#dig* for in text 'evidence' that he's not actually mute. Or whatever. Which is like are you SERIOUS you're trying TO DISPROVE THE IDEA

[hollypastl]

the disappearance of [REDACTED] ch.1

miya atsumu/reader

Summary: "MISSING: MIYA Y/N" It reads. Underneath is a picture of yourself. Age, height, weight. Everything important is listed. How embarrassing.

Genre: angst/mystery

Warnings: missing persons, time skip spoilers

Notes: crossposted on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28726002/chapters/70432233 

chapter one: love is so short. forgetting is so long

He wakes up painfully aware that your weight is missing from his arms. It’s a little unusual. Most mornings, you two end up dragging each other out of bed. He’s not a morning person and you’re more than content to occupy him with your entire body weight. The flutter of your breath on his face and the gentle, but firm way you play with his fingers is soothing. Eventually, responsible thought wins out and one of you will bribe the other with a hot shower or an omelette. Usually.

But not today. His feet land on the floor after a good horizontal stretch and Atsumu yawns. He squints at the clock. 10:24 AM. “Hey, babe? Didja screw with my phone?” He calls, getting up from bed and heading towards the kitchen.

There’s a muffin and a bottle of iced coffee sitting on the kitchen counter, which he hungrily digs into. A part of him is resigned and ready to get caught red handed, scarfing down something which you were saving , but the second the banana flavor hits his tongue he knows it’s intended for him. Your distaste for the flavor is something even ‘Samu hasn’t been able to sway.

His eyes wander around the messy apartment you two share while he lazily munches away on his muffin and throws back the drink. Even through the mess, his gaze lands on a neatly folded slip of paper that’s stuck to the fridge with a Hello Kitty magnet. (And as much as he insisted to everyone ever invited over that it was yours, you both knew it was his. A leftover remnant of his childhood collection of random festival prizes.)

It’s a reach from his seat at the counter to the fridge, but he makes it without standing up or tipping over his chair. The coffee still slips from his grip and shatters on the floor.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

The safety hazard is ignored as he forces himself to reread it slower.

You’ve signed your name at the bottom, but the ink is blurred. It’s just a single drop, and he’s always known you to shed tears at the drop of a hat. He wonders what could’ve restrained you to not have wet stains all over the page.

It’s a joke.

It has to be.

The wedding ring on his finger suddenly feels tighter, like his blood flow is being constricted.

Your phone number is his first call.

He doesn’t know what he expects, but the vibrations of your phone on the table by the front door isn’t it. Whatever. Move on. He calls your parents house, but they haven’t heard from you. And you’re not at work either. In fact, when the boss gets on the phone, he explains he got a text early this morning that you quit out of the blue.

A myriadic list of other people to question is filling up in his head but he can’t quite bring himself to call.

The Jackal’s manager is buzzing him next. It’s rude, but he sends him straight to voicemail. Who cares that he’s late to practice?

He’s much too busy wondering where you’ve disappeared to.

Which is how he ends up nervously twiddling his thumbs in a police precinct.

The officer is rude. Actually, he’s not. He just thinks the guy is being a jackass because he’s not being particularly helpful.

“We’ll be happy to search for signs she was taken against her will, but judging by the note she left and that you found no signs of a break-in, it sounds like she left of her own volition.” And the absolute gut punch of, “Miya-san… Are you sure she didn’t run off with another man?”

He can’t wrap his head around it. The detective recognizing him barely makes him feel better. “Miya… MiyA-SENSHU? We’ll have our best investigators on this, I promise you! Can I get you a cup of coffee? Did you walk here? Someone will drive you home.”

He watches absently as the officer who drove him back pokes around the apartment. Pictures are snapped and locks are inspected. Your hairbrush is bagged as DNA evidence and Atsumu silently notices your sneakers and his favorite hoodie gone from the closet.

It doesn’t seem real. You should be on your lunch break right now, sending him a text or even calling to ask if he wants to go visit his parents next week.

When the man finally leaves, Atsumu’s pocket starts buzzing once again.

His breath catches when it turns out to be your phone and not his. The number isn’t listed and he stops breathing entirely at that. A desperate part of him hopes you’re on the other end of the line as he brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“This is Kitano Medical Imaging Center, I have information regarding scans for Miya Y/N.”

“She’s-” He chokes from the lack of air. Isn’t breathing supposed to be something he doesn’t have to think about anymore? “She’s not available at the moment. M’her husband though, I can pass it along.”

They’re silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, but I’m unable to release medical information to anyone but the patient at this time. Thank you and good day, sir.”

He chews on his bottom lip at that. The hell did that mean? What name had they given? Kitano? Osaka General was closer.

And what about these scans you had gotten done?

Knocking at his door busts him out of his head. What was it now? He considers ignoring it but, “C’mon, open up ‘Tsum-tsum!” Bokuto isn’t one to be easily discouraged.

But the shattered glass still lying on his kitchen floor steals his attention and mutes the shouting, if only slightly. Bokuto will have questions that Atsumu doesn’t care to or just doesn’t have the answers to. Instead, he lets his teammate tire himself out while he sits at the kitchen counter, staring blankly at the hazard he has yet to clean up.

He shows up to training half an hour early the next morning, getting a headstart on lat pull-downs before anyone else has even arrived. The team trickles in slowly and it would be a lie to say he didn’t notice the little glances they keep giving him. Everyone is on edge and the scowl marring his face probably doesn’t help the mood.

“Whaddya’ mean it’s written all over m’face?” He frowned, shouldering his bag.

“Atsumu.” Even though your back was to him, he could tell you were rolling your eyes as you locked up the gym. “You’re chronically easy to read.”

“Am not!”

You rested a hand on your hip, narrowing your eyes. “C’mon, I think it’s cute how you wear your heart on your sleeve,” The door clicked shut and you swung around, keys and lanyard in hand. “If you want, I’ll let you in on the secret of how I mastered my poker face.” You offered, elbowing him.

“Hah! Yeah, right! Last week ya cried when Kita-senpai said ya weren’t good at cleanin’ water bottles.”

It was true, you had burst into tears. “Please. Fake crying is a much more advanced skill. I’m talkin’ about a good ‘ole blank and neutral expression—”

“Wait, ya mean ya did that on purpose?” He threw an incredulous look your way.

You rolled your eyes once more. He was so naive. “Senpai did end up washing the whole crate for me, didn’t he?”

Atsumu stared at you, jaw slack.

“Atsumu?” You waved a hand in front of your face.

“Atsumu, you good?”

“Huh?”

“I asked why you went AWOL yesterday.” Meian’s brow furrowed and Atsumu forced out an answer he had decided hours ago.

“Just a family issue, sorry I didn’t get the chance to call, man.”

He could almost hear your voice now, congratulating him on keeping cool. He feels sick. Like a kid who’s eaten too much for their lil’ stomach to handle and is about to vomit all over the floor. That exact thing had happened to ‘Samu once. It was someone’s birthday in their middle school class —he couldn’t remember who— and the idiot had eaten five pieces of cake while nobody was looking.

It wouldn’t have been a problem on it’s own. The glutton wouldn’t dare waste food by throwing it up. The problem came when he washed it all down with spiked punch.

The class had gotten in so much trouble for that.

Nobody had seen it happen and the culprit wouldn’t come forward. The entire class was forced to endure cleaning duty for a month and they were banned from participating in the sports festival. He had been so pissed.

Now it’s just a bad memory in the bad of his mind. Thoughts absentmindedly trailing back to you, (like they always seem to) he wonders where you had been during that incident. You hadn’t been friends with him yet. He didn’t even know your first name at that point. But you had been in his class. He distinctly remembers arbitrarily voting you for class rep because you were pretty.

And, now that he really thinks about it, he remembers seeing your arm slowly rise.

“It was me. I did it. It was a really bad joke and I’m sorry.”

He’d been sitting a couple rows behind you, so he couldn’t see the look on your face, but he knew it must’ve been painted with shame.

Nobody believed you. Without missing a beat, the assistant principal had kindly told you it was noble to try and take the fall. Your friend had tugged on the edge of your skirt, beckoning for you to sit down. Just like that, it was over. He’s surprised he can recall it. The whole thing, start to finish, must’ve been less than fifteen seconds. He doubts anyone else remembers but you.

He considers your words from back then. How you had said it was just a bad joke.

His immature ass, having stomach pains from laughing so hard, would beg to differ. Your jokes never fall flat.

He finishes his set and moves to the leg press.

Desperately, he needs to believe the past twenty four hours have been a joke. That you just left to visit a friend, or needed some space. But the items on the list keep adding up.

His eyes start tearing up and he wipes the sweat from his forehead.

[olicitysecretsanta]

The Personal Shopper (Olicity Holiday)

Merry Christmas to @bifelicitys! I am your Secret Olicity Santa. I hope that you enjoy this romantic little story for the holiday! 

The Personal Shopper

Felicity Smoak loved this job. Okay, technically, it wasn’t her job-job. It was her side hustle. Everybody she knew had one - an extra means of income - usually independent in nature - that she could use to make money on her off time from being a cyber-security expert at Merlyn Global in Starling City. The money was good, the work was ridiculously easy, and it was helping her to send extra cash to help her mom pay off her home in Vegas. It also helped to keep her busy and totally not thinking about how spending the holidays in a new city could make her feel a little alone. She had moved to town six months prior. 

When Felicity first learned that personal shopping was an actual job, she scoffed. The idea that people paid you to shop for them sounded extravagant and, well, lazy. At first, she only purchased and set up computer systems for Luddites, people who either didn’t understand tech or were legitimately afraid of it. But last month, the agency that placed her asked her to branch out into other shopping tasks. This was how she found herself buying Christmas gifts for a very busy, very wealthy CEO. Initially, she had set up his home office and apparently he was so impressed, he asked the agency to hire her for the purchase of a slew of Christmas gifts for his friends of loved ones. 

Felicity was surprised when she learned of the request. She had only exchanged a handful of emails and texts with Oliver Queen — that was his name — until that point. Of course, she knew she had good taste, a great intuition about what items were suitable, and perhaps most of all, the resourcefulness to find whatever was the right fit, no matter how difficult, but she certainly didn’t expect him to appreciate that that. But he did. 

Since she had become his personal shopper, things with the businessman and Felicity had subtly shifted and there was more of a dialogue taking place between them. The emails were more frequent. There had been…texting. When he liked one of her suggestions, he always responded with text or an enthusiastic emoji. A target with an arrow sticking out of it meant she had nailed it. A goat meant the idea was exceptional. Once he had sent her a heart eyes emoji and then spent three texts explaining that his thumb had slipped and apologizing. That made her chortle for a full five minutes. The idea that a CEO would send her a text with heart eyes in it was hilarious. She had Googled him and knew that he was both handsome and notoriously single. It was best not to get infatuated with that sort of man. Still, Felicity looked forward to their exchanges. Realizing that her holiday duties would be wrapping up soon, she could not help feeling a bit sad. 

On this particular Saturday morning, just days away from Christmas, Felicity entered the security code to a penthouse in what she considered the “fancy-schmancy” district of Starling. A green light on the panel signaled success. She turned the handle on a large wooden door and it swung open easily. On the other side, the clean lines, leather upholstery and muted tones of the apartment that screamed “luxurious bachelor pad.” There were a few paintings and a couple of furry pillows on a sofa, but no hint of personal decorations upon first glance. Normally this didn’t bother Felicity, but on this day it struck her that there was no hint of a holiday going on in the place. 

Really, Oliver? No cheer? There was no evidence around the place, despite its beautiful furnishings, that he was celebrating Christmas. It was all grey and natural, but lacked color and, well, personality. Why didn’t he have a wreath on the front door or one of those Charlie Brown trees on a side table? It made Felicity shake her head.  

The IT specialist/cyber security expert was dressed down today in yoga pants and an oversized green sweater, well aware she wouldn’t see anyone and, more importantly, no one would see her. She removed the messenger bag slung over her shoulder and slipped out of her fluffy winter coat, setting them both on stools by the breakfast bar of the kitchen island. Her boots came off next, leaving her feet covered in a pair of festive Hanukkah socks. Her grandma always kept her flush in themed hosiery. It was their thing. 

Felicity had visited this apartment so many times, she had developed rituals. After leaving her footwear resting by the door, she headed to the wall of windows on the far end of the open living space. They showcased Starling City.. She stood near the glass and hugged herself against a slight draught. The brief chill was worth it for the view. It was a cold, but clear day and she could see for miles, even beyond the city.

When her reverie was done, she went to the stove and filled the stainless steel kettle that always rested on the gas burner. Early instructions on working in the empty apartment had encouraged her to make use of the kitchen, as needed. She did so gratefully. After sourcing a tea bag and a mug from the cabinets, she walked to the dining table and approached the laptop and a note that was left for her. The purchases were all made on Oliver’s laptop, which had his banking attached. It was easier that way and Felicity enjoyed working in the space, far from her small apartment and her tiny office at Merlyn Global. She also found it funny that she was tasked to work on a computer she had initially set up for the man.

Felicity had yet to cross paths with the man himself. It seemed that Oliver Queen was always out of town, or at a work event, or some gala. It had become a source of comedy, actually, how they passed without meeting. Consequently, there was always a typed note with instructions, presumably produced and placed on his dining table by his executive assistant. She had nicknamed the note-fairy “Godfrey” (although she was well aware the woman’s name was Louise) and wondered what it was like to be the sort of assistant who had to go to their boss’s apartment to deliver notes. She read an article that said CEOs sometimes had assistants do their packing.  Godfrey have to pack for the man? Check the wine stash to see if any bottles were missing? (For the record, Felicity had examined the wine cabinet and even Googled a few of the labels out of curiosity, but she would never help herself to something. That was simply not right.)

Something else was not right today. The note. It was handwritten. A confident print with occasional script flourishes mixed in. Still, a man’s hand. 

Dear Felicity,

First, thank you so much for everything you have done over the last months. I have appreciated your expertise more than I can say. You have done such a wonderful job sourcing gifts. It felt at times like you read my mind. 

Felicity couldn’t help but smile. She felt appreciated. It had hardly felt like work to find gifts for Oliver Queen’s close friends and family members, but she liked the acknowledgment. That was something she didn’t get at her regular job.  

I know that my mother is going to love the arrangement you made for the exhibit at the Starling Museum. Her friends at the garden club will be absolutely livid with jealousy and that will be like a second gift to her. 

She nodded. The museum sponsorship had Moira Queen written all over it. Felicity got the idea when she saw a picture of the woman standing in front of a painting in an old issue of Architectural Digest. Did they really have an actual Monet in their actual house? She would have to ask sometime. Yeah, sure. 

Dad will really enjoy the new turntable and the box set of Rolling Stones records (and they will make Mom crazy). We might need to think about head phones. 

She giggled. It had not been her intention to create friction at the Queen Mansion, but when her research revealed that the retired business leader had been in a Stones cover band in college, it just felt right. Now she imagined Robert Queen strutting around his library like Mick Jagger and it made her extremely happy. The man deserved a little rock and roll in his life. 

That amazing bottle of scotch is probably more than my best friend deserves, but it is Christmas. I’m not sure how you found it, but you are quite remarkable. He is going to owe me big time. 

The bottle of Macallan for Tommy Merlyn required a bit of horse trading with a liquor dealer in Coast City and thirty minutes of free advice on the topic of secure point of sale systems. It was worth it and she was victorious. Now, she found it rather funny that she had helped arrange a gift for her boss’s son.  

The Lieber bag you picked out for Thea is perfect for her collection. Thank you for figuring out which one she wanted. 

She wondered if Oliver knew that his baby sister, Thea Queen, was an a-plus operator. As soon as Felicity started digging around to figure out a good gift for the young fashion student, Thea herself reached out and gave her several excellent suggestions and sources for the perfect treat. 

All of the other gifts — the Disney package for the Diggles, the wallet for Walter Steele and the treats for the Board, were, again perfect. I am sure that my assistant is going to be very pleased with the cashmere wrap (and a hefty bonus). 

Felicity knew that wrap was very, very nice. She just couldn’t imagine Godfrey wearing it. Well, she honestly couldn’t imagine Godfrey, period. And she liked it that way. Some mysteries were best left alone - as long as they weren’t technological. 

One the subject of bonuses, please see the envelope (just between us) and accept it with my sincere thanks. You are obviously a clever, observant and nice person. I have enjoyed our messaging back and forth very much during this stressful end of year. You have made me laugh and, well…thank you. O

Felicity blushed a little from the complements and then noticed the aforementioned envelope. She looked inside and her eyes bugged out when she saw the amount. It was too generous. 

She pushed away from the table and stood up, feeling the need to pace. She never expected any kind of gesture like this from a client and she didn’t know how to respond. Should she refuse it and risk offending him? Her brain was clouding up with ethical concerns. Finally, she grabbed her phone and found the familiar contact in her messaging program. 

FS: You are too generous.

A few moments passed. Then she saw dots pulsing on the screen. 

OQ: Not at all. You deserve it. You saved Christmas for me with my family. That means a lot. 

FS: I do appreciate it. Thank you. 

OQ: Are you headed out of town to visit your Mom for the holidays?

Felicity smiled. It was funny how much information had been shared in both directions while doing this job. Of course, it had been necessary to learn about Oliver in order to pick out appropriate gifts, but revealing information about herself had just happened naturally as they exchanged messages. 

FS: No. She is going to Reno with her cousin. It’s a non-stop party with those two through New Years. They wear me out. 

Oliver responded with a celebrating emoji and a smiley face. 

FS: Are you going to be traveling for business through Christmas?

OQ: No, I actually got back last night. 

An alarm bell went off in Felicity’s head at the same time the tea pot whistled. She nearly jumped out of her chair.

FS: You’re here? 

OQ: At my parents through lunch. Tonight there’s a Christmas gala for…something. I’ll be by later to get my tux. 

Felicity breathed a sigh of relief and headed to pour the water in the cup, phone still in hand.  

OQ: Just relax and have that cup of tea. 

She stopped and looked around the kitchen. 

FS: How did you know I’m making tea at your place? Did you get cameras?

OQ: Creepy. No. I could never something like that past a security expert like you. I do get a notification when the alarm is disabled. Remember? You told me to set that up months ago. 

Felicity smirked and submerged the tea bag in the bubbling cup. 

FS: Very good. But that doesn’t explain how you know I’m making a cup of tea. 

OQ: Every time I come home when you’ve been there, the only trash you leave behind is tea-related. 

FS: That’s very observant of you, Mr. Holmes. 

OQ: Thank you, Watson. 

FS: But maybe the tea drinker is Godfrey. 

A laughing emoji was the response. 

OQ: That nickname. 

FS: Not on-point?

OQ: Eerily accurate. Louise is a gem though. 

FS: She must be to go through your unmentionables.

OQ: What???

FS: I read that some CEOs have their assistants pack for them. 

OQ: That’s just wrong. I must admit, I do get a lot of help to manage my life, but I would never ask someone to do that.  

FS: Good. I didn’t think you would be that kind of boss. 

Felicity curled up on the sectional with her cup of tea. A handy throw within arm’s reach was pulled across her lap. 

OQ: There was that one time though. 

Felicity quirked an eyebrow and sent a similar emoji. 

OQ: I had a business trip to Washington, DC and it got extended from two days to five. Louise had underwear and socks delivered to me. New. From Amazon. Totally unsolicited. 

FS: So, she never touched your actual drawers then?  

OQ: No drawers…of any kind. Ever. Jesus. I do have to make eye contact with her sometimes.

Felicity giggled into her cup and took a sip. 

FS: I just realized, I am pulling you away from holiday merrymaking with your family. Decking the halls and such.

OQ: We don’t actually do that. Mother has the staff decorate. This year’s theme is silver and angst. 

A chuckle erupted from the blonde. 

FS: Don’t you miss putting up your tree?

OQ: Maybe a little. But I travel so much. I’m not around to pitch in anyway. 

Felicity felt the conversation mood slipping. Even though she knew she should end it, she didn’t it to be on a sad note. 

FS: My mother decorated a tree entirely with tacky earrings one year. That was special. 

OQ: Aren’t you Jewish? 

FS: My mother likes to decorate. Christian holidays have been appropriated. And she has A LOT of earrings. Another year we made ornaments out of aluminum foil.

OQ: That sounds very special. 

FS: We Smoaks are resourceful. 

OQ: You are a lot of things, Felicity. Very remarkable. 

FS: Thank you for remarking on it. So, you have a gala tonight. What’s it for? 

OQ: A worthwhile cause. 

FS: You don’t know, do you?

OQ: Nope. 

FS: But you’ll still show up looking pretty, right? 

Felicity pressed send before she thought about it. She grimaced. That was a much too flippant thing to say to Oliver Queen, her client. She really needed to work on her babbling via text. After a moment or two, there was a response. 

It was a blushing emoji.  

FS: I think I should probably leave you to your day. 

OQ: No problem. I do need to go to brunch. Have a great Saturday. And thank you again. 

The end of Oliver’s text was filled with all manner of silly emojis. A snowman. Eyeballs. A scarf. A unicorn. 

What a nice man, she thought. And a generous one - to friends, family, and colleagues. 

Suddenly, Felicity wanted to do something nice for Oliver Queen. Maybe it was crazy, but she would try. She just didn’t have a lot of time. 

>>—> 

It was mid-afternoon when Oliver emerged from the elevator to the penthouse floor of his building carrying a sack of leftovers from his parents’ house. The housekeeper, Raisa, never let him leave empty-handed. He probably would have come home a little later, but he was intrigued. His security system had been disengaged two hours earlier with the code he had provided to Felicity Smoak and it had not been reset. Curiosity pulled at him and he was just a little worried that she might not be okay. 

He had left the note and check early that morning, wanting to be sure she had a nice holiday and knew how much she was appreciated, but as the day had worn on with activities at the mansion, he had really only been thinking of her and their texts. 

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Oliver was struck by the smell of cinnamon and pine. Over near the window, he caught sight of her - a petite blonde with her back to him, reaching up to put a paper snowflake on a sizable Christmas tree. She was adorable from the back, her pony tail swishing back and forth.  And when she lifted her arms, the sweater she was wearing revealed a rather tantalizing yoga pant situation. He had Googled her months ago when he decided to give her access to his home, so he knew how attractive she was, on top of being an exceptionally gifted tech genius. It still burned him that Merlyn had hired her before she was on QC’s radar. But maybe things worked out the way they were supposed to. 

Rather than startle her, he just stood and marveled at the room. There were boughs of holly and sprigs of greenery placed carefully around the room. Candles (the battery-operated ones that looked pretty authentic from a distance) flickered on tables. She had obviously worked fast. His apartment looked like an actual home today - not just an extension of his office or a hotel suite. He wanted to smile, but guarded his features, waiting for the woman to turn to face him. 

When she did, she took his breath away, just a little. Her glasses had slipped down her nose and she gasped at his sudden appearance. 

“Oliver. I mean, Mister Queen. I’m…” Felicity grimaced, suddenly realizing that this spontaneous idea might not be welcome and she had majorly overstepped. Perhaps the man didn’t want all of this holiday nonsense cluttering up his streamlined existence. 

He liked her voice. It was feminine and he wanted to hear more of it. 

“You’ve been busy,” he deadpanned. 

“I just thought,” Felicity stammered as she moved to collect the paper snowflakes she was cutting at the dining table, “you might enjoy some cheer in your home. I am so sorry I intruded. I can come back later when you aren’t home and clear it away.” She wasn’t making eye contact now. 

“Felicity,” Oliver sighed her name for the first time. It felt nice on his lips. “Felicity,” he repeated, finally causing her to stop and look at him. “You will do no such thing.” 

“No?” 

“This is the absolute best present I have gotten in a long time,” he spoke warmly and approached her at the table. 

She bit her lip and looked away, her fingers worrying at a snowflake so much that it was becoming confetti on the floor. 

“It wasn’t a big deal, I…”

“I don’t mean mean the decorations. I mean you,” he stepped closer to her and touched her elbow gently. Felicity looked up at him, breathless. He really was a looker, as her grandma would say. She swallowed hard and swore not to say anything ridiculous for as long as possible. 

Oliver got lost in her blue eyes and stopped speaking, then suddenly realized what he had just said. It sounded kind of overbearing. “Not…not that you’re my present,” he actually stammered. “I mean, your friendship. Meeting you has been such an unexpected gift these last months. Do you understand?” Oliver’s voice was barely a whisper as he studied her face for a response. 

The blonde had to escape his intense gaze, so she looked down at her Hanukkah socks and flexed her toes. Oh geez, she was wearing crazy socks in front of this beautiful man. It suddenly occurred to her that he didn’t care. Felicity blinked and a smile erupted across her sweet face. “Well, technically, we haven’t met yet.” 

“Holy shit, you’re right.” The tall man threw his head back with a chuckle. Then he gathered himself as he would before a business meeting. He stepped back and bowed his head slightly. 

“Hello. My name is Oliver,” He stalled, then, to make it clear that he was not his father. “Oliver Queen. I am an over-scheduled businessman who is completely reliant on other people to do basically everything for him.” He offered his hand to her, quite formally. 

Felicity stood a little straighter and reached out to meet his hand with hers. “Hello. I’m Felicity Smoak MIT Class of Oh-Nine and I am occasionally nosey and completely inappropriate.” 

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Felicity.” 

“Oliver.” She said his name and it sounded sweet to his ears. She grinned afterwards because she liked the sound of it too. 

“Felicity, if you aren’t busy tonight, could you stay and help me decorate this tree? Have dinner?”

“Sure. But you have a thing. A gala thing tonight.” She tried not to look disappointed. 

Oliver thought about the situation for a moment and then pulled his phone out of his pocket. His expression encouraged her to wait while he attended to something. He drafted a text and hit send. Then he waited. 

“I like your socks,” he said idly. He liked everything about Felicity Smoak, actually, but it was a little early to share that. 

“Thank you,” she brightened. “A present from my grandma.”

“Have I mentioned how extraordinary you are, Felicity Smoak?”

“Not in the past ninety seconds.” 

There was then a ping on Oliver’s phone. He looked down at the screen and grinned. He sent another text back. There was a reply. And then another exchange. When it all ended, Oliver breathed a cleansing breath and looked more relaxed. 

“What is it? What just happened?” Felicity couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. 

Oliver turned the phone to show her the conversation. Felicity moved closer and leaned in to read the screen. 

OQ: I need you to do the gala thing tonight in my place. 

TMerlyn: What’s it for?

OQ: A worthy cause.

TMerlyn: You always say that. 

OQ: it’s always true. 

TMerlyn: Why me? Or should I say, why not you? 

OQ: I am decorating my apartment tonight with my new friend.  And you owe me.

TMerlyn: Thank God, you old hermit. Is she pretty? Does she have a friend. Hey, how do I owe you? 

OQ: You will when you see your Xmas present. 

TMerlyn: It better be good, Ollie. And you better send a nice donation to the worthy cause. 

OQ: Will do. Night Tommy. 

Felicity’s heart was beating, being this close to Oliver and having witnessed his private conversation. He wanted to get to know her better. She shivered a little at the prospect. 

“I am suddenly free.” He looked down at her, nearly a head shorter than him and beamed. His eyebrow quirked with an unanswered question. 

“Well, since you are free, I guess it’s good that I am as well.”

“Yay,” he cheered, just loud enough for her to hear. 

“You know, you really need to slow down and take more time for yourself, Oliver.”

“I absolutely agree. And that starts tonight. You could show me how to make these snowflakes for the tree.” 

Oliver took her hand and led her back toward the tree. He didn’t let go and hoped she wouldn’t mind/didn’t notice. 

“Oh, I don’t know. That’s pretty advanced. Do you think you’re ready?”

“Maybe you’re right. I should work my way up to paper crafts.” Oliver looked from her to the tree and sported a playful grin. Next to him, her voice piped up. It was becoming his favorite voice. 

“Right. So, Oliver, do you have any aluminum foil?”

The End

and

Merry Christmas!

[nyx-ships]

Stand By Me (Part One)

Title: Stand By Me Pairing: Delitoonz Rating: T Word Count: 3285 A/N: @fantasyeuphoriaandlace made the mistake of telling me that anything written to the Florence + The Machine version of "Stand By Me" would make her cry. >:) This is part one of a two part fic. -------------------------------------------- He knew. He knew the second Luke came home, smelling like sex and alcohol. He could put two and two together. But he never, never in his mind, thought that his boyfriend, his true love, would do this to him. Never in a millions years did he ever think Luke would pull the ultimate betrayal. Was he bored with him. Was Jon not enough for him? Was Jon doing something wrong in the relationship? There had to be a reason. Whatever it was that drove the older to cheating, it didn't make the situation any less agonizing. Of course, Jon had known for quite some time. He was just waiting for the biggest piece of evidence, the thing that would truly cement his fate. And it had just shown itself. "Get out." His words were harsh and demanding, covering his broken heart. "What?" His words were clipped and confused, as if he didn't know the reason why. "You heard me," Jon looked up from his spot on the couch, eyes digging into Luke's own, "Get. Out." Luke had no reason to act so shocked about his words, they had been arguing for two hours, over the text Luke received. He had been in the kitchen at the time, and Jon was on the couch watching tv, snuggled under a pile of blankets, momentarily forgetting his suspicions to enjoy his night, when he glanced over at the new message on Luke's phone, from an unnamed contact, which the older had mistakenly left on the arm of the couch. *You left your jacket here, swing by later for it and maybe a quickie?* That was all the evidence Jon needed. Two hours of yelling and things being thrown across the room, and Jon was tired. But he was also done. Done with the lies, the secrecy, done with Luke. He loved that man more than life itself, but he couldn't stand by and pretend that he wasn't hurt, broken. He couldn't just let it go. He wanted, needed, Luke out of his house. Not out of his life, though. He still needed Luke as a friend, but obviously a relationship wasn't in order for the two. But right now, he was angry and upset, and he really wanted Luke away from him. He couldn't stand to sleep in the same bed as him, let alone the same house. Not while knowing his body had been touched by another. Jon stared at the wall, voice rough and quiet as he almost begged for Luke to go. "Please, get out. Just-just take your stuff and leave." Luke was quiet for a few moments before he finally moved, grabbing his phone and going to their shared bedroom, where he stayed for a good half hour, presumably packing his things. Jon stayed in his spot on the couch, a couple tears slipping from his eyes, but he willed them to stop while he wrapped himself in a blanket and sipped on the tea he had made himself prior to the argument. He stared at the tv, not really paying attention to what was on, more so using the colors and noise as a distraction. He really thought Luke loved him. He really thought Luke was the one, the man to stand by his side and keep him sane. What a mistake. But, in his defense, in all the years Jon had known the bearded man, he had never once done this to any of his significant others. So what made him do it now? Jon had no idea, and as he listened to the undeniable sound of Luke hitting the wall in the next room, he still couldn't figure it out. When Luke came out of the room, he had a couple suitcases packed with all of his stuff, save his guns and some of his shoes. He had his phone in his back pocket, and it buzzed with a new message, but he didn't bother answering it. He cleared his throat as he stood by the door, hand on the knob as he spoke. "I'll be back later to grab the rest of my stuff..." Jon gave a small nod, head down as he stared at his drink, taking note of his reflection, a question coming into his brain. The question he so badly wanted an answer to. He swallowed harshly, and just as Luke was opening the door, his voice filled the silence. "Who is it." Luke stayed silent, not knowing how to tell the younger male who he had been sleeping with, who he had been going to on occasion. Jon sighed, eyes closing and hands tightening on the mug in his hands, voice a little louder, a little less inviting. "I just wanna know who it is." A few more minutes of tense silence before Luke answered, pushing Jon further into his pit of despair. "Evan." If his heart hadn't broke all the way before, it sure as hell did now. His best friend. Jon didn't speak after that. He just bit his lip and stared at his tea, a sick feeling in his gut as he waited. Not until he heard the door closing and the starting of a car did he let himself cry. At that moment, he really let himself go, placing his tea on the coffee table and curled his legs to his chest, eyes releasing tear after tear as he let out the sobs he had been so carefully holding back. He cried, and he cried hard. Probably harder than he ever had, but it was understandable. Why wouldn't it be. And he didn't feel ashamed, no, he deserved to let the tears fall, he had just been through a Hell like no other. But, at least it couldn't get worse than this, right? Wrong. His phone went off, the ringtone painful to hear. *So darling, darling, stand by me It was their song. Oh, stand by me* His favorite song that Luke would sing to him when he was upset. How ironic it was now. He picked up the phone with shaking hands and a heavy heart, willing the tears to stop and his voice to sound normal, to end the song and start a conversation. "Hello?" "Hey, Jon. I tried to message you but you weren't answering." Ryan. He always called at the worst times, didn't he? "Oh, sorry, haha. I was takin' a nap, whas'up?" He heard the soft breathing of the male on the other line, as if he wasn't sure of what to say. "I was just wondering if you wanted to record in a little while-are you alright? You sound upset." He could always see through Jon's fake happiness. Jon put him on mute for a second while he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and answering with a more joyful tone. "Yeah, I'm fine dude. S'prolly 'cause I just woke up, haha." He could feel the reluctance on Ryan's side, could feel the worry radiating off his friend. "You sure?" "Positive," he paused for effect, "what game did ya have in mind, man?" He could hear Ryan sighing, and knew the older one wasn't going let it go. He was going to push Jon to tell him the issue. But Jon didn't want to share this issue. "I was thinking we could do some Battleship. I would pick Deceit, but Bryce is asleep and Luke isn't answering his phone-listen, are you sure there's nothing you wanna talk about?" The sharp inhale after he mentioned Luke must've given Jon away. And at this point, Jon was on the verge of bawling again. He knew he wouldn't last long before he broke down. So, he took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and spoke. "I'm not in a good place right now..." He heard a noise that must've been Ryan opening his fridge. "What happened, Delirious?" The heartbroken man closed his eyes at the nickname and the concern in Ryan's voice. He exhaled shakily and bit his lip, finally tearing down his walls and bursting out his secret. "Luke cheated on me..." The words were harsh and abrupt, with a hint of pain, and Ryan stayed silent on the other line, frozen in place at the news. He was confused, completely caught by surprise. This wasn't likely to be a joke, but he half hoped it was. Luke wouldn't possibly do that, would he? 30 seconds of Ryan thinking later, and he could hear Jon crying. It wasn't a sound he was accustomed to, it was one he had hoped he'd never hear. But the fact that Luke was the reason for those heartbreaking cries is what made it ten times worse. Ryan could only manage two words at the moment. "Oh, Jon...." Jon hated the way he said it. It was filled with pity, and he absolutely hated being pitied. So he stopped his tears for a moment to speak to his friend, hoping for some type of empathy. "I don't know what to do, Ry. I really don't know what to do. For fuck's sake, I loved him, I still do love him. But I can't look at him the same..." He heard Ryan sigh and shift before he got an actual response. "Jesus, I don't know, Jon. This shit is rough. Does he know you know?" Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, then realized he wasn't face to face with Ryan, and spoke. "I kicked him out, man. I could barely look at him. Just a little bit ago." He could feel Ryan's reluctance to ask, but he pressured him anyways, Jon was an open book now that would be read, whether he wanted to or not. "What is it, Ryan?" "....with who?" Jonathan should've known this question would pop up, but it didn't make it any easier. He could feel the tears flowing haphazardly down his face, and his voice was shaky as he answered. "Fucking Evan. He was sleeping with Evan, Ohm." The sudden use of his nickname surprised Ryan, but not as much as Luke's infidelity. Out of all the people in the world, he never thought Luke and Evan would agree to something like this. It was a slap in the face to him, he could only imagine how Jonathan felt. This explained Luke's absence in calls. He could hear Jonathan sniffling, and it hurt him that he couldn't hug his poor friend. He hated it when any of his friends were upset, and this situation was no exception. "...I'm so sorry, Jon. Listen, if you ever need to talk about it more, or just want someone to listen, you know I'm always down." Jon's hollow laugh filled Ryan's ears, and he shivered at the lack of warmth in it. But his words were emotional and thankful, so Ryan was okay with it. "I know...thanks, Ryan." --------------------------------------------- Three days. Three days and Jon hadn't heard from Luke. It was the longest they had gone without any type of communication. He was so tempted to ask Evan, but that thought quickly left his mind as his stomach dropped and he set down his groceries. He wanted to know that Luke was doing okay, that he wasn't overworking himself or doing dumb shit because of their breakup. But he was also reluctant to try and call him. A part of him wanted to run into Luke's arms and cry with him, hoping for a different ending, one that wouldn't leave him so broken. But another part of him didn't want anything to do with Luke at the moment. He wanted space and time to himself, to really tell himself this wasn't his fault. Ultimately, Jon chose to let things be. --------------------------------------------- A week. Before he knew it, a week had gone by and he still hadn't heard from Luke, from his ex. By this time, Jon was actually starting to get a little worried, and he instantly assumed the worst. What if Luke had locked himself up in a room and shut himself out from everyone? He shook that thought off though, instead opting for grabbing his phone and texting both Bryce and Ryan, asking if they had heard from Luke, or had any idea what he was up to. It was an instant reply from both boys, and one that disappointed Jon slightly. Both responses were a negative, and Jon had to stop himself from having a mini panic attack. It wasn't like Luke to just not talk to him, he would always try something. It wasn't like him to just never call or text again. And it definitely wasn't like Luke to abandon the rest of his friends over a relationship. Jon clenched the Xbox controller in his hands, the game on the screen doing nothing to distract him from his thoughts. He had died too many times to count already, and wasn't having any fun, it just kept reminding him of playing with Luke, and that was the last thing he wanted. So, with a huff and a quick grab for the remote, he thoughtlessly switched to cable tv and flipped through the channels randomly, stopping on the news to see what horrible shit had happened today, and what unlucky person had to deal with it. He listened haphazardly to the news that wasn't so new at all. It was all the same thing, all the same issues. Some burglary, some bomb threat, another Trump fuck up, nothing new. He listened to the people's voices as they described the recent news, and surprisingly, it was actually a bit calming, the lady's voice was gentle and sweet, as if she wasn't reading off a cue card and instead whispering into his ear. It was the one thing that was distracting him, and he appreciated it. He needed this. Jon was about to fall asleep when the news lady's words caught his ears, something familiar and alarming in them, and he instantly perked up, sitting straight, eyes on the screen. She spoke a little louder, looking directly into the camera "....10 people killed in a mass shooting at WalMart last week, news on the victims are now being publicly released." Something about this was off, something didn't sit well with Jonathan, and he felt like he needed to keep watching, keep listening as he learned more of the event. He paid attention for once, waiting for the names and pictures to show up on the screen.  His stomach was twisting in knots, and his eyes held the reflection of crime tape and a mass amount of blood. He waited and waited, for what seemed like an eternity, before names were listed off, pictures of the victims accompanying them. ".....Paul Anderson" "....Amelia Crause...." ".....Leah Damon..." He listened and listened, his stomach getting tighter and tighter as the names came closer to number ten. His brain was telling him what he already knew, but his heart had refused to even acknowledge it. "...Corinne Gibson..." "...Ashley Hewitt..." "...Jordan Holmes..." He tried to steady his breath, but he found himself shaking, and when his phone rang, he ignored it, too invested in the victims of this crime, too scared to answer. "...Tara Moore...." "...Christopher Moore..." "...James Nicholson..." He was silently hoping, praying that that last picture and name wouldn't belong to someone he knew. The alphabetical order of the names wasn't helping him much, and the furrowing of brows and a small frown on the lady's face made everything seem slower, worse. He couldn't stand the anticipation, the lady pausing for a moment to read the last name. Jon held his hands together, throat dry and eyes glistening as a picture finally showed up with an accompanying name. A picture and a name that was all too familiar, all too heartbreaking. In the reflection of watery blue orbs, you could just barely make out a pair of sunglasses and a beard. "......and Luke Patterson. Since the murders, the suspect has been caught, Mr....." Jonathan stopped listening at that point, he stopped holding his hands together, his body was weak, he was frozen in place, waiting for the lady to say it was a joke, to say that everyone was fine. He waited for there to be a mistake, some sort of wishful thinking that he knew wasn't at all realistic. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, only cry, and as tears streamed down his face, he stared at the picture of his Luke on the screen. It was a picture he had taken, a selfie that had both men in it. He was smiling widely, arms around Jon in a warm, possessive embrace that had Jon feeling the ghosting touch of at that moment. He began to shake violently, and it wasn't long until he was throwing his remote at the screen, the small object hitting the giant flat screen with a small thud, landing on the carpeted floor with little sound. He brought his knees to his chest and watched as the tv powered down, due to a connection error, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand to look at the news anyways. Jon felt his entire world crashing down, everything burning and smoking before him, leaving him amongst ashes of a once happy life. Everything suddenly made sense. A week ago, Luke had been murdered. That's why he hadn't called. That's why he hadn't texted, hadn't had any type of contact. Everything suddenly became hard. Jon found himself unable to walk or function, and the only thing he could do was shake and cry as he came to the realization that Luke Patterson, Cartoonz, his only love, was no longer living. He was dead and gone, lost to a bullet, and Jon couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. Luke didn't take any of his guns when he left, nothing. Everything was still at Jon's house, including his concealed carry on, the one thing Luke always had with him. But, in the heat of the moment, he must've forgotten to take it with him. Jon sobbed out words of nonsense, his head hitting the back of the couch as he did so, tears wetting his blankets and clothes, but that didn't matter to him in the least. He let himself completely break down, cries ripping from his throat in a way that would break anyone's heart, and he found himself longing for Luke's hugs, the soft embrace that would always keep him sane. But now? He was completely crazy, crazy with anger and lies, sadness and despair, far worse than Luke's initial betrayal. Luke had cheated on him, yes, but Jon didn't wish death on the man, he couldn't possibly live without the bearded man in his life. *Now he had to. When the night has come And the land is dark And the moon is the only light we'll see* Jonathan felt his heart break a little bit more, and his sanity fade further. How dare the world do this to him. How dare his phone ring, tone that of his song that instantly brought thoughts of his dead one. He couldn't pick it up, couldn't bring himself to answer the damn thing. He just stayed on the couch, with his knees to his chest, rocking and crying as the song played and played, the person calling not willing to give up. He stayed like that, his blankets covering his form, letting the song make its way into his ears, drowning him in memories and an overwhelming emotional pain that he hoped he'd never experience. Once upon a time, that song used to be his savior Now, it was nothing but his torturer.