Prompt by finnismyoriginalsin : some sort of wolfs bane that is an aphrodisiac, like a sex pollen type of thing
Dry leaves crunch under their feet, the soft padding of footfalls reverberating gently throughout the trees. They have been rooming the woods for a few hours now in search of where Kate might be hanging out, the woods weren’t the only places being searched but it was the designated area assigned to Derek and Lydia. Everyone had split up into groups of two; and although more ground could definitely have been covered had they gone individually they all had agreed that a one on one encounter with the hunter turned were jaguar was not in anyone’s best interest. So here she is spending more time with Derek Hale in one day than she has in an entire year.
Derek isn’t exactly what Lydia would call good company; he hasn’t spoken to her other than to give directions as to where they are headed. She doesn’t bother trying to get him to talk either, they are on a job and she assumes it is probably for the best that they concentrate on the task at hand and not small talk.
The sun is in the beginnings of setting, sky filtered an off pink and orange color. The air temperature dropping as the chill of night sets in bringing a slight breeze that cools her body after a long afternoon of scouting, “We should rest for five minutes. Take a breather and drink some water, I am not carrying you if you pass out from dehydration.” Derek says as he approaches a large bolder and sits down with an exhale.
Lydia can’t help but let out a relieved smile, her feet aching painfully and lungs burning for more oxygen. She drops her pack unceremoniously after extracting her water from it; she doesn’t sit immediately taking a few moments to just walk around the patch of trees he chose to stop at.
“I am giving you five minutes Lydia. Don’t you think you should use them and take a seat?” His eyebrow lifting challengingly, “Your feet must be killing you.”
Having had her back turned to him she shifted on soles and winced slightly, proving that she really was quite sore, “Actually yes, they are. But if you must know, Derek, you are not supposed to sit down directly after long or intense bouts of exercise. It is not good for you, blood clots and all that. I am just being cautious.” His gaze changed then, strange almost, it was like he was trying to solve some intricate puzzle and it put her nerves on edge. The feeling of being sized up and she tried to squash down the feeling that she needed to impress him.
She turned away from his inquisitive stare to observe her surroundings; they were deep into the woods by now, up in the mountains far from civilization. The trees and wildlife where different up here, a vibrant and untamed kind of beauty.
A small cluster of purple plants she had never seen before lay in her line of vision, a small resemblance to the wolfs bane she once used at her birthday party. A shiver ran through her at the memory. Wanting to get a closer look at it she neared over to the plant, bending down on knees examine the delicate flower. It was a combination of things that alerted her to the mistake, the first was the plants petals turning a brighter shade of purple almost taking on luminescent quality. The second was Derek’s loud yell, “Lydia! No!” it echoes throughout the forest with an incredible amount of power.
Unfortunately it was too late for Lydia to move by the time her brain even registered the threat the flower sprayed a yellow substance through the air; although the flower was relatively tiny it projected a good meter out. The tail end of it hitting Derek’s arm and a portion of his shoulder, as the limb had been extended towards Lydia in an attempt to pull her away.
And suddenly everything clouds and a strange sensation looms over her, she can’t narrow it down exactly but she is now incredibly conscious of the heat radiating off Derek’s body. A magnetic energy that is mesmerizing and she is unconsciously drawn to it, it sizzles and burns bright, an irresistible ache that lurks beneath her skin. It is hypnotic and she almost gives into it and jumps him there, she would have if her mind hadn’t been hell bent on remembering the yell that had moments ago pierced the air. The logical side of her brain telling her that something very wrong had happened, she just could not figure out what.
The pull towards his body is nearly unbearable; her mind is foggy and muddled.
She clears it long enough to get out a question, “Derek. What was that?” Her eyes are blown wide with fear and confusion. The uncertainty only heightens when she realizes he is avidly avoiding eye contact, looking anywhere but at her. The dread pools low in her belly and even though there is no visible imminent signs of threat nearby she doesn’t need him to tell her something is most certainly wrong.
Annoyingly Lydia’s body is still going distractedly haywire, blood pumping hot and pulse racing fast, she’s having a really hard time remembering one good reason not to pull his body towards hers. It doesn’t help that he still hasn’t answered her question. It isn’t until their eyes meet that she notices his pupils are dilated and there is a bead of sweat at his hairline. It seems he is having to fight the same levels of lust coating his brain and she is almost relieved that she isn’t alone in whatever strange side effect this is.
“The plant we were just sprayed with is a variant of the wolfs bane family, it is a powerful aphrodisiac. It has very strong sexual side effects.” He looks away not wanting to keep his eyes on hers, “I should go in the other direction and get as far as possible, because when it hits full affect I don’t know if I’ll be able to restrain myself entirely.”
“That bad?” She frowns. He only nods.
“What if we…?” she implies the point with a slight tilt of her head as she appraises him.
“What. We… You want to, I mean, are you sure?”
She shrugs, “It’s been a while, I am horny, and you are handsome. Why not?” She says it so simply, as if everything makes complete sense.
And in that moment she doesn’t even care that her impromptu decision might be heavily influenced by the aphrodisiac coursing through her bones or that they are outdoors where anyone could stumble upon them.
Marching over to him in four long strides she pushes herself flush against him and pulls his head down roughly to meet her in an aggressive kiss, the instant their skin connects a scorching desire surges through them and the need to have as much bare flesh pressed against each other overtakes. Derek lets out a groan when she tugs at his hair whilst nipping his lips playfully, his hands roaming the entirety of her body wanting to feel her everywhere. One hand rests on the back of her neck his fingers combing through her red locks meanwhile the other grabs her hips and holds them fiercely as he rolls his bulge against her.
At the contact of the hardness beneath his denim jeans brushing against the front of her skirt and pushing against her pelvis she arches back slightly, eyes rolling back and a pleasurable moan escaping her. His mouth doesn’t take long to take advantage of the newly exposed skin, falling to her neck to pepper wet kisses across the cream skin, and it feels sinfully erotic.
Her fingers close around the soft fabric of his leather jacket, pulling him closer forcefully while bringing his lips back up and delving deep in his mouth with her tongue. A chill of anticipation ran through her when he returns the kiss with an equal fervor, an equal frustration.
She feels his pants become tighter with every touch, and doesn’t break the kiss until she is forced to by him ushering her dress carefully up and over her head, gently pining her to the tree, now partially naked except for a few scraps of lace covering her more intimate areas.
The newly exposed skin prompting him to explore it with his mouth; Letting out a pleased sigh when she feels his hand slip beneath her bra and brushes her nipple his thumb. She presses her neck harder against his hot mouth, gasping again when he takes the opportunity to work his way up further and nibble her earlobe, sucking on it lightly. She feels completely euphoric. Her mind up in the clouds in total heaven.
She feels Derek’s hand attempt to go around her back and undo the clasp but she can see he is struggling with it, sensing his impatience she goes to do it herself but before she can her mind registers the sound of tearing fabric. She can’t find it in her to care as she gazes down at his claw elongated fingers, to desperate to have his mouth back on her.
"Jesus, Lydia," He groans at the feeling of her hardened nipples against his chest and the way she is writhing against him.
They continued to kiss for some time, fluctuating between deep and passionate and gentle caresses of the others lips, thoroughly, painstakingly exploring the other.
Not bothering to remove his clothes in the heat of things she unzips his pants and shoves them carelessly down his hips. She releases the grip she had around his shoulders in favor of pulling her underwear down, not wanting him to rip yet another piece of expensive underwear.
Nuzzling at her neck he stops momentarily to look her in the eyes, “Are you sure?”
She looks back at him with complete certainty, and raw passion. “Yes.” She lets out a heavy breath, “gods yes, Derek. Less talk more action, buddy.”
He wastes little time after her grant of permission, reaching down to grasp himself and moving to rub his length against her aching center, rolling his head up and down the sensitive skin. Her nerves tingling with anticipation and need, at every caress a thrill of desire shots through her and she whimpers slightly. The feel of him using himself to spread her wetness filling her with lust, and further preparing her body for him.
She brings her legs up around his waist, locking her ankles together at the small of his back and moving her lips against his in the most desperate kiss she’s pretty sure she has ever experienced.
Derek’s restrain making a drop of sweat rolls down his forehead, and she can tell the effort to make sure her body is properly ready for the upcoming intrusion is costing him a great deal of control. Finally lining himself up with her he gives an almost imperceptible gasp, gripping her hipbone tighter before he pushes forward. Easily slipping inside her, her wetness betraying her lust as she cries out in surprise. For a second they stills. He loosens his grip and lets her slip further down onto him; she moans at the fullness and the pleasing ache of him.
The look on his face was one she knew she wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon, eyes darkened with lust and half-lidded as he took her in completely. Throwing his head back with a groan she watched his ecstasy filled face with a smirk.
She kisses him again, lips moving against his in a hungry kiss and suddenly he is moving fast and hard; thrust after thrust sending spasms throughout her entire body and making her scream without regard for the fact they are out in the open.
His soft grunts and her light mewling fills the air around them, it is frantic, hot and erotic. Lydia’s body thrumming with pleasure and she swears to herself this won’t be their last time together. It can’t be. Because this kind of raw emotion doesn’t happen every day.
She can feel the moisture starting to coat his back and she is sure she is sweating a little bit herself, the feel of the tree she is pressed up against prickling into her skin is not entirely comfortable, the bark is rough and punishing but as soon as she feels him push into her again her mind wipes any and all thoughts from her head.
All too soon, the coil of heat in her lower abdomen that had been pulling itself taught snapped and her vision explodes white as she comes, nails dragging down his back, nearly breaking skin and his name leaving her lips in a loud moan. Exhaustion was quick to wrap itself around her, but she fights to stay conscious, kissing and sucking his neck until his thrusts stuttered to a stop, his sack drawn up tight, he shots his seed inside of her, groaning and collapsing against her limp body.
A soft grunt leaving her lips at his weight, his legs collapse from under him sending them sprawling to the ground, her body still having been tangled with his falls on top of his with a complete lack of grace, she feels his muffled groan more than hears it. It is crazy really. They’re supposed to be doing serious work, looking for a big threat and trying to prevent innocent deaths, yet all her body seems to be concerned with is staying exactly where she is enjoying the warmth radiating off of him.
Her head rises and falls gently with his breathing, soothing her mind and body, his masculine odor blanketing her as he raises his arm around her torso and rests them on her lower back. Holding her gently muscles to tired for much else, and there’s no place she would rather be.
She feels his fingertips graze her back, up and down in soothing motions, occasionally tangling in her hair and playing with the untamed curls. Lydia has never seen him act so gentle and caring, such a stark contrast to the brooding wolf she is so often acquainted with. She finds herself wondering what it must be like for him, constantly having to be on guard with the world after a lifetime of betrayals. It seems like a lot of work to her and for the first time she genuinely feels sorry for him, that the cruelty of the world has sunk so deep beneath his skin.
Even trying to imagine the immense loss he has suffered makes her stomach turn, his family, his pack, and most importantly love. It seems he is almost cursed to be alone, between tragedy and betrayal everyone he loves inevitably leaves. Yet people like Peter live on happily with no remorse, it boils her blood and makes her head spin.
Almost as if sensing her anger, well actually that’s probably exactly what he did, he questions, “You okay?” His voice is tinged with caution and nervousness.
Her hair falls forward as she lifts her cheek from where it was resting to look up at him, she lays her chin gently on his chest and her eyes soften at the concerned look marring his face. The fact that he cares if she is feeling okay makes the corner of her lips tip up in a genuine smile, whether it is the afterglow of sex loosening him up or not he is clearly in a better mood than he had been as they’d scoured the trees for the were jaguar.
Not that she blames his sour mood. Searching for you supposed-to-be-dead ex girlfriend, who happened to burn almost your entire family to death and proceeds to torment you at every turn cannot be in the slightest bit fun.
“I’m fine. Just… Lost in my own mind.” She says smiling shyly.
His face calms and he looks at her with a semblance of understanding, nodding slightly, “I get that. Do it myself sometimes.” He murmurs it so softly she would almost think he’s just making an observation to himself, his eyes turn inquisitive, “Can I ask what you where lost in thought about?”
“S’nothing… Just thinking about things and stuff.”
The chuckled that reverberates through him is light and playful, “Yes, I got that part.” Sounding very amused by her answer, when he sees the serious lines of her face his laugh dies down and eyebrows pull together. “What things exactly?”
A laugh almost escapes her at the complete surprise and shock that flashes over his face, eyes displaying a wide range of emotions. “Me?” he finally chokes out.
Derek’s face turning more and more curios by the second, “You are not allowed to say something like that and then expect me to drop the subject.” He mock scowls in disapproval.
“Oh really?” She exclaims. Leaning up on her elbows she nears her face within inches of his and smiles broad and provocatively, “And what prey tell are you going to do about it, Mr.Hale?” Playfully raising her eyebrow whilst pulling her lip between her teeth and biting it.
“Oh, is that how this is going to be?”
Within seconds he flips them so that her back is on the ground and he is towering over her form, his fingers find her ribs and he prods her trying to find a delicate piece of flesh. By the extreme jump as his fingers skim over her third rib he knows hes found the jackpot. Lydia squirms relentlessly in his grasp as he uses his hips to pin her body to the ground beneath him.
Her shrieks slice through the air. High pitched and unrestrained. There is a weightless happiness that covers them, the rest of the world and their troubles slip away until all that is left is them.
“Okay, okay… Okay, you win. I loose. I’ll tell you.” She gets out between tickles of his fingertips. Her chest rising and falling as she tries to inhale large breaths, restoring air to her lungs. A half hearted scowl presents itself on her face and she mouths cheater. He only smiles at her attempts at anger, knowing very well she enjoyed it as much as he.
Ignoring his cocky smirk she takes a few deep breaths, opening and closing her mouth wondering where to start. He waits indulgently for her to gather her thoughts.
Derek moves to lie beside her, his body turned towards hers, resting his head on his arm that is bent at the elbow. His gaze is still youthful and happy but with a intensity that she is sure wasn’t there before, he is looking at her like she is the most captivating thing in the world. And it breaks her heart to see him so open, but knowing the words that are about to come out of her mouth are a sure way to throw his walls back up. Close him off for god knows how long.
“I was trying to imagine what it must be like for you, how hard it must be after everything that has happened. With Paige, Jennifer and Kate, everything.” She tries to barrel on and get out what she wants to say before he gets up at possibly storms off, she can see his eyes darkening but not from desire this time. His face turns into a stoic mask and she hopes it is not too late. “You don’t have anyone, I mean there is Cora but she isn’t here, and then there’s this whole Kate not being dead debacle. And I just don’t know how you stay so strong. I would be going practically insane by now if I was you.”
He turns his body and sits up, elbows resting on his bent knees, the leaves crinkle noisily reminding Lydia where she is. He doesn’t say anything for a solid five minutes, and the silence stretches uncomfortably. But she waits quietly, surely the fact he hasn’t stomped off is a good sign. A chill is sent up her spine and she isn’t sure if it has anything to do with the cold air picking up.
Lydia is surprised when she hears his voice quiet but sure, “You are wrong about two things. I am not alone. I thought I was for a long time, but I have come to realize I do have people who care about me.” He pauses and takes a breath. “First of all, you guys all went to Mexico when you thought there was a possibility that I was in danger. Scott. Stiles. Malia. Kira… And you. All of you risked your lives to find me, because you care. I am not alone, Lydia.”
His gaze unwavering.
“And second, look at the people you have lost over this last year, Aiden, Allison and even Jackson to a certain extent. Yet you still hold your head up high and go on. I wouldn’t worry about your sanity if I was you. You are stronger than you think, Martin.”
A/N: Originally this was supposed to be a one shot but after I got to 3.5K+ i decided to release it in parts. I haven’t written the rest, so no idea how long until another part is released :o) Hope you enjoyed reading, *whispers* reviews and feedback inspire me, so be sure to let me know what you think. First time smut so hope it is horrible. Sorry if there are typos!
This story is written based of this post ->X , it will be a multi chapter story and very angsty and slow burn. I hope you enjoy ;o)
Set directly after 4x02, on the night Derek turns older again.
Mirrors and Masks
Lydia can’t help but curse the gods as she stands in her bathroom with one of her designer shoes in hand, holding the black boot over the sink scrubbing relentlessly in attempt to wash off some of the blood. She asks herself why they couldn’t have given her a different ability, one that doesn’t require finding mutilated bodies in gas station bathrooms covered in blood and brain matter.
It didn’t help that the blood had had a couple hours to set whilst they ran about trying to find young Derek and Kate. Then the Hale fortune having been stolen, Kate escaping and Derek restored to his former brooding self, all providing enough distractions for the blood to have time to set and ruin her very expensive footwear.
Her back is beginning to ache from standing arched over the sink, fingers red and rubbed raw. The frustration continues to well up inside her as she realizes that the stains are just not coming out, no matter how hard she tries. Her hand shakes slightly, breaths coming out in uneven puffs.
Dropping her shoe in the sink with a clunk she falls back against the tilled wall feeling uneasy, lightheaded and nauseous. Her eyes sting and vision begins to cloud, she realizes with a start that there are tears running down her cheeks, and she is crying silently allowing the tremors to wrack her body.
Sliding down the wall unceremoniously she pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around her knees. Sucking in a couple unsteady breaths trying to calm herself down, overwhelming grief washes over her and she feels as if she can’t breathe.
Everything is too much. Her head spins and the wave of nausea builds, throwing her body upwards as fast as she can, reaching the toilet just in time to bring up the contents of her dinner. It is incredible difficult to keep her hair out of her face and the toilet whilst she wretches for several minutes.
It doesn’t take long to empty her stomach; she feels slightly better, there is still a slight tremble to her hand and her pulse is beating against her throat wildly. But the all consuming sickness has died down. Her hand reaches up and finds what it’s looking for, the sound of the toilet flushing reverberating through the room and waking her slightly.
Lydia pushes her knees up from under her lifting her to a standing position, her hand grips the edge of the sink holding her body up right, and the need to lie down and sleep for hours weighing her down. She hadn’t been very comfortably sitting in a chair in Deaton’s office on the previous night, and sleep had not come easy or for long.
She lifts her gaze to the mirror and winces at the state of her; hair wild and damp along her scalp from sweating, skin pale and sickly looking, eyes red rimmed and tired. In a weak attempt to compose herself she turns the tap on, water flowing through the pipes, icy cold and refreshing. Cupping her hands under the flow of water she brings them up to her face and tries her best to wash the tear tracks from her face.
Her hands absentmindedly find a towel and bring it up to her cheeks and wiping all the nocks and crannies of her face. Lydia continues to dry her face gently, the soft red fabric smelling of some unidentifiable mixture of flowers, at the smell of the familiar detergent she relaxes slightly.
Dropping the towel to the side and blowing out a breath she reaches for a toothbrush and begins to scrub her teeth, tongue and gums thoroughly. Once satisfied that her mouth is minty fresh she moves on to her hair, grabbing a wide tooth comb, she starts at the bottom working out the knots until she can run the comb straight through, root to tip.
Her boot still sits in the sink taunting her and she can’t even be bothered to think of how much they cost as she grabs them both and chucks them in the bin. She knows in the back of her mind it isn’t the shoes that made her feel so queasy, but she doesn’t want to think about it.
The blood, all that blood, and the mangled body. It was just too much, she is proud to say she held it together for most of the night, even if it was out of necessity, it just seemed to rise to the surface when she got home and it overcame her. Dragging her into a pit of darkness, the sense of dread and death looming nearby, as if waiting for the next attack.
Kira, Scott and Stiles had all asked her whether she was alright after the chaos had settled and if she wanted to talk she didn’t. She wasn’t sure why but the words just didn’t seem to form, her unease lying on the tip of her tongue but she felt unable to voice it. So she had simply shrugged them off and told them she was fine. They seemed to take that answer and move on. She was grateful at the time that they didn’t try and pry, but after throwing up the contents of her stomach she wonders if talking would have been for the best.
A groan ripples through her knowing she is going to have to come up with a suitable explanation when her mother asks about the shoes, and she can’t help but just want to shut off her mind for a couple hours. Close it off to everything and anything.
As she exits the bathroom hand flicking off the light she hears the faint murmuring of voices down stairs, her mothers and someone else’s. A man’s. It isn’t loud enough for her to be able to make out whom though. But she can’t say she really cares, to emotionally and physically drained to do much more than flop down of her comforter and close her eyes.
The peaceful silence unsurprisingly lasts all of 3 seconds before she hears her mother’s voice.
“Lydia! There is someone here to see you.” Her mother’s booming voice yells up in a cheerful tone that in Lydia’s state of exhaustion annoys the hell out of her. She wonders if she can just pretend she isn’t there, and her mother might let it go and tell whoever it is to go away.
No such luck.
This time it is said louder and is undeniably a parental command, “Lydia, come here!”
“Fine, Mom. Give me a minute!” She can’t help but feel equal parts embarrassed and annoyed at the mystery visitor, whoever they are they clearly don’t care about the fact that it is most definitely past the appropriate hours for late night visiting.
Dragging her feet as she goes down the stairs, not in the mood to entertain anyone’s nocturnal visits. Thank god she took the time to clean herself up before going to lie down, she can’t imagine her mother would be too delighted about her chatting with a guest in that state. Then again the guest probably wouldn’t be too pleased about it either, not that she’d blame them.
Finally reaching the door she is able to get a look at the visitor. And well, she definitely didn’t see this coming. Standing on her porch at approximately 11:43 p.m is Derek Hale. Yup, definitely not what she was expecting. He is back to his old self now, leather jackets and all. He doesn’t seem to be in any kind of rush to get her alone so she assumes it isn’t a life or death emergency, which is a comforting thought. One night’s worth of tranquility would be quite nice. But she won’t hold her breathe on it happening anytime soon though.
When he sees her standing behind her mother he smiles. It is small and tentative but it’s more than they’ve ever shared before, so she smiles back. Slightly. Her mother catching Derek’s averted gaze turns to see Lydia standing behind her, a curious looks is sent her way inconspicuously, Lydia ignores it, turning to look at Derek.
“Well… I will just leave you two too it.” Her mother says lightly, inclining her head towards Derek she finishes, “It was nice meeting you, Mr.Hale.”
Derek’s head snaps back to Mrs. Martins in a heartbeat, extending a large hand out for her to shake. “The pleasure was mine.” Her mother smiles at him and extends her own arm. The handshake is brief and polite, it doesn’t take long for her to say her goodnights and leave the hallway. They both stand there at the doorway waiting for the other to speak, but the way Lydia sees it he came to her house, he should be the one to start the conversation. Almost as if detecting her line of thoughts he breaks the silence.
“Can we talk?”
It is a vague question, that doesn’t do anything to calm her churning thoughts. “Sure.” Instead of inviting him in she walks over towards him, closing the door behind her and leaving them both standing on her front deck. She walks over to the bench swing that is in the corner of the deck, it is the first time she has been on it in a long time, she remembers sitting out here during the summer nights reading a good book or doing homework. She used to love it out here. But things have changed a lot recently, the thought of lingering out in the dark alone puts her on edge, she isn’t really scared. Just more cautious than she used to be.
She assumes that this kind of reaction is normal once you find out how many terrors can lurk in the night, especially around Beacon Hills, she just prefers not to chance it anymore.
Sometimes she wonders if it will ever go away, that feeling of dread. Once you know how dark the world can be, will you ever be able to fully see the light again?
He doesn’t sit next to her, just leans against the porch rail looking at her; she realizes she’s probably been quiet for a while having been so lost in thought. He looks concerned which is in turn concerning to her, there is a slight frown marring his face, not out of annoyance like the one he generally wears though. Which is a small victory in itself.
“Are you okay?” He questions.
It is her turn to frown now, “Yes. I was waiting for you to do the talking since you are the one who called upon me, remember?” Her voice is sharp and she blames it on a lack of sleep and the worry he is causing being here but not actually saying why.
“No, I mean before…” He trails off, hand pointing vaguely upwards. Her frown deepens in confusion. “I could hear you upstairs in the bathroom, you didn’t sound so good. I would have come up to… Well I would have tried to help, but your mother was very intent on questioning me thoroughly before allowing me permission to talk to you.”
She briefly wonders whether her mom remembers that time that he was accused of killing a girl. Lydia can imagine that set off some warning bells. A small chuckle rises up in her throat at the thought of her mother interrogating Derek Hale of all people.
“I am fine.” Her answer is quiet but curt. Direct and to the point. She does not want to talk about it.
He nods but by the look on his face he does not believe her, she doesn’t really believe it herself so she can’t blame him. Plus with the fact that he can hear any blips in her heartbeat doesn’t really help her case, but if he does hear any abnormality he doesn’t mention it, merely sends her one last meaningful glance.
“I came to say thank you, actually.” He doesn’t look at her when he says it, his eyes fixed out into a dark patch of the trees outside her house.
Trying to wrack her brain for his meaning but coming up blank, she asks. “For?”
And then it hits her. Ah. She isn’t sure that that alone warrants a midnight visit but she doesn’t voice that opinion, mostly because he continues talking.
“You had no obligation to stay with me last night, but you did. Despite the fact that we barely know each other and I have never been entirely friendly with you—“
She interrupts him with a loud scoff “Entirely friendly? You mean you’ve been a little friendly at some point in our acquaintance?” Raising an eyebrow daring him to challenge her on the topic.
His eyes find hers and she swears that she isn’t hallucinating when a corner of his lip turns up slightly.
Ever so slightly.
His eyebrow arches too, “Can I finish.” It is supposed to be a question but it comes out more of a command than anything, not that she really cares. The sooner he says what he came here to say the sooner she can go back to her room to sleep for the next twelve hours straight. Then she remembers she has school in the morning and those twelve hours of sleep are definitely not going to happen, she will be lucky if she manages a solid seven, and with that thought a stream of unladylike curses flow through her. She is going to be so cranky at school tomorrow, she can feel it.
As she had not spoken for several moments he seems to take it as silent acceptance and starts speaking again.
“It… It isn’t often in my life, actually let me rephrase that. It isn’t often previous to meeting Scott that people look out for me with no ulterior motive. Having Scott in my life has changed a lot of things, and I appreciate that. You helped me last night, whether it was because you are a part of Scotts pack and he asked you too or because you were being kind, I don’t know, and I don’t care. Either way from what I am told you stayed with me all night to make sure I was alright, and you came to Mexico to find me… I guess what I am trying to say is that I really appreciate it. So yes, thank you, Martin.”
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it wasn’t that, and for the second time tonight she finds herself off kilter and unsure. She had stayed with him, not for Scott, or for him really, but just because it seemed like the right thing to do. For everyone really. She is slightly uncomfortable, not because of Derek precisely but from the absolute sincerity to his words and the appreciation in his voice.
“You said, ‘from what I am told’ I am guessing you don’t remember much, huh?” She deflects the conversation elsewhere, curious as to what he actually does remember.
He seems to accept the shift in conversation, almost looking glad that the intensity of the moment has been broken. “No, not much.” His brows furrow looking lost in a bad memory, he shakes his head briefly banishing whatever dark thought from his mind. “It is all a pretty big blur to be honest, all that I know comes from things Stiles and Scott have told me.”
It makes sense to her, turning into a teenager and then back must be quite an intense feat; she isn’t surprised his mind is a little fried. She can’t help but think that it is probably for the best that he can’t remember his homicidal ex girlfriend using him to get to his family vault. Trying to trick him.
“I should go, it is getting pretty late.” And then he looks at her in the most amusing way, like how her father looks at her when he is trying to act incredibly parental, “And it is a school night. Get some rest.” She doesn’t do much but nod gently, her body agreeing with him completely. Exhaustion looming over her like a grey cloud. And good god her bed sounds heavenly right now, she would probably even fall asleep right on the bench at this point. The soft lull of the swing reminding her of the rock of waves against a ship.
He turns and heads down the porch stopping at the last step before turning to angle his body towards her, he opens and closes his mouth a few times almost as if unsure what to say exactly.
He seems to settle on something as he looks her directly in the eye, “If you ever need to talk, Lydia, you know where to find me.” His gaze shifts up towards her bedroom’s direction in thought, “I know there are plenty of other people in your life that you can talk to, and I really do think you should talk to someone. But just know I am around and… I might understand better than you think. ”
He gives her a sad and genuine smile. “Anytime, okay?”
“Okay.” And she actually means it.
Something invisible passes between them, a connection she doesn’t quite understand and she is too damn tired to worry about figuring it out.
Turning on his heels he says one last goodbye before disappearing off into the darkness, she doesn’t move for a while though, taking a minute to enjoy the fresh air before getting up and walking back inside. She makes it to her bedroom and collapses on the bed without care, the last image that flickers before her eyes is one of Derek’s sad smiles, she doesn’t dwell on it long as she falls into a sleep filled oblivion.
First little Dydia fic. Recommended by calie1003. I’m not good at group dialogue so don’t hate me. Will be coming out with a Lysaac one soon. Message me with any prompt ideas. :)-The Alpha’s Girl
Derek Hale was a man who prided himself on his control. Whether it be on a full moon or simply resisting the urge to slit that Stilinksi kid’s throat, he always kept his inner wolf in check. Yeah. He was pretty damn good at taming his wolf. Well, that is, until he met Miss Lydia Martin.
Little Miss Lydia Martin. Strawberry blonde hair, 5’3” On the surface she was a shallow, self-absorbed, bitch. She was annoying, whiny, weak, and did he mention annoying?
While she was all of these things, she was none of them at the same time. As she truly integrated herself into his pack, he realized all of this was a facade. In reality, Lydia Martin was amazing, intelligent, kind, caring, and hot, to say the least. But you’d never catch him saying that in front of her or the pack.
Ever since the whole Kanima thing with Jackson, Lydia had grown closer to the pack. Part of that was Peter’s fault for dragging her into the whole mess in the first place. But Derek couldn’t help but be grateful. She was probably the only stable thing that his rag-tag band of misfits had. She played video games with Boyd, shopped with Erica, helped Isaac with his homework, cooked meals for everyone, cleaned up Derek’s apartment, and made sure that they all got the proper amount of sleep. She was even the one who convinced him to move into an apartment in the first place.
Lydia walked around the burnt up room, her nose all wrinkled up. “God, Derek, This is where you all live?” she didn’t even wait for a response before she was tossing him a classifieds listing from the Beacon Hills Today. “This may be alright for your broodish ways, but you’ve got three teens to take care of. Find a place by the end of the week or I’ll do it for you. At least 4 rooms.”
With that, the little vixen flipped her hair and walked out, her heels clicking the entire way to the door.
Well, convinced might be too strong of a word.
Nevertheless, it ended up being for the best. Derek could already see a change in his pack. Isaac was happier and his nightmares tended to be less frequent. Erica became more outgoing, and less.. bitchy. Boyd smiled more often and Derek could tell he had finally found the friends he was looking for. All of their grades had gone up dramatically, as well.
In spite of the good that the “Wolf Mama” (Stiles’ words, not his) had caused, she still managed to get under Derek’s skin every chance she got.
The group’s small kitchen was packed to the brim with Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Scott sitting at their small dinner table. Peter and Stiles were leaning against the far wall, a good distance between each of them. Lydia was at the sink and was scrubbing at the plates that had managed to pile up in a day’s time. Derek was leaning on the counter next to her, drying plates as she handed them to him. It was quite a domestic scene. Not to say that he never helped clean, he hated to let down his guard in front of the pups but he needed to be between Peter and Lydia. He could sense her tensing whenever his creepy uncle entered the room, and he hated the look Peter gave her. Yes, Derek Hale was protective of Lydia. She was part of his pack is all. He’d do the same for Scott or Isaac.
A little voice in the back of his head snorted and internally smack him upside the head.
He shook his head and got back to the matter at hand. The pack meeting was getting very frustrating and Derek found himself ready to tear out his own hair. They had no idea what to do about the alpha pack and his “pups” were doing little to come up with a plan. Peter’s idea, albeit sarcastic, was the only reasonable idea of the bunch but he had no idea where they would get a cement truck. And that was by the long shot that his pack could round up all the alpha’s without getting killed.
Isaac was kicking Boyd under the table and Erica giggled at his banter.
“Isaac Lahey, leave Boyd alone or you will never have any little Isaacs running around” Lydia scolded and pointed a soapy dish brush at him. Her eyes were the most menacing though, displaying a look that a mother gives a naughty child. He ducked his blue eyes and nodded his head.
“We can’t come up with a plan unless we know their next move.” Scott ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed lightly. The alpha pack had been oddly quiet for the past weeks. They didn’t even attempt to rustle their feathers, or rather fur.
Hopped up on Adderall, Stiles bit his thumb anxiously and tapped his feet against the floor.
Without thinking, he said, “Well, we could always have Lydia bang info out of Aiden.”
Crash!!! All eyes turned to where Derek was sitting. Glass was littered around his feet, having dropped the plate he was drying. His whole body was rigid.
“Damnit, Stiles!” Lydia yelled at him.
A tense moment swept through the pack and Derek’s hands clenched up into tight fists. He jerked his head to Lydia, eyes flashing a deep crimson color.
He spoke two words, barely noticeable to the humans in the room. “Everybody. Out.”
His perfect white teeth clenched together and the muscles in his neck constricted.
It took less than a minute for the entire pack to leave the room and for Scott to drag Stiles out by scruff of his shirt.
Derek stood there for a minute. His whole body shook and he stared at Lydia with his fierce alpha eyes. Unblinking, she stared at him. He could hear the fast beating of her heart. Despite this, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down even harder.
“You.. had sex with one of the alphas?” Derek ground out. His fists clenched harder and Lydia swore she heard bones breaking.
She sighed and threw the dish scrubber back into the sink, “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes I did. Why do you care anyway? It was just sex. A little bit of fun. It’s not like I’m in love with him or anything.”
“Because you are part of my pack! It’s my job to protect you. If you want sex go to someone else! Not one of the people trying to kill us!” He took a step closer to her and low rumble came out of his chest. No matter how well Lydia stood her ground, she was still very intimidated by a full-on alpha Derek and she stepped back. Her shoulders hit the wall and before she knew it, he was right in front of her. She wasn’t go to let him see her submission though.
“I don’t need anyone to protect me. Especially not you. And who do you want me to go to? Isaac?” She pushed a well-painted fingernail into his chest and the vibrations of his growl practically shook her arm.
Jealousy swept over Derek at the thought of that curly-haired pup putting hands on Lydia. He didn’t care if Isaac was pack, he would rip Isaac’s throat out with his teeth if he ever even thought about placing a finger on her.
“Me.” Derek didn’t wait for a response before he had Lydia pinned against the wall. His hands tangled into her mass of strawberry blonde curls and he smashed his lips against hers. The kiss was nothing Lydia had ever felt. Little shocks coursed over her skin and caused a low moan to slip from her lips.
He pulled away and pressed a light kiss to her swollen lips. “If you want sex, come to me.”
single dad au: where tony doesn't know how he got into the deal of having a tea party with his little girl (she made him sign a contract and everything so he can't bail early)
he really can’t be anything but proud of her because, while she’s definitely inherited some of his intelligence, she’s already started taking after her aunt pepper.
one day she just walks into tony’s office while he’s actually doing some of the more boring things related to being the owner of a company, saying something like, ‘daddy, daddy, give me your autograph!’ and tony just smiles at his weird little girl but takes the paper without looking and she dimples up at him as he hands it back with a look in her eyes that he really should recognize by now
an hour later she asks him to come to her room to see something really cool and when he gets there it’s a… tea party. like, a really intense tea party with everything a little girl could possibly want sitting at and around the table. and when she tells him he needs to go get changed for the tea party, he tries to refuse saying he has work that he needs to get done
and that’s when she shows him the paper. the typed up contract with his signature at the bottom saying that tony stark will attend one tea party per week at the discretion of ms. stark, wearing appropriate attire (also at young ms. stark’s discretion). it’s a really intricate document, even detailing ‘penalties’ if mr. stark is unable to attend, and tony wonders for a second how his little girl pulled this off before he spots pepper’s signature as a witness.
he’s so impressed he can’t even get a little mad at her and instead does as she wishes and changes into his ‘appropriate attire’.
pepper swings by later to see how it’s going and to take a picture.
the photo of tony in his iron man suit, mask flipped up while wearing a tutu and bunny ears, sipping daintily on a very small tea cup while his daughter smiles up at him, surrounded by all sorts of stuffed animals, ends up framed on his desk.
title: There is nothing for me (but to love you) series: project phoenix category: thor/captain america genre: romance/friendship/humor ship: bucky/darcy, bucky & darcy & steve (friendship) chapter rating: pg-13/teen overall rating: nc-17/explicit polyvore: darcy’s outfit word count: 5,678 summary: (au) It’s 1933 when Darcy Lewis meets a couple of boys that will change her whole life. It all starts with a skinny, sickly boy playing hero; where it’s headed, she could have never guessed.
"So, this is where you come to every Saturday, huh?" [Bucky] took a look around the room. "This is better than what’s hoppin’ in Manhattan?"
[Darcy] turned to him, head tipped. “You don’t believe me?”
"Hard to believe anything in Brooklyn’s got it better than Manhattan… Thought you folks were supposed to have it good out there." He put a hand to his chest rather mockingly. "Poor folks like us are only supposed to dream about what you got.”
"You dream about me a lot since last Saturday, Barnes," she replied, mouth curving up teasingly.
He chuckled, good and low, and ducked his chin down for a moment. Licking his lips, he turned to look at her, and Darcy would be a no good liar if she said she didn’t feel the heat of his gaze right down to her toes. She bit her lip and willed herself not to shiver, turning her gaze instead to the half-empty glass Steve had been sipping at. Picking it up, she finished it off, blaming it on the heat of the speakeasy and the exercise of dancing with Cherry for why she felt so parched suddenly.
"And if I did, what would you say? " Bucky wondered, staring at her profile.
"I’d tell ya to keep dreamin’," she offered back, looking over at him from the corner of her eyes.
His mouth curled up on one corner; the kind of smile that promised all too much. “Happily,” he said.
Team Arrow is in Vegas for some reason, and Digg, Roy, and Oliver learn are taken aback at Felicity's familiarity with the place, the people, and the activities. (I feel kinda guilty sending this cuz I know u have tons of prompts to fill, but i really wanna see a Vegas Smoak fic :))
The fact that I am a born and raised California girl was very beneficial for this. As was the fact that I lived in Vegas for a year when I was fourteen. So all the descriptions and stuff are based off my own experiences.
Also this took a really angsty turn, I’m sorry! I don’t think this is quite what you wanted, but it just happened and now I’ve got a bad case of Felicity feels!
* * *
Felicity’s first response when she learned that they had to travel to Vegas for a case, was to bury her head in her hands and groan out loud. Because really, why of all places did it have to be there?
People never understand why she can’t stand the city. Whenever they hear that she grew up in ‘America’s Playground’, they gush about how exciting and glamorous it all must have been, the lights, the clubs, the shows. But her memories of it are a little different, as anyone who spends longer than a week or so there knows, the glamor fades very quickly. In the light of day, with no neon to hide the imperfections, everything looks the dusty gray it actually is. Tattered buildings, bungalows, crime-ridden streets and drunken vagrants. It’s a dirty place really; men on the sidewalk handing out flyers for brothels, drug deals behind casinos, metal detectors at school, kids in gangs.
That’s the Vegas she grew up in.
She’s barely visited since she left, at eighteen with a ticket to Massachusetts and the prospect of a whole different future ahead of her. But as with anyone, it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away, your hometown will always be burned into your memory. Complete with all the shortcuts and secrets that only the locals will ever know.
The first time Oliver Queen lays eyes on Felicity Smoak, he’s six years old and she’s a tearful baby bundled up in her mother’s arms. He doesn’t pay her much attention, in fact he’s far much more interested in the plate of ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ cookies that Mrs. Smoak is holding in her other hand.
The first time he really notices her, she’s two and has a mess of blonde curls and a pink dress. He’s seven and spends the entire garden party teaching her to say his name.
[Been filling drabbles, I had one of my own I wanted to try… Rated M.]
It’s a rare, lazy Sunday morning that they get to spend in bed for a change.
Oliver makes breakfast, French toast coated in cinnamon and sugar, the season’s first fresh blueberries and coffee. They forego utensils, tearing off pieces of the moist, fried bread and popping it in their mouths, smiling and laughing and talking about nothing at all for a change. When the last sweet berry is gone, and remnants of sugar licked from sticky fingers, they fall asleep again, sunlight streaming in through the open window, the sounds of traffic faint down below.
This is for everylastline, I hope this is at least close to what you wanted!
Unedited/please forgive all my mistakes.
Even Billionaires Have to Grocery Shop
Oliver looked down at the list on his phone, when he agreed to stop at the grocery store on his way home he had no idea what he was getting into. Felicity had sent him an e-mail with at least fifty things on it, she even organized the list into sections. Dairy, produce, meat, house stuff. He wasn’t sure if that was usually how she organized her grocery lists, or if it was her small way of trying to make it easier on him, but either way he appreciated it.
He started pushing the cart toward the produce section noting that at least a third of the items on the list should be over there. At first it’s easy, a pound of strawberries, a bag of grapes, a few bananas, a couple of carrots—he’s actually feeling a little smug, grocery shopping is a breeze—when a small snort from Diggle caused him to pause.
Oliver sighed, placing the plums in the cart, “Something funny, Digg?”
“No, sir.” Diggle says and Oliver can tell that it really is taking a lot for him not to start laughing. Oliver raised his eyebrow, but went back to picking out cantaloupe. He had it narrowed down to two, when he heard the distinct click of a camera and Diggle trying to quiet his laughter again.
He turned around to face his bodyguard again, “Seriously?”
Diggle shrugged his shoulder, “Sorry, Felicity wants a picture of you grocery shopping.”
Oliver closed his eyes, “I feel like this is a violation of not only our bodyguard/client agreement and our friendship, but I’m almost positive this is a direct violation of some sort of man code.”
“Oh, it is.” Diggle stopped talking when his phone chirped, looking down at it. He looked back up at Oliver with an apologetic look on his face, “I’m sorry man, but Felicity is scary when she’s sick. And she would like a better picture.”
Oliver knew that he couldn’t argue with that logic, Felicity really was scary when she was sick, so he held up the cantaloupe with a confused look on his face. Diggle took the picture and gave him a thumbs up about ten seconds later, “That should do the trick.”
They finished the rest of the grocery shopping, occasionally having to stop to take pictures, something that seemed to be very amusing to the other people in the store.
“We are never talking about this.” Oliver said, as he grabbed the last bag from the car.
“Agreed.” Diggle smiled, “See you tomorrow?”
“Took the day off. I’ll swing by Verdant in the evening though.”
Diggle nodded and Oliver made his way up to the apartment. When he opened the door, Felicity wasn’t in her usual sick spot on the couch, and he didn’t hear anything coming from the television, which was strange. Sick Felicity loved television. Oliver quickly put the groceries away before moving toward their bedroom.
What he found was Felicity sitting against the headboard, laptop in her lap, and a scary smile on his face. She looked up at him, her smile softening into his smile.
He sat down next to her, looking over at her computer. She was on some tabloid website and he groaned at the headline, “Even Billionaires Have to Grocery Shop” followed by at least a dozen pictures of him in the store.
Felicity started laughing, “I really like this one.” She pointed to a picture of him and Digg in the cleaning aisle, staring at a shelf full of dishwasher detergent with a sort of confused look on their faces. The picture had been edited to include a zoomed in picture of the cart, which had five different types of detergent.
“I thought I told you what kind to get.” She almost sounded apologetic.
“You gave me the brand. The brand had like ten different types. Digg and I took our best guess.”
Felicity smiled at him while she placed the computer on the nightstand. “I’m sorry. I tried to be specific. I was sort of tired by the time I got to that part of the list.”
“I did appreciate the descriptions of the produce.”
Felicity laughed, curling into his side, “I thought about attaching pictures, but I didn’t want you to think I doubted your grocery shopping skills.”
This time Oliver laughed pressing a kiss against her forehead, “You don’t feel so hot anymore. Are you feeling better?”
Oliver felt her nod against his chest, “Much. I’m actually just really tired.”
“So let’s sleep?”
“It’s only seven thirty.”
“Time doesn’t count when you’re sick. I thought that was a rule.”
“Point taken.” Oliver could hear the sleepiness overtaking her voice,” No hood stuff for the night?”
“Roy and Digg have it.”
“How’d you manage that? I thought Roy had plans with Thea.”
“I told him you were sick.”
“Thea’s going to be pissed.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His hands began rubbing small circles against her back, and he could he feel her body begin to relax.
Felicity laughed softly, pulling him a little bit closer to her. “Love you.”
Oliver’s pretty sure she was asleep before he could even reply.
So like don’t mind me. I’m just going through my favorites and posting some of the 700+ things I’ve favorited since I started this blog 5 years ago and apparently have never posted. Most of it is fic. So sorry for all that.
Felicity’s breath rushed out of her as she startled awake with a very naked and alert Oliver on top of her, his arms braced against the mattress and his eyes darting around wildly.
She blinked up at him and patted his shoulder before she yawned. “Oliver, seriously, I need sleep. I passed out after round three for a reason…”
“Shh…” he said, reaching up to cover her mouth.
She shook her head to get his hand off. “Don’t you shush me!” She was starting to wake up now and not having enough sleep was making her grumpy. “It’s like four in the morning. I love you, but seriously, just go eat a sandwich or something.”
He glared down at her, his head swiveling around. “There was a noise… I thought… It woke me up. I thought someone was in the house.”
She hummed, eyes drifting closed again. “‘s an old house, probably just the wood or something. Ooh, or a ghost.” Her brows hiked even though her eyes were closed. “I mean, I don’t know if I actually believe in ghosts. Sometimes I watch those ghost hunting shows and they convince me for like 0.5 seconds, but then I think, pfft, no way. If there were ghosts my cousin Carl would be haunting me. Carl was a total jerk, may he rest in peace, and he never ignored a chance to bug me. So that’s that. No such thing as ghosts…” she murmured, beginning to drift away.
Oliver’s amused chuckle penetrated her sleep-fogged brain. He leaned down to kiss her forehead before moving to lay beside her once more and tugged her over to lay in the curve of his body. “Goodnight, Felicity.”
She hummed, stroking his forearm over her stomach. “Night Oliver…” There was a long pause before, “Night possible ghosts hanging around Queen Manor…”
It took all of 30 seconds for her to wake back up. “Oliver, seriously, what if your house is haunted? I can’t sleep now! What if some creepy ghost has seen me showering?”
Oliver sighed. “There aren’t any ghosts…”
"How do you know? You said you heard a noise!"
"I was probably just dreaming it. Flashback to the island. I can’t help it. The wind could’ve whistled and I’d wake up." He pulled her in closer. "Go to sleep."
She laid down, but she was stiff, her mind going through the possibilities. “Okay, but I watched Paranormal Activity last weekend… Don’t ask me why. Sometimes I do things I shouldn’t do, you know? And I don’t just mean illegal things for you…”
"Felicity, if there are ghosts in the house, I will protect you. All right?"
“How? How are you going to protect me against a ghost? They have no corporeal form, so your arrows are moot, and so are all those muscles. Let’s face it, if there is a melevolent spirit in this house, we are doomedi!
"Can we be doomed after we get more sleep?"
"You need to take this seriously!" She slapped his arm.
"All right, okay, I’ll call in an priest tomorrow if it makes you feel better."
She frowned. “Fine. But if this place turns into Amityville Horror, I’m so gone.”
She could feel him grinning against her shoulder. “Duly noted.”
Felicity rolled her eyes, but eventually let herself relax. She was comfortably burrowed up under as much of Oliver as she could take without being smothered. If he noticed she was using him as a human shield, he wasn’t complaining.
"Well, that was… unexpected." She shifted on the bed, naked and tugging on her fingers awkwardly. "Not in a bad way. Well, I mean, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t kind of bad. But it’s not the worst thing. I mean, it’s been a long night, totally understandable, and you’ve been really stressed lately…”
"This never happens," Oliver groaned from behind the hands he had pressed to his face.
"I’m serious. I’ve never… I’ve always…" He shook his head. "I can’t believe this is happening right now."
"It’s okay…" she soothed, turning onto her side and rubbing her hand over his stomach in circles. "It happens sometimes. Like I was saying, things have been really stressful with your job and your other job and then your family and training Roy and it seems like somebody from your past that you thought was dead pops up alive every other month. So I mean, what’s one lost erection, right?”
"Please stop talking."
"Oliver, you know that’s almost impossible."
Sighing, he dropped his hands and turned to look at her. “I’m going to make this up to you.”
"Is this a pride thing? Because listen, I’m not judging. I’m okay with cuddling. I know you’re tired and this is really, seriously nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, we are going to have plenty more opportunities for this kind of thing. Well, at least I hope so. Our schedules really are incredibly demanding and this is only the first time we’ve ever actually done this, so that’s kind of… I don’t want to say disappointing, because that’ll probably kill your ego, and—"
Oliver shuffled down the bed, confusing her for a moment.
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere." He moved up to his knees and crawled in between hers. "This is not happening. This is going to come back. I’ve never been too tired for sex. Or too stressed. And I’ve been dreaming about this for way too long for this kind of ending. In the meantime…” He dragged hands down her thighs and spread them. “Let me make it up to you.”
"Oliver, you really don’t have to prove anythiiiiiii… Oh God. Okay, don’t stop. You have something to prove. A lot! A lot to prove! Keep going." She arched her back and dug her fingers into his hair to hold him close as he set his mouth to work.
He made her come twice before he sat back with a grin.
She was about to ask him why he looked so damn happy when she was the one who’d just seen stars, but then he was leaning over her and pressing up between her legs and oh, it looked like he was ready to go. All things considered, the unexpected turned out to be pretty damn satisfying for once.
Spoilers ahead! Sort of. We barely know nothing other than the title and that Helena is back and yet this plot bunny attacked and turned out longer than intended and…I need it out of my face so I can work on the things I’m supposed to be working on.
Read it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9753682/14/Season-2-Drabbles
Right, so after my last/first fanfic ended in tragedy (sorry not sorry) I promised some cuteness. This isn’t cute per say, but it is something.
P.S. Remember I am relatively new at the whole fanfic thing, so be gentle.
It’s Not What It Looks Like
Felicity couldn’t believe her shitty luck. Well, actually now that she contemplated it thoroughly she had had a pretty decent week so she was due for a catastrophe. Her quota of terrible karma had not been met.
Of course she thought when catastrophe struck it would be because of her night job, she never expected it to be something as normal as this. Well it certainly wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t life threatening.
She just hoped that Jessica could forgive her.
When Felicity had been offered the position as Maid of Honor in her cousin’s wedding she had not expected the amount of work that would be involved, nor had she expected the responsibility. Felicity had literally spent the past week (well when she wasn’t at work or engaging in her nightly activities) at the bride’s beck and call. Anything from looking at place mats for the reception to auditioning bands, she was there offering her moral support and womanly opinion. And she could handle that, giving advice may not have been her strong suit, but she could pick out placemats with the best of them.
No that’s not where the problem lay. No, no, no, that shit all started yesterday when she’d received a panicked call from her cousin. Apparently she had an appointment the jewelers for a ring resize, but had forgotten about it and she was currently “detained” .From the noises and giggling Felicity didn’t have to guess what had detained her. Not that it wasn’t perfectly acceptable for her cousin to be getting some action, she’d seen her fiancé, Phillip, and she couldn’t blame her, but Felicity was in the middle of an epically long dry-spell and she just wasn’t all that …. anyway her cousin had begged her to go and be the model for the resizing because apparently neither her nor her fiancé could remember her size, but Jessica had remembered that Felicity was the same size finger (which Felicity had to admit was a little suspect, but she wasn’t going to argue with a bride, especially with the two love birds moaning on the other end of the phone). So Felicity went to be the finger model for her cousin’s wedding ring, and it had been pretty painless maybe tedious, but painless.
Then of course the God of discord struck once again. You see, after the Jeweler had finished with it, he’d asked her to give it a try to make sure all the modifications had been made. But when Felicity put it on her finger the little fucker had refused to come off.
Thus began the saga of removing five caret, white gold princess cut from her left ring finger, and the finger designated for marital bliss, soon became a symbol for her own personal hell.
Felicity had spent the entire night with a bottle of lotion, a tub of I can’t believe it’s not butter, and the hope that if she prayed enough God would pull through. Isn’t that what her mother had always told her? Ask and ye shall receive. This proved to be false however when Felicity woke up this morning with butter smeared down her Dr. Who PJs and a chapped finger from hours of futile yanking and rubbing, but that ring remained a glaring reminder of just how shitty her life was.
Felicity was beginning to think the thing would never come off and to say she was panicked would be an understatement.
And now here she was at the office, waiting for their ten o’clock meeting with the finance department and the ring was still on her freaking finger. She didn’t know what to do. She was freaking out and Jessica wanted the ring back that night. Felicity did not want to be explaining this mortifying situation to her because honestly at this point in the wedding planning she wasn’t sure if Jessica would laugh or try and murder her. It was a fifty-fifty shot with the hormones and Felicity wasn’t going to take that chance.
So she was just going to have to suck it up through her work day and then go home and try some of the ring removal tips she’d googled on her way into work that morning.
“Good morning Felicity,” Oliver said sweeping into the room.
Felicity quickly dropped the ring finger she’d been glaring at for the past five minutes and turned her irritated gaze on her boss. She raked her eyes over his body. Damn, that man looked good in a suit, but she was mad at him.
“You have a meeting in five minutes,” she snapped.
Oliver at least had the decency to look contrite. “ I had business to attend to,” he emphasized the word business and Felicity new he was referring to his second (and considerable less legal) job. She sat up straighter.
“Anything I should be concerned about?”
“No, I was just…” he raked his hand through his close cropped hair and looked away. It was then that she noticed the significantly more pronounced bags under his eyes.
She sighed. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
Oliver’s intent stare was the only answer she needed. He’d been up all night training.
She shook her head. One of these days he was going to hit his limit and his body would just give out on him. She just hoped upon hope that she’d be in the position to help him when it did.
Felicity pursed her lips and gave him her best reprimanding glare, the one her mother gave her when she didn’t clean her room when she was little. Felicity found that she had perfected the art form in the past year. It was a necessary tool to have at her disposal, considering she had two brooding very masculine men with her almost every night who refused to properly bandage a wound.
Oliver rolled his eyes at her. “I’m fine” Oliver grumbled, walking into his office. She heard the him add a hushed “mother” before he passed through the doorway.
“I heard that!”
He gave her a flippant wave over his shoulder.
She glared at his back. “Where do you think you’re going? You have a meeting in five minutes!”
“Notes.” Was all he said.
Felicity watched him fumble around on his desk, briefly pausing to run a tried hand over his face and sighed. Getting to her feet she made her way out of the office. She was going to do something she swore she would never do again.
Get him Coffee.
Yes, I know I know. She argued with the little voice inside her head, the angry one who was constantly waving her MIT diploma around like a giant protesting sign shouting “This is not in the secretarial arts”. But Oliver looks so…exhausted. And a little sad, and she hated it when he looked like that. He tried so hard all the time, and worked himself to exhaustion and then he still couldn’t sleep because of the constant nightmares. So dammit she was going to get him coffee, even if it was beneath her.
And it was.
It really, really was.
Felicity took longer than she expected to make the coffee (it would have been shorter if some arrogant asshole hadn’t neglected to refill the pot), and when it was finally finished brewing she looked down at her watch and swore. She was late to the meeting, which meant she was going to get one of those you-are-good-for-nothing-except-hanky-panky looks from Isabitch Rochev, to which she would have to bight back a scathing retort and take her seat like a good little Executive Assistant. But hey, at least she had coffee. And it wasn’t like the woman could fire her; Felicity had it in with the CEO after all.
She collected the coffee, filling two mugs and made her way to the conference room. She could see the meeting in full swing through the glass walls. Channeling her inner ninja, Felicity slipped through the doors and into the room carrying the two cups of coffee.
As expected Isabel paused in her no doubt riveting lecture on marketing statistics to give her a deadly yet disdainful glare before continuing. Felicity didn’t react; she just smiled at Oliver and reached over to place the coffee mug in her left hand in front of him on the table.
She barely registered the collective gasp that went through he conference room, but when it did sink in her head shot up. The two Finance execs were staring at her left hand in amazement. Felicity frowned wondering the hell was the problem and then followed their gazes to her left ring finger, the one currently adorned with a sizeable engagement ring.
“Uh…” Felicity muttered awkwardly, wondering how she was going to explain this, but Isabel cut her off.
“Well, Miss Smoak it seems like perhaps I was wrong in opinion of you.”
Isabel smiled coldly at her “Well unless that ring on your finger came from the Queen vault, I seems the office rumors are false. Unless you are indeed going to be Mrs. Queen?” She said, her eyes going stony.
“What…NO!” she said quickly panic in her voice. “No, I’m not marrying Oliver, no.”
Isabel smiled then, the tension leaving her eyes. And with that Isabel turned back to her lecture, dismissing Felicity before she could explain further.
Felicity sat down and resisted the urge to bury her head in her hands. A headache throbbing behind her eyes. This day was one for the books.
A good five minutes had gone by before she realized that Oliver hadn’t taken so much as a sip from his coffee. In fact her hadn’t even thanked her, which was quite frankly rude.
Felicity lifted her head to pin him with a glare, but when her eyes landed on him she froze.
Oliver was staring at her hand. Well more specifically her was staring at the ring on her hand, but that wasn’t really important. What was important (or at least Felicity thought so) was the way he was staring at her hand. Oliver’s eyes were glued wide-eyed to ring as if it were a slimey serpent, slithering around the circumference of her left index finger. There was something akin to horror and abject shock in his eyes. And quite frankly Felicity was a little concerned.
Felicity reached forward automatically, moving her hands slowly as if he would spook like a startled animal. “Oliver…” she started.
His head snapped up and she met his eyes.
A gasp escaped her before she could help herself. Something was churning in those deep blue irises of his something she had never seen before, and it looked kind of like panic.
“Are you…” She never finished that sentence, because the next second Oliver seized her by the wrist and dragged her out of the conference room ignoring the angry protestations of Isabel Rochev and the dumfounded expressions of Liz and Martin from finance.
Felicity was so taken by surprise that it didn’t even register that he was yanking her around like a caveman until they were through the doors and in his office. Angry and a little humiliated she jerked her hand from his with a violent motion.
“What the hell, Oliver!” she shouted, rubbing her wrist.
“What the hell?” he said, his tone quiet and dangerous.
“Yes, what the hell? You dragged me out of there like a Neanderthal in front of a room of Queen consolidated employees. So. What. The. Hell!”
His eyes blazed, and Felicity almost took a step back. Almost. She’d seen Oliver mad before, and had grown pretty accustomed to his temper-tantrums over the last year. So she knew he’d never hurt her, but when Oliver reached out and snatched up her wrist again the roughness of the gesture shocked the hell out of her. He wasn’t hurting her, but Oliver was definitely not Mr. Calm Cool and Collected right now. “What the hell?” he repeated again, through gritted teeth “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!” he all but shouted, shaking the hand with the ring in her face.
Felicity knew what he meant, but she was angry and when she was angry she said stupid things. “What the hell is what?”
She knew immediately that this was a mistake. Oliver’s face darkened and he suddenly took two large steps forward getting in her personal space. Felicity backed up until her butt was against the edge of his desk, his body crowding her. A flush swept over her from head to toe. Even though the man was yelling at her and being a grade A douchebag she could not ignore what a physical enigma this man was. His smell alone was threatening to intoxicate her. “The thing on your finger Felicity. The thing adorning a certain very important finger.”
Her head swimming with all things Oliver, Felicity struggled to formulate a response. “It’s an engagement ring.” She said plainly.
Oliver swore vehemently, yanking a hand through his hair. Then if possible he stepped even closer to her, his face coming down only inches away from hers so that she could practically feel his breath against her forehead. “Whose?” he snapped and Felicity could not help, but shiver. Oliver’s arrow voice was out in full force, and it was terrifying.
Oliver’s eyes widened, and Felicity realized the implications of what she’d said. The blood drained from her face as she quickly stuttered out an explanation.
“Oh God, it’s not my cousin’s. That’s not what I meant. I mean it is my cousin’s, but my cousin didn’t give it to me. Not that I stole my cousin’s engagement ring because I did not, what I mean is that it is my cousin’s engagement ring, my girl cousin’s who…” she could tell by the look on his face that she was just making it worse. Felicity took a deep breath and tried to collect herself “…3 2 1. I’m not marrying my cousin.”
Oliver looked thoroughly lost.
“Felicity, I’m confused. Are you or are you not getting married?”
“That would be a big N.O.”
“Then why is there an engagement ring on your finger?”
“I-“ really don’t want to have to explain this “Well…”
She was about to launch into a lengthy and no doubt rambly explanation, but was interrupted when the door swung open and Diggle stalked in. Oliver and Felicity separated quickly, Oliver dropping her wrist and stepping back. Felicity flushed with embarrassment when Diggle shot them a dubious look.
“Diggle…” Oliver started, but Dig held up his hand looking very put out.
“This” Diggle said, gesturing between the two of them “is why you two ran out of your meeting like bats out of hell? Dammit man, I thought the entire freaking city was about to blow!”
If possible Felicity’s face became even redder. “NO! We were not…I mean…it wasn’t. We weren’t…NO!”
Diggle arched an eyebrow before pointing an accusing finger at both of them. “Listen you two, I know you’ve been eyeing each other for months now and it’s hard not to feel the tension when you are working in the lair together…”
“What?” Felicity and Oliver both said in unison. Diggle ignored them.
“…But we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules here. I’m not going to risk walking in on you two doing…Jesus, whatever this is.” He waved a hand toward the two of them again, “I signed up for this crusade, but I did not sign up for that.”
“What?” Felicity repeated.
“Diggle…” Oliver started again, but never got a chance because yet again the door swung open and this time Thea swept into the room with a very irritated looking Roy in tow. They seemed to be arguing about something, well Thea was arguing about something. Roy couldn’t get in a word edge wise. “…and the next time Lance calls me at two o’clock in the morning to pick you up from the station, I’m going to inform him to keep your delinquent ass in the brig until I’ve had at least eight hours of quality sleep. Honestly the least you could do is get arrested during daylight hours when people are awake!”
Roy muttered something about the lack of crime during daylight hours, and how that pretty much defeated the purpose.
Thea leveled him with a pretty terrifying glare before jabbing a finger into his chest. “Oh! I bet you could find some. Since trouble seems to lock on to you like a freaking heat-seeking missile!”
Roy opened his mouth to say something, that would no doubt dig him even deeper, but Thea was having none of it. “And another thing, the next time you go out into the Glades at night looking for a creep to pound maybe stop and think about how it makes me feel when I get a call at two o’clock in the morning, because honestly Roy it scares me to death every time and why is there an engagement ring on Felicity’s finger?”
Felicity froze, her brain doing a one-eighty because firstly who the fuck could follow this girl’s train of thought (and this was coming from Felicity, so it was kind of a big deal) and secondly she was surprised that Thea actually new her name. Other than exchanging pleasantries with the girl at the Queen’s New Year’s Eve party a few months ago or the few times she’d had to patch her through to Oliver to confirm a lunch date, she and Thea had never really spoken. So the fact that the eighteen year old had not only locked on to the fact that she was wearing an engagement ring, but also knew that said ring hadn’t been there previously brought up some interesting points.
Points that, in the face of her current predicament were going to have to be reviewed at a later time.
Whatever talking in the room ceased after that and she felt three sets of eyes zero in on the ring on her finger, while Oliver’s went to the ceiling as if begging God for patience.
Diggle was the first to speak, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Felicity… what…I mean…what?” At any other moment Felicity would have found the body guard’s confusion amusing. It was a real rarity to catch the man off guard and she could see by the lost expression on his face that she had done exactly that. As it was however, she could feel Oliver’s building irritation and didn’t want to stress him any further.
“It’s not what it looks like…” she began and in hindsight she probably should have picked an explanation that didn’t sound so cliché because the younger Queen’s eyes narrowed.
“Then what is it, because to me it looks like you’re engaged to be married? And from the constipated look on my brother’s face I’m guessing it’s not to him.” Thea Queen said and Felicity was completely thrown when she saw the look of disapproval Thea shot her brother.
“No! I am definitely not marrying your brother!” Felicity said quickly, thinking that this would put Oliver’s sister’s mind at ease.
Thea and Diggle both frowned.
Seriously…what the hell?
“She is not getting married.” All eyes shot to Oliver, including Felicity’s. The tone of his voice, had everybody’s eyebrows raising. And after a closer look Felicity determined that Oliver was far closer to the edge than she had previously thought. His teeth were gritted, his muscles strung tight in a way that suggested he was ten seconds from punching his fist through the closest wall. His tone however, had Felicity’s annoyance spiking. It was so incredulous, yet so certain. As if the idea of her getting married to someone was so ridiculous it didn’t deserve a thought. Felicity getting married, no…who would marry Felicity? And that pissed her off. She could list a hundred men, well maybe not a hundred, at least two men (three if you counted creepy Larry from accounting, but considering Felicity had christened him “Creepy” Larry for a reason, she did not) who would give their right arm to marry her. She was fucking desirable goddammit, and Oliver Queen could go straight to hell if he thought otherwise.
She bit back the reflexive retort of “Bitch I might be”(Something she had picked up from too many nights out with her best friend Johanna, who had tried mentor her in the art of snappy comebacks) and censored her retort down to something a little more civilized. “I could be…” she said glaring at Oliver.
Oliver’s eyes snapped to her and she saw them flash dangerously.
“What?” he hissed.
“I could be getting married, you jerk. There’s no reason to sound so sure about it. It’s not a completely ridiculous idea.”
“Felicity…” Oliver, closed his eyes a pinched the brim of his nose.
“Okay, I’m confused are you getting married or not?” Everybody looked at Roy, who had spoken his first words since entering the room. To be honest Felicity had forgotten he was there.
Felicity took a deep breath and sighed. “I am not.”
She ignored how Oliver visibly relaxed.
“Then why is there an engagement ring on your finger?” Thea asked.
“I…” she rubbed her hands over her face. She could feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind her eyes. “It’s a long story,” she finally said.
“Considering the only thing you and Oliver had on your schedules today was that finance meeting and you both checked out of that early, I’d say we’ve got time. Explain.” Diggle commanded.
Felicity took another deep breath, looked at their expectant faces and sighed again. “Fine, but don’t laugh at me.” Then she launched into her long and sad story. Telling them about going to the jewelers, getting the ring stuck on her finger. How she’d tried to get it off, but couldn’t. How she was freaking out and worried about Jessica’s reaction. She told them everything and was proud of herself for only getting off track twice. When she was finally finished with her saga she sat back and waited for their reactions.
“Well…” she trailed off, carefully judging their faces.
Thea and Roy burst out laughing.
“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” she cried.
“I’m sorry,” Thea said whipping tears away from her eyes, “but I was not expecting that.”
Felicity glared at her. “Trust me, neither was I,” she muttered and then turned her glare on Diggle who was chuckling under his breath. Oliver was trying to fight a smile and failing miserably.
“You guys suck” she whined “This is not funny. I’m seriously starting to develop claustrophobia from this thing, I mean I don’t know if that’s possible considering it’s a tiny and it only covers my finger. But it won’t come off, and Jessica wants it back to night. I’ve tried everything, and I’m getting serious Vietnam flashbacks from the time I got my finger stuck in my Advanced Programing professor’s belt buckle at MIT and that is not something I want to relive-”
“Felicity.” Oliver cut her off mid rant.
“What?” Roy exclaimed, obviously fixated on the Belt Buckle incident of 2005.
Felicity ignored him. Oliver barely blinked, all too accustomed to her word vomit. His hand came up to touch her shoulder and she found herself immediately relaxing. “Breathe.”
She sucked in a deep breath.
“We’ll get it off,” he assured her.
“Okay,” She said releasing her breath in one long puff. “How?”
Oliver smiled at her. “I have my ways.”
“Okay….” Whatever that meant.
“It doesn’t involve the amputation of limbs does it?” Felicity asked, feeling uneasily.
Oliver smirked. “No.”
“Oh,” she blew out a sigh of relief “Good.”
“Well, let us know how that goes.” Thea said rolling her eyes at the two of them. Oliver’s hand was still on Felicity’s shoulder. “I came to see if you wanted to go to lunch Ollie, but if you can’t…”
“No sorry, I have another meeting in a half an hour. I’ll see you tonight Thea.” Oliver said.
“Alright,” she nodded, then to Felicity’s shock, the young Queen walked right up to her and enveloped her in a sincere hug. “I’m glad you aren’t getting married, I’ve got money riding on you” She whispered in her ear. Felicity went stiff, her mouth falling open in shock. Thea pulled back with a sly glimmer in her eyes, and shot Oliver a grin. He glared at her.
Then to shock Felicity even further she turned to Dig. “Mr. Diggle,” Thea nodded in acknowledgement, threading her arm through Roy’s .
“Miss Queen.” Diggle said with a small smile.
Then with enviable poise the young woman swept out of the room her boyfriend in tow, leaving Felicity and Oliver confused in her wake.
WHAT. THE. HELL?
“Um… Dig, What was that?”
The man grinned, but said nothing.
Oliver frowned “Diggle, I didn’t know you were so familiar with my sister.”
Diggle shrugged. “I’m not really, we just have similar…interests.”
“Interests?” Oliver frowned.
“Well more like an investment really,” Diggle said, and Felicity noticed his eyes had zeroed in on Oliver’s hand, which was still perched casually on her shoulder.
“Diggle…” Oliver seemed to have noticed where his body guard was looking because he dropped his hand and clenched his fingers at his side. Something Felicity noticed he did when he was distressed.
Diggle held up his hands and backed away, that smirk never leaving his face. “Since you two are fine and the city’s not burning, I think I’ll leave to get back to your office work. The black driver has other things to do.”
When he left, Felicity turned to Oliver thinking they could share a WTF look of mutual confusion at Diggle’s odd behavior, but Oliver was staring at the door his friend had just walked through, his jaw tight a deep furrow between his brows. He looked like he was torn between screaming and sighing, and it bothered her, just like it always bothered her when he was upset.
“Oliver, are you…”
But he just shook his head and walked off, leaving her confused and kind of hurt behind him.
That night, Felicity sat at the foundry alternating her gaze between her watch and Oliver working out several yards away. Jessica wanted the ring back in about an hour and a half and right now the thing was stationed firmly on her finger.
She was beginning to panic, because since Oliver stormed off this afternoon he hadn’t said a word to her and she had been kinda counting on his allusive removal strategy to save her ass. If he wasn’t talking to her then she was kind of screwed, and it kind of pissed her off because she didn’t understand what she did to deserve his Broody Vigilante Silent Treatment. She hadn’t said anything insulting, she hadn’t done anything that could constitute as upsetting, so just what the hell was his problem?
After another fifteen minutes of patiently waiting, she’d had enough. His girlish mood-swings were just going to have to wait until she had this ring of death off her finger.
Kicking back from her computer desk, she stood up. Felicity placed her hands on her hips in her “no-nonsense” stance, ready to use her loud voice if necessary. “Oliver.”
Oliver didn’t stop training, and for a moment Felicity thought he was going to ignore her, which in lieu of her growing irritation would have been a very bad idea. For him. “What?” he finally said.
“Why aren’t you talking to me?”
“I’m talking right now.”
“Right,” she said flatly “But you haven’t said a word to me all afternoon.”
Oliver didn’t say anything just kept punching the dummy in front of him with deliberate intensity.
“Listen I don’t know what your problem is Oliver, but I don’t really care at this point. Are you going to help me or not?”
Finally he stopped what he was doing and looked at her.
He frowned. God he did that a lot. Too much in her opinion. “What?”
“The ring Oliver, the ring stuck on my finger! The ring that belongs to my cousin that I kind of need to be off my hand in order to give it to her!”
Oliver walked over to her and grabbed a towel off a nearby table. He whipped his forehead and grabbed a water bottle. What he did not do was answer her damn question.
“So are you going to tell me your magical ring removal technique or am I just supposed to sit around all night? You know, If you can’t do it just say so Oliver because Jessica wants it back in like a hour, and I need to- OH MY GOD!”
Oliver grabbed Felicity’s wrist and lowered his mouth over her ring finger. Her finger slid all the way to the back of his mouth, his lips coming to rest around the outside of the engagement ring.
Felicity didn’t know what was hotter, Oliver with his mouth around her finger, or the intense look he was giving her as he peered up through is strangely thick eyelashes. Either way, she felt like she was three seconds from spontaneous combustion.
Felicity stood like that for a moment trembling from head to toe, before she felt the scrap of his teeth against the base of her finger. Oliver bit slightly, and then to her stupefied awe proceeded to slide the ring up over her knuckle and off her finger, nipping the tip before releasing it entirely.
“Oh… my ovaries” Felicity moaned.
Oliver grinned at her, and she almost hit the deck right then and there at the sight of the ring clenched between his teeth.
Then with one flush of embarrassment Felicity drew back and smacked him in the chest. “WHAT. THE. HELL. WAS. THAT?!” she demanded.
Oliver shrugged his shoulders innocently. “What was what?”
“What was…you…and my finger! YOU JUST HAD SEX WITH MY FINGER!”
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up.
“Don’t you quirk your masculine eyebrows at me Oliver Queen! You just fornicated with my finger. Oh my god… I think I had an orgasm,” her face flushed again. “Oh god, that’s not what I meant.”
Oliver was still grinning at her like a fool.
“That’s the super special ring removal strategy you had up your sleeve?”
“It worked didn’t it,” Oliver said, spitting the ring into his hand.
“Have you ever used said strategy before?”
“Not to get a ring off someone’s finger.”
“Well that’s..that’s…” Felicity shook her head at the bombardment of mature images that attacked her brain. That was not what she needed right now. Not when she was trying so very hard not to jump his bones.
Oliver chuckled at her expression and placed the ring in her hand. Then he bent over so that his head was next to her ear and whispered “Sorry about your ovaries.”
Felicity gasped and glared at him. “OH! You…you…I can’t believe you just did that!”
“You asked for my help.”
“Yes, but I thought, I don’t know… I thought maybe you’d whip out some special island lube you’re your box of toys or something to slide that baby off, I didn’t expect that.”
Oliver’s eyebrows rose even further.
His lips twitched “I’m afraid special island lube is not one of the things I carry in my trunk, sorry.”
She groaned. “Stupid pervy brain.”
Oliver grinned at her. Felicity huffed and reached for the ring intending to snatch the thing from his hand with as much sass as she could muster, but of course she couldn’t do anything remotely cool or badass. All she managed to do was bat the ring off his open palm. It clattered to the floor at their feet.
“Dammit!” she yelped “It better not be scratched.” Jessica would murder her, for sure.
Oliver just shook his head, grin still in place. He kneeled down and picked the ring up off the floor. Holding it up to the light to inspect it for damage “No, I think you’re good.”
“Good, because if Jessica had-“
The door to the foundry opened and Diggle walked in. He took three steps down the stairs before he spotted the two of them and froze.
He stared at them for a moment, eyes wide as he took in Oliver kneeling before her, engagement ring held up for her to see. It was funny really, it almost looked like- oh God!
A giant smile spread across the man’s face.
“Diggle…” Oliver started, eyes wide realizing how the situation looked.
“It’s not what it looks like!” Felicity found herself belting out for the second time that day.
Diggle just grinned and shook his head. “That girl owes me a lot of money,” he said
olicity prompt #1: Injured felicity (something small, sprained ankle) and worried Oliver carrying her everywhere.
“Is this… uh”, she looked around, almost squirming in his arms before he squeezed his grip on the underside of her knees and around her arm. “Necessary? I can walk you know. Granted, not without some kind of support but carrying me around like a bride is gonna give people the wrong idea…” She froze, before internally cursing at her lack of filter. “Not to imply that you’re carrying me around like a bride even though wow I just said that I should probably just stop talking now—“
“Felicity.” Oliver’s voice was gruff and almost-tired like, and she felt really bad letting him carry her around just because she was stupid enough to trip on air and sprain her ankle. Trip on air. Air. Really. Who does that?
She looked up to him, trying to ignore the way her head could easily rest against his chest and the warmth that was seeping from his body. “It’s okay Oliver.”
“No. It’s really not, Felicity.” He shuffled her in his arms and tried to ignore the way that the sounds of her cry of pain when she hurt herself kept ringing in his ears. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
Felicity reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, freezing when she realized what she was doing but Oliver kept walking as if it was something that naturally occurred between them. (It was but she was going to ignore that right now because it was not the point.)
“I’ll be okay. I don’t need a doctor, Oliver.”
He looked at her (finally) then, and a warm feeling pooled down in her gut at the way he was staring at her. His grip on her grew tighter and she gulped and tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in her chest.
“Let’s just go home”, she suggested. Oliver didn’t say anything at first, but after a few minutes he nodded and tightened his grip on her.
Out of the Ashes, part 1/? Rose Tyler, human!Tenth Doctor (AU)
Rose Tyler is used to being alone, having learned the hard way that, eventually, everyone disappears. After losing the one person she dared to believe wouldn’t leave her, she stops trying to believe that anything will last. She’s determined that no one will hurt her or her son again. Based on this tag prompt. For tinyconfusion.
Genres: hurt/comfort/romance Rating: teen? Maybe? Might go up later, but I’m not entirely sure. Beta: the ever wonderful rudennotgingr
Rose Tyler was someone that got left behind. It was just a fact of her existence. They didn’t always want or mean to (in the case of her parents, her father dying when she was six months old, her mother when she was sixteen). Sometimes she didn’t even factor into their decision (such as the boyfriends her mother had when she was still alive, the ones that Rose had grown close to and then disappeared on her). Still other times it was a sort of casual drift toward the inevitable (like the myriad of friends and acquaintances that moved or went off to university and found new, better friends). There were, of course, the occasions when it was deliberate, and hurtful, like Jimmy Stone, but it all came down to the same thing…Rose Tyler, on her own. In her darker moments, she believed what he had said, that she wasn’t worth anyone’s time in the long run.
Despite this, at nineteen, she was a cheerful, warm person. She worked in a coffee shop to make ends meet, and drifted between dreams du jour…some days, she wanted to travel the globe…others, she wanted to be a painter, or a writer. It was then that she met John Smith, a history professor at the local university.
How about a fic where Talia, Claudia, and Melissa are very close friends and one day, a very serious five-year-old Stiles asks Talia for Derek’s hand in marriage.
Of course, they don’t get married but every couple of years Stiles will go back and ask her again and she always asks why he wants to marry Derek and he always says because he loves Derek and she’ll always ask why Stiles loves him. And maybe at five it’s reasons like “he scares away the monsters under my bed,” but as he gets older the reasons always change.
At some point, though, he stops asking if he can marry Derek even though he never stopped loving Derek, never stopped wanting to marry him. (Maybe it’s because Derek gets a serious girlfriend like Paige.)
Even after Derek eventually breaks up with the girlfriend, though, Stiles still doesn’t ask. And one day, while they’re at a gathering - like Laura’s wedding, maybe - Talia will sidle up next to where seventeen year old Stiles is hiding and watching Derek laugh with his sisters and pining and she’ll ask, “why don’t you start by asking Derek to dance?”
And maybe he does because dancing is safe, dancing isn’t putting his heart on the line, but that’s sort of their beginning because Derek kisses him afterwards.
And then a few years later, at like Christmas or something, Stiles goes to sit down beside Talia and he asks again, for the first time in over a decade probably, and she smiles at him and asks, “why do you want to marry my son?” just like always. And Stiles looks across the room at Derek and he says something super sappy like, “because I can’t imagine life without him.” (Mostly because he knows Derek’s listening in and he loves to see Derek all blushing and smiling but also because it’s true.)
It began with a glimpse of billowing white skirts and a flash of golden hair, followed by a swan-dive. Jack knows that this is almost too ironic for one of his stories, but it is true. Instinct prompted him to dive into the water to save her, and the fact that once he got close enough to her to see her face she turned out to be very young and beautiful just adds to the small details that make a proper story. He also finds it interesting, in his deeper moments of pondering, usually while drunk, that the first time their faces were level occurred while they were strangers immersed on the bottom of the harbor. In some fantasies he kisses her then, unknowing of her tempestuous nature or even the color of her eyes. When he rips the frivolous, grandiose dress off of her and swims up again for air, carrying her like a pearl from the sandy bottom across his shoulders, he thinks vaguely that she might be his. That maybe she should be his, because without him she would have died.
Then he slashes open her corset and she looks at him, almost drunkenly, confused, her dark eyes so vivid and a reflection of his own. He palms the all-too-familiar gold and looks deeply into her face as though they have already been lovers, perhaps in past lives, as though she and he were already pieces of one unified flesh. He does not know her but he wants to know her.
He likes the fire he sees in her eyes. It is a challenge.
And like his own, the amber gleam in them softens when they are standed. They are airing out their dark sides, revealing aspects of themselves that they do not allow to see the light of day. He loops an arm drunkenly around her, pretending that they are lovers, pretending that she is his noble high-born governor’s wife and he is still of the high classes himself, not branded a pirate for an act of humanity and compassion. Wanting that life, that dream that can never come true, even more than her lithe young body. There is an old wisdom in her smile and he wants to add to that library of knowledge. He thinks briefly of kissing her hard and wildly before he sinks into the warm sand, fast asleep.
On the bloody commodore’s ship, under the moonlight, he studies her as she studies him. They are indeed too much like one another, cut from the same cloth. He uses his best English around her because he wants her to see it without him having to spell it out. When he sees her eyes flicker, from James to Will to him, he sees the calculation. She would be his bride in gilt and ivory if he were still permitted to wear brocade. She is throughly charmed by his charms.
And then the cave. He had not known until the trigger was pulled just how hard he’d fallen for her, this girl who stupidly splashed into a fight of immortals as though she bloody well belonged there. He’d shot out of instinct. When he lingered on this, in moments of inebriation, he always came back to the way his heart plummeted when her eyes widened, in that terrible aftershock, when his mind said nothernotthegirl.
Jack does not want to admit that he wants Elizabeth Swann. Even though she is beautiful and untamed, and completely inappropriate for the whelp- entirely too headstrong, that girl is- and very brave, and clever enough to stun even him at times, he does not want to admit that he wants her. So he tumbles off the fort of Port Royal and sets a course for open ocean, even when his compass points in a decidedly backward direction. He shields it from the view of the crew by day, pretending it is leading him to where he wants to go and thumps at it ineffectively in his cabin as he plots courses alone, deep in the shadows of night. He knows that soon Davy Jones will be chasing him, and uses his own methods of information-gathering to discern that he needs a drawing of a key to be obtained from a certain prisoner. It takes two weeks to find the Turkish prison, something Jack blames on navigating through shoals and reefs but in actuality it is merely blind luck that they even find it at all. Because his bloody compass keeps pointing at Port Royal and his twitching brain, haunted by her eyes and faltering smile, keeps trying to make him sail that way.
I wrote this before Dead Man’s Chest came out, because we had some spoilers. I think I like it.
Sorry for taking so long, anon, but I’m Scandinavian so it was pretty late for me when you sent the ask. :) Anyway, here it is! I’m not a one shot writer, but I hope you’ll like it. Somehow it turned into smut. It wasn’t my plan at all, but as I read through it before posting I was like “No, I can’t end it there. I’ll be lynched,” so…yeah. I smutified it. So, NSFW, obviously.
The Doctor and Rose hug all the time, especially once they are reunited after an adventure, but this time it’s different. His arms stay tightly wrapped around her as he puts her down on the floor, holding her close to him, and she lets her hands slide down his chest until they rest over his hearts. She almost feels a little shy about it because, whilst her heart is racing in her chest, his beat steadily under her palms and she inwardly curses his stupid, unaffected, superior Time Lord physiology.
“Hello,” he says, smiling tenderly at her.
“Hello,” she replies, but her lips barely have time to form the ‘o’ before he covers them with his.
Whilst waiting so long for him to finally make a move, she has dreamed about all the things she would do if they ever were to kiss; however, now she’s too surprised to do anything but stand frozen as his cool lips gently touch hers. Pulling back much too soon, he lets go of her completely and leaves her feeling bereft and confused as well as exhilarated. It takes her at least a couple of seconds to get her bearings before her eyes flutter open and she sees him smiling down at her. His face is all dimples, crinkles and bright eyes and she can’t help but beam back, despite her befuddled state.
“Look!” he says, gesturing at his suit.
She blinks a few times and shakes her head, utterly confused. “Wha’?”
“It’s in one piece, just as I promised,” he tells her and leans in for another soft, brief kiss. “Weeell,” he says, tugging at his ear. “Helmet’s broken, but think we can overlook that, hm?”
“Uhm, yeah,” she automatically replies, because her brain has stopped working and she can’t form coherent sentences. The Doctor just kissed her, twice, and he’s acting like it’s something they do all the time.
a/n: This fic happened because of roseandherdoctor, lunarsilverwolfstar, lastincurableromantic, aauleta, bittie752 and spookyknight. There may have been one or two others involved as well. So, this piece of naughty crack is dedicated to these awesome writers who are lovely people and you should always read their fic!
The Oncoming Sperm
Life for the Doctor and Rose was about to take a dramatic turn. It happened on the planet Sutioc which was supposed to be just a fun, relaxing trip but then that was probably what cursed them. It was often the trips that appeared to be pleasant and peaceful that ended up being the most tumultuous. At first, everything was lovely. The planet was beautiful and full of life, with many abundant gardens and colourful cities dotting the landscape. The people were mostly humanoid with only a few differences from humans such as vivid green eyes and golden hued skin. They were warm and welcoming to visitors. Even the climate seemed perfect and spring-like. Rose had indulged in some of the local clothing, a light cotton flowing halter dress in TARDIS blue. She had giggled a bit as the aliens on this world had no concept of knickers or underclothing but she was determined to respect their customs and get the full Sutioc experience.
The Doctor was focused on some of the indigenous plant life. He took a particular interest in a particular plant that bore a banana-like fruit and was chatting with a local gardener about it. Rose was all too familiar with the banana ramble so while he gushed about bananas with the gardener, she wandered amongst the gardens with some local women. The Sutiocs were a friendly, playful and flirty race and Rose was having a lovely time with her new friends. One of the women was wearing a fragrant white blossom in her hair that was used to make a local tea she and the Doctor loved. Rose just had to collect some of the blossoms for the Doctor. Her new friends pointed out the plant that produced them and directed her to another part of the garden.
Unfortunately, the plant grew on the banks of a pond and whilst reaching for the blossoms, Rose fell into the pond. Her tumble produced a splash which seemed to stirrup the clear water until it became milky from the stirred up silt. Rose wrinkled her nose at the odd, slimy feel of it on her bare legs and was crawling out just as the Doctor ran over to her.
The day Castiel finally gets that phone call he has secretly been waiting for is the kind of rainy day that tempts you to do absolutely nothing. It’s the kind of blissfully lazy day that beckons you to curl up in front of the television and watch movies, with a warm blanket draped over your legs and a small bowl of delicious, buttery popcorn seated in your lap. Cas absolutely loved rainy days like this, from the sound of droplets hitting his window to the gentle swaying of the tree branches below. And, to top things off, it was a Thursday, the day he didn’t have to go into work. There wasn’t a single thing that could keep him from just staying in his dorm room and spend all day watching science fiction movies, his guilty pleasure.
But all of his plans changed the moment his phone rang, the sudden sound of “I Will Wait” by Mumford & Sons practically giving him a heart attack. Dean. No, he hadn’t assigned that ringtone to him for any particular reason, never.
He still was struggling to accept the fact Dean had his number in the first place. It had been a positively surreal moment, one he would’ve thought to be a figment of his imagination if not for the fact he’d pinched himself and felt a very real zip of pain travel up his arm.
It happened three days ago, a little over a week since Castiel had started his job at the little coffee shop. Dean had just been getting ready to leave, coffee in hand, when he suddenly froze.
"Wait," he cried, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of his business cards and a pen, “before I leave…"
He set the card down on the counter and held out the pen in Cas’s direction, staring at him with those piercing emerald eyes and that damn smirk on his face.
"I know this is going to seem a little forward," he muttered, his voice shaking a little as if he were actually nervous, “but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me your number?"
Castiel’s jaw dropped. What?
"You know, in case you’re not working, and I need you to come fix my drink since some guy fucked it up," Dean finished quickly, his face beginning to flush red.
Dean was getting flustered over him? Cas felt as if he were going to faint, the thought of the other man being able to call him making him much too anxious. What would he save his number under? Castiel? Cas? Or just “that guy from the coffee shop”?
He chuckled weakly and reached for the pen, relishing in the brief contact with Dean’s calloused fingers. Quickly, he scribbled down his cell phone number, thanking God that his shaky fingers didn’t keep him from writing. The entire time, he could feel the other man watching him, his mischievous smile and his curious stare.
"Here you go," Cas replied weakly, holding out the card with the most convincingly calm facial expression he could muster.
"Thanks," he chuckled softly, taking the piece of paper and slipping it back into his pocket, “I’ll see you then, Cas."
Dean’s eyes scanned over Castiel one more time, lingering on his face, before he turned and left. Cas couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. That was the moment he’d pinched himself, ignoring the way Gabe rolled his eyes as he passed by.
And now it was finally happening. The phone call.
Castiel stared down at the phone as if it were a venomous snake preparing to strike. If he could make it through this phone call without vomiting, he deserved a medal or something.
Hesitantly, he picked up the offending object and slid his finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?”
"No!" Cas cried all too quickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment when he realized just how he must’ve sounded, “um no. I’m just sitting around my dorm room. Listening to the rain."
Dean chuckled softly, sending an excited shiver up Castiel’s spine. It was pathetic, really, how just a laugh could make his knees weak.
"You’re one of those guys who likes listening to storms," Dean replied, an almost affectionate tone to his voice, “I’m actually not that surprised. Well, I hate to keep you from enjoying mother nature alone in your room but it just so happens I’m at the cafe right now, ready to head to the bathroom so I can pour this sad excuse for an Americano down the toilet.”
Cas smiled, imagining Dean standing over the toilet as he muttered insults about the bastard who had served him sludge instead of coffee.
"Of course," he laughed weakly, running his hands nervously through his ruffled hair, “I am the only guy working there that knows how to make a decent cup of coffee after all. Do you want me to come down and make you something that’s actually edible?"
"Well," Dean drawled, “if you wouldn’t mind. You seem pretty busy."
"Oh yes, very busy,” he replied sarcastically, his smile growing wider with each word that escaped the other man’s mouth, “but I think I can spare a few minutes to come whip you up a real Americano.”
"Well, it looks like I’m in luck! I’m so sorry for interrupting your busy day, but I’m sure I’ll figure out some way to make it up to you. I’ll see you in a few,” he trilled before finishing softly, “bye, Cas.”
And then just like that it was over. His first phone conversation with Dean Winchester. The only phone conversation capable of killing him and he had actually survived. Oh yeah, he deserved that medal alright.
The next few minutes left Castiel’s dorm room looking like it had been hit by an atom bomb. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the room, falling back to earth after being caught up in the chaotic tornado that was an anxious Cas. Jeans covered his floor, shirts were draped over his desk, a single shoe sat lonely on top of his television set. It was the pure definition of the word “mess”.
In the middle of it all, Castiel stood staring at his recently clothed figure in the mirror. He had chosen his favorite pair of jeans, snug in just the right places but certainly not unbearably tight. He had decided to pair it with a simple blue-gray cotton shirt, the one he wore the most considering it was comfortable, loose-fitting, and matched the color of his eyes (or at least that’s what a girl in his class had once told him). He had also decided to leave his hair the way it was, recalling a comment he’d heard one of the football players make about girls loving the “just crawled out of bed” look. Of course, Dean wasn’t a girl…
He was going to be late if he kept analyzing every little detail like this! Dean was probably sitting alone, staring anxiously at the door and thinking of all of the different places he’d rather be. He probably was wondering why he had agreed to meet up with a waste of time like Cas.
Castiel threw open the door and quickly stepped through, slamming it shut in his haste to leave. This was his chance, maybe his only chance to show Dean Winchester how he really felt, and there was no way he was going to let himself fuck up a golden opportunity like that.
Three flights of stairs and two blocks of sidewalk was all that separated he and Dean. And Cas had never run faster in his entire life.
There weren’t many people Castiel would run through the rain for. He loved this weather, sure, but he certainly wasn’t much of a runner. By the time he reached the coffee shop, dripping wet and slick with both rain and sweat, he felt as if he might just pass out from the exertion. Running that distance at a dead sprint wasn’t an easy task.
He stood in the doorway, scanning the room for Dean’s well-dressed figure. The coffee shop was usually quiet at this time of day, but on a day like today, it looked like a ghost town. Not many people enjoyed going out in the rain.
Sitting quietly at a table near the back of the shop was the reason for all of Castiel’s anxiety. He was staring out the nearest window, a small smile on his face. From this angle, Cas was given a fantastic view of the man’s profile. He could make out the strong line of his jaw, the individual hairs of his impossibly long eyelashes, the little crinkles at the corner of his upturned lips. It was as if his face had been sculpted out of marble, the perfect visage of a living, breathing Greek god. And it was the face of the man who was waiting for him.
"Hey," Cas called hesitantly, still too afraid to leave his spot in the doorway. Dean immediately turned to look in the direction of his voice, his eyes wide as if he had been caught redhanded. The moment their eyes met, the bastard grinned like an excited child on Christmas morning.
"Hey," he called back, letting his eyes skim over Castiel’s soaking wet form, “still enjoying this weather?"
Cas chuckled softly and nodded his head. He wanted to give some kind of clever response, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice.
“Why don’t you come over here and sit down,” he insisted, gesturing for him to come closer, “you look pretty tired.”
Castiel swallowed nervously. Dean was right, he should probably sit down before his legs gave out. He shuffled over to where the other man sat, careful to avert his gaze as he took a seat.
Why had he agreed to this? How was he supposed to have a normal conversation with Dean if he couldn’t even bring himself to look at him?
"So," Dean sighed, “while I was waiting, I decided that I didn’t need another drink after all. I was kind of exaggerating when I said I wanted to dump it down the toilet."
Cas glanced up, finally meeting the other man’s piercing gaze. If only he didn’t always stare at him as if he were the most captivating thing in the world.
"Damn," Cas chuckled softly, “I ran all the way here for nothing."
“Nothing? You think that having the chance to talk to me is nothing?” Dean cried, his tone mockingly hurt.
"No! I didn’t mean that at all!"
"Calm down, man," Dean soothed, “I was just kidding. I’m happy you’re here."
Another fucking smile. He was in such deep shit.
“I thought we could just sit here and talk, seeing as the only things I know about you are that you know how to brew a damn good Americano and you live around here. If that’s alright with you?”
"Yeah, sure," Castiel mumbled, his cheeks flushing with embarassment. This was a dream, it had to be.
"So, Cas," Dean began, leaning forward in his seat and lessening the space between them, “what are you studying in college? I mean, I assume you go to the one a couple blocks away, right?"
Cas nodded, focusing intently on his clasped hands sitting on the table as opposed to the emerald eyes peering at him from across the table.
"I’m studying to become a computer engineer," he mumbled quickly. Every time he told someone the field he was going into, they would immediately assume he was a nerd. A freak.
Dean’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow, Cas the boy genuis.”
Of course. How could he have ever believed that Dean would react any differently?
"No, all joking aside, that’s really impressive."
Castiel’s head shot up and his jaw dropped. That wasn’t disgust or scorn he detected in the other man’s voice. It was awe, something entirely new and surprising.
"I guess it’s considered a difficult field. I’ve just always been good with numbers. Math’s my thing," he replied softly, glancing over at Dean’s hands only inches away from his own.
"God, Cas, of course it’s a hard field! I always hated math. I’m more of a… well, law is more my thing."
"I figured," Castiel chuckled, “being a lawyer and everything. Did you always know that was what you wanted to be?"
Dean flinched, his lips twisting into a frown. Pain flashed in his eyes, as if Cas had just slapped him across the face. It was an awful sight, one he never wanted to experience again.
"It’s a long story," Dean growled, his voice so quiet that Cas nearly missed his reply. An awkward silence filled the room, the only sound being the whirring of the coffee machines behind the counter.
He had fucked up. In typical Castiel fashion, he had been given the perfect opportunity and had royally screwed it up. There had to be something he could do, something he could say, that would fix everything. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize when Dean gruffly interrupted.
“I should probably get to work. Sammy’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long,” he mumbled, standing up and grabbing his suit jacket from where it was draped across the back of his chair. He quickly threw it on, a frown still visible on his troubled face.
"But first, I’m gonna walk you home," he interrupted, moving to stand next to Castiel’s seat.
"You don’t have to-"
"I want to," Dean declared, smiling weakly down at him.
Cas slowly stood and pushed in his chair, surprised at how close the other man was standing. The soft brush of Dean’s fingers across the small of his back as he got to his feet gave him some comfort, the gesture almost seeming to convey a sense of forgiveness.
Suddenly, Dean reached over and intertwined their fingers, his larger hand engulfing Castiel’s. His eyes widened, flicking between the other man’s hopeful gaze to their clasped hands. His instincts screamed at him to pull away, to end this right now before Dean realized just how strange and unappealing he was.
But when Dean grinned at him like that, there was no way he could possibly say “no”. He could at least pretend like everything was going to be alright.
The walk back to Castiel’s dorm was surprisingly quiet, an odd occurrence considering the way Dean seemed to love casual conversation. Occasionally, he would ask him about college life and the student body. They were simple questions, ranging from “What are the dorms like?” to “Who’s your favorite professor?” to “What are the parties like?”
Cas politely answered each question, pleased with the way he hid his wildly beating heart. However, the last question was definitely challenging to answer.
Should he tell him the truth? That he never attended parties because his social skills were for shit? Eventually, he settled on telling him an almost truth. He claimed they were wild events where alcohol filled everyone’s cups and people swayed drunkenly to the beat of loud, monotonous dance music.
Dean had chuckled and replied that that sounded about right. Score one for Cas!
When they finally reached the door to Castiel’s dorm, the rainfall had become more relentless, striking the sidewalk and converging into multiple puddles. Dean carefully led him along, laughing every time he accidentally stepped in a puddle and pulled his foot out while muttering a string of angry curses. No, it wasn’t funny.
Then, much too soon, there they stood. The doorway, the place Cas had come to associate with intimate moments between two lovers after the countless movies he had watched. And he was standing in that very spot with the most incredible person he’d ever encountered. The one person he’d be willing to share such a romantic moment with.
Dean moved so that only a few inches separated he and Castiel. He still held Cas’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he stepped closer.
“I had fun,” he whispered, “more fun than I’ve had in a while.”
"Me too," Cas muttered, mustering up all of his confidence and meeting Dean’s hooded stare.
Castiel wished there was some way he could preserve the next couple seconds, when things were still so easy and happy.
Dean leaned in, raising his one hand to cradle Cas’s face. He swiped his thumb softly across the other boy’s cheek, savoring in the way he leaned into his touch. Gently, he pressed a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips and pulled away.
It was brief, a fleeting touch that managed to leave Cas’s lips tingling as if he were pulling away from a more heated kiss. He wanted more, more of that endless warmth and anxious anticipation. His first kiss was the shortest one he would ever experience, but it would always be his favorite.
“Goodbye, Cas,” Dean whispered, squeezing his hand once more before letting go and turning to leave.
Castiel watched him go, umbrella held high and a slight jump in his step. He seemed so happy and yet Cas had no idea how anyone could be any more ecstatic than him.
He had been cold before, the chill of the rain that clung to his drenched clothes seeping into his skin. But now he felt as if he were standing on the surface of the Sun, heat spreading to every inch of his body.
That is, except for his one hand, left dangling at his side without Dean’s pleasantly tender grasp.
Darcy paced in her hotel room, clutching a dead tazer. Jane wasn’t back yet, but he was out there, and if Jane didn’t get back, he would get her. Someone knocked on the hallway door, and Darcy hurried to look through the peep hole. Jane…Jane would have the key. No one was outside the door. Someone started pounding on the poolside door, and Darcy sprinted across the room to look out that peephole, because really, this was Jane, and Jane could have lost her key, and what if he was out there after her… No one was outside the poolside door. Darcy backed into the middle of the room, and both doors started banging, rattling in their frames, and even though the knew the deadbolts were locked, whoever was out there might be strong enough to break down the doors, and then she saw his arm start to pour through the keyhole and—-
She sat up, gasping. Her room was dark and blurry, and…oh. Darcy flopped back with a groan. Another nightmare. Another scary-something-or-nother-trying-to-break-in scenario. Last night had been zombies outside a convenience store’s plate widow. The night before last had been someone creeping around outside her suite door, and curling around her pillow knowing she’d forgotten to lock it. Shuddering, she threw off her covers and leapt out of bed. If she didn’t fully wake herself up, she’d fall right back into the nightmare again. And the lucid, half-awake-but-still-dreaming nightmares were the worst. She grabbed for her glasses and stumbled out.
The Tower’s hallways were dimly lit at night, but every light in the kitchen was on. Darcy squinted and held up a hand to shield her face, muttering, “Bright light, bright light.” and shuffling so she wouldn’t stub her toe on a stool or something.
She heard Iron Man chirp, “What’re you doing up this late, Gizmo—” but she cut him off with a yelp.
“Ow, splinter! Ow!” She hobbled, walking on the edge of her foot. Tony came around the island to catch her elbow before she fell.
“What do you mean ‘splinter’, these floors are ti—oh. Shit, forgot to blow off.” He helped Darcy limp to the couch.
“What?” she asked, still sleep-stupid, squinting. Tony was wearing a filthy grey sweatshirt and a pair of holey jeans, covered with smears of grease, and somehow…sparkly?
“Um, yeah. Aluminum shavings? From the Bridgeport? You’re not wearing shoes…” Darcy just stared at him, not following in the slightest, and he quipped, “Just, lay back and make your foot fall asleep. I’ll go…fix this.” Half wondering if she was still asleep, Darcy flopped back and decided to roll with it. She heard, “Jarvis? Can you run one of the rubber sweeper bots?” “Of course, sir.” and then she was alone.
Her foot was throbbing like a mother—. The faint whine of one of Tony Stark’s version of a Roomba reached her ears. The rest of the Tower was silent. “…Jarvis?”
“Yes, Miss Lewis?”
“What just happened?”
At that moment, Tony Stark walked back into the living room, carrying a little red bag. He’d stripped off the sweatshirt, and the arc reactor glowed through his t-shirt. “You awake now, Sleeping Beauty?”
Darcy rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses and said, “Is this real life?” He snorted, and she continued, voice still rough from sleep, “No, I’m up, I’m up. What were you rambling about just now?”
He sat on the couch and took hold of her foot, examining it closely. He ran a sensitive, calloused finger tip lightly over where the splinter dug into her foot. “I forgot to blow myself off before I left the shop.” Darcy couldn’t help it, she threw her head back onto the cushions and laughed. “What? Those metal shavings get everywhere, and the air compressor’s the best way to get ‘em off.” She snickered some more and he rolled his eyes with a gusty sigh. Then he tapped her ankle. “This is deep. Is your foot asleep yet?”
Darcy shook her head with a grimace. Finding innuendo everywhere was fine and dandy, but pain was coming. Tony took her ankle and lifted her leg straight up, scooting over to brace it on the back of the couch with his shoulder. Her pajama pant fell down to above her knee, and suddenly Darcy was struck by the fact that holy shit her bare leg was touching Iron Man’s bare, not-to-be-scoffed-at bicep. He pulled her other leg into his lap and looked down at her face expectantly. “Let me know when you’re all pins and needles.” Then he tapped a short tattoo on her calf.
Darcy stared at him, asking, “Just how caffeinated are you?” She could feel him practically bouncing in place.
“Just caffeinated enough,” he replied with a grin, but Darcy noticed it was a little bit strained.
She tucked an arm behind her head and asked, “When’s the last time you slept?” His eyes tightened and she felt him shrug. She’d never been this close to him before. He was so warm, and he smelled like grease and sweat and…crayons?
…And from his expression, she’d said that part out loud. “Yes? Crayons? What about crayons?”
She blushed and muttered, “Never mind, faulty brain-mouth filter.”
He flapped a hand at her. “We don’t hold with those brain-mouth filters here. Go on.”
She twisted a hand in the hem of her henley. “Just, um, why do you smell like crayons?” Oh God she’d never be able to meet his eyes again. He’d never come and hang out in Jane’s lab at all hours with her again. They’d never run into each other for impromptu get-drunk-and-moan-about-their-exes nights on the roof again.
Instead he just sniffed his shoulder. “Crayons, huh? I think it’s the whale blubber they put in cutting fluid.”
She blinked. “Whaa?”
“Sometime I’m going to pull you out of the physics lab and show you where the real stuff is made. Cutting fluid is exactly what it sounds like: it keeps the cutter lubricated while it works.”
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Ok now I know you’re deliberately working little innuendos into this conversation.”
“Just this conversation?” Their eyes locked, and Darcy forgot where she’d put her lungs. Then Tony blurted, “How’s your foot?”
Darcy blinked, thrown off balance, and tried to wiggle her toes. “Gone like yesterday,” she said, a little surprise coloring her tone.
Tony hummed, unzipped his first aid bag, and warned, “Don’t fight me.” He pulled out a razor blade and kneeled, pinning her leg between his chest and the back of the couch. Darcy could feel the hard edge of his arc reactor pressing into her calf, and she looked far, far away. When she felt him make the first cut, she made a strangled little noise in the back of her throat. He started crooning at her, working the same slicing cut over and over, and because her foot was completely asleep, it didn’t hurt, but she knew he was cutting her and that made her throw an arm over her face, and all she heard was, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
He had both hands around her ankle, thumbs stroking her skin lightly, and he rested his forehead against her bare calf. Darcy pulled her arm away from her face, and touched his shoulder. “Hey,” she said gently, “Hey now. Stop beating yourself up.”
Tony didn’t move, just whispered, “But I hurt you.” His thumbs kept rubbing back and forth and…
Darcy pushed herself half-up with her elbows, acutely aware that his knee was very close to the apex of her legs. Her henley rode up a little, baring a pale flash of her midriff. She just said, “Tony,” and waited for him to look at her. He didn’t, so she said again, “Tony.” He peeped at her out of the corner of his eye. Still she waited. Then he turned his head and met her eyes. “This might hurt for a little while, but I’ll deal with it. It’s not your fault, you didn’t mean it, and you fixed it anyway. Stop beating yourself up.” He buried his face back into her calf, and the prickle of his facial hair sent electric chills up her spine. She wriggled her numb foot a little and said, “Now, find me a bandaid so I can put my foot back on.”
Tony’s head snapped back at her, and he scoffed, “Bandaid? What sort of heathen do you think I am? I know there’s superglue in here somewhere.”
"Just hold still, I don’t want to glue myself to your foot. That would be bad for both of us." He dug around in the first aid bag, dabbed a bit on her foot, and gently blew. A wave of want nearly swamped her. She wanted to feel that when her foot wasn’t asleep. Oh she wanted…so much more…. Then Tony turned and put her leg down. He reached out a hand to help her sit up, but then he made to stand, and Darcy gripped his hand tighter.
"Stay, please. At least until my foot stops tingling and I can walk again."
Tony hesitated, one knee next to her leg on the couch, one foot on the floor, and he said, “At least let me go get you what you wanted from the kitchen in the first place.”
She still held tight. “I already found it.”
He froze and whispered, “Darcy…”
She gulped. “Tell me you just come down to the lab to bug Jane.” He said nothing. “Tell me you ‘just randomly’ bump into me on the roof all those nights.” He said nothing. “Tell me I’m imagining the way you look at me and see me, like I’m your everyth—”
He cut her off with a searing kiss. She gasped into his mouth as he bore her down onto the cushions again. This time, she wrapped her tingling leg around his waist, and he tangled his fingers in her hair. He pulled her flush against him, his arc reactor hard against her breasts, his—
Tony swept her heavy hair back and ran light kisses down her neck, from ear to collarbone, and Darcy keened. At that he laughed, a little manically, perhaps, and rested his cheek on her chest. Darcy couldn’t feel his heart racing in his chest, but she could feel his pulse hammering in his fingers. She ran a hand gingerly through his dirty hair, knowing she was grinning like a loon, and not giving a single damn. His thumb traced a line back and forth over the bare skin on her side, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him. They stayed like that, embraced, for quite a while, and eventually Darcy found her foot again. It hurt, but as much from the splinter as from the means of getting it out.
She could hear Tony’s breathing start to even out, though, so she poked him gently in the side. “Come on, dear, let’s get you to bed.”
His response was muffled by her cleavage. “So, we’re to pet names already, pookie?”
"Yes schnookums, and don’t even try to deny that you love it." She smirked at him, he sat up and smirked at her. Then he kissed her, hard, once more and led her up to his room.