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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Love is Outside the Screen - Part III - Elizabeth Olsen x Reader

Summary: The one where Reader plays Vision in the MCU and she falls in love with her co-worker Elizabeth Olsen.

Warnings: (+18), smut, sexual themes, strap on use, teasing, fingering, sexual suggestions, explicit language, explicit, obscenity, a bit of praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, bottom reader mostly, switch dynamics, power dynamic changes, slight possessive sex, brief angst, alcohol mentions, arguing, jealously, fluffy.

Words: 7.935 K

A/N> Instead of writing my series, I'm continuing works that were finished already. This is basically porn honestly haha No, but jokes aside, we have fluffy moments with a lot of smut. Good reading everyone!

Part One | Part Two | All Works Masterlist || AO3

//-//-/////-///-//

Love is Outside the Screen - Part III

Northern Ireland, two years ago.

You slipped under the long wooden table as the script indicated.

Your character was supposed to give a slight nod, and then gasp because of the torso injury, and you followed the script perfectly.

When the director yells cut, you stand up, trying not to bump into the makeover they did on your clothes.

"That was great, guys!" Shouted Alex Graves in the direction of the cast scattered around the medieval set. "Let's call it a day."

You were exhausted.

The Game of Thrones footage was absolutely grueling, and time-consuming, although it allowed you to learn something new with almost every scene.

Walking back toward the dressing room to clean up your makeup, you smiled shyly at the girls in the salon who congratulated you on the day's performance while helping you to remove your costume.

While they were going through your hair, you decided to check your cell phone.

There were two missed calls from Lizzie, and you felt your heart swell with guilt immediately.

She had also sent you messages asking if everything was okay, or if you were busy, and saying that she missed you, and you wish you had answered them all, but your routine had been completely absurd.

You felt your chest ache with longing every time you thought of your girlfriend.

When you signed the contract, you knew the conditions, and so did Lizzie. But nothing prepared you for the real thing.

Almost three months without a decent conversation, not even video calls, and the lack of her in your life was making you frustrated and irritated all the time. You were sinking into the screenplay and the recordings, because you simply hated not having Lizzie in your day-to-day life.

"Thank you girls." You said as soon as you noticed the makeup completely removed from your abdomen.

The change in the script killed your character sooner than expected, and you should go home early, even though it was going to take two or three months, it was much less than originally planned.

Grumbling softly, you went back to the dressing room, deciding to call Lizzie now that you would have a little time alone.

She doesn't answer until the second-to-last ring.

"Yes?" Her husky voice signals that she was asleep, but all you can feel is your body shaking at the sound.

"It's me, baby." You reply tenderly as you sit back in the armchair, pressing the cell phone to your ear as if you wish you could reach into the device and touch your girl.

"Oh, hey." She comments sleepily, and you wonder if she has closed her eyes again, or even opened them. "It's late."

"I know, I'm sorry." You say leaning back in the armchair. "I wanted to check that everything was okay because I couldn't answer you earlier."

"Don't worry, darling." She says softly, almost sleepily. "I just missed you."

"Me too, my love." You assure her, feeling your chest tighten slightly. My god, you just want to see her, hold her, touch her. "Lizzie, darling, are you asleep?"

"Yes." She whispers, making you smile.

"I love you baby." You say. "Call me when you wake up, I will interrupt as many scenes as it takes to talk to you."

"Behave yourself in the studio, love." She mumbles sleepily, and you laugh lightly. It was the same warning she gave on your last day in California, on the way out of the airport. "I love you. And I miss you."

You cursed the entire movie company at once when you could perceive the upset in Lizzie's tone, even in her sleepy state. You repeated that you loved her one more time before hanging up the phone.

As you put your cell phone away to grab your keys and head back to the hotel, you wondered if a breach of contract was really so bad.

//-//

Present, California.

You felt Lizzie's arms wrap around you as soon as you made mention of getting out of bed. You smiled, turning your body to look at her.

Her sleeping figure with her eyes closed, her hair slightly tousled made your heart warm with affection.

You loved her so much.

Raising your hand to her face, you stroked her cheek gently with your thumb, and watched the woman sigh softly, and even in her sleepy state, lean into your touch.

"Lizzie." You called softly, trying to wake her up. And did so again until she mumbled softly, leaning her face against the pillow. You let your hand wander to her hair, enjoying the softness as you stroked her scalp with your fingers. "We need to wake up baby."

Lizzie just mumbled again against the pillow cotton, making you smile at the cuteness of that scene.

You moved closer only to deposit short kisses across her face, and only stopped when she let out a husky giggle.

"Good morning, love." You whispered against her ear, and were about to pull away, but she tightened her arms around your waist, keeping you almost on top of her, making you smile.

"Good morning." She sighed back against the skin of your neck, and you blushed slightly when you felt her inhale your perfume and then tighten her fingers around your waist. "Fuck, I love you."

You laughed softly at her sudden, hoarse confession, but let your arms slip around her shoulders, burying your body against Lizzie's. The tenderness was wonderful, and she moved one hand up to caress your back while the other remained on your hip, her thumb moving across the skin beneath your blouse.

You tilt your face away just to look at her, and already you find her with her eyes wide open, a shy smile on her lips.

"I love you too, babe, but we need to get up." You tell her, and you almost get the impression that she's not even listening, because all she does is look at your face with adoration.

You bite back a smile as you feel her legs move beneath you, her bare foot caressing your ankle before she spins you around quickly and stands over you, the sudden movement making you sigh and tighten your arms intertwined around her neck.

"Lizzie!" You exclaim humorously, but all you get is a low murmur as she sinks her body against yours and buries her face in your neck.

"How much time do we have?" She asks against your skin, her lips dangling on that sensitive part of your collarbone and sending a shiver up the length of your spine.

"Enough." You reply already affected by her touch, closing your eyes to enjoy the sensation.

Lizzie smiles against your neck, beginning to deposit chaste kisses against your skin, making you sigh softly.

It didn't matter how many times you had been together or for how long, your body reacted to her in the same way. You only hoped that you wouldn't be late for your appointment with the Marvel directors, but when Lizzie slipped her hand up into your pajamas, you didn't care about that anymore.

//-//-//

London, 1 year and 9 months ago.

It's your third time on "The Graham Norton Show."

You finished taping Game of Thrones the day before, and this was your last appointment before returning to California. To Lizzie.

Part of the cast is sitting next to you, and you are glad for that because you are distracted this evening and can use the time they answer questions to think about your girlfriend. And you miss her for sure.

Graham, the host, asked questions about the final season, and about day to day life on set, and after Kit Harington and Emilia Clarke commented on everything being amazing, and not telling anything about the plot since they weren't allowed to, you were slightly surprised that the subject shift went directly to the romance rumors between the cast.

"I hear that some of you have been becoming close friends outside the set." Graham begins with a chuckle, and you and the cast share a chorus of dissatisfaction that makes the audience laugh. "Which is normal in a long series of course. But we wanted to bring that in because we love gossip."

"Since I'm married, can I have a drink in the dressing room?" Kit jokes, drawing laughter from everyone.

"You're supposed to help us with the arguments". Graham replies humorously. He leans back in his chair slightly to point to the monitor behind him. "We have some behind-the-scenes photos here. And Miss Clarke looks very comfortable."

The audience laughed at the comment, and you tried to cover it up with an awkward laugh. It was a picture of Emilia Clarke, your colleague who plays Daenerys Targaryen, on your lap. But the moment was badly misinterpreted. The photo was taken right after one of the prom rehearsal scenes, and Emilia had gotten one of the coordinations wrong, and you laughed when she fell on you.

Of course, this kind of insinuation was happening because to the media, you two were two single women. And you were used to this kind of questioning, but still, it was always uncomfortable.

"We were dancing, Graham." Emilia argues humorously. "It's not what it looks like."

The audience lets out a chorus of disappointment, and you and Emilia giggle awkwardly.

"Was that the mating dance, ladies?" Graham teases and you want to dig a hole in the ground, but all you do is keep up with everyone's laughter. "Despite all the jokes, I think Marvel's couple is going to be threatened."

The comment makes your heart race, but the audience is very approving, applauding heartily.

At least with this you can talk about Elizabeth.

"Is tonight the night you are going to take over America's dream relationship or can we just keep saying that you and Emilia are together, since there is not the slightest chance that someone that attractive is single." Graham tells you with humor making the audience and cast laugh. You try to keep up, not wanting to seem rude. You wish you could tell him that there is nothing wrong with being single, but you don't think you want to create an awkwardness so you just settle back in your seat as you joke:

"Unfortunately I will deny it again, Graham" You reply. "And I'm not dating Emilia either, I assure you."

You spend the rest of the evening dodging the comments, and are exhausted by the time the interview is over.

"Hey, are you going back to the hotel already?" Kit asks you just as you walk back to the dressing rooms, and you deny it with your head.

"No chance, I'm leaving." You reply. "I'm going straight to the airport, I have a flight in two hours. What about you, Harington? Aren't you going home to see your wife?"

"I didn't know we were talking about wives." He jokes making you blush and look away. Kit didn't know about Lizzie, but he knew you had someone. "Of course I want to come home, but I still have some appointments here. And Rose is in Spain."

"That sucks, man." You comment and he murmurs in agreement, shrugging.

"Yeah, but longing sure makes the sex better." He retorts with amusement and you grimace before laughing.

"You're unbelievable." You joke before waving yourself off in farewell, turning in the direction of your dressing room.

As soon as you enter, you take your cell phone out of your pocket and try to call Lizzie, but it goes to voicemail. You leave a message saying that you can't wait to see her and get your things ready to leave.

After saying goodbye to the cast again, and taking a taxi to the airport, you receive a message, but it is not from Lizzie.

*Sara evil agent* sent you an attachment.

You frown at the matter. "Off-screen romance? Would GOT star Emilia Clarke be dating queer Marvel protégé?"

You call Sara the same minute.

"I literally said I wasn't dating her!" You complain as soon as she answers and hear Sara laugh on the other end.

"Oh, honey, I told you, the media loves a little gossip." She says. "And you need to stop setting up fake girlfriends so quickly, I can barely keep up."

You grumble in irritation and your agent lets out a giggle.

"Don't be so grumpy, it's just a rumor and the last time I checked you were a single woman so I don't see a problem." She says and you bite the inside of your cheek. Since your lack of excitement about GOT, Sara suspects something. Neither of you says anything, but you know she's not an idiot and figures you have a girlfriend. "Are you going back to LA already?"

"Yes, I'm catching my flight in an hour."

"I hope you're ready to record, Lady Vision." She jokes. "Your scene schedule is getting closer."

"I plan to rest this week." You warn, slightly distracted. "Game of Thrones really was something different."

"I just hope people like the ending."

You giggle and Sara wants to know why, but you don't give her any spoilers. After asking if everything was okay, and assuring her that you had eaten something before the interview, you hang up.

Lizzie didn't text you back and you fell asleep on the plane.

//-//-//-//-//

California, three years and eleven months ago.

Your heart was beating so fast that you could hear it in your ears.

But Lizzie's hand in yours was doing a good job of calming you down.

Maybe it was just because you had waited, or maybe it was because you were so much in love, but you don't remember feeling so nervous about the idea of having sex with someone. Not since your first time.

And well, now with Lizzie, it was actually only the first time you two were going to sleep together. You didn't have to be nervous, but you were.

Liz opened the bedroom door as soon as you two reached the room, and dragged you inside with her. You closed the wood as you entered.

The tension was palpable in the air, and you wondered if you stayed still long enough, she might hear your heartbeat.

You looked at her, your eyes locked on each other, and a shy smile on your lips as you approached, stopping inches from her body.

Lizzie holds her breath.

"Are you nervous?" You ask in a husky voice, raising your free hand to go around the length of her arm with your finger, admiring the way her skin shivers at your touch.

She just shakes her head and you smile, resting your hand on her cheek.

"It's just me." You comment as you lean your forehead against hers, and you both close your eyes in anticipation. "We can stop if you're not sure..."

"I'm sure." She interrupts half breathlessly, her hand tightening its grip before letting go of yours, so that she brings both hands to the sides of your neck. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." You assure before breaking the distance, bringing your mouths together in a firm kiss that draws a sigh from both of you as your hands move up to Lizzie's waist.

It doesn't take long for the kiss to deepen, your tongues fighting together and the sensation making your head spin and your body heat up.

Lizzie gasped against your mouth before parting for breath, and you used the opportunity to let your fingers run down to the hem of her shirt as you pulled it up. In motion the piece was off, and she copied the same to remove your blouse.

You bit your lip as you looked at the sight of Lizzie's exposed torso in front of you, her nipples hardening in the air making you feel the tightness beneath your stomach increase.

You lunged forward, grabbing her left breast with your mouth, and Lizzie let out a loud noise in her throat, throwing her head back as your tongue skirted her left nipple.

She was so hot and smelled so good, and the sounds she was making were driving you insane.

You moved your hands up to her breasts as soon as you brought your mouths together again, your tongue circling hers as you played with her hardened nipples, and it wasn't long before Lizzie began to whimper, closing her legs and thrusting her hips towards yours for more friction.

You smiled against her lips, you would give her exactly what she needed.

//-//

California, one year and nine months ago.

Leaving your keys on the counter, you were surprised by the silence as you entered.

It wasn't that you wanted Lizzie to stay late to wait for you, except that it was exactly what you wanted.

You left your bag on the living room floor and called her name twice before assuming she was asleep.

Sighing slightly, you went up the stairs to your room, but it was empty. All the other rooms were empty, which made you frown.

Okay, you didn't expect Elizabeth not to be home just the day you were returning, after months of not seeing each other.

But you didn't have much time to think about what might have happened, because a clearly drunk Lizzie stumbled into the house, fighting against the lock and her own balance just as you were coming down the stairs.

"You're drunk?" You ask in a voice in a mixed tone of disbelief and concern upon seeing her, and Lizzie is startled for a moment before giggling.

"Look who's here, California!" She announced to the room with irony and with open arms, stumbling inside. "Hollywood's most eligible bachelorette, watch out ladies and gentlemen."

You frowned at the little scene, Lizzie walked with difficulty to the kitchen as you finished going down the steps, she murmured quietly and you with your arms crossed, trying to understand exactly what was going on.

"What happened to you?" you ask as you follow her across the room, Lizzie takes off her shoes with difficulty, almost falling to the floor at least twice. When you make mention of helping her, she holds up her hand for you not to, and you are starting to get worried.

"I went to have fun." She replies with a humorless laugh. "I can have fun."

"Of course you can." You retorted with a raised eyebrow, watching Lizzie take a deep breath and close her eyes as she leaned her back on the countertop, probably getting a headache from the way she buried her face in both hands for a moment. "Who did you go with?"

"I don't know, Mom." She sneered wryly, and you clenched your jaw. Lizzie laughed at your expression, and pouted. "Oh, did I upset you? Sorry, darling, I'll try to be a good girl for you."

You shook your head slightly.

"Babe, what is happ..."

"Don't call me that." She cuts off quickly and you look at her in surprise. Lizzie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and when she looks at you again, she has thick tears in her eyes and you feel your heart soar. "I saw the pictures on television, Y/N. I saw the pictures, I saw your interview, I saw the videos on instagram. And I guess I understand, because she's beautiful and we haven't seen each other in months but I thought you loved me..."

"wow, what are you talking about?" You interrupt, confused and frightened, and Lizzie looks like a complete mess. She is crying and you reach up to touch her face, and try to calm her down. "Babe, breathe, I don't understand."

She whimpers softly, and you wonder how much booze she really has consumed.

"You are going out with that woman and I love you and everything is horrible." She declares in a whiny voice and you look at her with a frown.

"Lizzie, what..."

But she pushes you and walks off toward the bedroom, and you try to keep her from falling over drinking at least three times until she can get up the stairs properly.

"Lizzie, wait, talk to me." You beg but she keeps walking and you enter the bedroom a moment after her, watching her walk to the closet and start throwing all her clothes out while mumbling about cheating.

You take a deep breath with your hands on your waist, letting out a humorless laugh. It was an absurd scene to say the least.

"Elizabeth Olsen, stop this immediately!" You command as soon as she steps out of the closet, and she widens her eyes slightly as she shifts the weight of her feet before veering to the floor. You sigh as you walk toward her. "Babe, look at me."

"No."

"Lizzie."

Reluctantly, she does so. You soften your expression, feeling your heart soar at the image of her face, longing invading your whole heart.

"God, I missed you." You confess half breathlessly and Lizzie looks on the verge of tears. "Darling, where did all this come from? I'm not seeing any other girl."

"I saw the pictures..."

"Lizzie." You interrupt seriously, shaking your head slightly as your hands land on her shoulders. "I have no one but you. I would never cheat on you, I don't know where that came from. I wish you hadn't drunk so much so we could have a serious talk."

Lizzie gives a mischievous little smile, her gaze half lost because of the alcohol.

"I'm not drunk." She mumbles clearly intoxicated, making you chuckle slightly.

"Of course not." You said as you pushed the loose strands of her hair behind her ears. "You made a mess in the bedroom, babe. Why don't you try to sleep while I clean up?"

Lizzie sighed, clearly tired but shaking her head in denial

"I don't want to sleep." She said as she brought her body closer to you, her hands squeezing your shirt. "I want you to fuck me."

You bit back a smile, looking at Lizzie with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah?"

She murmured in agreement, her fingers trying to open the buttons of your shirt, but she was clearly in no condition to do so.

"I'd like that too, but you're drunk." You say as you move your hands to hold hers, smiling at the grumble of frustration she lets out. "Go lie down, I'll get some water."

"But..."

"Bed, Lizzie." You ordered again as you intertwined your hands to lead her to lie down.

She was reluctant a few times but eventually agreed and lay her down on the mattress, placing the comforter on top.

When you made mention of getting up, she held your hand.

"Don't go." She asked softly with her eyes almost closed. You smiled.

"Aren't you thirsty?"

Lizzie denied and pulled your hand, you moved closer to lie beside her and she wasted no time in entwining her body in yours.

You let your fingers run through her hair and she sighed lightly, not taking long to fall asleep. You waited a few more minutes before moving, getting out of bed as gently as possible so as not to wake her.

After collecting the clothes Lizzie had thrown across the room and putting them away in the closet, as well as putting the party clothes she was wearing in the wash, you went back downstairs, looking for your bag to take to your room.

Your cell phone vibrated as you walked up the stairs.

It was a message from Scarlet, and you laughed lightly as you read its content.

“I heard you're coming home today, right? Lizzie was really upset about the rumors that you were dating, and asked me to take her out for a drink. I dropped her off at home, but she was pretty shaky. I didn't know you two had a thing, can we talk about it over coffee tomorrow?”

You were relieved that Scarlett was the person accompanying Lizzie, but now she knew you two had something. You were tired of it honestly. The secret. All you wanted was for everyone to know how much you loved Lizzie. And judging from recent events, that was a problem for her too. Or at least it was enough for her to drink more than she should.

But you would have to wait until Lizzie woke up to have this conversation, so you went back to your room, and after putting away the clothes from your bag, you took a shower and put on your pajamas, wasting no time in joining Lizzie in bed again.

//-//-//

Caribbean, one year and six months ago.

Following the music, you continued to dance slowly, your hand around Lizzie's waist while the other was entwined in the air with hers.

The luxury hotel where you were staying that week was hosting a Hawaiian themed evening, and well, after spending the day in the pool area, you decided to dance a little.

In that moment, with Lizzie in your arms, you were at peace completely. Moments like these, like waking up with her in your bed, or cooking together, or rehearsing your lines while curled up on the couch under the blanket were more than enough to make you sure that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Lizzie.

You smiled before pulling your body away slightly, just to look at her. And she looked back at you with the same adoration, her cheeks flushing slightly.

You spun her into your arms then, making her laugh as you pulled her back, your hands resting on her neck as your hips swayed to the rhythm of the ukulele of the band playing on the stage.

There were a few other couples around, but you could hardly notice anyone but Lizzie.

You continued dancing, and you rested your forehead on hers, closing your eyes and breathing in her perfume. Lizzie smiled, stealing a quick kiss before resting her chin on your shoulder, following the rhythm of the dance.

When the show ends, you follow the crowd in the clapping for a moment before Lizzie entwines your hands and pulls you toward the bar.

"That was fun." She comments with cheeks flushed from the dance, her smile soft as you stand near each other, your hands intertwined as you reach for the menu.

"Dancing with you always is." You retorted charmingly, releasing her hand only to fit it against your waist, drawing a chuckle from Lizzie.

You ended up sharing some drinks and snacks, and you were starting to feel higher with each sip.

Lizzie was in the middle of a joke when you interrupted her.

"Marry me?"

She blinked in surprise, a confused chuckle escaping her lips.

"What?"

Maybe it was the drinking. Probably not, because with the emerald eyes looking so intently, you suddenly felt very sober. Your heart raced too, but you were never more sure of anything than you were now.

"Marry me." You repeat with a confident smile. Lizzie blushes with wide eyes.

"You... Are you serious?" She asks in surprise, and you let out a sigh, moving closer to take her hands and put them down on your racing heart.

"I love you." You tell her with nothing but sincerity. "I want to spend my life with you. I was planning something bigger, perhaps, at your parents' summer house. I would get down on one knee in front of your family and hand over the ring I've been carrying for three months." You confess and watch her look at you in shock. "I've been waiting for the right moment, Lizzie. But I've just realized that every second with you is the right moment. I want you to be my wife. Do you want me to be yours?"

It took a second for her to react, her expression changing from shock to pure happiness, the tears appearing in her eyes and the smile so big it made her eyes small.

"Yes, yes, of course." She replied between one shy laugh and another, moving forward to kiss you over and over again.

You couldn't stop smiling as you kissed her, and you giggled against each other's mouths, pulling apart to embrace each other.

It didn't take long for the people around the bar to notice and start clapping, but you didn't care.

All you were seeing was your future wife.

//-//-//-//

California, 1 year and 9 months ago.

You finished putting the coffee jug on the tray, the last missing item, before carrying it to your room, taking careful steps not to trip over anything on the way.

Lizzie was already awake, but still in bed. The glass of water in her hands and the missing pill on her bedside table indicated that she was already treating her hangover.

"Good morning, darling." You greeted as you entered, walking over to the bed to leave the platter on top of the sheet next to Lizzie.

"You're home." She commented in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, you just made a noise with your mouth as she sighed, running her hand over her face, probably because of her headache. "When did you get home?"

"Last night." You respond by watching her. "Just before you."

"Sorry." She says moving closer. You gently pull away from her attempt to kiss her lips, and Lizzie frowns. "What?"

"I was worried." You state seriously. Lizzie lets out a sigh, leaning her back against the bed completely. "I thought you were going to pick me up at the airport, but you didn't call. And then I find the house empty. Until you arrived, completely drunk at dawn."

Lizzie crossed her arms, looking away. It was your turn to sigh.

"What's happening, Elizabeth?"

"It 's nothing."

"Elizabeth."

"Stop it." She asks impatiently, turning her face to you again. "Don't call me that."

You just frown in confusion. "It's your name."

"No." She exclaims annoyedly, closing her eyes for a moment. "You only call me Elizabeth when you're angry. And you can't be angry at me because I have the right to go out!"

You watch her stand up, as if running away from the conversation, and you sigh impatiently, massaging your temple with your finger. Lizzie begins to remove her dress, clearly intent on going to take a shower.

"I never said you had no right to go out, Elizabeth." You retort ignoring the annoyed grunt she lets out at you continuing to call her by her full name. "I just think I have the right to ask why after we agreed on something, you changed plans at the last minute and decided to disappear."

"It's funny that you want to demand something from me when you've spent the last few months without giving me any satisfaction of where or who you were with!" She accuses angrily and you grimace in indignation.

"Oh, so it's about my work?" You retort angrily. "The last time I checked we had decided that I was going to record and come home. You said you were fine with that!"

Lizzie gave a humorless laugh, her dress falling to her feet as she worked to remove her bra.

"Well, you know what, I wasn't!" She shouts angrily, throwing the bra angrily into the closet. You need to remember that you are angry with her as you have the vision of her breasts exposed in front of you while she is yelling at you. "I didn't agree to the endless get-togethers with all those sluts around you! And I sure didn't agree with your flushed face on television flirting with Emilia Clarke in front of the whole country!"

You stared at Lizzie in shock, but she just grunted in irritation before turning to go to the bathroom.

"No, I think it's so funny you bring that up, you know, Elizabeth." You spoke aloud as you stood up to follow her. "Because when I said Aubrey Plaza was flirting with you, you told me it was just business. But suddenly, Emilia is something that bothers you!"

"God, this is so different from Aubrey!" she retorts in irritation, finally naked, before stepping into the shower. You were beginning to find it hard to remember why you were fighting now that you had the view of her wet silhouette in the shower stall, as she raised her voice to be heard beyond the sound of the water. "We were supposed to be flirting in the interviews, it was all for the movie. You were just falling all over Emilia for no reason. All those smiles and giggles." She declares angrily, making you bite back a smile. Lizzie naked, angry and jealous was hot as hell.

"I really can't believe we are having this conversation." You complain as you unbutton your pajama shirt. "The most absurd part of it all is you thinking I would have anything with anyone else."

"You say these things but don't live up to them with your actions." She retorts, annoyed. "I wouldn't think anything of it if you didn't flirt with other people!"

"I didn't flirt with anyone!" You return defensively, your blouse finally coming off. Lizzie's annoyed expression almost falters, but she keeps her gaze above your breasts as you take off your pants. "And honestly, none of this would be happening if everyone knew we were dating!"

Lizzie frowns, her anger finally dissipating with your sentence. You step into the shower stall with her, and she looks at you dubiously.

"You...you want to go public?" She asks, studying you as the water falls on her back. You swallow dryly, keeping yourself in front of her.

"Only if you want to."

Lizzie holds out her hand for you to take, and when you do, she pulls you gently until your breasts are almost touching.

"Do you think we're ready for that?" She whispers as your foreheads lean against each other. You sigh as you rest your hands on her waist.

"With you, I'm ready for anything, Lizzie."

She sighs against your lips, her hands moving up to your neck.

"I can't think about that with you naked in front of me." She mumbles before moving forward against his lips.

Kissing shouldn't feel this good.

You slide your tongue over hers a moment later, and you both sigh in need, feeling the effects of so much time apart. Your hands move down to her ass, squeezing the flesh and forcing her against you, and the direct contact of exposed skin makes Lizzie whimper.

You press her against the glass of the shower stall, feeling the shower water against your back as you hold your mouths together in a passionate, hungry kiss.

When air was needed, you ran your kisses down your girlfriend's exposed collarbone, enjoying the way she sighed in anticipation, her hand moving up to the back of your neck to encourage you.

"God, I missed you." You sighed before sucking on the sensitive spot on her collarbone, making Lizzie whimper as she dug her nails into your shoulder.

She pulled your face back to hers, kissing you urgently, and you pressed your body against hers, your hands moving down to her thighs and up so that she entwined her legs around your waist.

The contact of your exposed intimates together made you both gasp in the kiss, but you slid your tongue against hers again, savoring her taste as your hands moved up to her breasts, squeezing and cupping them with a full palm, your fingers playing with her hardened nipples and making Lizzie sigh wetly.

"What is it baby?" you teased when she was unable to keep up the pace of the kiss, throwing her head back as she felt your hands pressing her breasts hard, and Lizzie grunted as she bit her lips to keep from moaning, looking up at you with dark eyes, clearly struggling to keep her expression impassive. You smiled, pressing your hips forward and watching her close her eyes tightly, unable to contain a low moan that escaped her throat. "I want to hear you, baby."

"I'm still mad at you." She declares in an affected voice, and you murmur in understanding, lowering your face to her collarbone, and licking and kissing the skin, making her shiver.

"Is this angry sex, then?" You sneer as you move your hips forward again, the sensation bringing a rising wave of pleasure to both of you. "It doesn't seem like it."

Lizzie sighs impatiently, and puts her legs on the floor, pushing you away by your shoulder.

You are so stunned by the sudden break in contact that you barely have time to absorb her turning off the shower before she pulls you by the hand out of the stall.

You were about to ask what she was going to do, but she pushed you onto the bed, and disappeared into the closet.

"Lizzie?" You called out uncertainty, preparing your apology speech for what exactly you couldn't say. But she walked out next, and the sight made your mouth go dry. "Damn."

Elizabeth was wearing a strap-on, the rubber penis already fitted in the front and ready for use. And from the determined expression on her face, she was more than willing to prove to you that she was pissed.

"Fuck me." You breathed aroused by the view, and Lizzie gave a wry chuckle as she approached the bed.

"Oh, I will." It was her only warning before she broke the distance, kissing you fervently, her tongue exploring your mouth and pulling the air from your lungs, making you see stars.

You let out a low moan, moving your hands up to her waist to pull her to you, but Lizzie pushed your hands away, breaking the kiss and moving one hand up to your neck, squeezing lightly as she made you look at her.

"Knees, ass up." She commanded in a husky voice, her gaze glittering with lust, you bit your lips to keep from moaning again, feeling your pussy pulsate with desire as you obeyed, turning on the bed quickly as Lizzie positioned herself behind you. "I'll teach you not to flirt with other girls."

"I was n-fuck." Your speech turned into an horsy whimper as she suddenly penetrated you with the dildo, you were so wet that she had no problem at all, the toy slipping into your folds with ease, filling you completely. Lizzie chuckled breathlessly, her hands steadying your hips.

"God, you're so hot." She murmured, moving slowly inside you, the action making you clench your fists in the sheets and arch your back, your pussy clenching against the dildo.

"Fuck, Lizzie."

She thrust again, this time hard, her hands squeezing your hips as she went deep inside, making you moan loudly.

Before establishing a rhythm, she leaned against you, her hand coming up to your hair and pulling you back as she brought her mouth to your ear.

"You are mine." She whispered before she thrust hard inside you, making you moan. "Do you understand?"

"Not quite yet, try harder." You teased breathlessly, the pleasure at having the dildo all the way inside you making you half dizzy. Lizzie grunted angrily, this time stroking even harder, making you see stars as you whimpered, your body beginning to tremble.

"Quit being a brat or I'm going to fucking stop." She warned against your ear, thrusting more slowly this time, and you moaned breathlessly, barely able to keep your eyes open.

Lizzie set a slow pace, but thrusting hard as you moaned and whimpered, every time the dildo entered you making you even wetter and aroused, to the point that you were unable to hold back the loud moans, and she giggled.

"Look at you, a horny, begging mess." She sneered against your ear. "You are mine, and only mine."

She whispered, her strokes deep inside you. "I want you to remember that when you flirt with other girls. How good I make you feel."

You whimpered, your pussy clenching against the dildo for more, Lizzie keeping the strokes torturously slow. Seeing your state, she laughed softly, pulling out of you completely.

Before you had time to complain, she turned you over on the bed, spreading your legs as she bent down, thrusting deep inside you. Your moan died against her lips as she kissed you hard, laying against you as she buried the dildo inside you.

You could feel Lizzie everywhere. Her breasts against you, her lips on yours, and it was too much. She thrust hard again, deep and fast as you had your legs around her waist, and her tongue on yours, and you began to tremble in spasms, pleasure spreading throughout your body.

Lizzie smiled against your lips as you lost the ability to respond to the kiss, moaning and whimpering at the closeness of your climax. Her mouth moved down to your neck as she kept up the pace of the thrusts inside you, and your hands tightened around her waist, pulling on her hips for more friction.

It wasn't long before you fell over the edge, the tightness under your belly exploding, the pleasure spreading to the tips of your feet as you moaned against Lizzie's ear, crumbling under her.

As you tried to normalize your breathing after such an intense orgasm, she straightened to look at you, her eyes had adoration in them.

"You did so good." She praised against your lips. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"I did." You replied in a husky voice, taking a deep breath to control the effects of climax.

In one swift motion, you spun you two around on the bed, sighing as you felt the toy move inside you.

"Now you will learn to honor your appointments, Miss Olsen." You warned as your hands moved down to the latches of the strap, removing it as Lizzie bit her lips, looking at you with a mischievous gaze.

You shifted to remove the strap and toss the toy on the floor, returning to sit on Lizzie's lap, your mouth returning to hers immediately.

When she began to move beneath you, you smiled against her lips, pulling away as you rested your forehead against hers and let your fingers play with her wet entrance.

"Use your mouth." She asked breathlessly, her nails digging into your arm.

"My baby wants my mouth?" You teased, moving forward to lick her lips and pulling away with a short laugh when she moaned as she chased your mouth unsuccessfully. You circled her clitoris with your fingers, and Lizzie gasped. "The next time you want to get drunk, at least text me, my love." You warned as you penetrated her with two fingers at once, feeling her hot and slippery, while Lizzie moaned loudly against your mouth. "Do you understand?"

You removed your fingers, playing with her entrance until she nodded frantically, pushing her hips toward your hand. But you laughed lightly, pulling your hand away completely, and leaving her with a confused expression.

"I thought you wanted my mouth." You scoff, already ducking, as Lizzie looks at you expectantly.

"God, you always fuck me so good." Lizzie comments as you kiss her thighs, moving down. You smile against her skin, finally reaching her pussy.

You stare at her before moving forward, your tongue against her clitoris as she sighs with need.

"Don't torture me." She begs breathlessly, her wrists locked on the bed, you smile, lingeringly licking her, and she closes her eyes tightly.

"I won't, my love." You assure her before returning your mouth to her pussy, kissing her entrance before you begin to suck and lick, devouring her with desire.

She moans loudly, letting out affected sighs with each movement of your tongue inside her, and you hold her thighs to keep her open for you as you eat her out.

It doesn't take long for Lizzie to reach her edge, already near the limit from fucking you, but it's still delicious to have her crumbling against your mouth like a weeping mess, her orgasm on your tongue as she screams your name.

You climb your body back up onto her, and kiss her tenderly, unlike anything so far.

Lizzie is trying to control her breathing from the climax, but sighs in satisfaction as she tastes herself on your tongue.

As silence falls over you, you sigh lightly, your hands caressing her face.

"Are we okay, Lizzie?" You ask as you settle down to lie across from each other. She leans into the touch of your hands, as her hands come up to your waist.

"I don't know." She confesses. "But I want us to be."

You smile, using your finger to take a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

"Do you think going public will make us better?"

"I don't want to love you in secret anymore." She says and you feel your heart soar. "Do you understand?"

You smile. "Yes, babe. I feel the same way."

She gives a relieved smile, her gaze passionate. You break the distance, and kiss her gently.

When you break the kiss a moment later, you look quickly at your bodies. "I think we should have this conversation with clothes on." You comment and Lizzie giggles.

"Later. Now I show how much I missed you in my bed." She says before bringing your lips together again.

You certainly wouldn't object to that.

//-//-//

Atlanta, three years ago.

You hesitated at the entrance to the restaurant.

Through the window you could see Lizzie, and all your cast mates, as it was the closing celebration of the WandaVision filming.

You swallowed hard, the object in your pocket suddenly becoming too heavy.

You startled slightly when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"I guess we're both late, huh?" Kathryn Hahn, your cast mate, remarked gently, putting her car keys away in her pocket clearly having arrived right with you.

You gave her a lopsided smile and she noticed your hesitation, assuming a worried expression.

"Everything okay?" She asked.

You shifted your gaze to the window again, watching Lizzie giggle shyly, her gaze shining slightly. She looked around too, searching, and you knew it was for you.

"Yeah, I just...I was just having a moment of doubt." You say still looking at Lizzie. Kathryn followed your gaze, and smiled, but didn't comment on it.

You sighed, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the object.

"Wow, are you going to...?" Kathryn asked in surprise but you gave a humorless laugh.

"No, I couldn't." You say swallowing dryly, and looking away from the velvet box. "I don't know if I'm ready."

"And when either of us are?" Kat returned, making you smile.

"How did you know you were going to say yes to your husband?" You asked next. Kathryn sighed thoughtfully.

"I didn't." She replied. "There's no way to know until you get asked. But what I did know was that I loved him. And that's what really matters."

You absorbed her words in silence, and then put the box back in your pocket.

"I think she loves me." You say. "That will be enough until I find the right moment."

Kat murmurs in understanding, and then pushes her shoulder against yours lightly.

"Just don't wait too long." She warns with a smile, nodding her head signaling for the two of you to enter the restaurant and join the rest of the team.

When you enter, any thoughts of Lizzie denying your marriage proposal are driven out by the image of her contented smile when she sees you arrive.

//-//-//-//

A/F/N> I'm not even gonna try to say this is the last time i'm continuing this work because at this point, I just know I don't believe my own words anymore haha. Tell me what you think people.

Tag> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x yn #Elizabeth Olsen x Reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x yn #elizabeth olsen x !bottom reader #dom lizze #dom!elizabeth olsen #avengers imagines #brat reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagines #elizabeth olsen smut

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twilights-800-cats · 4 years

Text

<< Allegiances || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || From the Beginning >>

Chapter 11

“We’re in need of tansy and celandine,” Brackenfur meowed. “Between Longtail’s eyes and Dappletail’s failing sight we’re running short.”

Shadepaw nodded. “I’ll get looking right away.”

Trees creaked overhead. Shadepaw scanned the foliage all around them, trying to find either of the plants that Brackenfur needed. It was nice to be out of camp, away from the hustle and bustle of others… and away from Nightpaw. This far into the forest, her brother’s prickly wall of emotion was barely a tickle in Shadepaw’s head.

“This rain has been StarClan-sent,” Brackenfur sighed, his tail swishing in the damp leaves. “Without it, surely all these plants would have died.”

“I know,” Shadepaw sighed. “I don’t see any tansy or celandine, Brackenfur,” she meowed. “What else do we need?”

“Unfortunate. Comfry,” Brackenfur pointed out. “Do you remember what comfry looks like?”

Shadepaw closed her eyes. “Purple flowers and long, pointed leaves. Right?”

“Yes.”

Shadepaw opened her eyes. She spotted a clump near the base of a birch tree not a few fox-lengths away. The bell-like flowers were gone, but she recognized the leaves. Shadepaw padded over to the plant, sniffing just to make sure, remembering how hard it’d been to tell comfry leaves apart from other plants in Brackenfur’s stores.

She began to pick the leaves off, working meticulously to ensure she got as much as she could without damaging the plant. That was part of being a medicine cat, too – if the plant died from being trimmed badly, then how would the medicine cat heal her Clan?

Shadepaw found comfort in the activity, even as her eyes stung from herb juices and the smell of comfry. She soon had a respectable pile at her paws, and she gathered it up in her jaws. Brackenfur will be delighted! She thought. We’ve enough to get through leaf-bare!

She spotted Brackenfur digging at the roots of a tree. He must’ve found burdock, she thought. Even if they couldn’t find celandine or tansy, at least they had found something. There were other parts of the forest to look, and plenty of daylight left to do the looking. Shadepaw adjusted her comfry bundle in her jaws before trotting over to meet her mentor.

As she walked, she found quickly that her vision was becoming obscured. Shadepaw paused, tail trembling, as she watched the forest all around she and her mentor fill up with a thick fog. Shadepaw dropped her comfry as even the sunlight seemed swallowed up by the sudden mist.

“B-Brackenfur?” she called.

There was no reply. Shadepaw looked around, suddenly finding that she couldn’t see her mentor – all she could make out were her own paws and the ghostly gray trees rising above the phenomenon. Shadepaw planted her paws, unsure of what to do.

A catlike shape made its way through the mist, lean and long-furred, with a plumy tail. Shadepaw’s eyes widened as she recognized the figure. Mistyfoot!

Another shape formed beside Mistyfoot, small and low-bodied. It was easy to tell by the shape of the ears that it wasn’t Tinystar, but Nightpaw.

Shadepaw stared in awe as more shapes appeared behind Mistyfoot and Nightpaw – uncountable cats, none of which Shadepaw could really recognize in the mist. Shadepaw found herself wondering whether or not she ought to be afraid of this vision – and yet… the mist was comforting. Protective. Shadepaw felt no fear as Mistyfoot’s shape locked eyes with her and dipped her head.

And then as soon as the mist had gathered, it was gone.

Dazed, Shadepaw blinked rapidly, shocked at the sudden brightness of the world around her. Had that… been a vision from StarClan? She wondered.

“Shadepaw! Shadepaw, there you are!” panted Brackenfur.

The golden brown tom was beside Shadepaw, his sides heaving and his eyes wide. His fur was standing on end, and fear-scent rolled off of him.

“Did you see that?” Shadepaw breathed, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. “Brackenfur, that was a sign from StarClan!”

“I know,” Brackenfur meowed. The look in his eyes made Shadepaw’s tail lower. “I saw.”

“Mistyfoot looked so strong and happy!” Shadepaw pointed out. “I haven’t seen her like that since before Shrewpaw died, and…” Shadepaw’s mew died in her throat as she really took in Brackenfur’s expression, which was growing graver with every word. A sinking feeling settled in Shadepaw’s stomach.

“We need to see Tinystar.” Brackenfur’s voice was unusually clipped. “Immediately.”

———————————————————-

Sandstorm and Tinystar were grooming in the shadow of the Highrock when Brackenfur and Shadepaw returned. The camp was quiet, with warriors off hunting and patrolling, so thankfully no cat really paid much mind to Brackenfur’s expression and pace as he led the way to Tinystar.

Tinystar looked up from Sandstorm’s flank, his jaws open to greet his medicine cat until he caught on to Brackenfur’s trembling tail and the way the golden brown tom’s claws dug into the earth.

“What is it?” he asked, quietly.

Sandstorm stirred, looking up from where she lay. Her tail twitched as she observed.

“I’ve had a sign,” Brackenfur murmured gravely.

Shadepaw listened in shock as Brackenfur described the mist vision: “It clouded the entire forest, blocking sight and sound,” he meowed sternly, “and it was cold like ice to my bones. I couldn’t even recognize the trees, Tinystar! Within the mist I saw Mistyfoot, leading a group of cats. The way she looked at me… it was like seeing Bluestar all over again.”

Tinystar’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Brackenfur nodded his head.

Confusion and alarm sparked in Shadepaw. “Brackenfur, that’s not what I saw at all!” she blurted. Before Brackenfur could interject, Shadepaw went on, “I saw the mist, and Mistyfoot, yes – but it didn’t feel cold or unwelcoming! It was warm, and I felt safe! Mistyfoot didn’t look anything like a tyrant.”

Sandstorm and Tinystar shared a look, confusion passing between them. “Then who is right?” Sandstorm wondered.

Brackenfur frowned. “Shadepaw, don’t you think you may be misinterpreting what you saw?” he meowed carefully. “This is your first vision from StarClan.”

Shadepaw’s shoulders bristled. “I am not misinterpreting anything!” she insisted. “I know what I saw, and what I felt! I don’t see some ghost of the past every time I look at Mistyfoot!”

Brackenfur shut his jaws.

“Don’t talk to your mentor that way, Shadepaw,” Sandstorm hissed.

Shadepaw turned her head away from her parents, feeling both anger and shame prickling her pelt like fire ants. I shouldn’t have said that, she thought ruefully. Curse my temper!

“Regardless,” Tinystar meowed, his tone drawn and careful, “of who is right here… it is clear that we need to keep an eye on Mistyfoot.” He glanced between the gathered cats. “It is paramount that no cat here tells Mistyfoot about this vision; not until we know what’s going on. Understood?”

“Of course, Tinystar,” Brackenfur meowed.

“Shadepaw?” Tinystar asked.

Shadepaw forced herself to meet her father’s eyes. His icy blue gaze was unreadable. Was he ashamed of his daughter? “Of course.”

———————————————————-

“How dare you!”

Shadepaw flinched. She looked back at Brackenfur as he limped into the medicine cat’s den, the ferns closing behind him. His golden eyes were blazing with annoyance, his tail lashing to and fro.

“I am the full medicine cat here, Shadepaw,” he snapped sternly, “and you have no idea how to interpret signs from StarClan! You had no business speaking up like that, especially in front of Tinystar!”

Shadepaw looked down at her paws, feeling shame wash over her. “I know how I felt,” she insisted. “Mistyfoot isn’t an omen of evil – why is what I saw and felt wrong?”

Brackenfur sighed, the frustration in his eyes fading. “You’re just an apprentice, Shadepaw,” he reminded her. Shadepaw’s pelt prickled with anger. “You just don’t have enough experience with signs from StarClan to make that kind of call. Your connection to StarClan is amazing, but you’ve no idea how to handle it yet.”

Shadepaw’s temper flared, making her shoulders bristle. “It’s my ‘amazing’ connection to StarClan, and I will see things as I am meant to!” she snapped. Anger flared white-hot in her vision. “I’ll bet a whole juniper bush you didn’t tell Mosspaw what she did or didn’t see when she had visions!”

Brackenfur bristled now, his eyes flashing with pain. “This argument is over!” he hissed.

Shadepaw lashed her tail. “Fine!” she growled. Regret panged her heart, but it was swallowed up by her growing frustration. “I’m going to go collect the herbs we left in the forest!”

Brackenfur didn’t stop her as she stalked out of the medicine cat den and through the clearing. He didn’t stop her as she plunged out into the forest and broke into a run, her anger pulsing through her paws. Blindly she crashed through the forest, passing even the herbs she had promised to gather.

I’m right! Shadepaw thought, her claws tearing at the turf before her paws. Anger blazed through her, a gift from her father. I know it!

Why doesn’t he see it? Why can’t he just trust me?!

#tb au #tb midnight

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mybeautifuldecay · 6 years

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[dr]Outlander Fic: Blind Date - Part Three.

Part One. Part Two.

Alright, so this is an obvious anomaly now because I looked at the dates that I first penned this fic and the first part was 29th December 2016 and the second 21st January 2017. How has it been nearly a YEAR? I mean, I know I’m a bit lackadaisical, but this might be another level of leisurely.

Anywhoo...I’ve included links to part one and two simply because I’m sure it’s a dim and distant memory for most now - especially with all this immense fic that’s floating around these days <3

Now, back to my sloth-hole!

Au revoir et bises à tous...for now.

Closing the door softly behind them, Jamie waved his hand towards the freshly made bed. Blushing he glanced at the hotel room’s sparse features, embarrassed that he’d covered the chair in so many shirts that it wasn’t possible for Claire to take a seat. But Claire didn’t mind. Captivated by the twinkle in his sea-blue eyes, she had completely ignored the tepid features of the room. Instead she continued to look at Jamie, a quizzical look behind her whisky irises.

“So, Mr Fraser,” she began, running her finger along the length of the small dresser that ran from just behind the door down towards the bed, “this is not the type of decor you would choose for your own apartment then?” Picking up on his obvious discomfort she suddenly took note of her surroundings, her eyes flitting from Jamie’s to the pale, anemic walls as the seconds ticked by.

Smiling bashfully, Jamie glanced towards his lap and back to Claire as she steadily made her way closer to him. “Ach, no. It’s a wee bit...plain, aye?”

Perching herself on the edge of the bed next to where Jamie now sat, Claire slid the side of her pinkie finger against his leg. She could still taste the lingering kiss from earlier, the subtle brush of his lips covering hers just before they’d been so rudely interrupted. She wanted to pick straight back up from where they’d left off but now, in the middle of a West London Travelodge, Claire felt suddenly quite shy.

Embarrassed that she’d let her libido guide her, she went to pull her hand away, fear getting the better of her as she crossed her ankles tight.

“You dinna have to be afraid of me, Claire,” Jamie whispered, nudging her shoulder and turning towards her as the dim bedside lamp flickered slightly plunging them into a faint orange glow as the bulb reignited itself. “If ye just want to talk, get to know one another better. We can just do that. We don’t have to...do...anything else. No’ if you don’t want to.”

He was mumbling now, filling up the silence with words to try and quash Claire’s growing anxiety. But it wasn’t that she didn’t want to…

“It isn’t that,” she broke in, eager to shatter any misinterpreted signals, “I just feel…”

“...bare.” Jamie interjected, his hand shifting so that he could take hold of her gently and pull her closer.

“Yes,” she replied, “something like that. I feel like this should be too forward, you know? That we should have swapped numbers first and talked. Gone to a bar. Had a drink or two. But now we’re here, and it happened so fast - just like the kiss in the green room.”

“Is it too fast though?” He questioned, getting closer and closer, his eyes closing to slits as he tilted his head, his lips inching towards Claire’s.

Claire’s breathing quickened as she felt the heat of his body angle towards her. “I d-don’t think so.” She stuttered knowing full well that, although convention suggested that - yes - it was too fast, it felt *good* to be wanted. Recalling their meeting, Claire thought about his comments regarding dying alone. When she and Frank had parted ways she’d had similar thoughts about her own dating situation. Not wanting to embroil herself with anyone else she’d thrown herself into work and had barely surfaced for air. But that had been three years ago now; three long, cold years, and she was coming to the end of her residency in the city. Maybe this was the time to make a change.

“Won’t your sister be back?” She asked all of a sudden, glancing around the room, breaking the intense spell they seemed to be under. There was no sign of female life in the room itself but that wasn’t to say it didn’t -or hadn’t- existed.

Placing his fingers gently beneath her chin, Jamie guided Claire’s gaze back to him as he shook his head. “No, her and her husband, Ian, have their own suite,” he whispered, ending his sentence with a short, sharp kiss.

Claire’s misgivings melted away as Jamie rubbed his nose soothingly against hers simply breathing the same air as her until she’d made up her mind to completely throw caution to the wind. He could feel it in her almost immediately and he smiled to himself as he joined his lips to hers once more.

“This is weird, right?” Claire sighed, her hand coming to rest against Jamie’s bare chest, just between his solid pectoral muscles. He still hadn’t re-done the top buttons of his shirt, making it easy for Claire to make immediate contact. “Us. Finding one another in that studio and being here all within the same night.”

“Weird, but no’ wrong, aye?”

“Yes. Not wrong...just strange.”

“Are ye comfortable; happy?” Jamie asked between kisses.

“God yes,” Claire returned, butterflies dancing the fandango in her tummy as she said the words. “It’s unnerving,” she admitted, “but not in a bad way.”

“I ken…” Jamie muttered, trailing off as he ran his palm along the underside of Claire’s chin and down to the top of her blouse. “Can I?” He asked, his tongue peaking out to run along Claire’s lips as she nodded slowly. Extracting her from her clothes became his sole focus now, his eyes closed tight as he kissed and caressed her parted lips surfacing only for a breath now and again.

Half naked, panting briskly and in desperate need of Jamie’s body writhing against her, Claire fumbled with the clasp on her bra as Jamie shimmied out of his trousers. Sounds of their disrobing ricocheted around the small room making Claire’s chest throb in anticipation. She’d barely been touched since her seperation and Jamie’s large, warm, inviting hands against her flesh sent shocks of pleasure rolling through her over and over. Craving more, Claire pushed Jamie down onto the much abused mattress. He bounced a little as he fell, his curls coming rest in tiny ringlets around his head as he slid Claire’s skirt upwards to reveal her underwear.

“Take them off,” she moaned lowly, rolling her hips down as she came to rest on top of him.

Mustering up the energy, Jamie ran his hands along the inside of her thighs, his wrists scraping the backs of them as he reached under the elastic of her knickers, dragging them down as far as he could reach. Pushing them over her knees, he waited until she’d managed to shimmy herself out of them before pulling her legs apart. Her breasts sat snuggly against his chest, the feel of them making the hairs on his arms stand upright as they settled against one another with ease.

“You...still have your...pants on,” Claire panted in-between kisses, her hips rolling once more to indicate her problem. Wanton as she was, she didn’t care about the lewd motions she was making so long as he removed the last barrier that existed between them. Clenching her thighs either side of his, she managed to get her arm down far enough to tug at the waistband of the offending article as she tried to rid him of the annoying fabric.

“Oh god, Claire,” Jamie gasped, aiding her in pushing the material down as far as he could. Legs trapped now, he was at her mercy and happy to be there.

Claire took full advantage and placed her hand carefully against him. “Jamie,” she sighed, wrapping her agile fingers around him and stroking upwards. She was gentle, reverent almost, as she touched his aching flesh. He wanted her, and badly, the growing desire throbbing softly in Claire’s palm as she shifted her hips to allow him close enough.

Unable to think clearly, Jamie felt the moisture of her as she twisted her hips, forcing herself down as slow as she dared to go. But he could tell she needed him as much as he needed her and it wasn’t long before - using her hands against his chest to keep her upright - she was rising and falling against him at such a fast pace. He could barely match her, his hips raising off the bed and slapping noisily against her as she fell down to meet him.

She was glorious, her luscious curls sitting over her right shoulder, bouncing carelessly against her neck as she sat astride him. His boxer shorts still prevented him from twisting her over, but he was happy as he was, beneath her, enjoying the twin pleasures of being inside her whilst at her mercy.

“Give me yer mouth...Claire,” he half sighed, half groaned, his shoulders pushing him off the bed as he tried to close the gap between their lips. He could feel the mounting tension within him and not only did he *not* want to finish before her, Jamie also didn’t want it to end with her so far away. “Come here, please?”

Letting her body almost bonelessly flop forwards, Claire concealed both of them inside a cocoon of her hair, letting his hands grip onto her arse, guiding her movements as she did as she’d been asked. His mouth was beautifully soft, his reddened lips tasting vaguely of whatever corporate beer they’d had at the BBC. A mixture of that and fresh air she decided as the rub of the over-starched linens began to grate painfully against her irritated knees.

“I’m going to…” she keened, her fingers finding purchase in the flat pillows just above Jamie’s head as she dug her nails into the strangely hard duck-down.

“Let go, Claire.” Jamie whispered against her lips, holding her hips against his, flush so that the hairs on his pubis rocked subtly against her swollen flesh.

Crying out, Claire let her mouth open only briefly to release the pressure that’d been building within her since their tet-a-tet on the plush sofa of the green room back in the White City studios. Her tongue dove straight back into Jamie’s mouth, sealing their lips tight as she held on just long enough to hear him come apart beneath her.

-- --- --

Bleary eyed and sore, Claire and Jamie both lay side by side, the aftermath concealed below them at the foot of the bed as they curled carefully around one another.

“I dinna want to leave tomorrow,” Jamie confessed quietly, his eyes closed as he leaned to kiss Claire on the forehead. “Is that madness?”

“Then stay.” Claire replied, her fingertips running circular patterns against Jamie’s bare chest. “You don’t need this place, you can come to mine...if you’d like?”

“Ye dinna have to work?”

“Not tomorrow, no,” Claire answered, her body suddenly reawakened at the idea that she didn’t have to say goodbye to Jamie so soon.

“Alright,” Jamie agreed, a contented smile creeping across his face, “One more day then?”

“Yes,” Claire sighed, sliding her leg up and along his atop the thin hotel bedding, “one whole day.”

#outlander #ficlet #drOUTLANDER Fic #Jamie X Claire #blind date au #Blind Date

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lamujerarana · 6 years

Note

108... doom and reed...

I hope you don’t mind that I changed the phrasing of the line you chose a bit, but I’ve had this idea rolling around my head for a while, and I wanted to write it.

***

MANY YEARS AGO, AT STATE UNIVERSITY:

“Richards, cease that insipid sighing!” Victor snarled over the chessboard they’d laid out between them on Victor’s dormitory bed. “If this is an ill-advised attempt to win the game by infuriating me, I assure you it will not succeed. I am the master of my emotions. This will not distract me!”

“To be honest with you, Victor,” Reed sighed again, much to Victor’s great and visible displeasure, “I’m hardly paying attention to the game.”

“That much is obvious,” Victor snapped. “I win in three moves. There have only been four so far. Even allowing for your limited mental capacities, this is deplorable.”

Reed peered down at the board and found that what Victor said was true. “I’m sorry, Victor. I suppose I’m just distracted.”

While Victor never rolled his eyes (because he thought it was undignified), Reed could tell he wanted to. “Richards, whatever is the matter with you, I am not interested. Go whine to your football player.”

Reed started to sigh, but a glare from Victor stopped him. “I can’t talk to Ben about it. It’s about Ben.”

Victor’s snort was full of scorn. “Did the insipid oaf forget to bring you flowers this morning?”

“No,” Reed said mournfully. Ben had never brought Reed flowers, no matter how badly Reed wanted him to. “He started dating someone. Alynn Chambers.”

Victor looked genuinely confused. “Then you and he are not—?”

“No,” Reed said and he sighed again because he just couldn’t help it. “That’s the problem.”

Cut for length.

Victor did not seem to realize that he had gotten himself sucked into precisely the conversation he had been doing his best to avoid. “Good,” he said firmly. “He is your intellectual inferior and by no means worthy of you, Richards. I don’t know what possessed you to waste any time on such a cretin. Surely even you can do better.”

“Intelligence isn’t everything, Victor,” Reed said. He slid one of his white bishops a few squares forward and took one of Victor’s black pawns. “Ben is kind, and compassionate, and generous, and brave—”

Victor cut him off, which was probably a good thing because Reed would have gone on listing Ben’s good qualities until he exhausted them, and there were a lot. “And he has biceps the size of my head. No doubt that had something to do with it. I would have thought you above such petty considerations, Richards.”

“It’s really more about the kindness,” Reed insisted. “And he has a nice laugh. Laughs are important, Victor.”

“Oh, I’m sure you think so,” Victor said viciously. He slammed his black rook down where Reed’s white knight had been a few moments ago, though now it was rolling off the board and onto Victor’s dark blue quilt. “How you manage to maintain prolonged conversations with imbeciles like him is beyond me.”

“It’s not so hard,” Reed said dryly, “when you learn to value qualities besides intelligence. Haven’t you ever cared about anyone who wasn’t as intelligent as you? Parents? Siblings? Fr—“ Reed was going to say “friends” but he stopped himself. If his time at State U was any indication, Victor had never had any friends. But, then again, Victor never talked about his life before coming to State U at all. Reed knew little about it. “Erm. Anyone?”

Victor stared intently at the chessboard. “Well,” he admitted. “I suppose there was a girl. Once.”

Reed didn’t know what he was more taken aback by—the fact that Victor had had a girlfriend once, or that he was telling Reed about it. “Oh. Did it matter that she wasn’t as smart as you?”

There was a long pause. “No. I suppose not. There were…other factors.”

“Precisely,” Reed said. He slid his last white knight three spaces to the left. “That’s why I love Ben. Other factors.”

“Still,” Victor said. “It would be better to be with someone who was your intellectual equal.”

Reed laughed. “That would be a very short list. Currently, it would be comprised of, well, you.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “Richards, while I am flattered and of course I understand why you are interested in me, I am simply not interested you. I could also point out that we are not equals, as I am clearly your intellectual superior.”

“Victor, I wasn’t—I already told you. I’m in love with Ben.”

“Ah,” Victor said. “That’s convenient, because I am still in love with my Valeria.”

“Good,” Reed said. “So we aren’t interested in each other. That’s settled then.”

“Of course,” Victor ventured, right as he toppled Reed’s king over. “My Valeria is an ocean away, and your Bernard doesn’t love you.”

“Ben,” Reed corrected.

Victor waved a hand dismissively. “His name is unimportant.”

“Well. I don’t understand what you’re driving at,” Reed said.

“I’m suggesting that we distract each other,” Victor clarified.

“Are you proposing a ‘friends with benefits’-style arrangement?” Reed asked suspiciously.

He was sure he must be misinterpreting Victor’s words.

“I have no idea what that means, Richards,” Victor said. “But we are not friends.” Reed wasn’t sure Victor would recognize a friend if he was sitting on his bed playing chess with him. “I am proposing sex without any emotional attachment whatsoever.”

“Why on Earth would I agree to that, Victor?”

“To forget your Benedict.”

“Ben,” Reed said automatically.

Victor snorted. “I do not care to recall his name. It is a waste of valuable brain matter.”

Reed thought it over.

Victor was actually very handsome, now that Reed thought about it, but there was a darkness to him, a rage, a coldness, that Reed found off-putting. He didn’t think he could ever love Victor the way he loved Ben.

But he supposed if it was just sex, that shouldn’t matter.

And he was, admittedly, desperate to forget about Ben, who had been all he’d been able to think about for years.

“All right,” he said. “You’re on.”

He suspected already it was the worst decision he’d ever made, but what was the worst that could happen?

NOW, AT CASTLE DOOM, DOOMSTADT, LATVERIA:

Reed found out years later in the middle of the umpteenth fight-to-the-death between the FF and Victor in Castle Doom.

Even Reed had to admit that Victor had, temporarily at least, gained the upper hand. His Doombots had managed to get power-negating collars round all of their necks, and handcuffs to keep them from attacking him anyway.

Victor, as always, was convinced he had won and that the FF were permanently beaten.

Reed wasn’t too worried. He knew he’d find a way out before too long. He always did.

He had plenty of time to come up with a way to escape, given that Victor was currently monologuing about his boundless genius.

Reed sighed. In some ways, Victor—now a dictator, clad head to foot in iron—had changed drastically from their days at State U, but in other ways…he was the same haughty boy who loved patting himself on the back for the smallest accomplishment.

Really, Victor never learned.

Reed was so busy trying to come up with a way out of their predicament that he was hardly listening to what Victor was saying…until, that was, Victor came to a halt in front of him, the heavy clang of metal ringing against stone floors, and said, “Richards, I must admit, you always did look rather fetching on your knees.”

Reed froze and hoped against hope that Ben, Sue, and Johnny wouldn’t catch the clearly sexual innuendo.

“Wait,” Johnny said, head poking out to Sue’s left. “What?”

“Reed,” Sue frowned, “what is he talking about?”

“He’s lyin’,” Ben said confidently. “Reed would never with the likes o’ him. ‘specially given how he treated me even when we wuz in college.”

“Have you forgotten?” Victor said, smiling beneath the iron mask. “I do not lie. I have no need to lie when the truth is so much more satisfying.”

“Reed,” Sue said, but Reed could hear in her voice that she was beginning to believe Victor. “Say it’s not true.”

“Dude,” Johnny said. “Tell me you didn’t fuck Doctor Doom.”

“No,” Victor said, although his meaning was rather unfortunately plain. “He did not.”

“Oh!” Johnny said when he caught Victor’s meaning, looking thoroughly disgusted. “Gross! Reed! Dude, just why?”

“I—“ Reed looked back and forth between Victor and his family. Now this he could find no way out of. “We were in college. He was just…Victor then, not a mass-murdering tyrant and supervillain. I had no idea he would become Doctor Doom. Besides, it only lasted a few months, and it was never anything serious.”

“No,” Victor said annoyedly. “Richards was far too besotted with his oafish football player.”

Victor glared at Ben, and Reed was uncomfortable with the degree of homicidal rage he saw in Victor’s eyes and half-tempted to throw himself in front of Ben protectively. He knew that Victor was perfectly capable of murdering Ben on a whim.

“Wait,” Ben said, remembering precisely what Reed had been hoping he wouldn’t. “Hold on. Is he that mysterious guy you were seein’ right before you ‘nd me got together? The guy you would never…tell me…anything about…and…you always came home with bruises in weird places…”

“Yes,” Victor said, seeming to take great joy in the dismay written all over Ben’s rocky orange features. “Richards was mine before he was ever yours.”

“I was never yours, Victor,” Reed said fiercely. “Not any part of me. I was always Ben’s. Even when I was with you.”

Something seemed to click for Sue. “Wait a minute,” she said, gazing up at Victor with something like pity in her eyes. “That’s what…this is all about, isn’t it? Reed chose Ben over you, and you’ve never forgiven him for it. Did you…were you in love with my husband?”

“No,” Reed said instantly. “Impossible. Victor never cared about me. It was just…sex.”

“Ew,” Johnny said. “Wrong. Did not ever need to know about this.”

“Richards is correct,” Victor said. “I never did love him.” Somehow, Reed didn’t find that quite as convincing as he would have liked. “I simply have never been able to forgive him for choosing that dimwitted lout over someone who was clearly superior in every way.”

“Why…would you care who I chose if you didn’t love me?” Reed said. Oh, god. He was…beginning to see Victor’s obsession with hurting him in an entirely new light. And Victor’s petty hatred of Ben—it was jealousy. He couldn’t believe it had never occurred to him that Victor had fallen in love with him. He was remembering now with great regret how indifferently he’d broken things off with Victor. It seemed cruel, almost. But he truly hadn’t thought that Victor cared. “Victor. If I’d known how you felt, I would have handled things very differently, I never would have—”

Broken up with him via text message. Ouch.

Victor waved a hand imperiously. “I have no interest in continuing this insipid conversation, Richards. Doombots, return them to their cells.”

As Reed was dragged out of Victor’s throne room, he couldn’t help but think that Victor looked…rather more lonely and tragic than he ever had before.

#victorreed #reed richards #victor von doom #my fic #unrequited victorreed really #some benreedsue too #ableist language cw #Anonymous

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fourteenacross · 7 years

Note

lams + "may we meet again"

(the “give me a pairing and a title and I’ll tell you about a fic I’m not writing” meme)

OKAY, SO. This is def a story that’s posted in two parts, “then” and “now.”

update: ugh I kinda want to write this one?

THENWe’re in 1999! As wee bb!nerds, John and Alex attend the same gifted and talented summer camp and end up in the same tent and on the same schedule. It’s one of those places that tries to be academic and prestigious by interspersing actual mini-classes in between canoeing and hiking and campfires, and the two of them are in the same classes. John’s first choice was art, which his father only let him do if he also did debate. Alex’s first choice was debate and signed up late, so he was stuck with art as his second.

It takes about two seconds for them to go from strangers to best friends and they spend the entire summer doing everything together–every class, every lake trip, every hike, every camp out. They perform together in the talent show (rapping something bizarre they made up themselves about camp) and John even lets Alex be his partner for a cooperative art project, even though Alex is shit at art–they come up with a way to blend John’s art with Alex’s words in a way that doesn’t involve Alex mucking up with paint and markers, thank god. They stay up late every night in their tent, talking about their lives and their dreams and what they want to do when they grow up. They get yelled at by their counselors constantly for chatting with each other instead of sleeping or eating or paying attention. People can barely remember that they were total strangers at the start of camp.

But, camp ends eventually and Alex is going back to New York and John is going back to South Carolina and he is positively distraught that they won’t be together all the time any longer. Alex is upset, but a little more resigned–at this point in his life, his dad has left him, his mother and cousin and uncle have died, and his brother hasn’t even bothered to talk to him since they were put in different foster homes. He’s used to losing people. They promise up and down to email and write and stay in contact and maybe Alex can come visit?

The time comes and the kids flying home solo are brought to the airport and the boys hug and John DOES NOT CRY, but maybe he feels a little sick and hot all over as he walks to his gate, profoundly sad. Even his dad letting him choose the music on the drive home from the airport doesn’t cheer him up.

But they do email! For a while, at least! Alexander’s emails are long, rambly things about school and his foster family and politics and the comic books he’s reading. John’s messages are shorter, mostly answers to Alex’s questions and tiny observations about his life. About a year into their correspondance, he starts to think he might be gay and Alex is the first one he comes out to, afraid of what his family and friends will say. Alex comforts him, threatening to beat up anyone who might reject him, and, in a roundabout way, starts to question his own sexuality. (“So, I’m thinking about it and all those reasons you think you might be gay? I kind of feel that way too? But I also still like girls? I’m going to do an internet search on this.”)

The tiny spark of hope that blooms in John’s chest when he gets that email is the very first time that John starts to recognize his GIGANTIC CRUSH ON ALEX that has probably existed since the first day they met.

So there’s a whole other thing to panic about–suddenly, telling his dad and siblings and being disowned is a secondary issue because he likes Alex. Like, a lot. And what if Alex finds out? What if Alex finds out and doesn’t want to be friends anymore?

As it turns out, he doesn’t have long to worry about that–a few weeks later, Alex dejectedly tells John that he’s being moved to a new foster placement and he doesn’t know when he’ll have a chance to write again. And suddenly, John has a third thing to panic about.

“He’s just moving,” Martha tells him. “You guys are best friends, right? Why would he stop writing to you?”

Except…he does. He sends one more message saying that his new placement doesn’t even have INTERNET and he’s going to have to email John AT THE LIBRARY and it’s going to be awful, but he’ll let John know when he’s settled and send his new e-mail address.

So John waits. And waits. And waits.

He holds out hope for six months, and then, one evening over dinner, dad says, “What ever happened to that camp boy you were always talking about?”

And he bursts spectacularly into tears not really befitting a thirteen year old boy as he sobs to his father, “Alex moved and he never emailed me back after and I don’t think he likes me anymore!”

(His father, in comforting him, misinterprets how he means the word “like,” and that’s how John realizes he doesn’t need to come out to his dad because he already sort of figured it out.)

After he calms down, on his father’s advice, he sends one last email out to Alex saying that he misses him and he hopes to hear from him soon and sucks it up and tries to move on with his life.

NOWAnd move on he does! Now we’re in 2016! John’s about thirty, living in New York and doing what would be the starving artist thing if he didn’t have a trust fund. He doesn’t actually need to dip into that money as much as he could, though–he’s…a pretty good artist, as it turns out. He does a lot of picture books–last year he was on a lot of shortlists for the Caldecott medal, though he ultimately didn’t get either an honor or the medal–some freelance illustration, and a lot of stuff just for him. He’s had a lot of failed relationships with both dudes who were shitty and dudes who were decent. He has a solid handful of friends.

He also hasn’t googled Alex’s name in six or seven years, even though he’s thought about it. In college, he started to think more objectively about that whole situation and figured that Alex probably moved to a new placement with no internet, lost John’s email address, and didn’t have access to his old account to get it again. So John decided to try and find him, but, as it turns out, “Alexander Hamilton” is also the name of a professional athlete and it is nearly impossible to weed through those results to find his Alex. He even tries “Alexander Hamilton+lawyer,” since that was Alex’s dream when they were twelve, but nothing comes up except a couple of old white dude lawyers with the same name.

Anyway, it’s a regular Thursday night and he’s on his way to regular Thursday night trivia, where he’s going to meet his best friend Mattie’s new girlfriend, along with a friend she’s dragging alone so John won’t be left out of paired challenges. When he gets there, Laf and Herc are already there and waiting semi-patiently on Mattie and Peggy. They finally hurry through the door and John prepares to say something snarky that dies on his lips.

Because, of course, Alexander Hamilton is trailing after them.

John gets up so fast he knocks his chair over and Alex stops dead where he’s standing when he sees John. They just stare at each other for a minute and John wants to hug him so badly because all of those long ago ~*~feelings~*~ are resurfacing. It’s not that he’s still in love with Alex–it’s more like nostalgia for how it felt to be in love with him. Alex makes the decision for him by snapping out of it and running over and freezing halfway into a hug.

“Uh, sorry–can I hug you?”

“Always,” John says, and they hug and cling to each other and everyone else at the table is severely confused by what’s going on.

They try to explain, but Mattie and Peggy and Alex were so late that the game is starting. About five questions into the first round, John and Alex are so thoroughly distracted from answering questions by catching up that Mattie shoves them out of the huddle to talk while the rest of the team works on actually answering questions. They talk the entire length of the game, catching each other up on their lives. John’s college supposition turns out to be right–Alex lost his email address and, in the old days before everyone used webmail, he couldn’t figure out how to find it again. He even went so far as to call their camp and beg John’s phone number out of the camp director, but that was staunchly against policy.

It turns out that the reason that googling “Alexander Hamilton+lawyer” never got him anywhere is because Alex never went to law school. After college, he took a couple years off to earn money to afford law school and ended up ghostwriting and it turns out he’s really good at it? And it stirred up his desire to write his own books, so he writes other people’s books by day and works on his own at night.

After trivia, they explain the whole thing to their friends, with Mattie making eyes at John the entire time because he’s already spilled the whole story to her over a few drunken college nights. Alex and John exchange phone numbers and immediately start texting each other.

The texting doesn’t stop, of course. They text all day, every day. They start having lunches and dinners and drinks when they can grab them. They immediately slip back into their old inseperable dynamic and John realizes after only a few weeks that his heart has gotten in on the muscle memory game as well. He has a crush on Alex again, or still, or maybe it’s not a crush. Maybe it’s something more. Maybe it’s always been something more.

On one of these lunches, Alex pitches John an idea–he has this novel he’s been trying to sell for a couple years and hasn’t gotten any traction on it. One of his query rejections was actually very kind and detailed and boiled down to the fact that the stoy seems like it would be better served by a visual medium.

“Like a movie?” John asks, confused.

“I was thinking like a comic,” Alex says.

It takes a couple weeks because John is terrified of getting his heart broken by allowing himself to fall in love with Alex and then losing him again, but John eventually gives in, as he knows the whole time that he will. They start collaborating in between their other work, spending late nights at each other’s apartments just sketching and outlining and talking over drinks. They completely abandon the concept of personal space. John is L O S I N G his mind and goes on a lot of shitty dates to get Alex out of his system, except it doesn’t work because he’s still seeing Alex basically every day and still stupidly in love with him.

It all comes to a head when Alex shows up early for a meeting and bumps into John’s one night stand and spends the whole meeting looking like a kicked puppy. John can’t concentrate on getting work done and finally asks what’s wrong. Alex is weird and elusive and leaves at the end of their work stuff and John is just at a loss and also terrified that he somehow (he still doesn’t know how or why!) fucked up this super important part of his life with some asshole he met off Grindr. He’s like one glass into drinking himself to sleep when there’s a knock on his door and Alex is back, looking rumpled and determined.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was very unprofessional of me. I shouldn’t have let my feelings affect our work. It won’t happen again.”

John asks him what he’s talking about and he just rambles for a minute about professional life and private life and the history of the eight hour work day and they’re colleagues and he should respect that until John interupts and says, “But before that, we’re friends, right?”

And Alex says, “Of course, of course, definitely we’re friends. And friends are supportive and I’m like, totally supportive of your relationship with that dude.”

And John says, “I don’t have a relationship with that dude, we hooked up off a dating app and I don’t plan to ever see him again?”

And Alex says, “Really?”

And John says, “Yeah? I really only picked him up to get my mind off–”

And catches himself. And they sit there in awkward silence, not looking at each other.

“Work,” John finally says weakly. “To get my mind off of work. And work things.”

“Like colleagues,” Alex supplies.

John closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits.

“Like me?”

John opens his eyes and owns it. He has to believe this won’t ruin their friendship if it’s already been this strong after meeting again for the first time in over a decade.

“Yeah,” he says.

And Alex looks like it’s his fucking birthday, beaming, and before John can interpret that further, Alex is in his personal space asking, “Can I kiss you?”

So there’s kissing and undressing and making out and a little light frottage and they stop themselves long enough to mutually admit they had crushes on each other for years and then get on with the undressing and taking the activities to the bedroom.

Exactly zero of their friends are surprised when they show up at trivia holding hands. And, I don’t know, some more plot things happen, they finish their comic, thematically it somehow ties into what’s going on with them, they successfully pitch it to some indie publisher or launch it as a webcomic or something, everyone lives happily ever after, etc.

The end!

#not writing meme #fic by me #sort of #lams #john laurens #alexander hamilton #sorry these are all thousands of words long #i'm sure normal people do them in like ten sentences #whoops

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fuck-customers · 7 years

Text

I need opinions advice - did my boss try and booty call me?

Okay so - background- everyone at my work gets on reasonably well, we all go out together and have a great time, the atmosphere is very informal. People at my work vary from the ages of 18 to 32, I am 20 and my boss is 32. I really like him, he's just kinda chill. I'm in a relationship and he just came out of one yet as far as we're all aware he's saying this makeup artist who works in the mall. I've never felt harassed or anything around him - I kinda get this 'big brother' vibe from him. We listen to the same music and I've spotted him at gigs before, we realised we're quite similar in mindset, too and we've chatted at length about weird quirks, etc. I dunno, he's definitely got favourites and I'm totally one of them. Not that he treats the non-favourites badly, but I just know he lets me away with more than some other people. But I'm not THE FAVOURITE... there's defo people he likes more than me. Anyway back to the point. I think he hit on me on Saturday. He's never done it before (**** we'll come back to this) and I've never felt perved on by him. I never pictured myself as his type since I am (1) considerably younger than him (2) not very attractive - I'm chubby and a bit of a tomboy with short, messy hair - you're lucky to see me with eyeliner and (3) I have a boyfriend and we're in a committed relationship. Basically one of our coworkers was having a night out for her 21st and he asked if I was going - I told him I wasn't because of genuine lack of funds. He always has a disappointing glare for when I decline invites to things as I'm pretty antisocial yet I hate it (he tells me he's the opposite - he's a complete extrovert but it drains him) however this time he says he's not going either as he's dogsitting his mums dog. We chat about this for a while and then he hits out with, 'You could always come over to mine and okay the dog too.' I'm literally stunned and don't take it in and carry on with the conversation as if I didn't hear it. In hindsight I wish I made a joke about it. So, I'm not sure how to take this - he's a pretty jokey guy AND our work get on well, so it could have just been friendly/a joke. However, he said it pretty deadpan not really in a 'haha come see the dog' or whatever. ****He's never shown an interest me apart from 'one time'. The one time was three or so months ago at a staff night out. We won a booth in the nightclub and lots of free booze. I can't explain how drunk I got but my hangover lasted two days. Basically, what happened was some guy came upto me and was trying to grope me - it was real bad he wouldn't take no for an answer - he followed me around all night and was just ...no... all the girls found it funny and nobody else was doing much about it. I told him I had a boyfriend as it was true but my boss totally went up to the guy and head butted him - and then pretended he was my boyfriend. We held hands and cuddled and took really lame pics together. I just thought he was being protective and nice and never thought anything else of it. I remember being in work a few days later - obviously we were all very drunk but everyone was talking about how 'close' myself and my boss were and how 'intimate' we looked. I got told we didn't kiss but we were pretty nasty with eachother. I heard stories from him touching my ass to me grinding up against him to... god... I don't want to relate it. I remember telling my boyfriend about it who didn't believe it at all as I felt really bad a guilty if it DID happen and confronting my boss about it as the night was pretty cloudy and my work is prone to exaggerating things and he told me he didn't remember either but assumed it was all bs. I did too, as I'm not a very touchy-feely person and there's always rumours going around about coworkers that I don't believe now. **** Anyway, on Sunday I asked him how dogsitting was and everything was fine. However, later on he made a joke about what his hair was like in his younger days. My boyfriend is a bit oversized emo kid and he was like 'I'm sure if you seen me at 21 I would be goodbye ' I laughed this off as other people were around and it's very much his humour but just after that comment the day before it felt more real. Am I being too OTT??? I don't want to confront it unless I make things more awkward and I don't want to report him to HR as most of me honestly things I've misinterpreted his fiendliness and the causalness of his professionalism as something sexual. Pls help!!!

#submissions #fuck co-workers #fuck coworkers #fuck managers #submission

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justjessame · 4 years

Text

Diamonds Are A Boy’s Best Friend Chapter 6

I wasn’t prepared for him to call. Or for him to keep calling. He was careful. He only called when my father wasn’t home, which made me wonder if he was watching the house. Paranoia, a Diamond family trait.

“Liz! Phone!” Lily would call up the stairs, and the first and every other time he'd call.

“Hello?” I was curious. No one had called me since I arrived in Miami, why now?

“Liz?” I heard the click on the downstairs extension telling me Lily had hung up. “Liz, it’s Ike.”

“Hello, Ike.” I felt a flutter in my stomach but forced it away. He was married, remember?

“I was wondering if you were planning on coming out tonight?” No, I wasn’t, but before I could answer he started tempting me. “We’re having-” And he’d give me a band’s name. A special dish. A drink I hadn’t tried.

“I think I’m going to stay in tonight, Ike, but thank you for letting me know.” And I’d start to say goodbye.

“Liz, come on.” He’d plead, almost begging, almost. “You’ll have a good time.”

“I think staying in is a better idea, but thank you, Ike.” And I’d hang up until the next time Father left the house.

It was a repeat, each and every time. I’d answer, reluctantly, but still tempted to hear him. He’d give me all the reasons to come out and play with him. And I’d beg off. Hanging up before anything was said that could be misinterpreted.

It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him. Strangely, even as he tempted me to help him cheat on his wife, I found Ike Evans honorable. It was that I didn’t trust my father, or Lily, because the tension had returned. They spoke, but it wasn’t easy, it wasn’t simple or playful. There was an undercurrent and I knew it was dangerous.

No, I wouldn’t add Ike to my father’s list. A list that I feared had Lily’s name at the top.

“I think you should go out, Liz.” I sighed into the magazine that I’d procured from Lily’s pile. “In fact, I think you should stay the night at Miramar.” What? I looked up at him. He was smiling as though he were offering me a gift. “Not just a night. Take a week. A week with a fresh view.”

“You want me to take a vacation to a hotel down the block from your house?” I asked, certain I was hearing him wrong.

“I want to know how the hotel looks and feels from fresh eyes, Liz.” He explained, taking the seat next to me. “Your eyes, they’re unbiased, they’ll tell me whether my investment is worthwhile or not.”

“So you want me to spy on Mr. Evans?” I clarified. “That doesn’t sound like much of a vacation.” I smirked, but agreed. Why not? I could stay in my room the entire time and be alone.

I packed up a suitcase. Including my bikini and dress cover. I packed books, and my sunglasses. I took nice dresses and my nightgowns. And shaking my head at the absurdity of this entire endeavor I left to go on my ‘vacation’.

“Hello, I’m checking in.” I offered at the front desk.

“Yes, you are.” Ike offered from behind me. “Hand me the key to the -- Suite.” I turned to see him looking down on me like he’d been given a gift. “Come along, Miss Diamond, let me show you to your room.” He took my bag in one hand as I carried my toiletry case.

“You don’t look surprised to see me.” I offered once we were out of earshot. “In fact, you look quite happy to see me.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Liz.” He tossed back as he held the elevator for me. “I’m not surprised. Who do you think fed the idea of your ‘vacation’ to your dad?”

“He’ll kill you.” I breathed. Happy we had the elevator to ourselves. “If he figures it out, and he will, you’ll be dead.”

“Sounds like you care, Liz.” He smiled at me and I wanted to smack him. “Don’t worry. You’re going to give Ben a glowing report. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to give my father a glowing report, am I?” I was, but I wasn’t ready to let him brag about it.

“After all the personal service you’re going to get, Liz, the report is going to glow in the dark.” A twist of pure lust hit me hard. Heavens. “Now let me show you to your suite.”

It was amazing. Open and airy. Muted colors, but still luxurious. I took a look around as he sat my case carefully on the foot of the bed. “Let me take that,” he took my toiletry case and disappeared into what I imagined was the bathroom.

I stayed at the floor length window and stared at the crashing waves. His heat told me he was closing in, followed quickly by his musky scent. And then his arms wrapped around me from behind and his head was on top of mine. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy the feel of him. His strength. The pounding of his heart through his suit and tie.

“I’m glad you’re here, Liz.” His voice was rough, harsher than I’d ever heard it. “Turn around?”

I opened my eyes and looked up at him as I turned. “Ike, we shouldn’t-” He cut me off with a kiss, one that I wish I could say I pulled away from, but that would be a lie. I won’t say I pushed at him to try to fight it. My fingers were in his hair, holding him tight to me, as his hands found my lower back and pulled my body flush with his. I could feel how hard he was. How much I affected him.

“Why not, Liz?” He asked again, different words, same question. “Why can’t we?” His fingers were sliding my zipper down, even as I fought to remember why we shouldn’t. Then his bare hands met my bare skin, and thinking wasn’t possible. “You want this too, don’t you?”

I bit his bottom lip in answer and licked into his mouth. “Stop talking, Ike.” And then my dress was puddled around my heels, and I was pushing his suit jacket from his shoulders.

“Red?” He asked, touching the lace of my bra, and then cupping me through my underwear.

“Someone mentioned I might look nice in the color.” I answered, pulling his tie free from his shirt. “You’re still talking.”

“I think someone told you you’d look amazing in-” I kissed him hard, praying he understood. Talking to me, reminding me of why we shouldn’t would force me to stop. “No talking, understood.” And then his fingers found the clasp on my bra and all talking stopped as we worked to see who looked best in the flesh.

Once we were both gloriously naked, and I say that word with no sarcasm, because Ike Evans was glorious naked, we finally found the bed. His chest hair, the tanned skin, and every single inch of him was tempting me to taste. One of us kicked my suitcase off the end. And then I allowed the temptation to overtake me and I started tasting his neck. Salty, but definitely delicious. His chest, salt with a hint of his musk. His abdomen, definitely worthy of attention, even if I couldn’t place the flavor. And then, situated between his spread legs, I took in a most particular delicacy. Licking from the bottom of his rigid length to the swollen tip, I felt his hips rise from the mattress. My eyes met his as my mouth engulfed him and I heard and saw his sigh. Humming at a flavor uniquely Ike, I took my time tasting and teasing.

“Liz,” he gasped, but I didn’t move. “Liz, damn it, get up here.” An order? Really. And then, his hands met my cheeks and my eyes locked back on his. “Please, Liz.” Ah, that’s better.

Releasing him with a loud pop, I wiped my chin with my thumb. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Evans?”

And then I was underneath his weight, and my giggles mingled with his laugh, but all joking stopped as he slid inside of me. “Next time,” he swore, our eyes meeting again. “Next time, I’m having you for lunch.” And then he moved and our lips met and nothing else mattered. Nothing except me, him, and this bed. My legs wrapped around his waist, letting him slide just a touch deeper and we both moaned loud enough that I hoped the walls were well insulated. “Damn, Liz.” His thrusts began slowly, leisurely, teasing.

“Faster, Ike, please.” And like he’d promised in the elevator, he gave me his personal attention, and gave me everything I asked for and more. “Harder.” I swore we’d break the bed, as hard as he was going, but I didn’t care. I grazed his shoulder with my teeth, careful not to leave a mark, but wanting so badly to. “Yes.” He hit that spot, the elusive one and finding it once, he returned to it. Until I was screaming, and he was trying to swallow my noise with his mouth, even as his own pleasure took him over.

He stayed cradled over me. Kissing my lips, my forehead, my cheeks, my neck. “Liz,” he muttered, saying my name over and over, as though reminding himself and me, just who gave him that release.

It took me some time to regain my breath. And to calm my pounding heart, but my hands busied themselves with memorizing every muscle in his back. The curve of his backside. Numbering the hairs on his head and chest. This might be the worst idea, but it felt incredibly right.

He had to leave, of course, the workings of a hotel without its owner was unimaginable. But he kissed me breathless, and it took him longer to get his clothes back on than it had probably taken him to get dressed this morning. And then, handing me the room key, he kissed my nose and told me not to forget dinner.

“I’m planning on room service tonight.” I answered, feeling the pleasant ache grow from the exercise I’d just performed. “Have a good evening, Ike.”

“You too, Liz.” And it wasn’t until the door closed that it came rushing back to me. My father. His wife. And all the reasons why we shouldn’t have given in.

#magic city #Ike evans x ofc #ben diamond's daughter #Smut #mutual pining #alternative universe

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