave him crackers.”

HOW THE HELL CAN HE JUST CASUALLY ADMIT TO THE COACH THAT HE GAVE NEIL DRUGS?!

HOW THE HELL DOES COACH HEAR THIS AND SAY “MM, THIS IS A GOOD CHARACTER AND A NICE PERSON TO HAVE ON OUR TEAM. HE IS A GOOD REPRESENTATION OF WHAT THE FOXES HAVE TO OFFER.”

"Then my father started getting cocky, started getting stupid, and tried skimming from payments. He took Moriyama money that was meant for his boss. They found out, of course. The Moriyamas executed him and my mother before his boss could get to him. I took what he'd stolen and ran. I've been running ever since."

First, daddy dearest was in prison. Then he was running around Chicago. Now he's dead. PROOFREADING IS FOR FUCKING SQUARES.

Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing, but he thought perhaps he liked it.

Chapter 8 summary: As you might imagine, the chapter opens with Neil waking up in Nicky's bed, with Nicky wrapped around him. He doesn't take it well, but the others downplay it like it's all just some big joke. As I keep saying: drugging people against their will and sexually assaulting them isn't goddamned funny; pick a new plot.

Nicky guides Neil to the bathroom, with the intention that Neil should shower and change and then wait for Andrew to return. However, if Neil had such a negative reaction to Nicky and Aaron, Andrew is even worse. He escapes out the bathroom window and calls Matt. Matt doesn't seem overly surprised that Andrew would have done something like this.

Neil then literally hitchhikes with some truckers back home, or at least as close as the truckers were willing to take him. He still ends up walking nearly eleven miles, though. When he gets back, Coach is worried sick about him, stating that the others got back hours ago. Says that if Neil really didn't want to be with Andrew, he should have called literally any of the others back at the school. And the worst part is that this is the first indication of actual concern for Neil's well-being. However, it's flimsy because... there's no way that coach doesn't know what Andrew's been doing.

Coach calls Andrew in, and chews him out over having drugged Neil. WHICH ANDREW OPENLY ADMITS IS WHAT HAPPENED. Coach then tells the two of them to “work it out”, as if it's some petty office stapler-in-jello drama that got out of hand, rather than drugging somebody and encouraging a third party to sexually assault Neil.

Neil then tells Andrew, in German, that his father used to work for the Moriyama family, got stupid, and then was hunted and killed. He says that he wants to be close to Kevin because it reminds him of his old life, but that if Kevin or Riko figure out who he is, then he is in a lot of trouble.

All of this randomly makes the two of them friends... or friendlier than they had been a minute ago. I don't really get it, either. Andrew has been shown to have zero sympathy, so IDK why Neil telling him about this, about how he's tired of being on the run, would somehow earn him some pity points.

They go back to the dorm, where the girls kind of mother him. Which is gross in a weird sexist way, but I'm not going to touch it. They invite him to join in their card game, and he decides to.

#All For The Game #Foxhole Court #chapter 08 #i'm done goodbye #Aaron and Andrew Minyard #Neil Josten #David Wymack #shitty people are shitty #do you even know how the world works?#plot hole time!#Nicky Hemmick #Kevin Day

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ficklefics · 5 years ago

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Obsessed - Part 2: Ours and Mine

You had only met Jeremiah twice, and that was all it took for him to become obsessed with you. You hope that if you just ignore him, he’ll leave you alone. A fool’s hope.

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

PART 1

Warning: Kidnapping, Injury, Blood, Cruelty, Blood

Dinner was served: rare steak with roast vegetables and a creamy sauce. The smell made your mouth water. You hadn’t had a meal like this in a long time. You approached the plate with caution – it could be drugged, or poisoned – but Jeremiah’s watchful gaze forced you to eat; you didn’t want to know how he would force you to.

Throughout the dinner, you struggled against the urge to take the steak knife in your hand and drive it through Jeremiah’s eye. While it would be satisfying to do so, your chances of success were non-existent, and to try would only incite his rage. So instead, you sat and ate quietly. Jeremiah didn’t try to speak to you – something you were grateful for – but he never stopped watching you. It made your skin crawl. His silence was almost worse than his voice. Almost.

When you had both finished the silence persisted even stronger. It was broken when a yawn forced its way out of you and Jeremiah stood in response. “You must be tired. I’ll take you to our room.” Our. Not mine. Our. You would never be free of him, no moment of privacy, no safe space where you could hide and pretend that this wasn’t real. But you can’t fight, can’t protest. If you did he’d hurt you.

The wine glass fell from your hand, shattering against the table, spraying liquid everywhere, soaking into your top and into Jeremiah’s suit. You winced as a shard of glass lodged in your upper arm, but made no noise, fearfully watching Jeremiah, waiting for the inevitable outburst.

It never came. He sighed heavily and stood, brushing droplets of wine from his shirt. “You seem to have hurt yourself, dear. Come, let us fix it.” Your mouth hung open, but no words came out. There was nothing you could say. He offered you his hand to help you up. You ignored it and stood up by yourself; the only act of resistance you have left to you. But no. You are not even allowed that freedom. Jeremiah’s hand finds your arm, gripping it firmly; gentle enough to be supposedly sweet, but tight enough that you know it’s a threat. He guides you from the room. You were right: you’re in the maze. Or a maze, at least. Jeremiah has memorised it, of course, and quickly leads you through the corridors. So many corridors, seemingly endless. You could never know your way through this. To try and escape from here… it would be almost impossible. And that was being generous.

Part of you wondered if Jeremiah was purposefully messing with your sense of direction, trying to make sure that there was no way you could navigate even between rooms on your own. He was succeeding. Finally, he stopped you outside a door, one that matched all the others you and seen. You could have walked past it five times and you wouldn’t even know it. He held the door open for you, leaving you with no choice but to enter. It was dark until Jeremiah turned the light on. No windows underground. Even with the light the room itself was dark, grey walls, black wooden flooring. It was spacious, kept impeccably tidy. There were two other doors, both shut, leading to who knows where. There’s a desk, a few books stacked on it, but there’s no other clutter. The drawers have locks. There are more books lining the walls on shelves, fiction and non-fiction, volumes on architecture and chemistry and law.

And then the bed. It was massive. You supposed that was a mercy. The silken sheets and pillows were deep purple. Jeremiah crossed to one of the doors which he opened, gesturing for you to follow him inside. It was a bathroom. He opened a cupboard, pulling out a first aid box. In the surreal subterranean world of the maze, it was jarringly ordinary. It didn’t help when he began to pull out wipes and bandages. Your hand instinctively jumped to cover your arm – you didn’t want him to touch you. Noticing, he tutted condescendingly, as though you were a child. “Let me look at it.” Not a request. He pulled your hand away from it, piercing eyes examining the wound while you stared at the wall. You didn’t want to look at him. He pulled the glass out without warning, without mercy, making you yelp, which he shushed. You remained silent, afraid, as alcohol stung the exposed flesh, as he wrapped the bandage tightly around it. “Good girl.” He murmured as he finished, as you cooperated with him like a coward. What else could you do?

Leaving the bathroom, he guided you to the other door and encouraged you to enter, which you did so begrudgingly.

A walk-in wardrobe, full to the brim with clothes. Shirts and trousers and jackets were hung neatly against the walls. There was even a full section dedicated to ties. Shoes as well, shining like glass in the bright light. “Look in the chest of drawers.” It was a command, not a request, so you did as you were told. No sense in aggravating him over clothes. “Bottom drawer.” You bent down, painfully aware of his eyes on your form, and opened it. You reached in, pulling out a soft t-shirt, grey and plain. “What is this?” You didn’t want it to be what you thought it was. But it couldn’t be anything else. And Jeremiah confirmed it. “Clothes for you. Nothing but the best. I wasn’t sure what you would like, but it’s all the right size.” Another hand reached in, this time pulling out black leggings, simple as well. You turned and locked eyes with him, standing watching you, showing no signs of leaving. “Can I…” Your voice shook, terrified of how he would respond, “Can I have some privacy?” His jaw twitched, clearly irritated by your request, and he closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose tensely. “Of course, darling. I will just be outside.” The door swung shut and you were alone. You sank to your knees, clutching the clothes to your chest and holding in the sob that threatened to force its way out of your mouth. You had to be strong. You had to keep fighting. The moment you gave into the fear was the moment he won. Just don’t be stupid. Don’t provoke him. Someone will notice you’re missing. Someone will find you. Just wait. Wait.

You stood, resolved to survive, to win. You changed quickly, leaving your old clothes on the floor and leaving the wardrobe as quietly as possible. The room was empty. Light streamed from the other door. You looked at the bed, noticing that one of the bedside tables was empty bar the light, while the other held an alarm clock as well. Jeremiah’s side. You hurried to the other, curling up under the sheets at the edge of the mattress and feigning sleep. It might get you into more trouble, but you had to try. You couldn’t imagine facing him in bed. The door opened and shut, the light clicking off. Jeremiah’s feet were soft against the floor. He didn’t speak as he walked across the room, turning off the main light. Now there was only the light from the lamp next to you. He’s getting closer. Your side of the bed. You kept your eyes squeezed shut. He’s right in front of you. A cold hand wrapped around your arm, making you shiver involuntarily. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you flinched. “Goodnight, my sweet.” The light flipped off and he left the room.

As soon as the door was shut and you were sure he was gone you sat up, turning the light back on. Where was he? Didn’t he sleep? Not that you were complaining. But you were still afraid to sleep. You couldn’t lock the door, couldn’t lock him out. The bed was comfortable, cosy; it would be easy to fall into a deep sleep here. You wouldn’t hear him come in. And then you would be vulnerable. Even more than you already were.

You had been left completely alone. You had neither seen nor heard a guard outside. Jeremiah clearly thought you wouldn’t resist him. That you were weak, afraid, resigned to your imprisonment. He was right: you were afraid. But you would not give in so quickly. He had made the mistake of kidnapping you, he had made the mistake of bringing you here, he had made the mistake of leaving you alone. You climbed out of the bed and snuck into the wardrobe. You found a pair of trainers, soft-soled and hopefully quiet, and slipped them onto your feet.

The door to the bedroom wasn’t even locked. Arrogant bastard. You left easily, wincing against the bright lights of the hallway. Lifting your bandage slightly, you ran your finger through the wound and marked the doorframe. If you wanted any hope of finding your way through the labyrinth, you would have to mark your way. You did the same at the first crossroads you came to, marking the wall of the corridor you came from with a “1”. You followed around to the left, then the right, left again, marking each corridor as you went, trying to find something recognisable, an exit, or an office, anything. A door slammed in the distance, making you jump. You didn’t have much time. Soon you would get caught, or someone would realise you were missing, or you’d set off an alarm. The next door you came to you tried the handle. It opened with ease, letting you into a dark office. A desk was pushed against one wall, filing cabinets lining the other, a whiteboard across from you, blank. It seemed disused, almost abandoned. You wouldn’t find anything here. But you had to try. The filing cabinets were full, plans and documents and letters and scraps of paper, organised chaos of Jeremiah’s history. There was too much to get through; it was overwhelming. So you went to the desk first. The top two drawers were empty, and the bottom locked. Glancing at the door, you bit your lip and took your chances, slamming a foot into it. It buckled on impact and slid open. A stapler, some pens, and… a map. A map of the maze. You were too lucky. Pulling it out you tried to figure out where you were. An office, the only room on this section of corridor. There? You couldn’t be sure. You might just get more lost. But you didn’t have any other options. You folded the paper and slipped it into your waistband, leaving the room and turning left. You were quite far from the exit, but with the map, it should be easy to find your way there. Should be. If you were lucky, as you had been, and as long as no one found you.

Ten minutes traversing the maze. You could hear people about sometimes, trying your best to steer away from voices. You hadn’t seen any cameras and hoped that they weren’t there, rather than being hidden. Sometimes you felt like you could hear footsteps behind you, but would turn to find no one. You had never been so isolated, so abandoned as you were now. But soon you would be free. You had to be. You had to get away. Pulling the map out once more you checked your position. A few more turns. That was all that was left between you and freedom. Then you could run to Gotham, to the GCPD, to help and protection. Putting the map away an eager, hopeful smile appeared. You tried to suppress it – you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself – but it was almost impossible when freedom was so close.

Almost.

A cough. You froze. Maybe you imagined it. Please, no, fucking please, don’t let it be him, let me escape, let me win, please, please, please…

“(Y/N), why are you out of bed? You’re so tired.” You turned to find Jeremiah watching you, confusion masking his thinly veiled anger. “I…” You scrambled for words, praying that you could lie, that he wouldn’t notice the map that was almost certainly poking through your shirt. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought a walk would help. You didn’t say I couldn’t…” The look on his face silenced you. He was furious. He saw right through your feeble deception, your bullshit and lies. With a few short strides, his hands were wrapped tight around your arms, pulling you into him, burning like ice against your skin. “Let’s get you back to bed, hmm? Wouldn’t want you getting lost?” Why is he offering me a way out? Why is he letting me lie to him? Why doesn’t he make sense? Thoughts spun around your mind but all you could do was nod and let him pull you down the corridor, away from the exit, away from the brief hope you had indulged in. Away from life and towards him.

PART 3

#jeremiah valeska #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska imagine #Gotham #gotham fanfiction #gotham fic #gotham x reader #obsessed

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dyaz-stories · 5 years ago

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Secret Santa 2019 — In A Hopeless Place (We Found Love)

Aaaand I’m finally here to publish my @inusecretsanta story! @witchygirl99, I am your Secret Santa! I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long, and I hope you will enjoy it!

Also available on ff.net and Ao3.

The first sticky note the Office Lady leaves him is green. Inuyasha doesn’t pay much attention to it. He rips it off, reads the “Hey, would really appreciate it if you could make sure not to leave crumbs on the desk :) Have a nice day, K.”, written in calligraphy that he can’t help but identify as cute, scoffs, crumples it, and throws it in the bin.

The Office Lady is the woman who uses the same office as him half of the week. He gets Monday, Friday, and Wednesday morning; she has Tuesday, Thursday and Wednesday afternoon. Yes, it’s fucking stupid. He’s aware. Not to mention, he got the short end of the stick. She gets the longer week-end and he has to get up on Wednesdays. He blames it on Sesshomaru. Yeah, the guy only owns the company and probably didn’t meddle in his personal schedule, but he’s more than happy to blame absolutely everything he possibly can on Sesshomaru.

The K. signature kinda bothers him, though. So far, he hasn’t given much thought to the other person who occupies the office. He’s noticed the cactus she brought, and by her smell he can tell that she’s a human woman who, frankly, has no business smelling that fucking good, but he doesn’t even know her name.

K, huh? Certainly couldn’t be Kikyo. Last he heard — by a friend of a friend of a friend, ‘cause he most definitely ain’t checking on her — she had moved and was getting married. To a doctor. A human one, at that, so her family most likely hadn’t complained this time. Good for her. Probably. They were water under the bridge at this point. Maybe they wouldn’t have fucked each other up so bad, if they had been just a couple years older. If they’d been more experienced, more willing to compromise, more…

Why the fuck is he thinking about Kikyo? There’s a fucking reason why he keeps the memories buried as deep as possible.

Ah. Right. He glares furiously at the bin, at the bottom of which the notes lays. Crumbs, she said. Yeah, yeah, he’ll try. He was late on Monday, he ate in the office, and he definitely doesn’t remember cleaning up afterwards. Politeness would probably require him to write a note back, apologizing and promising it wouldn’t happen again.

He doesn’t.

Inuyasha hears from her again a couple of weeks later. If she was offended by his absence of response, she doesn’t show it. The note is still green. Again, he doesn’t pay attention to it. This time, he rolls his eyes and takes it off while he goes to open the window. He focuses better when the room doesn’t smell like her. He’s not sure why he’s so affected by it, quite frankly. It’s definitely very new. People who stink, sure, but people who are just so damn tantalizing? New. Some might even say a first.

Anyway, what does she want this time?

“It really isn’t a problem if you want to borrow a pen or something, but please make sure to leave everything the way you found it :) Have a nice day, K. PS: thanks for taking care of the crumbs, hope I didn’t come off too annoying last time!”

Ugh. He just has to roll his eyes at it, because how the fuck can she be so ridiculously sugary? God. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s people who act fake. He would know, he’s faced his fair share of them, being a half-demon, and he considers it a fact that they’re worse than people who openly hate you.

There’s no way she means that. There’s no way she’s that accepting and nice and not frustrated at him, even though this time, he didn’t even do anything wrong. Must be Miroku, the guy has a habit of dropping in to borrow stuff from him. He’s told him off multiple times, but it doesn’t seem to change a thing. He probably got the wrong side of the desk this time.

Also, who even notices that kind of stuff? He wouldn’t know if Miroku took half of his fucking supplies. Out of curiosity, he opens one of her drawer, and fucking hell. Pencils are organized by colors and sizes. Everything has its place. He lets out a disgusted noise. He’s not going to bother and try to rectify the misunderstanding, ‘cause that sounds like a stupid waste of time. If it had only been up to him, they would have never interacted in the first place.

He doesn’t need any more people in his life. The few ones in it are more than enough for him to handle, thank you very much. He doesn’t see why he’d need to be friendly with each other, either. They’ve never met, and he can’t think of any reason why it would change in the future. So, without thinking much more about it, he puts the note right where it belongs.

In the trash.

This time, it doesn’t take as long for him to hear about her again. The note is yellow, and Inuyasha vaguely pauses at the new color. How many does she have? Does she change them depending on her mood, or on the importance of the message? What kind of psychopath does that?

“You left the window open and it was really cold by the time I got there. Please don’t let that happen again. Have a nice day, K.”

Aw, no smiley face? The mask is starting to slip, then.

He does have some responsibility in this one, though. He has probably opened the window Wednesday morning as he always did, and then left it open. He can handle the cold pretty well, being a half-demon and all, but it is October already, and the Office Lady is human. Still, it had only been a few hours. No way it was that bad. Yet another thing he would make sure wouldn’t happen again, only this time, he may be feeling the tiniest twinge of guilt.

He hesitates longer before throwing out the piece of paper, and actually considers replying “Sorry”. Maybe it would deescalate things, get him back on her good side, where she writes on green paper.

He looks out the window, at the grey, cold sky. It’s generally cloudy, but Wednesday it was clear and blue. He remembers enjoying it.

Ah, fuck it. It’s her fault in the first place if he opens the damn window, even if she doesn’t know it and there’s no way she can do anything about it because he’s not communicating with her. He’s not going to write back on a colored sticky note. Plus, it’s Friday, so even if he did, he would probably rip it off when he would come back Monday.

His hand hovers above the bin, then with an annoyed growl he puts the note in one of his drawers. He doesn’t know why. He didn’t even keep the nice ones. He tells himself it’s because that way, he’ll keep track of the things she asks him and it’ll be easier. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s starting to enjoy this contact with this unknown woman who smells strangely nice.

Nothing at all.

Then, the Office Lady leaves a furious pink note on the desk, and Inuyasha realizes that yes, they are color-coded, and apparently she bases said color on the severity of the offense. She’s fucking weird. Who does she think he is, a five-year old? (Miroku does tell him he acts like one, but he refuses to take it into consideration right now)

“Listen. The crumbs, the pen, that’s okay. The window, it’s annoying because I have to keep my jacket on and it makes squeaky sounds whenever I move, but I can survive it. You not answering me, I think it’s rude and you probably have some deeply seeded issues about communication, but again, I’ll manage. The fact that you emptied my stapler and didn’t put any staples back in? That’s unacceptable. I want new ones. K.”

What did he say? A psychopath. She’s a fucking psychopath. Still, he grimaces at the note. Him not replacing the staples is breaking the main rule of an old code between office workers. There’s only one thing that’s worse, and that’s not putting paper back in the printer once it’s empty.

Not that it justifies her tone. Who does she think she is, exactly? Think she’s perfect, huh? Well, he doesn’t have dirt on her right now, but there’s no way she didn’t annoy him since they started sharing the space. She, erm, she left the computer on that one time and he certainly didn’t write her a green note to complain about it. And she left her key on the locked drawers on her side of the office and did he scold her for it? Nah, he didn’t even touch the thing — that would have deserved some yellow note, at least.

Again, he could, and maybe he should, apologize. He could reply on her note. He definitely doesn’t. He’s not playing her weird game. At this point, frankly, he thinks it must be a kink of hers. There’s no other way around it.

He knows he kept the yellow note for whatever reason, but this one, certainly, should go straight into the trash. He crumples it in his hand. Then he hesitates. Maybe she’ll try to murder him one day and this will be evidence that she was insane from the very beginning.

He keeps the note.

When Inuyasha arrives on Monday, he has a little stack of staples refills, which he puts on her side of the desk. He could write her a note about it.

He doesn’t.

The Office Lady replies with a yellow note, and Inuyasha feels strangely satisfied when he sees the color. Not that he feels guilty about the whole thing, ahah, certainly not, or that he wants the Office Lady to at least think of him in friendly ways, but, well, since most people out there hate him for no valid reason, maybe he can do with one less person disliking him.

“Thanks. K.”

He’s not disappointed by the one-word reply, and even if he was, it would not be childish. Miroku would say something about how he can’t expect people to congratulate him for basic decency, and he would retort that this was not basic human decency, that if she wanted him not to empty the stapler, she shouldn’t have left it out, and that he had no obligation to buy her refills.

Thank God he doesn’t talk to Miroku about that shit. Miroku does most of the talking for them both.

He moves the notes into his locked drawer. He doesn’t want her to know he’s keeping them, or anyone, at this point. Weirdly enough, this is the most he’s interacted with someone he didn’t already in quite some time.

“Thanks”, she said.

Well. It’s some sort of improvement, isn’t it?

November starts without any new notes having been sent, and Inuyasha finds himself getting bored at work a lot. He tries to tell himself he’s not expecting anything, but well, he’s lying to himself and he knows it, and he also can’t stop himself from thinking about how fucking stupid it is.

The Office Lady could be anyone. She probably doesn’t think about him half as often as he thinks about her, but hey, she doesn’t have to handle his smell. They’re not fucking lovers, they’re certainly not friends, and they’re not even acquaintances. They’ve never met, never seen each other. She doesn’t owe him anything, and their only interactions were one-sided, from her point of view at least.

He hates himself.

But on Friday morning, he walks in the office, and is almost knocked out by the overpowering smell of flower. His vision blurs, and he can only press a hand against his nose to try to lessen the smell. It’s not exactly working. A reasonable person would probably call for help, but ‘reasonable’ was never a word one could apply to Inuyasha. He manages to stagger to the window and to open it. There, he takes long, calming breath of air, before turning furious eyes to the offender.

Lavender. With the smell so strong that he can barely breathe, even now. He takes off his jacket and uses it to protect his mouth while he grabs the pot and puts it on the window ledge. Thankfully, the wind blows the smell away, and he sighs in relief.

Inuyasha walks to the desk in what can only be qualified as a blind rage. He has to move slowly so he won’t rip off the handle for the top drawer, and once he’s there, he has to try several time before he stops tearing to shreds the notes with his claws. Finally, he manages to get a pink one.

Yeah, he’s aware, he said he wouldn’t write back to her, and certainly not use her color-code, but fucking hell, she’s done it now.

“Don’t. Bring. Flowers. Again.”

His writing somehow manages to be agressive, but he cannot care less. As far as he is concerned, this means war.

Pink.

“You killed my lavender! If you don’t like flowers, couldn’t you just wait a day? K.”

Pink. (He can’t believe he is using her code. Maybe he should change it just to mess with her. They’re her notes, after all.)

“No.”

Pink. So this is a war.

“Wow, amazing, so glad you’re communicating with me.”

Pink. What a fucking bitch.

“Printer is empty.”

Pink.

“Oops, didn’t notice. You should fill it.”

Pink.

“You emptied it, you fill it.”

Pink.

“Why’d you kill my lavender?”

Pink.

“Who cares? Fill the printer.”

Pink.

“No.”

Pink.

“Are you a fucking child?”

Pink.

“How can you call me a child?”

Pink.

“The smell was too strong. Fill the fucking printer.”

Pink.

“The smell was too strong?? What are you, a dog?”

Pink.

“Half dog-demon, yeah. Took you long enough for the printer.”

Yellow. Shit. He wants to stay mad at her.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, I had no idea. I should have thought about it. I deeply apologize.”

Yellow. Inuyasha really, really wants to reply with pink, but he holds back somehow.

“You couldn’t know. Forget it.”

Green.

“No, seriously. I’m sorry. Can I get you something? Are chocolates off the table because of the dog thing?”

He wishes he could say it doesn’t make him laugh.

Green.

“Ramen.”

Next time, there’s a green note on a small pack of ramen, saying “Enjoy! :)” Inuyasha answers with a green note that says “Thanks”.

It’s probably the nicest exchange they’ve had since this began.

The Office Lady puts out a family picture. It features an old man, a middle-aged woman and a young boy who’s probably in high-school. Inuyasha doesn’t really want to comment on it, but he wants to know if she’s the woman.

He picks a green note, and for once, he starts the conversation. “Who are they?”

Green note.

“Mom, grandpa and little brother! You can put your pictures up if you want to, I don’t mind :)”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the smileys.

Green.

“No pictures. We didn’t get enough time.”

Green.

“Shoot, sorry again :( Me and my big mouth…”

Green.

“’s okay. Been a long time.”

Inuyasha laughs when she gets him another pack of ramen as a way of saying sorry, and then he realizes that she got him his own set of notes. There’s green, yellow and pink, obviously, but there’s also blue, and he’s never seen her use blue.

He gets a green one. “What’s blue for?”

Green.

“Work. Boring >:(”

She’s fucking adorable.

Mid-November, the Office Lady starts decorating the office for Christmas, and once more, Inuyasha thinks about how much of a psychopath she is. Can’t she wait for December like everyone else?

After a few days, though, the tinsels grow on him, and he leaves a note, almost despite himself. Almost.

“The decorations are cute.”

Green.

“Aw, thanks! I’m so happy you like them :) I was afraid you’d be a bit of a Grinch.”

He’s a bit offended by how right she is.

Green.

“How about we meet for lunch on Wednesday?”

That’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. And she will probably find it weird. But he writes quickly and then practically runs out of the office so he won’t change his mind.

On Wednesday morning, Inuyasha finds out she replied “I’d love to!! :)))”, and it has him grinning for the entirety of his work hours. Miroku drops in and acts shocked at seeing him smiling. Inuyasha throws something at him — his stapler. Miroku’s lucky, because the Office Lady’s cactus was right next to it, and it was really tempting to throw that, but he doesn’t want to start another pink-note war.

At noon, he waits in the office.

And waits.

After an hour, he wonders what the fuck he’s still doing there. She ain’t coming. He’s not even sure why he stayed there for so long. It’s not like it’s the first time someone stands him up, and he barely even knows the girl.

He throws his jacket on, grabs his suitcase and walks out. Everything looks and feels cold, deserted. It’s noon, so there’s almost no one in. It doesn’t improve his mood, but it does make him feel a little better. At least he doesn’t have to watch them try to stay away from him in the elevator today. No such thing as a small victory.

As he walks out, he notices a woman running towards him. Wind is blowing in her black hair, and she’s wearing a green dress which only reminds him of the notes. He considers dropping the door and letting it hit her in the face, because he’s in a bad mood, but he’s also feeling sentimental today.

She shoots him a bright smile that makes her blue eyes shine when she realizes he’s holding the door for her.

“Thank you!” she breathes out as she runs in, moving past him pretty fast, for a human.

He only recognizes the smell after she’s gone.

She was late. He considers running after her, catching up with her, telling her. He doesn’t move. Sure, she’s early for her work hours, but she’s still late, so it must mean she didn’t want to see it that much, right?

The next morning, there’s a green note that says “I couldn’t make it I’m so sorry :(”

He doesn’t reply.

He is very surprised when he runs into her again, because it’s not one of her days. She’s running through the building, trying to keep up with someone who Inuyasha recognizes as Miroku’s Office Lady — Sango. Yeah, Miroku knows who his Office Lady is, because, like the weirdo he is, he communicated with her. Then asked her out on a date. Then she said no. Then he asked again. Repeat that for a dozen times, and then she showed up at his office and threatened to kill him.

Needless to say, Miroku’s in love.

Anyway, Inuyasha’s Office Lady is running after Sango, but they’re also both carrying big boxes of stuff that might very well belong to Miroku. If he was a good friend, he’d stop them.

He doesn’t even think about it.

However, when his Office Lady trips, he barely thinks before stepping in and grabbing her arm, steadying her.

“Oof, damn, thank you so— Oh, it’s you again.”

She smiles brightly, and his heart drops to his stomach.

“You held the door for me!”

“…’cause you were running.”

Not to be nice. He’s not nice. Why did he just catch her? He has no fucking idea.

“Yeah, I was… late,” she grimaces. “I’m Kagome, by the way.”

Kagome. So that’s what the K is for.

“Inuyasha.”

Her eyes widen, and then her gaze moves up to his ears, like she just suddenly noticed them, along with the white hair and golden eyes. He rises an eyebrow. Does she know his name? But how? She opens her mouth, but then Sango reappears.

“Kagome, hurry! We don’t have that long before he comes back!”

He should stop them right? He probably should stop them.

Miroku deserves it though, so he doesn’t move.

“I really need to help my friend,” she breathes out, “but you… We—We’ll talk again!”

Then she runs away, and he vaguely wonders if the whole thing actually happened as he stays there, standing with his hands in his pocket, looking at the corner at which she disappeared.

She smells even better from up close.

The only thing on the next note, green, is her phone number.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

He waits for a little while. It’s definitely not the right move, and Miroku would kill him if he knew, but thankfully Inuyasha hasn’t updated him since the beginning of the note-war. Also, Miroku’s entire office was moved on the roof and he has been in a bit of a bad mood recently.

Tough.

One day, though, Inuyasha realizes that there are two golden plaques on the door. With his name — Inuyasha Taisho —, but more importantly, with her name.

Kagome Higurashi.

How did he never notice that?

He texts her that evening. Keeps it short and simple. Place and time.

She replies “It’s a date! :)”, and he kinda misses her writing, but it’s all set now. No backing away, and if she doesn’t show up this time, well, at least she’ll be able to let him know? He’s not sure about himself this time. He’s not quite the type to give people second chances.

Only, it might actually be worth it this time.

Of fucking course, she has to be late. It only makes sense, that she would torture him a little more. Inuyasha seriously considers running away the second the time is passed. But he waits.

Not for an hour, this time. Just a reasonable fifteen minutes, before she runs past the corner. She’s in good shape, he thinks when she gets by his side and is only barely panting, but he supposes if she’s often late, it would make sense.

“Hey, I’m so sorry, I had—”

“You’re always late, aren’t ya?”

She blushes, not in an embarrassed way but in an angry one.

Still just as adorable.

“No, no, not always, just… Just often.” She pushes some hair out of her mouth. “I’m Kagome Higurashi, by the way.”

“I know. ’s written on the office door. I had totally noticed.”

She laughs at that.

“I felt so stupid. You’re literally called Inuyasha. I can’t believe I made that dog joke, I’m so sorry by the way I—”

“That was a month ago. I’m over it.”

She frowns.

“You’re not really good at conversation, are you? Funny, I certainly couldn’t have told that from your notes.”

Is she making fun of him?

“So, wanna… Walk around? Grab coffee?”

Truth is, he didn’t plan the date, because part of him was worried she would bail on him, and he didn’t want to look stupid having to cancel a reservation at a restaurant.

“Actually, I need to go grab something at the office, if you don’t mind?”

“On a week-end?”

A psychopath. He knew it from the beginning. He can’t believe he didn’t pay attention to the signs.

“Oh come on. I went on week-ends when Sango wanted to get revenge on her Office Guy. It’s for myself this time. And kinda for you.”

Sango calls Miroku Office Guy. That’s hilarious. Did she miss the plaque on the door as well?

“’kay. I’ll follow you.”

Like he can say no to her. And they’re not even dating. Yet.

“Okay, just— wait a second, okay?”

Inuyasha shrugs. He hesitates a little before following her inside. He can’t say he’s really fond of the place, but mostly, he’s getting ideas now. Ideas that feature her sitting on the desk with her legs spread and him—

“Got it!”

Thank God. He needs to cool the fuck down.

“It’s for you.”

She hands him a carefully wrapped present, and he can only stare at it.

“It’s not Christmas.”

December has barely started. Seriously, what’s wrong with her?

“I’m late most of the time, but I like planning. Aren’t you going to open it?”

He wants to, but he also doesn’t want her to realize he wants to. So he scoffs and rolls his eyes. She leans against the desk, watching him with amusement dancing in her eyes and, yup, not looking at her, it’s giving him way too many ideas.

He rips the paper open, and ignores her sudden fascination for his claws. She seems almost disappointed at how quick he is at opening it.

It hits him like a punch in the chest.

It’s a picture of his parents. He hasn’t seen many of them, and he definitely doesn’t own any.

“I asked your brother,” Kagome says softly. “He isn’t an easy man to get a hold of, but Sango helped. She… has her ways.”

So Miroku’s Office Lady is a force to be reckoned with. He’ll remember that.

He clears his throat awkwardly, and carefully puts the picture back in the envelope. Doesn’t want to rip it by accident, and he is trembling a little.

“I don’t have a present for you,” he mumbles.

“I mean, you can think of something else you could give me, right?”

He squints at her. Surely, she can’t mean… Is she pulling fucking mistletoe out of her drawers? How many decorations for holidays is she hiding in there? How in advance is she planning? Again, what’s wrong with her? Now she’s holding the mistletoe over her head.

“Not that you have to,” she frowns when he doesn’t move. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything, I thought we had a good vibe and—”

It takes one wide step and his mouth is on her, his body pressing itself against hers between her legs. He kisses her hungrily. He’s been imagining the way she tasted since he first smelled her.

He’s not disappointed.

When she wraps her arms around him and brings him closer, he decides that she’s not disappointed either.

Good. Cause he has no intention of letting go of her any time soon.

Tagging list: @shinidamachu @sailorbabydoll92 @sweetchcolate @clearwillow @zelink-inukag @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @danycontreras90 @redflamesofpassion @lost-amidst-the-stars @eternalnight8806-3 @desiree239 @keichanz @ashleys-canvas @mustardyellowsunshine @meggz0rz @contacting-u @ramen---boi

#inusecretsanta #inuyasha #inukag #kagome #kagome higurashi #my writing

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dust2dust34 · 5 years ago

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Four Walls (Of Law Firms and Honey) - Olicity AU, Explicit

Summary: Oliver is Felicity’s boss at Queen & Queen, a prestigious international law firm. She’s the tech genius, he’s the top dog’s son, and they viciously disagree on nearly everything. Despite that, they work together, neither outright acknowledging the ever-present simmering attraction that has slowly been growing hotter and hotter…

Until a chance meeting at a grocery store one night has them crossing a line, a tiny little line that was never meant to be crossed.

A collection of ficlets in the same ‘verse: Of Law Firms and Honey.

Rated: Explicit

Full fic: AO3 | Tumblr | Timeline

Reminder: This is not a story about love. This is a story that ends in love, but it definitely does not start that way.

Please read the story tags and notes at the beginning of each chapter.

This fic is being told out of order. Please see the timeline to read them in order. Please see the previous installments for additional author notes and story information.

Check out the Four Walls playlist, and if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

Additional A/N: This was originally intended for Olicity Clue, but I’m super late on that now. My prompts were Felicity’s glasses, Queen Consolidated, and Isabel Rochev. This is partially written for a Fic For Food Drive I’m taking part in (please check out the details here, and consider donating!), and I say partially because I intend on writing something else in this series for a generous donor.

(read on AO3)

10:06 p.m. Queen & Queen

“There you are. Of course you’re in the last box I check.”

Felicity fished out the honey, destroying her beautiful packing job in the process. Her stapler fell over and the Doctor Who mug she used for her pens and pencils tipped precariously against the tray filled with projects she wanted to finish. Projects you should probably delegate since you, you know, have people to delegate to now. Felicity made a face. Yes, fine, it was a logical idea, but they were hers, damn it. It was her blood and sweat that had made them, and she wanted to finish them the way only she knew how.

Not very boss-like of you.

“Learning curve,” she grumbled. She pulled the bottle out with a triumphant, “Ha!”

Silver caught her eye and she inched her door open to see the letters fully.

Felicity M. Smoak Director of Information Technologies

With a smile, Felicity brushed her fingers over her new title like she had, oh, twenty thousand times over the last two weeks. Her name, on her door, on her corner office - her huge corner office with glass walls that turn opaque when you click a switch, and a bathroom, and a couch… Everything was looking up. She was settling into her promotion, she was getting dinner with Caitlin and Barry this weekend, she had been given leeway to hire more techs to go along with being given the reigns for setting up the system at the new Queen Consolidated…

Everything was good.

Her computer dinged.

The smile evaporated as she spun to her desk.

“No.” Felicity hurried over to her computer. The thick area rug she’d bought first thing muffled the smack of her bare feet until she hit the marble floor again. “You’re not supposed to find anything, what are you finding?”

She landed in her chair with a plop so hard it sent her chair - an ergonomic monstrosity that still reeked of plastic from being packed away - rolling. She grabbed her desk to stop from crashing into the credenza behind her. The honey bottle got in the way and she tossed it away, sending it rolling into her still-steaming mug. Tea sloshed over the sides, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were too busy bouncing between the three screens before her, looking for what had made that very specific noise that had all the hair on the back of her neck rising.

Foreign code was in the system.

In her system.

“Frak,” Felicity breathed, attacking her keyboard. “Frak.”

A few keystrokes later, the alien code popped up on the middle screen, and she was ready to launch into a full-on attack…

Felicity frowned.

It was her code.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

It had her framework, her technique, but it was nothing like what she used here, at all. And nothing she had used, considering it was missing her signature. Which meant someone else had used her code on her servers. And simplistic as it was, it was still hers and very capable of doing damage. Which it had, she discovered with a curse, as she dug deeper, tripping over holes where files had once been. Not that it was hard - everything this person had touched was a flashing red hot mess that she would have eventually found anyway because they hadn’t even tried to cover their tracks.

So it was stolen and sloppy.

“Oh. Hell. No. You steal from me, and then you use it on my servers, and you don’t even try to pretend you didn’t? Do you even know who you’re messing with? Ooh no, no, no…”

It took all of twenty-three seconds to follow the trail.

She expected it to be from outside the building, to lead back to some whippersnapper who didn’t know who she was, and who was about to learn that when you mess with her company, you’re messing with her…

But it didn’t.

It led to a terminal right here in the building: QQ112.

Her chest hollowed, buzzing filling her ears, scorching heat numbing her fingers.

It was impossible to remember who was assigned to every computer at Queen & Queen. A handful stuck in her mind from her technician days. The attorneys who barely knew how to open their email. The users who lacked any common sense when it came to downloading any old thing they found on the internet. Those who thought they hid their browsing history on the extremely not-safe-for-work side of Reddit, and those who didn’t even bother. The ones who insisted on fixing problems themselves and always wound up making it worse.

And Oliver Queen’s computer.

She fought to breathe as she stared at the letter and number sequence. She waited for it to change, to become something else, attached to someone else, to not be this. But nothing happened.

Except something had happened, hadn’t it?

Ice scored her insides.

She had shown him that code months ago, before anything had happened between them, back when she thought he might have been a friend. She had shown it to him as a courtesy, to teach, to spread the knowledge and maybe make Queen & Queen better by association. Not to use it against his own firm’s servers. Not to use her code on Q&Q’s servers. If someone who knew half of anything happened to be in there, they would be able to spot it.

They would be able to trace it back to her.

“Son of a bitch.”

Rage tore into her gut.

“What did you do?” Felicity growled. She went after the code with a fervor that had her keyboard scooting over the desk with every furious keystroke. Her eyes darted across her screens as she used everything she could think of to find out exactly what he had been doing. Angry tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away rapidly with a harsh curse. No. He didn’t deserve her tears. He didn’t deserve anything. She forced herself to breathe through a growing pressure in her chest, but all she could manage were short, sporadic breaths as she murmured, “You bastard. You stupid, stupid bastard…”

He had used the code two times. Both in January.

Felicity’s fingers faltered.

She hadn’t found out about her promotion until February.

The word sabotage seared her mind.

Is that what this was? They were co-directors now, more or less. They shared the department instead of her answering to him. She had taken his old position as Director of IT and a new one had been created for him - Director of Production. She had no idea what happened behind closed doors, but she’d wondered if everything she had done here - all that Oliver had taken credit for - had finally seen the light of day.

Or was this something else? Was it about Isabel, about the holiday party, about the horrible night that had followed here before she started separating herself from him and the debauched things they had done the last few months?

Fire ripped through her and more goddamn tears burned the back of her throat.

Isabel was gone and things hadn’t gone back to the way they were before.

Did he think they would?

Felicity fought to keep her hands from shaking - with anger, she told herself.

Things would never go back to the way they were. Because she didn’t want them to. Because she didn’t want him. She didn’t like waking up looking for him, missing his touch, or that there was an emptiness she couldn’t explain inside her. She hated that she felt anything at all. She hated what they had done. She hated who she was with him. She didn’t want whatever had been between them. And things were good now, she was happy, she was-

There.

He had deleted…

Emails?

Felicity leaned closer to the middle screen, as if she could make sense of the data fragments, but they were too broken still.

The only good thing about him using her code was she was able to deconstruct it quickly. Her code was effective, but it was simple, and it had nothing against the algos she threw at it to put them back together. If it had been someone else’s, it might have taken longer. But it was hers and she had a backup on top of her backups, and it was just a matter of time before she would see what he had destroyed…

All too soon bits and pieces of correspondence appeared. Broken email chains without senders or recipients, or dates or times, the words appearing in splintered sentences that had just enough for her to try and make sense of them.

It’s being split. I brought this up last month anyway,

It’s hers

Call me when you’re out

What do you want

Are you positive?

It can go out next week if you want

CONFIDENTIAL

We had an agreement. This is what you’ve been working towards. Are you sure?

Do you have any idea what you’re doing?

I found them

Let me know and we will get this in motion

I don’t think that’s a good idea

We have a deal

Call me.

yes

It’s best for everyone to get Felicity out

“Get Felicity out of what?” she demanded.

She tried to beef up the program to make it work faster, but there was too much information to cull through to find what was missing from the servers. Felicity huffed, even though she knew it was going as fast as it could within its limits. But waiting for every piece to appear, in the right order? She cursed under her breath. Her leg bounced in time with the speed of her thoughts, nearly matching the agitated beat of her heart. Pinpricks of heat danced over her cheeks, burning. It wasn’t until a lance of pain sliced through her jaw that she realized she had been chewing on the edge of her lip enough to tear a piece of skin.

“Ow,” she hissed, grimacing when her tongue touched the tiny wound. The taste of copper flooded her mouth.

Email addresses.

“Oh,” she blurted.

She could narrow the search to see who was involved. She hammered at the keyboard, changing the directives, switching priority to email addresses, and to order them by the amount of emails they appeared in.

A list immediately began populating.

[email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected]

The floor fell out from under her.

Felicity stared at the last one, waiting for it to pop up and explain itself, but it didn’t. Instead a boulder crushed her chest and the back of her neck burned as ice showered her insides.

“I thought I’d find you up here, Oliver.”

“I see old habits die hard.”

“I like your shoes.”

“Isabel knows.”

The list continued.

[email protected] [email protected] [email protected] [email protected]

“What?” she breathed at the last one, but before she could even begin to put any of it together, the program started bringing up the corresponding emails. Her email address was attached to only one, and the subject simply read:

Please see the attached.

It wasn’t done loading, but she didn’t wait, opening it anyway. There was nothing in the body of the email. It was just the attachment, addressed to her…

And Oliver.

The attachment was a video.

From Isabel.

“Oh god,” she choked out, her stomach twisting. Her hands shook so hard the keyboard rattled and she snatched them back, digging her nails into her palms. She stared at the email, dread coating her insides like tar.

She told herself it was because it was still loading that she didn’t immediately hit play, but even when it finished - even when the other emails finished coming together - she didn’t touch it.

Felicity wasn’t sure how long she sat there until she finally opened the video.

All she saw were black and white flickers and pixelated snippets. The cursor along the bottom told her it was playing, but nothing showed up, and for a blissful second she let herself believe it was nothing.

Then an image appeared.

An agonized moan fell from deep in her chest.

It was her and Oliver, in an elevator. He had her pinned to one of the walls, his face buried in her neck, one hand in her hair, making a mess of it, the other migrating down her neck, then her chest. She didn’t have to watch to remember the feel of his fingers slipping inside the band of her skirt and yanking her blouse out where it was tucked, so hard it tore one of her buttons. She had one of her legs up as much as her skirt would allow and wrapped around his, so damn eager that she hadn’t cared in the slightest where they were.

Isabel had this.

Her stomach pitched until she thought she was going to be sick.

In a twisted haze, Felicity watched her own hands claw down his back, raking over Oliver’s suit jacket where it strained against the width of his shoulders. She dug her nail into his neck. Her eyes half-closed, her mouth slack in pleasure, so obviously flushed despite the grey wash of the video. She remembered waking up with hickeys and bite marks all over her neck and chest. She had been so mad, she numbly recalled. But not while it was happening. Never while it was happening.

The Plaza, she remembered. They had used the suite the firm kept there for high-end clients.

“They never check the records, Smoak. They don’t want to know.”

The video abruptly switched, and it showed her walking backwards with Oliver following her down the hallway, towards the Premier Suite.

It occurred to Felicity in that second that it wasn’t showing his face.

There was no way there wasn’t video somewhere of him - entering the elevator, at the very least, because someone else had been on there when they’d first gotten on. Oliver had been standing next to her, only attacking her when the person got off a floor later. But the way the video played, if someone didn’t know, it looked like Felicity was taking some random person up to the suite.

His back was still to the camera as they reached the door. She had the key card, having taken it from him earlier, and she slipped it into the lock. She twisted the handle before turning to enter the room backwards. The soft lights overhead reflected on her glasses as she grabbed Oiver’s tie and yanked him in with her.

A blip of static overtook the screen and then it showed her slipping out of the room some time later, head bowed, her hair up in a chaotic ponytail, her clothes askew, her heels in-hand as she hurried to the elevator.

Alone.

It was all her.

The numbness cracked, just enough to take a breath, to frown, to think.

Felicity switched back to the email from Isabel. Short. Simple. To the point. To both her and Oliver.

So why…?

But if someone knew it was Oliver with her, that they were using the suite under his name, under the firm’s name, then there wouldn’t be much reproach, would there? Because regardless of his status within the firm, he was still a Queen. A hand-slapping, perhaps, and she would surely get reprimanded in some way.

Just her, though? Seemingly taking advantage of the firm like this?

But then why had she gotten the promotion she’d been angling for since long before Oliver swooped in and stole it out from under her last year?

She shook her head. None of it made sense.

Heart fluttering so fast it hurt, Felicity flipped through the other emails. There were so many of them, a couple dozen easily, most of them formalities, simple back and forths, nothing substantive. The ones between Oliver and his father were the most confusing, both of them talking in shorthand about a plan, something Oliver had been working towards, their conversations talking around something they both obviously knew and didn’t need to explain.

She stopped when she saw an email from [email protected] to [email protected].

No subject, no body, not even a signature.

Just an attachment.

A draft announcement naming Isabel Rochev as CEO of the newly formed Queen Consolidated.

Release date: March 1.

Felicity stared at the mockup uncomprehendingly. She read the words over and over until they blurred. She noted the empty spot where Isabel’s picture would go. She stared at the question mark after the date in parentheses. She tried to think, to understand what she was seeing, what she had seen. What had happened. How it had happened… and all without her ever knowing. It was blackmail, plain as day. Isabel had the perfect leverage in her possession.

And she had used it to get what she wanted.

“Oh my god,” Felicity blurted. “What did you do? What did you do?”

She grabbed her phone with trembling hands, swiping it open, going straight to her phone app. Muscle memory dialed the number she could never forget, but when his name appeared because her phone recognized it, her heart spasmed and she almost hit the END button.

A soft trill echoed from down the hallway.

Felicity’s head jerked up, her breath catching.

Another trill, so faint she barely heard it.

But she did.

Her phone hit her desk with a thud, but she didn’t hear it, already up and out the door. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she followed the ringing past darkened offices, a copy room, the shadowed kitchen, to the opposite corner of the floor.

To his office.

The trill abruptly stopped followed by a harsh, “What?”

She heard it from the open door that came into view when she turned the corner.

A nervous wash of adrenaline crashed through her veins, especially when a softer, “Felicity?” followed. The closer she got, the more her limbs felt like they were going to shatter, each step shakier than the last. “Felicity?”

She heard him so clearly her mouth went dry.

Felicity stopped when she reached his door.

Oliver stood by his sitting area, just like the one she had, his office a mirror version of hers. He had a sheaf of paper in one hand, his phone in the other, a dark glower on his face as he glared at the little coffee table before him.

Her chest squeezed tight.

It had been so long since she’d been in here - so long since she’d seen him, period. He seemed bigger, yet somehow he took up less space. His muscles were bulkier, but his waist was leaner. His face had a gauntness that hadn’t been there before, his jaw sharp and angular. His tie was off, the first buttons of his shirt undone, the sleeves rolled up in messy bunches, his hair askew from running his hands through it. Dark circles underlined his eyes and in place of his signature scruff was the beginning of an unkempt beard.

She had deliberately not sought him out. She didn’t look for him. She barely offered him a glance when they had to interact outside of telephone calls or emails.

He looked like hell.

She stepped inside.

“Are you…?” he started before he saw her.

Oliver’s words died off, surprise widening his eyes. Then he frowned, and the closer she got, the deeper the furrow between his brow went.

“Felicity?” he said, his voice low, rough. “What’s wrong-”

She grabbed his face with both hands as she pushed up onto her toes and kissed him.

He froze. She barely noticed under the press of his lips to hers again. They were dry, chapped, but still so soft, just like she remembered.

Felicity whimpered and grasped him tighter, pressing closer, kissing him harder. The little wound she’d given herself a few minutes ago burned under the pressure, but the pain only edged the heady sensation of his mouth against hers again. God, she had missed it, she had missed him, more than she wanted to admit. But it was impossible to deny right now, when it had been months, when the last time she had kissed him had been in anger, her only intent to hurt and maim, to inflict the pain she’d felt. There was none of that now. This was different.

He stood stock still. He didn’t even breathe, stiff and unrelenting, implacable.

Until he wasn’t.

Oliver melted into her.

She gasped at the abrupt surrender, the sound morphing into a strung out cry as he kissed her back. He dropped the papers and his phone, both landing with a thud, the papers hitting her naked toes, but she barely felt it. He wound his arms around her and yanked her off her feet.

It had been so long.

Too long.

Felicity opened her mouth at the same time he did, their tongues meeting halfway. She groaned at the first taste, eclipsing his breathy whine. He clutched her hard as he bowed forward, chasing the kiss with vigor, his tongue spearing into her mouth. Her knees buckled, her feet hitting the ground in an uncoordinated mess, and it was only because of his hold that she didn’t fall. But then she pushed off the floor, shoving back against him, kissing him with equal ardor. Teeth collided, lips yanking, pulling, sucking, tongues exploring and tasting and tangling. Despite how they chased each other, he still eclipsed her, surrounding her, swallowing her up. She whimpered at the overwhelming sensation and he drank it all in as his hands roamed all over her, before falling to her ass. He gripped her so hard she broke away with a cry.

He didn’t let her get far, though, and she didn’t want him to.

Not anymore.

Oliver captured her mouth again, sucking on her bottom lip, groaning when she nipped at him.

The back of her legs collided with something hard before she even realized they were moving. The coffee table. The heavy, low-sitting furniture scooted across the floor, but they just followed it. Oliver urged her down with hard hands. Felicity clawed into his shoulders, unwilling to release his lips, forcing him to follow her as she laid back on the table. It was awkward and uneven, but neither of them cared, or bothered to fix it, because it meant stopping, and that couldn’t happen. Oliver loomed over her, gripping the edges of the table, his muscles rippling to keep from crushing her as he ravaged her mouth with a thoroughness that left her head spinning.

But then all too soon, he was wrenching away.

With a ragged gasp of air and fogged glasses, Felicity arched up to follow him - don’t go, don’t stop, don’t - but he just fell to his knees before her. She tried to spread her legs to wrap around him, needing to feel him pressed against her as much as possible, but her skirt was too tight. She frantically yanked it up as his hands flew to his belt and pants.

Heavy breathing and the rustle of clothes were the only sounds for a moment.

Pants half-hanging open, Oliver grappled for his wallet. He ripped it out of his pocket and dug out a square package. He tossed the leather away as Felicity pushed her panties down, pulling her legs up enough to yank them down one leg, leaving them hanging off her foot as she spread for him.

Oliver’s eyes dropped to her sex. Mouth swollen, cheeks flushed, lids heavy, he stared at her as he rolled the condom down his length, his pupils eclipsing the stormy blue as he drank her in.

A shiver shot down her spine.

She missed this, missed how he looked at her, half-drunk with need that matched her own.

“Please,” she begged, grasping the edges of the table and scooting closer to him. “Oliver.”

He grabbed her hips, yanking her until her ass hung off the edge. The swollen head of his cock rubbed up her cleft, and then back down, nudging her entrance.

“Yes-”

Oliver thrust in, hard and fast.

Felicity shouted at the intrusion. Her back bowed, her eyes squeezing shut as he filled her to the brim. The pressure was incredible, his girth stretching her nearly to the point of pain. She felt him in every inch of her body and it stole the air right out of her lungs.

“Shit,” Oliver gasped, his hands grabbing her waist as he pulled back out. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Felicity pleaded. “Don’t-”

She found his hips and yanked him inside her once more. She hissed when he stretched her so wide it was all she could to keep breathing. But she did, and she angled her hips to take him in even deeper. She hadn’t realized how much she had shut down, shut him out, not even entertaining the option, to the point she wasn’t ready for him like she would have been before. But she would be, again. She knew if they kept moving, her body would catch up. It would.

Her name fell off his lips in a choked moan as his fingers dug into her ribs.

To stop her. To pull out. To leave her.

Felicity shook her head wildly.

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she babbled breathlessly, but her voice breaking betrayed her. She arched up to keep him inside her. “It’s just… been a while, I’m… I’m okay, I’m not… I can’t… Just don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop-”

She was begging him.

The anguish in her voice sliced her heart to ribbons. She felt ready to burst into a thousand pieces, for a thousand different reasons, and absolutely none of them made sense. She had prided herself on keeping her distance, on being stronger than whatever was between them, on being able to walk away.

But now all of that was gone in the blink of an eye, just gone, as if it had never been there.

The realization tore through her and Felicity fell back against the table with a broken cry.

All of it had been a lie. She was a lie. Everything she told herself she felt was a lie.

Another sob threatened to escape, but she bit it back. Because the only thing that mattered in this moment was staying here. With him. She needed to be here - with him - and she couldn’t think about it, about what it meant. She could only feel.

She only wanted to feel.

“Please,” Felicity breathed, arching up again, her legs winding around him, her nails scrabbling under his shirt. “Don’t stop. Please-”

“I’m not,” Oliver whispered in a rush, falling over her. It changed the angle of his hardness inside her and she whimpered as he cupped her face on a ragged, “I’m not stopping. Ever,” before his lips found hers in a burning kiss.

It matched her desperation so perfectly that tears burned her eyes. It shouldn’t soothe her, and she knew that. But it did, and it felt so good, so right, to be here, to be back with him. But it was more than that. It grounded her, in a way she couldn’t do herself. She mewled, opening for him, winding her arms around his shoulders. He kissed her until they were both gasping for air, and then he kissed her even more, deeper, harder.

He invaded her in every way possible.

More.

Felicity twisted his shirt, twisting it, yanking. She slid one hand under the collar, and then his undershirt. His skin was blisteringly hot against her palm, and she moaned, kissing him harder as she dug her nails into his muscles. His hips jerked into hers, and this time they both moaned when he slid in a little easier, sending tiny bolts of pleasure through her.

“Off,” she mumbled, tugging at his shirt. “Off.”

He didn’t bother with the buttons, ripping his dress shirt off along with his undershirt. Buttons went scattering, but Felicity barely heard them pinging, or felt the ones that hit her as she yanked her own shirt off.

Her breath caught at the sight he made. His abs stood out in stark relief, too stark, the lines of his body harsh and rigid, a wall of pure muscle. He had always been well-defined, but this was extreme. Felicity flattened her hands to his stomach and smoothed them. She was transfixed by the feel of his hot, silky skin over such hardness, her fingers ghosting over his taut nipples, his rock-hard pecs…

“C’mere,” Oliver grunted, hooking his fingers in the front of her bra and yanking her up.

The lace tore across her skin and she yelped as she crashed into his chest. The pain only fueled her need as the new angle had him shifting inside her again, gasoline on a fire, turning a simmer into an inferno.

Felicity’s teeth found his collarbone.

He cried out, grabbing the back of her neck. He crowded her closer as she worked her way up his neck, savoring his salty taste, sucking and nipping, leaving little marks that would be there for days.

“Fuck… Felicity…”

She’d never heard her name so many times from him like this. She was always Smoak. But not right now, and the knowledge that he was just as undone as she was had her licking and sucking harder, wanting to hear more of it. He gave it to her, a raspy plea as he turned his face into her hair, his breathing hot and damp, his fingers digging into her neck as she marked him, up his throat, his jaw…

On a groan, Oliver captured her lips with his as he inched his hips forward.

He filled her up, so much more smoothly, so good, so perfectly. Burning need arched through her, the pressure changing, her slickening inner walls clamping down on him. Oliver swallowed down her cries, matching them with his own as he pulled out a bit to thrust back in. He rubbed against her with each thrust, his pubic bone hitting her clit, sending little bursts of pleasure sparking through her. She keened, clinging to him, and he did it again, and again, slow and steady, making sure she was ready for him.

“Yes,” she whimpered, grabbing his face, kissing them both breathless. “Yes.”

His fingers found the clasp of her bra. He undid it quickly and pushed her back down to the table.

The cold tabletop was a shock, but then Oliver was pulling her bra off, tossing it away…

And then all she felt was the burn of his gaze, and then his hands as he grasped her waist.

His hips slowed as he stared at her with unfathomable eyes, so dark, so intense. It was almost like he couldn’t get enough of what he saw. Captivated. Transfixed. His gaze danced all over her, up her chest, her neck, her mouth, then back down to her breasts, her abdomen.

“Felicity…”

He dragged her name out, tasting every single syllable. Did he know what he was saying? He couldn’t, she thought, not with how he looked at her, or how he touched her. There was a reverence that hadn’t been there before.

Felicity’s heart skipped, her mouth going dry, her stomach fluttering.

She had missed him, so much, and not just his body. But that was the confusing part. They didn’t have a relationship. They didn’t have anything.

And yet… the way he looked at her… how he made her feel…

“Felicity…”

She shivered, and fought to breathe, but then he was touching her. Oliver smoothed his hands up her waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts before slipping back down, one hand cupping her ribs, the other spanning the width of her stomach…

So soft.

So gentle.

Felicity shuddered, goosebumps erupting over her skin. They sent another shiver ripping down her spine, and another. The goosebumps spread everywhere, her chest, her stomach, her breasts, peaking her nipples into hard little beads that ached.

It was nothing compared to the way he stared at her.

It was too much.

“Oliver,” Felicity choked.

His dark gaze flew to hers and her heart clenched at the look in them.

Too much.

She grabbed his hands and slid them up to her breasts, cupping herself with his fingers. Lust slackened his face and he took over, squeezing them before raking his thumbs over her nipples. Pleasure spiked through her and she moaned, loudly, and he did it again.

“Yes,” she breathed, nodding, closing her eyes as she arched her back, rocking her hips. “Please. I need you-”

On a harsh growl, Oliver squeezed her breasts, so hard and fast it took her breath away. Using his grasp on her to keep her still, he thrust into her, burying himself as deep as he could. Her hands scrambled up his arms for something to hold onto as he gripped her breasts, relentless and unforgiving, and thrust into her again. Again. Again.

“Oh… god!” she cried. “Oh… oh god…!”

Oliver fell on top of her, pinning her to the table, spreading her legs impossibly wide.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his mouth finding hers in a messy kiss.

She struggled to respond, but his demanding lips stole her ability to do anything. He ripped away only to shove his hands up into her hair. He destroyed her ponytail, pulling on the long strands until enough was free so he could make tight fists. Oliver braced himself over her and used his new leverage to pull out nearly all the way before thrusting home, so hard the table shook. Felicity shouted, grabbing his sides for something to hold onto. She was completely at his mercy and it had a rush of arousal sweeping through her, her juices flooding her sex, a desperate ache for him to fuck her sensenless razing her from the inside out. Blood rushed in her ears, her heart pounded, heat swamped her veins, a mind-numbing pressure deep in her core coiling tighter as Oliver thrust into her so hard the table slid across the floor.

“Say it.”

“I need you,” Felicity gasped. He groaned at the words. “I need you. I need you. I need you.”

They moved together, finding a rhythm to his pleading, “Again,” and her breathless, “I need you,” echoed by the sounds of their harsh pants for air and her wet sex taking in every inch of him over and over until they both dissolved into mindless cries.

The orgasm hit her in a tidal wave, bowling her over, eclipsing everything. White sheeted over her eyes, a series of short, startled cries flying from her as she fell to pieces.

Oliver’s grip on her tightened so much she whimpered as he started thrusting with abandon. Hard, harder, each collision sending her higher, dragging her pleasure out until she didn’t know where he began and she ended. His forehead landed on hers, skin slick, his breaths hot and ragged against her mouth. Felicity grabbed hold of him, cradling him, nonsensical words falling from her as he plowed into her, erratic and frantic, chasing his pleasure.

He jerked, his back bowing, his pistoning hips stuttering.

With a strangled, “Felicity,” on his lips, he came.

Oliver collapsed on top of her, burying his face into her throat, her skin muffling his desperate noises. He didn’t stop, his hips rocking into her as he rode out his orgasm, her inner walls milking every last bit out of him, his cock twitching deep inside her with each burst.

It was a long moment before he finally slowed, and then fell still.

Buzzing filled her head.

Pleasure. Satisfaction. Shock. Confusion.

She wanted him to move. But she didn’t. She wanted to want to. She wanted to get off this uncomfortable table, to get his bulk off her where he crushed her, but at the same time, she didn’t. She didn’t want to move. Ever.

Oliver made the decision for her.

He slowly pushed up. He slipped out of her, trying to quiet his groan when he left her wet heat. Felicity bit her lip so hard it nearly tore the skin as her sex clenched at the sudden emptiness. And then he was off of her, pushing to his feet. He grabbed his pants, yanking them back up as he turned away from her.

He didn’t look at her once.

Felicity sat up, grimacing at the throb blossoming between her thighs. She stood up gingerly, her hands shaking as she pushed her skirt back down. The silence was deafening. He moved to his desk, peeling the condom off as he went before tying it off and tossing it. The cool office air stung her sweaty skin and she crossed her arms over her breasts, looking around for her blouse.

She spotted it in a crumpled heap next to his tangled shirts.

It smelled like him when she slipped it over her head.

“Were you supposed to be the CEO of Queen Consolidated?”

Silence.

Felicity looked at him where he stood by his desk, his hands frozen where he’d been re-buttoning his pants. The slacks were tight across his backside, stretched over his thighs in a way that they hadn’t been before. His back was covered in red marks where she’d raked her nails over him, making the well-defined muscles in his back stand out in harsher relief when he finished fastening the buttons. His belt was next.

That was it.

“You were, weren’t you?” she asked. The full weight of that hit her and Felicity’s ribs closed in around her, making her gasp. “You were leaving Q&Q. But now you’re not. Because of Isabel. Because of…”

Us.

He turned his head slightly, but that was it.

“How did she know?” she asked. She caught the edge of his forehead creasing in a frown. “About the Plaza. That we were there that one night…” He finally turned, his brow creased in muted surprise, and she huffed. “C’mon, Oliver, give me a little more credit than that. This is my system, remember? I know when something’s wrong. Or… missing. I saw the video. And the emails. And the announcement about her, that you sent. Like it was… gift-wrapped. Because she had something that she couldn’t have possibly known about, didn’t she? But the odds of her picking that one night…”

He didn’t answer her. He just turned to his desk.

“Oliver-”

He opened one of the bottom drawers and pulled out…

“My glasses?” Felicity frowned when she recognized the frames. She absently reached up to touch the replacement pair she currently wore. “I thought I lost those.”

“A couple weeks ago…” Oliver said in a low voice, not making a move to hand them to her. He tilted them back and forth in his fingers, the move so easy and familiar, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He stared at them as he spoke. “Isabel walked into my office and handed these to me. I told her they could be anybody’s, but then she showed me the security tape.”

Felicity’s heart sank. “Oh god…”

“I told her to go to hell,” he continued, still watching the glasses. He huffed. “She must not have liked that very much because then she sent the video to both of us. Except this time it was focused on you. She said she wanted you gone, and that if we didn’t do anything about it, she would take the video to the Board, since you not only work here, but are slated to be so involved with getting Queen Consolidated set up.”

Felicity closed her eyes.

This was her fault. It wasn’t them, together, specifically. It was her. She remembered wanting to escape that room the next morning more than anything, before Oliver woke up, before she had to face what they had done. Again.

“It was a game to her,” he said and she opened her eyes to see his locked on her. “She wanted to see what we would do when she pushed us into a corner. If it was just me, or if it was both of us, I could have at least… But it was you, and I knew I couldn’t do anything without risking her releasing that tape, so I gave her something she couldn’t resist.”

“Queen Consolidated.”

“Queen Consolidated,” he echoed. The broken way his lips lifted in a half-smile, an attempt to hide the depth of what he had given up, cracked her open. “It didn’t matter, though. Whatever we had, it had nothing to do with your job. You’re the best asset this firm has and I wasn’t going to let you pay the price for something that wasn’t your fault.”

Felicity could only stand there, staring at him, too overwhelmed to comprehend any of it.

So she focused on the one thing she could fix.

“She still has the video.”

Oliver pursed his lips on a slow nod. “Yeah.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing they tapped me to set up Queen Consolidated, isn’t it?” She gave him a tight smile before lifting her hands to wiggle her fingers at him. “I’ll get it. Somehow. Once I’m in, I’m kind of hard to escape.”

Something flickered over his face, but it was so tiny, nearly indiscernible, that she wondered if she saw it. Then she remembered how he’d looked at her a moment ago and her heart faltered.

He dropped his eyes back to the glasses.

“Here.” Oliver cleared his throat as he stepped towards her and held them out to her.

Felicity slowly took them. “Thank you.”

All he had was a tight nod and a bland attempt at a smile before he turned away.

She grabbed his arm. “Oliver, wait-”

He looked back, his brow twisted in what she could only read as concern, but she barely gave herself time to discern it.

The second he faced her, she pushed up onto her toes again and kissed him.

It was soft, chaste, her lips capturing his with an ease that settled something deep inside her.

“Come home with me,” she whispered against his lips.

He hesitated and her chest caved in.

“Please.”

An eternity passed, their breaths mingling, noses brushing, but that was it.

She pressed her lips together before biting her bottom lip, the urge to ask him again - to beg - overwhelming her, nearly taking over.

Please.

Oliver pulled back and she barely bit back a whimper. He was going to say no. She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to see the look he gave her, to face what she was asking him, after she had slammed the door in his face. Felicity bit her lip harder, fighting to keep more words from falling out…

He cupped her jaw.

Felicity’s eyes flew open as his thumb tugged her lip away from her teeth with a whispered, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The word was out before she could think, and the second it was, his mouth was on hers. With a sigh, she fell into him as Oliver wound his arms around her, pulling her into him. They opened for each other, and she whimpered when he took a deeper taste, re-sealing the unspoken bond between them.

“Yes.”

Thank you so much for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse!

On a final note, I want to thank everyone who has engaged with me about this story. I appreciate every single comment and tweet and DM and ask. I know the way I'm writing them in this 'verse is very challenging, and demanding, and it's not an easy read. But it shouldn't be, because I don't want it to be. I don't want my readers comfortable during certain parts of this story, because I'm not comfortable. I'm pushing a lot of boundaries with this story. This is my most difficult undertaking to date, and I question myself at every turn in this process. All the more reason I truly appreciate those who continue to read, who reach out, who share their thoughts with me. I'm learning a lot about myself as I go on, and I thank you for being on this journey with me!

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #oliver queen #felicity smoak #arrow #fanfiction #olicity au #of law firms and honey #four walls #my fics #my fics: au

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elioetoliver · 6 years ago

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ok but au where detectives dean winchester and cas novak are that married couple at the police department where they both work, and they’re so absolutely gone on each other and their coworkers can’t help but wish they’d tone it down just a little because they’re so disgustingly in love. consider:

the communal fridge is always stocked with two brown paper bags, each with one of their names penned on it in cas’s careful scrawl. the lunches are usually identical, with some sort of balanced meal that dean inevitably scoffs at but eats because “you need to eat vegetables sometimes, dean. our job is dangerous enough, you don’t need to put yourself at risk of a heart attack,” but sometimes cas will include a slice of pie, too, and when dean sees it at the bottom of the bag his eyes go all soft and grateful and cas just narrows his eyes and says “don’t get used to it” but then dean blows him a kiss from his desk and cas blushes furiously before returning to his work

whenever cas makes a break in a case (which is often, dude is good at what he does), dean will tease him with a, “guess you’re not just a pretty face, huh, darlin?” but he is absolutely teeming with pride, and can’t stop praising cas to anyone who will listen, going on about what a genius he is and what amazing detective work he does and how nobody else would have been able to crack the case

they pull into work every morning in dean’s ‘67 impala, and even though dean is always going on about how classic rock is the only music that’s worth a damn and he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to anything else, through the car’s cracked windows they can always see cas nodding along happily to some wasted indie folk band, and they’ll sit in the lot with the car in park til the song finishes, dean looking over at cas fondly

dean goes undercover sometimes and he’ll be gone for weeks at a time and everyone in the office knows to steer clear of cas because his husband’s life could very well be in danger and so he’s tense and on-edge. and they know when dean is back without anyone even telling them simply because cas no longer looks like he’s ready to smite everyone in his path

but one time a bullet grazes dean’s arm in a shoot-out and he returns to the pd with his arm bandaged up and when cas sees him he looks close to tears as he hugs dean (carefully avoiding the injury) and muffles something into his shoulder about how worried he was and how much he missed him. but then he pulls away and, glaring at the wound says, “but if you ever even think about doing something stupid like getting yourself shot again, i’ll kill you, dean, i mean it. don’t you ever scare me like this again.”

the constant, prolonged eye contact. truly how is anyone meant to get any work done when winchester and novak are staring at each other like that?

dean always making it very clear that cas is his man. he’ll get a call and when cas’s name flashes on his screen he’ll shrug apologetically (but he doesn’t look sorry at all) to whoever he’s talking to, “it’s the old ball-and-chain, gotta take it.” or someone will ask if dean wants to come out for drinks friday after work and he’s all “i’ll run it by the missus”

when cas asks dean for anything, be it help with a case or to pass him the stapler he says “’course, sweetheart, anything for you.”

they have the highest arrest numbers out of anyone else in the department, largely bc they’re so attuned to one another that their good cop/bad cop routine is infallible, dean gently reassuring perps in custody while cas circles around the interrogation table, stoic and imposing

cas is super meticulous and takes his job very seriously and he’ll spend hours taking the utmost care doing paperwork and filing arrests reports perfectly and so sometimes he stays at work late making sure it’s all up to his standards and and dean sticks around to keep him company every time, even though he could have left hours ago, because when he gets super focused like this cas forgets to take care of himself and dean needs to make sure he’s ok and doesn’t do anything stupid like sleep at his desk instead of going home or forget to eat dinner

the flirting. it never stops. whether they’re investigating a crime scene or on a stake-out or at their desks every single interaction they have is loaded with subtext and double-entendres and dean makes it his mission to tease cas at every possible turn for his oversized trench coat and his unkempt hair and cas inevitably retaliates with something about dean’s bowlegs and it’s a miracle to everyone that these two somehow get to work on time every single day because if they find it so hard to keep it in their pants in public, at work no less, they can’t even fathom what they get up to when they’re home

then one year, at the annual christmas party, dean and cas arrive separately, which is completely unprecedented, and dean’s got his arm around a pretty brunette woman named lisa, whom he introduces as his girlfriend, and everyone is shocked and horrified to learn that dean and cas are just work husbands and they aren’t married at all - hell, they’ve never even dated. and at that moment getting dean and cas to realize that they’re definitely in love with each other turns into something of an office-wide mission, and everyone is incredibly invested.

of course, they’re eventually successful. but maybe their coworkers have some regrets about that, because if being around dean and cas was difficult when they were work husbands, it’s downright impossible once they’re husband husbands.

#destiel #destiel au #dean winchester #castiel #my writing

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spnfanficpond · 4 years ago

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SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge

Each new episode, we get new material from the show we all love, so let’s channel that into new stories! Each week that there’s a new episode, we’ll throw up a prompt from the episode. (For the international folks and those who just can’t watch live, we’ll try to keep these prompts as spoiler-free as possible, so nothing that will hint to major plot points.) Pick a prompt, write a thing, post it, tag us, and we’ll add it to the masterpost for that week. No need to send us an ask or sign up, just do it or don’t do it as you have time.

Here’s the nitty-gritty:

You have to be a member of the Pond to have your story added to the masterpost.

Everything is welcome in the Pond, so anything goes! Ships, reader insert, angst, smut, crack, fluff, whatever floats your boat, make it SAIL.

If your story is over 500 words, please use a Keep Reading cut! Also, even if your story isn’t over 500 words, be nice and put your tags under a cut!

Because tags are notoriously sketchy, please tag BOTH @spnfanficpond AND @mrswhozeewhatsis as well as using the tag #Pond S14 Weekly Challenge. Hopefully, tagging all three will mean Tumblr will get at least one right.

Deadline: No pressure! Do it as and when you can!

Feel free to post your fics on AO3 and add them to the Collection HERE.

Any questions? Send us an ASK! (Prompts and masterposts for each week listed below the cut.)

WEEK ONE

Prompts:

“You’re… Oh, God.” “People keep calling me that.”

“Really? That’s very Hallmark Channel.”

“You are my Beyoncé!”

“It’s a magic egg.”

“You know how to use that, right?” “Stab them with the pointy end?”

WEEK TWO

Prompts:

“A little of this, a little of that… hmm… too much of that.”

“Who goes to Duluth in October?”

“Last time I sucked when it mattered.”

“What’s it like in your hometown?” “Empty, wind-swept, dead bodies lying around….”

“Very elegant! But, then again, so are you.”

WEEK THREE

Prompts:

“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. It’s always just there… watching.”

“I didn’t mean to be a dick.”

“If I get a vote, I’m Team Stick Together.”

“It’s marked ‘gross stuff’.”

“I’m dreading those consequences.”

WEEK FOUR

Prompts:

“So handsome. So angry.“

“Which is not cool. And is weirdly, creepily specific.”

“He must have awesome insurance.”

“Time to slice and dice!”

“I like it when they run.”

WEEK FIVE

Prompts:

“We all need our beauty sleep.”

“This house? You’re sure?”

“That thing that I killed died weird.”

“Thank God for benzos.”

“That’s what everyone says. Except him.”

WEEK SIX

Prompts:

“What, goo?“ “Goo.”

“That’s the thing you do before the sex.”

“Congrats, Mighty Mouse.”

“It’s weird. I’m weird.“ “It’s fine. I think.”

“Stupid magic.”

WEEK SEVEN

Prompts:

“I hate that it feels so good.”

“People say things in the heat of the moment.”

“It doesn’t quiet fit. It’s delicate.”

“We’re takin’ Baby for some for some exercise.“

“I’m passionately peripatetic.”

WEEK EIGHT

Prompts:

“You don’t have to cram it all in at once.”

“After about whiskey #5, it hit me.”

“We met him. Major dick.”

“That lady’s a peach.”

“Pushing pencils, damning souls. Tough work.”

WEEK NINE

Prompts:

“The secret password is Cookietacular.”

“I guess that’s what she meant by ‘volunteer’.”

“Certified Priority Express”

“I guess I’m just fired up.”

“It’s lighter than I expected.”

WEEK TEN

Prompts:

“Wet one out there, eh?”

“It’s a big trunk.”

“We have shifts, now, because you mess up so, so many things.”

“And I want you to know you have my full emotional support.”

“Kill a ghoul, get a beer!”

WEEK ELEVEN

Prompts:

“You want to hop in? Help out?”

“Glad it satisfied.”

“First name Eat, last name Me.”

“If you do this, we’re done. You walk.”

“Say it. I can see you want to.”

WEEK TWELVE

Prompts:

“I don’t need to get shaky on this thing.”

“The woman has a remarkable command of profanity.”

“I killed him… it… whatever.”

“Thinking? Highly overrated.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.”

WEEK THIRTEEN

Prompts:

“He’s a spoiled little jerk but I love him.”

“I took a vow.”

“This is like the best worst thing to happen to you.”

“Well, that’s one for the record books.”

“God bless kale, am I right?”

WEEK FOURTEEN

Prompts:

“Well, that’s not sustainable.”

“This is like an AV Club presentation.”

“I let his mother ride the jet ski ONE time!”

“I thought my performance was quite magnificent.”

“Must be all that finally waking up from centuries of misogynistic oppression.”

WEEK FIFTEEN

Prompts:

“I look at them, sometimes, after you fall asleep at night.”

“I’m Justin Smith and this is my foxy wife, Cindy!”

“Next time try to be a little less apt.”

“I’m gonna make some bacon.”

“If we can’t remain civil, then you can skedaddle.”

WEEK SIXTEEN

Prompts:

“Porn? Sex tapes? Nip slips?”

“My mission is shopping?”

“Their whole place must smell like beer, Kleenex, and Old Spice.”

“We should probably do what he says.” “Definitely.”

“If you two are gonna kiss, can you go in the other room?”

WEEK SEVENTEEN

Prompts:

“Hold your haystacks, I’m coming!”

“This whole damn town’s a dead zone.”

“They are lightly cursed.”

“Are you insane? This is Mulberry silk!”

“I mean….” “’I mean’??? What do you mean, “I mean’???”

WEEK EIGHTEEN

Prompts:

“Kind of sounds like you’re bummed about it.”

“Together? Alone?”

“Are you still afraid of me?”

“Things got complicated. I got complicated.”

“Disposition affects execution.”

WEEK NINETEEN

Prompts:

“I’m not my first choice, either, but here we are.”

“I came here to tell you something. Something important.”

“People are hungry for the truth.”

“It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

You have to do way better than that, buddy.”

WEEK TWENTY

Prompts:

“She thinks it’s dangerous and insane, but she’s in.”

“I’m sleeping with your wife.” “I know. I’m kinda into it.”

“I can’t believe you taped it!” “I thought it was hot!”

“I am the stapler queen!”

“I’ll stop talking.” “Probably a good idea.”

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tessatechaitea · 4 years ago

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The Invisibles #1

If I had to pretend to know anything about art, I'd say this cover represents how pop culture can kill. Or will blow your mind. Or feels dangerous but it's actually pretty safe because the pin is still in the grenade.

What the fuck do I know about art and why the fuck am I assuming this comic book is going to be about art anyway?! Just because Grant Morrison wrote it and I happen to think Grant Morrison has written some pretty smart comic books? Well, I'm pretty sure he's written some huge fucking turds too! It's just that I haven't read any of them that I remember. Apparently I've read a few issues of this but I don't really remember it. I don't like to tell people that I don't remember it when they talk about how great it was because that's admitting that 22 year old me wasn't a discerning critic of his entertainment. At least I also can't remember the truly garbage comic books I was reading in 1994 as well! So it's possible I read this and thought, "I'm so smart because I understand what's happening!" Now I'm terrified to read it because I'm absolutely certain I'll think, "What the hell is going on in this comic book? I'm such a stupid asshole!" Oh boy. This comic book is forty pages long. Get ready for a review that explicates the first fifteen pages thoroughly while also digressing twelve separate times before quickly summarizing the last twenty-five pages so I can go play some Apex.

I can't say for certain this is a shot at Ann Nocenti but, thankfully, I can say it's definitely not a shot at me!

This guy is Elfayed. He's retrieved a mummified scarab from the desert believing it might be a sign for the mysterious bald man with too many face piercings and the endeavor he's currently on. Which is a mystery because Grant Morrison isn't going to let the reader understand the comic book on the first page! Sheesh! The second page doesn't help explain things but it does place the word "synchronicity" burning in my brain like a buzzing, blinking neon sign.

Get it? Mummified beetle. Dead Beatles. Boy throwing a Molotov cocktail. Pop culture and violence. I think I intuitively understand this comic book so 70% of the rest of what I say will be dick jokes.

The kid throwing the explosive is one of three members of a gang called the Croxteth Posse. Every youth in Britain joins a gang no matter how stupid and lame they are. It just proves how hard they are even if they never throw one Molotov cocktail or ever even get their genitals touched. The gang members run off into the night, past some "King Mob" graffiti which will be important later, yelling, "We are the boys! We are the boys!" Is that a thing lame youth gangs in London did in the 80s and 90s? Because I remember Lister and his posse saying that shit about being the boys of the Dwarf when they thought they were acting hard on some adventure that probably involved Lister fucking a future version of himself. The Croxteth gang are from Liverpool because Croxteth is a suburb of Liverpool. It shows how imaginative these youths are. I bet there are at least fifty different Croxteth Posses bumbling about at night destroying things. The bald guys name is Gideon (and possibly King Mob. Unless the antagonist is King Mob. I should probably keep reading to find out) and he's both young and old at the same time. He's probably some kind of spirit of the zeitgeist or something, Grant Morrison's Jenny Sparks. He's looking for a new recruit for his own gang since something happened to John-A-Dreams. He might have just died of old age because Gideon's other acquaintance, Edith, is now 95 years old and sulking in her mortality. He wants her to contact somebody named Tom to let him know he thinks he found their new recruit. I think it's probably the anarchist kid because I know how stories work. I'm starting to think maybe The Invisibles are a bit like the Upright Citizens Brigade. Their only enemy is the status quo. Their only friend is chaos. Except there will be less skits with people wearing giant papier-mâché cat heads and more ultra-violence. The arsonist kid's name is McGowan and he's smarter than he acts, according to his teacher who gives him the old "you're not fulfilling your potential and your friends are just dragging you down" speech. But what kind of an anarchist would McGowan be if he gave a shit about what his teacher thinks of him? Oh, that's right! He'd be a good anarchist if he really gave a shit and a bad anarchist if he didn't give a shit but he let the teacher's words affect him anyway. That's how anarchy works, right? The problem with anarchy is that it needs a few rules to make it work well but you can't enforce any rules or else you're not living an anarchic lifestyle. Here's my definition of anarchy from Places & Predators, my roller playing game: a philosophy where anybody can do anything they want without worrying about some stupid guard putting an axe in their head. But they have to worry about everyone else putting an axe in their head all the time because there are no guards. I should probably read The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin instead of all these stupid Han Solo and Lando Calrissian adventure books.

Oh, well McGowan's mother withholds love and affection and blames him for all the ills in her life. I suppose I can now forgive him for torching the school library, right?

McGowan heads out to sit in the cold and watch John Lennon have a conversation with Stuart Sutcliffe. They joke about being dead and it's funny because they are dead. Stuart even says he wants to die young which is doubly funny because he does. Ha ha! McGowan doesn't laugh because maybe he doesn't find gallows humor funny. But some weird creature that speaks some German does laugh. He's all, "Ha ha! They're going to die young! Oh ho ho! Such jolly fun! Now join with me, you dumb kid." He also says some German stuff that I can't make sense of because I don't speak German and I don't want to ask the Non-Certified Spouse what it means. I could use Google but I'm being extra lazy right now. McGowan tells the weird German tourist to fuck off because he doesn't care about anything. But you know what kind of people actually care a lot about everything? The kind who need to tell everybody that they don't care about anything. Only people whose feelings are super hurt say stuff like that. And maybe serial killers. Later McGowan decides to prove he doesn't care by suggesting he and his friends blow up the school. Not because he cares how they think they know everything and they want him to be just like them and all adults lack affection and sincerity. No, he just wants to blow it up because he doesn't give a shit about nothing, man. The scene switches to the bald guy who might be King Mob on an LSD trip. It's nothing like taking LSD but I'll pretend it's all metaphor and analogy and spiritual nonsense. In his trip, he sees a gigantic head of John Lennon. Mostly because the whole trip was to summon this head. It's a double page spread of psychedelic images and nonsense mixed with Beatles lyrics and album titles. Strange that Morrison fails to translate an acid trip involving The Beatles when The Beatles themselves have a song that I think most feels like and describes an acid trip. No, it's not "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds"; it's "Strawberry Fields." If I had to state what my favorite Beatles song was right now, I'd say "Strawberry Fields" even though Magical Mystery Tour might be my least favorite (later) album (although now that I type it, I remember it contained "Penny Lane" and "The Fool on the Hill" and "All You Need is Love" and I guess I was wrong about Magical Mystery Tour being my least favorite album). I added the later because their early pop shit doesn't really resonate with me. I don't think I appreciate their music until after they've met Doctor Robert. Just listened to "Strawberry Fields" and now I'm crying. Fucking great song. While trying to burn down the school, McGowan is caught be his teacher. He gives his teacher a brutal beating and then answers a question he refused to answer in class, just to show he's both smart and violent.

McGowan's arrested and Hugh Laurie sentences him to hard juvenile labor.

I was speaking of acid earlier and I'd like to recommend the documentary on Netflix called Have a Good Trip, especially to people who have never done acid. It's enlightening. You might think that my favorite part was one of the crazier bits about hallucinations or one of the stories about how something odd always happens when on acid (it totally does) but I think my favorite bit is when the musician from Bikini Kill, Kathleen Hanna, tells the story about how acid made her realize that you didn't have to cross the street along the legs of the two triangles comprising the square intersection but can just cross along the hypotenuse. It's not that the idea is mind blowing or even close to an "A-ha!" shower thought; it's just that's the kind of mundane thought that seems like a fucking magic revelation when you're on acid. It's the epitome of the acid experience. LSD makes the mundane profound which is way more exciting than you might think. If you've never done acid, you might have fucked off to the comment section just now to point out that the universe is a wonderful and magical and profound place even without acid. And I fucking agree. But LSD makes everything profound. Every single thing you see or think combines with the fabric of the universe and it all becomes staring at the stars and wondering how it all fucking fits together. But you don't need space or infinity or philosophy; you just need LSD, a stapler, a bottle of water, and a Jack Kirby comic book from the early 70s. Dane McGowan is sentenced to ten weeks in a juvenile facility called Harmony House. It's where violent teenage boys aren't taught to stop being violent; it's where they're taught to use their violence to benefit the government! At least that's my guess. I like to pretend I know what's happening in the comic book as I write the review and then later I delete the wrong assumptions I made and replace them with lies to make me look like a Grandmaster Comic Book Reviewer! Actually, that last sentence was a lie. Normally if I get something wrong, I just write "Oops!" later and then tell readers to forget the terrible mistake I made.

This is the plot to every young adult dystopian book ever written: "Society says conformity is good. But one young spunky individual with weird hair won't submit and will save the world!"

Sometimes I feel the only people touched by stories about the individual refusing to be a sheep of the status quo are people who tend to be sheep of the status quo. To rely identify with the hero in one of these stories, the reader needs to have though of themselves as part of the status quo and felt the need to participate in some activity that would prove that they weren't. Instead of, you know, just being themselves and never actually giving their place in society a second thought. I find odd people who are inspired by a story that tells the reader to be themselves. How is that inspiring unless you never really knew that was an option? And how could you fucking not know it?! But then again, Heathers is one of my all-time favorite movies and I suppose that's got a similar message about being oneself. But it also has murder and some seriously great lines of dialogue and Christian Slater blowing himself to bits.

Oh, remember where I mentioned this comic book was basically screaming "synchronicity" at me and that I understood it on an instinctual level after page two? Grandmaster Comic Book Reader!

The leader of The Invisibles (man, I wish the comic book would just tell me that the bald guy with piercings is actually King Mob already) decides to infiltrate Harmony House to make sure their soon-to-be new recruit, McGowan, is doing okay. I'm sure he'll find he's fine because he's not buying into the whole "be a soldier of the status quo" bullshit being fed to the young boys at the institution. It's easy to be against a Headmaster who thinks arguments like "Liberals love freedom but do they want people to be so free that they can steal their VCRs." But will he be able to stand up against the techno-brainwashing and the influence of the mystical creature running things from behind the scenes?! Probably but only with help from the Upright Citizens Brigade. I mean The Invisibles.

It's surreal that this is the way we thought of controlling the populace in the 90s: turn them into content sheep without any anger or frustration. And yet the exact opposite of that is true: control them by making them angry and frustrated at as many lies and half-truths as you can.

The big twist reveal isn't that the boys' brains are cut up and messed with; it's that the boys genitals are removed as well. Yeesh! Now I'm angry and frustrated! I'm totally against this Harmony House bullshit. Is this actually happening red states?! Horrific! King Mob (yes, they finally reveal that's the bald guy's name) rescues Dane from Harmony House while shooting a bunch of people (including the Headmaster) and blowing the building to bits. It's a good thing we learned the real antagonist was some dick-eating creature called the King of Chains. Dane McGowan isn't ready to join The Invisibles which King Mob was ready for. He had a tarot reading earlier that said the kid was going to have to be put through the wringer first. So he leaves the kid in London and disappears, just so we all know why they're called The Invisibles. I guess Batman is a member? The Invisibles #1 Rating: B+. This issue was forty pages long and it felt like it used every page to move the story along. It's insane that that's one of the greatest compliments I can give a comic book. Way too many writers just fill their scripts with nonsense because they don't have a real plan for their story. I know everybody espouses the idea that a good comic book story should teach the reader something new about the character. But unless learning that Superman can punch something harder than he previously thought he could, or Batman is super resilient and can take a ton of punishment for five issues before rising to the occasion through pure force of will, most comic book writers really don't put a lot of thought into themes. Sure, sure. This sort of feels like the mystic super hero version of Catcher in the Rye which might be why I stopped purchasing it after six issues. Although it's just as likely that I stopped purchasing it at six issues because my infrequent visits to the comic book store made me miss Issue #7 and I just gave up on it. It's not bad and it's put together well and as a young 48 year old who thinks the man can go fuck himself, I'm totally into it's message about being a unique individual! Anarchy rules!

#The Invisibles #Grant Morrison #Steve Yeowell

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wii-nter · 6 years ago

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uhh... fairy tail youtuber!au (pt.1?)

because i'm on a vlog squad hype, i wanted to make this

eh i’ll probably make more later

okay so everyone has separate channels except natsu, gray, gajeel, mira and lisanna

natsu gray and gajeel share one channel where they occasionally do podcasts with people, play games together and do random shit that often ends in chaos and giggles

but they also have their individual channels- natsu who does alot of vlogs and WILL prank his roommates (firing off fireworks around the house is a guilty pleasure)

gray mostly does gaming videos and the occasional vlog

gajeel’s videos consist of only music and compilations of his cat. while he isn’t the best at singing, for some reason, he has the power to play any guitar he picks up like a god

mira and lisanna make diy videos and baking vids separetaly, called ‘’strauss creates’’

juvia doesn’t have a channel herself, but she does appear in a lot of the other’s videos since they kinda all know each other??

natsu, gray and lisanna are childhood friends, natsu and gajeel are cousins, levy is gajeel’s girlfriend and lucy’s best friend, juvia is gajeel’s step sister and that cute barista that gray totally doesn’t have a crush on

lucy’s channel consists of many show/anime reviews and vlogs while levy’s channel is ALL about books, book reviews, the books she’s read and little challenges. she does book hauls every month and talks about the latest stories she’s read

she’s also lucy’s #1 fan!!

seriously girl tho that novel needs to be published stop denying your talent

yeah so juvia works at this cute coffee shop and she’s good friends with lisanna

ju’s also the reason why gray comes in all the time

ok to the real story now

natsu and lucy first run into each other at walmart, ironically both were looking for stuff for a prank

levy has been ditching her for her mysterious boyfriend a lot of times this month so obviously lucy has to get back at her

and natsu naturally just wants to fuck up gray and gajeel’s life

again, ironic, because they were both recording

lucy actually is the first one to talk since she recognized him as that one pink-haired weirdo that dropped off levy at her house once

so like: ‘’omg hey i know you!! wanna run down the aisles of walmart screaming and prank our friends together?!’’

and that’s the day natsu fell in love

kidding

but he does end up liking her a lot right there and then

so yeah, natsu and lucy became good friends and quickly became the best chaotic duo when it came to pranks

they also start to appear in each other’s vlogs A L O T

and when she’s doing her reviews, natsu loves running into lucy’s room and crashing her entire vid

he kinda just,,, lays down on her bed or beside her and says stupid stuff off and on camera

same goes with lucy!!

so like he’ll be recording in his room before the door fucking slams open and lucy starts screaming and jumps on his back

and clings to him for the rest of the day

it’s so cute and annoying everyone gets cavities and throws up

lisanna and juvia are besties!! they share a love for baking and often exchange recipes

juvia also tends to end up in lisanna’s and gray’s videos the most, making snide comments behind the camera when everyone least expects it

at the beginning, gray wanted nothing to do with juvia since she knew he was a youtube celeb and he didn’t want to deal with an annoying fangirl all the time

so for a while gray is an absolute cold-hearted douchebag until gajeel snaps his bones beats some sense into the guy and he finally opens his eyes

juvia is all forgiving and an absolute angel, how can you not love her

when she finds out about gray’s not so secret love for lemon sponge cakes, she makes a habit of making some for him more often than not every time she visits

levy called it bribery

juju called it payback, making him fall in love with her

gray is fully aware that she has his heart in her hands and has no problem with it

but lord knows what will happen if she hurts him

(the guys will come after her)

gajeel and levy

oh boy

they’ve actually been dating a few months prior their friend groups merging together

they became friends when levy realized he was nursing a little kitten back to health in his apartment back before he lived with natsu and gray

she helped him take care of pantherlily (it’s a badass name, no matter what anyone says) and it turned into some sort of co-ownership

later gajeel asked her out when he realized he’d fallen hard for this tiny goddess with messy blue hair and a personal library that probably rivaled the library of congress

(fortunately) she said yes and ever since they have a pretty nice relationship

but dear god

when they’re both in the same room you better fucking run because they turn into the sappiest morons in the world

it’s so disgustingly sweet and makes you wanna barf rainbows and shit sparkles

who knew gajeel could do romance??

ha he can’t

he just has a lot of experience charming ladies when stupid 13 year old natsu did something stupid in front of them

he did it to mask his shame and disappointment

why his dumbass cousin thought it was a good idea to try juggling with two staplers he will never know

ah whatever they love each other

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fuzed-hostage · 5 years ago

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RainbowSix l Siege

Doc and Montagne have been planning a date night for weeks and just can’t catch a break! After numerous attempts, they settle on cuddling but get carried away.

Rated: E [ Some Doc alone time, They finally get to ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) !! , definitely nsfw ] Parings: Montagne/Doc, Bandit/Jäger [ Mention ]

It felt like every time there was a break in the madness that was Rainbow, something would suddenly, inexplicably, unfortunately happen right as Gustave was about to send a text to Gilles. He’d be seated in his office, reclining in the not-so-comfortable chair with nothing to do but kill time. Whatever appointments had been made that day were over and done with, it’s nearing sundown, and he’s waiting for the clock to strike ten so his shift could end.

Fingers would tap the same message each time [>>Want to go out for dinner in an hour?<<] and then BOOM the door would burst open. If not that, he’d get a phone call, or the computer screen alerted him of an incoming message. Mozzie ate shit riding his bike with Mute on the back, Fuze and Jäger had a mishap in the workshop, Bandit tased Tachanka ( it did nothing to him ) and Kapkan stapled the German to the wall in retaliation, etc.

On Montagne’s end, it was no different outside of the subject matters regarding whatever emergencies he was called to handle. Given his easy going nature, ability to break up fights, and calmly knock some sense into people’s heads, it was no wonder he got picked before anyone else. Lion started another fight with the SAS, Maestro and Valkyrie are bickering about who’s camera gadget is cooler, Ela called Echo a lazy fuck and now she’s being tormented by Yokai; the list goes on.

Whenever they did get to meet up, it was on the clock and quite often during a stupid incident they both had to handle. In the case of Mozzie and Mute, the Brit didn’t lean into a turn like he should have and their crash nearly took off Thermite’s shins. Poor Mute took the brunt of the impact, whereas the Aussie had jumped back up on his feet to curse at a pissed off FBI agent threatening to torch his ride. It almost came to blows until the GIGN tag-team showed up.

Knowing Mozzie, he bailed off of the bike prematurely out of habit and left his buddy to become one with the earth. That’ll teach them both to either never ride together again or to slow down a little and work out the details more. Well... maybe. Since when has the pint sized daredevil ever slowed down before in his entire life? Survey says: Never.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

Planning in advanced wasn’t very helpful either, what with how unpredictable the two love birds’ schedules were. Montagne would have a day off while Doc was knee deep in overtime. They also were’t ever deployed together and that just made the medic mad. He could remain professional throughout an operation while Gilles was there! Up until the larger man was hurt and then he’d probably lose his mind that is.

Back then he was a lot more level headed when it was just the GIGN operating within France. With Rainbow, there were ten times more shit to factor in on top of the obvious risks that the job explicitly entailed. More CTU’s, more men and women, a lot more ground to cover, an expansive array of new surprises. Tension sometimes ran high within the mixed teams, not everybody knew how to leave their baggage back at base, and it all felt like a glorified armed daycare.

Which part of a mission would he rather be in? Right up in the action, stressed out about Gilles, and potentially becoming a liability by slipping into tunnel vision quicker or clawing at his hair, glued to the radio, and picking at his lip until it bled? He’d hurt less people back at base but the anxiety was significantly magnified and his colleagues were beginning to notice.

Out on the field is where he believed he could make the most difference in life and death situations but Rainbow needed him back home terribly as well. Training accidents that could become permanent damage was mended by his expert hands, sickness ( be it from terrorist chemicals or natural means ) was eased by his knowledge. Montagne, as much as he wanted his love by his side, preferred that the good doctor wasn’t assigned to his squad if it was more productive.

It used to not be that way though. One or the other would insist on coming along during the time they were dancing around each other not knowing how to interpret the signals being given. Rumors spread like wildfire about how obvious their love was and that someone should shove them in a closet so they could work out the sexual tension. There were even attempts to get them alone at a bar after arriving with a group so that liquid courage would spill the beans in the form of Je t’aime Gustave and Je t’aime aussi Gilles but to no avail.

Montagne could hold his liquor and wine brought forth all of Doc’s pent up exhaustion, leading to an early bed time. Having the medic drink something else was like pulling teeth as his response was always “I’d like to remain in control of my mind and body, merci.” while the taller Frenchman chuckled. Sometimes, however, he’d try a sip of whatever Gilles had accepted. It was fifty-fifty on whether or not he’d like it but zero chance of him ordering it again. Doc was a hard nut to crack but it all paid off in the end.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

“I am getting really tired of all this madness. It’s like we’re cursed!” Gustave ranted, throwing his hands up and knocking a stapler off of his desk. He looked down at the damn thing like it had offended him by toppling over when it should have just remained put. “It is rather perplexing. Has there been a full moon recently?” Came Gilles’ calm voice as he picked up the stapler to place it back where it belonged. All his lover did was roll his chocolate brown eyes and sigh. Everyday felt like it had a full moon attached to it, bringing forth the age old curse emergency services workers dreaded. Tack that along with the Q-word and you’d have a recipe for disaster.

“I heard there was a nice Japanese place in town. Why don’t we-” Sadly, the shield operator was cut off by the ding of his phone. He looked down at the pocket it was contained in with a sigh that starkly contrasted the fury building up inside of Gustave’s red face. With the shake of his head, Montagne placed a quick kiss to his lovers lips and departed, not knowing that his partner was secretly daydreaming about strangling whomever pried them apart.

This trivial text happened to be IQ snitching about Caveira’s apparent stalking of Glaz. The sniper was well known for spotting the shit that nobody thought twice about. Shifts in daily routines, objects moved out of their usual place, mood swings, and, of course, his uncanny ability to pick up on when he’s being followed. So far he’s caught Taina six times and she’s pissed about it, refusing to give up even though she knows it’s childish. This will take hours of conversation, some translation, and bringing Timur in to resolve the conflict.

Meanwhile, Doc has treated a nasty gash Seamus acquired while teaching Aria how to cook traditional Scottish dishes. They both share a love for food and wanted to surprise their fellows with what they’ve learned from one another. Good friends, those two. She’s even given Sledge some dating advice when he accidentally let slip that there’s another guy he’s interested in. While it was nice to hear that this injury was just an accident and not some rage fueled wound, Gustave wished it never happened. For one, he doesn’t like seeing his colleagues hurt and two, he needs this alone time with Gilles.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been nearly a month since he’s shared a bed with Montagne and everyone’s starting to notice how grumpy Gustave is getting. Hell, he can’t even sit with the guy in a friendly setting let alone a romantic one! Quick kisses and light touches ( such as the brushing of their hands together or a shoulder squeeze ) are all he gets and that’s unacceptable. Gilles is on a mission this time in Russia with Buck, Fuze, Jackal, and Gridlock. He’d also planned a coming over the night he got deployed for takeout and a makeout sesh that’s obviously not going to happen now.

The upset on Gustave’s face at how badly the universe is treating them is almost palpable upon the doctor’s tensed up form. He’s had six cups of strong coffee, going on seven, and it’s barely even ten o’clock. Breakfast is quiet in the cafeteria at Hereford Base until he hears Bandit announcing his arrival. “Man, you look like you really need to get laid, Gus.” For a guy that doesn’t shrink away from Kapkan’s frightening gaze, the look Doc gives him makes the hair upon the back of Dominic’s neck stand straight up.

He mumbles some sort of excuse to get away, steps back quickly, and departs while everyone tries to avoid eye contact when Gustave glowers at them all from his table. The rest of his day is spent talking only when it is necessary and retreating to his room immediately upon its conclusion. The staff posted for night watch better figure out how to operate without him unless the patient is literally going to die if he’s not there. He’s got faith in them only because he wants one uninterrupted night to shave off some neglect.

Rook and Twitch went out with Blitz and IQ for an evening of casual drinking so he’s got the GIGN quarters all to himself. It’d be nice if his lover was here, but a dildo with similar length and girth will do. Gustave is wearing one of Gilles’ shirts that had been worn for half a day and wasn’t quite dirty yet. It smelled of his cologne and was a size too big to fit him, but that didn’t matter. He’s taken up residence in his lover’s room, they often do this when one was away, it was comforting and arousing all the same depending on what the intention was for this consensual invasion.

Even though he didn’t need to keep the noise level down for a while, Gustave had already decided on forcing himself to be as quiet as he could. Preparation was done a bit quickly, fingers pushing in and scissoring right away with a groan of need tumbling from his lips. He’s touch starved to all hell and knows he’ll regret that come morning when the ache kicks in. Squatting with his feet planted flush with the floor ( thank the slav squad for helping his balance with that ) one hand holds the dildo steady while he sinks down onto it.

It hurts going in and Doc doesn’t feel inclined to wait for proper adjustment until his cheeks meet the floorboards. “Fuck... Why did Six have to choose you again?” Montagne was an amazing operator, highly skilled, very sexy.. Get on with it Gustave. He can already see that perfectly sculpted body as if it were beneath him, holding a strong grip on both hips. It takes him longer than usual to come; soft thumping against the floor combined with muffled moans and uttered encouragements slurring into curses until a choked sound signals the end.

He’ll sit there for a moment, still anchored onto the dildo with a shameful mess in front of him, and sighs when he finally catches his breath. It’s not the same but it is satisfying. After he cleans up and tucks himself into Montagne’s bed, the rest of his team has returned and gone their separate ways to conduct nightly rituals to get ready for sleep. He’ll greet them in the morning with a smile and a tired yawn.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

It’ll be a week before Gilles returns and during that time frame, Doc decided to ask Dominic ( of all people ) for advice. The German already knew he was dating his colleague, it was obvious as fuck, but felt inclined to help a friend in need. He kinda owed it to Gus after the crude comment in the cafeteria a few days ago. Out of all the wild things Bandit suggested, a vibrator worked the best as it was simple / discrete and pleasuring himself in the shower made cleanup so much easier. It all came down to timing those sessions right so that he wouldn’t have to be so worried about the noise.

He spaces out masturbating with getting additional work done in preparation to have a clean slate in the foreseeable future. Bandit offers to give him a quickie here and there, but he refuses. Discussing it with his partner must come first even though they’ve talked a little bit about it before. Someone they trust would be a better alternative than trying to go at it alone. Montagne trusts Dom while Doc thinks he’s rather annoying but trusts him as well. If he didn’t, he’d not of spoken up about his sexual frustrations.

Brunsmeier can and will take secrets like those to his grave along with other personal shit. They’ve often spent nights sitting together on the roof of the base venting about past trauma, talking about hardships, and laughing when one of them remembers something stupid that’s funny now that it was over. Bandit’s a good man, you just need to see through the jokes and rough exterior. If he’s pranking you more than others, he likes you.

Inquiring a second time felt too awkward, so Gustave decided to wait out the last handful of days. He’ll be the first one up to the helicopter so that absolutely nothing can get in the way of their date night inquiry. Since they obviously couldn’t go anywhere, having a glass of wine or whatever Gilles felt like drinking in their quarters was a decent alternative. He’s ordered takeout and goddamn it this private time is going to happen!

The deployed squad shuffles off the helicopter one by one, taking their gear with them. Thankfully nobody looks seriously injured so there goes that speed bump. Montagne is the last to have his boots touch the ground, he’d been talking with Jäger and thanking him for a smooth flight. He didn’t have to but it was a nice thing to do. Now, about that date... “Gilles. You and me, tonight, my room. I’ve got food and great wine.” Doc received a quick nod for confirmation and they carry on with renewed energy to finish the day. He can’t help but catch a sly grin and a thumbs up from Bandit when he passes by in search of his engineer.

Dominic will probably ask questions come morning and, for once, Doc won’t mind. The man did help him without judgement or ridicule. He also kind of wondered how much experience Bandit’s had with how in depth he went with his explanations sometimes and the terminology. It was both embarrassing and intriguing to listen to if you ignored the gestures the German made with his hands. Gustave’s selection of the vibrator earlier was the absolute most vanilla shit apparently.

~~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~~~~

Night falls and Gustave passes on custody of Rainbow’s health to the poor souls taking his place for the graveyard shift. He’s definitely not going to answer any calls now. Critical emergencies will have to wait too because getting untangled and yanking on boxers or pants won’t hide an erection. That would be the worst case scenario: Doc rushing to the medical wing with a bouncing hard on re-trapped within one or two layers of clothing trying to concentrate on saving a life when he knows everyone can see the obvious bulge will be a night he’ll never live down.

It makes him shudder just thinking about it or is that Gilles behind him unintentionally breathing against his neck? They’re on his bed, naked save for their underwear, with a glass of red wine in their hands. The cheap takeout has been consumed a while ago and did a fair job at filling their bellies. Gustave has made himself comfortable, basking in the feeling of skin on skin contact and the gentle rise and fall of his lover’s chest. If their evening remained this way, he wouldn’t be all that upset. He is content listening to what happened during the mission through his love’s point of view. It went off without a hitch, Rainbow had caught the White Mask’s with their pants down.

Speaking of that, Gustave decides he’s going to wiggle a bit and pretend he’s adjusting so his back won’t hurt and the weight distribution doesn’t make any limbs go numb. He gets a heavy sigh in return, a kiss to his neck, and that makes his cheeks flush a light pink hue. “I was so lonely while you were gone.” He mock pouts, tilting his head up to watch Montagne chuckle. Tending to all of the base’s boo boos and ouchies doesn’t count for having company and he knows that.

“Were you now? I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s sincere, yes, but the underlying mischief in Gilles’ voice doesn’t go unnoticed. His wine glass has been set down and Gustave’s is taken so that it too won’t get in the way. The hitch in the medic’s breath tells him all he needs to know the moment fingers dip beneath the thin layer of cloth that dares to say it’s held some kind of modesty. “Let me make up for it, oui?” He doesn’t even need to hear an actual verbal confirmation with how eager the younger man is by getting up and demanding for them to switch positions.

It isn’t always this quick. Most nights they take their time, indulge in tantalizing touches, teasing one another for what felt like hours, making it all last as long as they can. Tonight won’t be that tame, Gilles won’t deny either of them what they’ve both wanted and could not have. Months, it’s been literal months since the were able to make love and not settle for a quick blow job or hasty wanking in Doc’s private office. They better use what time they have before it’s gone, claimed by a persistent curse neither know how to dispel.

Montagne is on his feet and pulling his lover flush against his body, kissing him deeply each time he feels his lover’s lips part for more. Oxygen becomes a luxury for a short while, something they need but cannot have without separation. It’s not fair, really, but breathing is obviously necessary and the show must go on. He hopes Twitch has decided to take up space in the workshop next to the usual one or two operators that sometimes call it home. Rook slept like a rock and nothing short of a smoke alarm or gun fire will wake him up.

A quick squeeze to Gustave’s ass makes him frown in disappointment when nothing else follows it up. It doesn’t last long, however, once he realizes it’s a silent demand for him to lie down on the bed while Gilles finds a bottle of lube in one of the dresser drawers. So he does as he’s asked, lounging not-so-patiently with a fist curled around his cock, pumping it slowly simply for the stimulation it provides. He really wasn’t kidding when he said he was lonely. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, it makes the dick get hungrier. Bandit said that and Gustave laughed so hard he started to wheeze.

The pad of Gilles’ thumb pressed against his lover’s puckered hole as he descended upon him. Careful ministrations intended to loosen it up so that a finger can breach the taut muscle. A curious thought crosses the mountain’s mind when it gives more readily than it should, accepting the initial digit without much protest. He’s beginning to think his lover’s impatience must have escalated while being left alone for so long. “You spoke with Dominic didn’t you?” He chuckled, receiving an honest nod that quickly turned into a spine arching moan as a second finger was pushed in.

“I’ll have to thank him later.” That could mean a number of things considering how close they’ve let the German get into their relationship. Marius didn’t seem to mind seeing as how there have been no objections yet. The pilot was well aware that his partner has been giving the two Frenchmen advice but that’s the fullest extent of their interactions. Now’s not the time to get lost in thought though, Gustave’s legs are being hiked up and over the larger man’s shoulders. While he’s not all that flexible, it isn’t uncomfortable yet. They’ll start to ache halfway through and burn the next day, a cost he’s willing to pay in full.

“Come on, mon amour. Haven’t I waited long enough?” Doc whined, pouting when an eyebrow was raised in response. How needy, but who’s he to deny such a wonderful man what he wants? A pillow is tugged over and shoved beneath Gustave’s lower back to give it cushion and raise his hips more. It’s the little things like this Gus loves, how conscious of his lover’s comfort Gilles is. Again there isn’t nearly enough preparation ( and that worries Montagne ) but Gustave insists on progressing right this instant.

“This may hurt a little...” The older man warns, receiving no indication that his partner cares. He’s a doctor, he understands, and frankly has had enough of the delay. Gilles slicks up his cock with a healthy amount of lube, guiding it to where it needs to go before pushing in slowly. A bitten hiss is forced through Doc’s teeth, his primary focus now shifting to relax himself around the steadily growing girth burying itself deep within him. It’s a mixture of pain, an uncomfortable stretch, and rising pleasure at feeling the familiar warmth.

At hilt deep, he’s given time to adjust that Montagne will not allow to be skipped. They aren’t as young as they wish they were, too much carelessness will ruin the experience. And so they wait, exploratory hands detailed the muscles of Gustave’s chest and stroking his sides while he gets lost in the gentle touches. Gilles knows exactly how to make his treasured love feel like a king, whether he’s nestled atop his lap or pinned beneath him. On queue, which this time is a squeeze to the taller man’s thigh, Touré slides back.

His first series of thrusts are slow and careful, drawing out a pleased hum from Gustave’s throat. They have a well practiced rhythm, it starts at a crawl and picks up to a steady beat both can last their longest on. By no means is it ride or die, in fact, someone like Bandit might find it boring. The position Doc is in allows Gilles to drive in deep at the expense of a now growing ache in his legs. They bounce atop the taller man’s shoulders, his cock left unattended on his stomach. He won’t touch it, not yet, it’s too soon.

Adjusting his angle draws out a moan from the doctor, one somewhat louder than he intended it to be. Using a little more force produces the same results and Gilles knows he’s found just the right spot to drive Gustave wild. The sound of skin hitting skin, husky breaths, and Doc’s voice is a filthy symphony in an otherwise quiet part of the base all the while he’s being encouraged to let go and praised for how good he feels, looks, and sounds.

“Pleasure yourself, mon Ange, let me hear your enjoyment.” Gilles says so sweetly, letting go of his lover’s hip to guide a hand to the neglected shaft spilling precum on glistening sweat soaked skin. Fingers curl around it and pump in time with the heavy thrusts pounding his consciousness into oblivion. “There you go, that’s it.” Now Gustave’s mouth is hanging open, eyes glossed over and fixated on the older man’s beautiful hues.

The burn in his knees is only getting worse but Doc doesn’t feel it anymore. Warmth is pooling in his gut and he can’t string together coherent sentences, repeating Montagne’s name instead along with a few expletives coming out in mixed French-English jumbles. He’s always been the noisier of the two no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. At some point he loses that restraint and drowns out the growls and grunts from his faithful shield. It’s when he becomes silent that Gilles knows he’s reaching his climax.

With teeth gritted and red flushing his cheeks, Touré chases his own orgasm in the form of less coordinated and more forceful thrusts that have Gustave’s eyes rolling into the back of his head. He hears his name shouted into the heavens and can feel the contractions of Doc’s body as he cums, painting his chest with each spurt. Riding upon that high, Gilles keeps going until he buries himself deep, presses their chests together, and groans into his lover’s ear.

Having nothing to hold them up, Doc’s legs drop as far as the broad body in between them will allow. They both need a minute to relearn how to breathe correctly and see straight. “God I needed that..” Gustave pants, earning a breathless chuckle from his partner who has raised himself back up on shaking arms. He pulls out with the same care as he had initially going in, giving them both a good look at the mess that had been made.

Rather than attempt standing, Montagne rolls over onto his back and smiles when he feels Doc turn to snuggle against his side. They’ll worry about showering and changing the bed sheets tomorrow. Neither of them have the strength to bother this time.

“Je t’aime, mon Ange.” Gilles hums. “Je t’aime aussi, mon Trésor.” Gustave yawns, placing a kiss on his lover’s cheek.

#rainbow six siege #montagne/doc #montagne #doc #bandit #jager #fic #i am garbage at describe these things and the ratings #I also might have to fix typos I may have missed but #this fic is finally done!

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