#tag dump: oliver queen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thewarriorspecial · 1 year

Text

Greenhill Chapter 7

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Read on AO3

Rating: Teen | Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Dinah Lance, Oliver Queen, Wally West, Katma Tui

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

A little something special for @hobicat!

The interpersonal drama continues to unfold at the table and Guy gets his spy gear out.

It's here it's finally here!! I deed it!!

Guy watched as Kyle lowered himself into a seat at the table. Kyle fiddled with the silverware roll, opened it. He pulled out the knife first because of course he did. No surprises tonight, Guy thought as he turned on the recorder he had hidden in his sweater vest. He folded his fingers under his chin as he studied Kyle’s movements scrupulously. He’d play back the audio to listen carefully for any other telling inflections in his speech that he might’ve missed as he professionally navigated the sometimes hostile waters of a coworkers’ night out. I’m in my silver fox James Bond era, Guy smiled to himself.

Kyle fiddled with the butter knife as he thought both of his painting knife at home where he’d be far more comfortable and also of the fact that for many years his mother forbade him using an actual knife at the table after too many dinner theater tragedies. Kyle had learned early in his life that he did not possess the full body dexterity to become an actual fruit ninja and that was not an actual job. Kyle faked a bright smile at his quiet coworkers. What have I gotten myself into, he thought

“So,” Carol said, finally breaking the silence, “Not a vampire fan, John?”

“Ah, no. Just not my thing. Too much D&D in the past, I guess.” John replied with a shrug.

“Paladin?” Guy asked.

“Always.” John answered.

“Knew it.” Guy said with great conviction, banging his fist on the table. He’d have all his coworkers figured out by the end of the night.

“What exactly is D&D, anyways?” Carol asked.

Hal gently touched the place where his glasses used to rest, and then suavely pushed his bangs out of his face, “Well, it’s a tabletop role-playing game, or TTRPG for short—“

Ah, fuck. Here we go, Guy thought with a fake smile as he started looking around for the waiter. As his eyes scanned the area, he caught Kyle returning the same already-tired smile. He liked the kid more by the minute. Shame he was a criminal. Which was also, admittedly, kinda hot.

A young girl with multi-colored hair and facial piercings greets their table with exuberant friendliness. She talks extensively with John and Carol. Guy knows her face but can’t think of her name. She was likely an upperclassman, then. The trio nattered on, unpressed for time as Guy’s knuckles whitened on the back of the empty chair next to him.

Kyle pulled out his phone and started texting someone. Guy could almost read the texts in the mirrored lampshade behind him. He cursed his old crusty eyes and wondered if he could somehow use the selfie stick to get a good look at the screen without being too obvious. He reached into his pocket and slowly, obviously pulled the thing out. As curious eyes fell on him, he pretended to scratch his back with it, “Carry on. Just…itchin’” Guy said with a weak laugh. As the chatter—which is to say info-dump via Hal—carried on, Guy put on a show of seeming to examine the selfie stick with great concern. He held it up in the air, trying to find an angle that would allow him to see what Kyle was typing.

Unfortunately, the support of the selfie stick was painted a dark color and even less reflective than the lampshade. To Guy’s cloudy eyes, it appeared that the letters WOWanBAB were in the text bar at the top of Kyle’s screen. If the text is mirrored that means it’s upside down! Guy rationalized. As his brain made the Windows fail sound he thought, Mom and Dad?! But aren’t they…? Is it someone else’s Mom and Dad? Is he seeing someone?! Fuck! Not that it mattered because Kyle was a criminal. And this investigation was absolutely about protecting the students. From this dangerous, hot, bad criminal man.

“Ow! What?!” Guy exclaimed suddenly, again interrupting Hal’s attempt to woo Carol with his knowledge of emotionally mature Dungeon Mastering.

“Tst!” John made the sharp sound as he kicked Guy’s foot under the able a second time.

“What?” Guy stage whispered.

You know what. Stop it, said John’s Eyebrow of Paternal Disappointment (emotional damage +5)

“So issat like, your mom, or—“ Guy asked, impatiently waving his hands towards Kyle’s phone, hoping to get the conversation back on track and away from Nerds and Virgins or whatever.

“Oh,” Kyle smiled sadly, “No. No my mother passed away.”

Guy made a noise somewhere between choking on a chicken bone and being hit by a truck. John’s lips pressed together as he tucked his chin to his chest and raised both of his disappointed eyebrows even higher. Now look what you’ve done.

“Ow!” Guy exclaimed as a flank attack struck from Hal’s side of the table.

“Its okay! Really!” Kyle raised his hands in supplication, “It was a long time ago. I’m fine.”

“Hardly appropriate dinner conversation,” Hal said.

“Ooh, what’s inappropriate?” Their server reappeared, a full tray of their orders perched over her shoulder.

“Well, Guy’s put his foot in his mouth I think,” Carol offered.

“He went and asked about poor Kyle’s dead mother!” Hal was offended.

“It’s okay, really. I brought it up!”

“Yeah he brought it up!”

“Oof,” said their server as she quietly passed out their plates.

“He brought—! Alan. How you been? You got anything you wanna add, here?”

“Not at all,” Alan said, bringing his drink to his lips and taking a long, luxurious sip. “I’m enjoying watching you fine, young people exercise your conflict resolution skills.”

“Guy’s could use a little work,” Hal snipped.

Guy’s ears turned as red as his hair as he folded the selfie stick back to pocket size and returned it to his secret spy pocket. Mission Failed, clearly.

“It’s okay, honest. I don’t get to talk about her much. Most people are too afraid to ask.” Kyle rested his warm hand over Guy’s sweaty knuckles. The Defensive Debuff hit home as Guy began to fully blush and sweat. He whipped his gaze over to John, his rock, who rolled a nat twenty on the second Eyebrow attack. Critical damage. Guy swallowed heavily, mouth dry, speechless. He should’ve never multi-classed into Rogue. “My mom was really cool. I miss her every day,” Kyle continued. He pulled his hand back to brush his hair behind his ear, “I wish you could’ve had the chance to meet her.” Kyle looks down for a moment and something else bumps Guy under the table, but pain-free this time. Kyle’s knee. Kyle’s knee. Kyle’s knee. When Kyle’s big, sad brown eyes find their way back to Guy’s it’s direct Constitution damage. Guy wants to wrap him in a blanket and drive him home. “I was just texting Wally. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s on me, buddy.” Guy stammered. He dearly wished he had his Oakleys to hide behind. “My bad. We still cool?”

“Of course.” Kyle’s smile is bright and devastating. Guy wonders if he’s the kind of monster that sparkles in the sunlight. Maybe it’ll all be okay? Just a little peril?

Everyone resumed eating and Hal resumed telling the Tale of Games Past That No One Asked About. Carol’s smile is thinly polite. Hal barreled on in his futile attempt to make her laugh or maybe even impress her. He switched tracks, insisting on the Much Cooler Time He Was One Of The Knights At The Renaissance Festival. This captured her interest but not for the reason he had hoped. After all these years Hal remained unable to discern actual interest from confused horror.

“Wow,” said Carol, “That’s crazy.”

“So,” Kyle said softly to Alan, “History, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Alan grumbled as he took full advantage of Guy’s stun-lock to continue pilfering fries from his plate.

“Alan’s been teaching for us since the school opened,” John offered, “Anyone could understand he’s a little tired or bored maybe?”

“I’m just old.”

“Maybe you can find a new way to present the material? Or tread new tracks so to speak? Novelty really keeps kids invested.” Kyle beamed with his idea.

Guy tried not to melt. He loved the kid’s enthusiasm.

“Kyle, it’s History. It’s not new.”

“Maybe you could use a little somethin’ new, pops. Might put some spring in your step,” said Guy.

“It won’t.”

“With respect,” Kyle began carefully, “You can’t possibly know everything there is to know about your subject.”

“I do. I was there. I remember.”

“You’re not…that old?” John wondered.

“The things I remember would curl your back hair, boy.”

Oh no, the warning bells went off in John’s mind, not the Nazis. No one wants to talk about the Nazis over dinner.

“You ever climb a bridge to dismantle a mine under heavy artillery fi—“

“Oh! Look!” Hal suddenly interjected, “They have tapioca pudding here. See?” He shoved the dessert menu in Alan’s direction.

“Ooh,” Alan cooed, placated for the moment. The only thing he loved more than bitching about Nazis and pontificating about the brutalities of war was tapioca pudding.

A loud crash near the door grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Ah, fu—shticks! My bad!” Wally appeared directly in the path of the waitress, sending most of her dessert tray clattering to the ground. Kyle noticed, as Wally caught several of the glasses with incredible speed, he seemed to choose to let a few fall to the ground. It happened so fast. Maybe Wally was just very agile. Maybe he was an athlete as well. “Here, chief,” Wally held his credit card out over the bar, towards Radu, “Just ring it up. I gotta watch where I’m going.”

“Oh Wally!” Radu cried, “No trouble at all for one of my favorite customers!”

“You’re too good to me, man.” Wally said over his shoulder as he approached the table. “Sorry I’m late guys.” He took a chair from another table, behind Hal and Carol, even though there were two empty seats next to Kyle. “‘Scuse me real quick,” he said as he grabbed the back of Hal’s chair and slid him away from Carol, making room for himself.

“Hey!” Hal shouted, the picture of indignant.

“Did you see Tru Blood last night?” Wally asked, sitting backwards in his chair and fully turning his back to Hal.

Carol lit up, clapping her hands, “Oh I did! It was so good! I loved when—“

“Aren’t you married?” Hal hissed at Wally’s back.

“Ew!” Wally snapped, whipping around suddenly and at an odd angle like an owl. “Don’t interrupt! It’s rude. Anyways.”

Hal harrumphed and sunk down in his chair.

“So, tapioca is your favorite?” Kyle asked.

“It is. One of my earliest memories.” Alan said, chewing thoughtfully.

“Oh?” Kyle tried to press for more detail. He let Alan slowly share some of his oldest memories—happy and full of detail of his childhood home.

Guy caught Hal’s gaze and jerked his chin up once, You okay?

The one corner of Hal’s mouth pulled downwards and he shrugged one shoulder, Yeah I guess so.

Guy stabbed his fork into his apparently child’s size portion of fries. He stuffed them into his mouth and nodded sharply, At least the food’s good.

Hal nodded in agreement, taking one of his chicken tenders off of his plate with his hand and breaking it in half.

They watched as Wally dumped dessert after dessert into his face while Carol gushed about the TV show. Something was off about that guy. He seemed way more nervous than usual and he kept looking at his watch. He stood up suddenly, “Hold that thought,” He said to Carol, almost too fast to understand, “Gotta use the bathroom. Berightback!”

Kyle was still in rapt fascination with Alan’s story. John was concentrating on his Boba hunting experience. Carol chose this moment to use the restroom as well. Hal huffed again.

Guy looked from Kyle back to Hal, a concerned expression on his face. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head to the side, pointed one finger from his folded hands at Kyle as he jerked his head in the opposite direction and then made a steeple with his two index fingers. You don’t think she’s still in the house?

Hals lips flattened in a grimace. His eyebrows furrowed and he nodded his head towards Guy. He unfolded his hands, flattening his palms in parallel like he was showing a measurement. His eyes widened to accentuate the size. He then curved his fingers and touched the tips together. You're being a huge asshole.

Alan smiled as he watched the silent conversation unfold. He was the only other person at the table who was also versed in bitches’ cant. He also noticed that Wallace hadn’t gone to the restroom at all. He had vanished out of the skate park door. And at an incredible speed. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one with interesting powers. Something was indeed afoot at Radu’s Cafe.

#*myfic #guykyle #highschool au

4 notes · View notes

watchtowerindistress · 2 years

Text

we are not our demons (12/24) - bruce wayne x batmom

Gif source: oscarspoe

Author’s note: A special guest star is appearing in this chapter. I really hope you don't think I stole Oliver Queen's tic and gave it to Bruce and Damian, I seriously didn't think that. My thought process was that over the years Damian copied his father's shtick during missions and they both rub their fingers together to stimulate their minds before a fight.

Update break after this chapter. I’ll see you in two weeks again. [Read more at the end.]

Beta-read by Heidi.

Words: 5.3k

Warning: language

Please reblog/leave a comment.

Series Masterlist | Want to be tagged? | Read on AO3

Hand on the Bible (Lord, have mercy)

I think you’re the love of my life (yo)

Baby, could you hop on a flight to find me?

-FAR AWAY by Jessie Reyez-

The sizzling noise of batter hitting the frying pan and the smell of pancakes filling the air felt like a wonderful way to start the day, Ellie surmised to herself. The heavy raindrops hitting the windowpane was just the perfect reason for some pick-me-up.

Behind her, she could sense Alfred moving around, preparing coffee for the grown-ups in this household to enjoy.

Curiosity took hold of her when something crossed her mind. “Alfred, you think Babs is going to join us for breakfast?” Hesitance was shining in Ellie’s eyes when she glanced at Alfred who was wearing his trademark apron as long as he was working in the kitchen.

A heavy sigh left Alfred’s lips at the expected question. “I don’t think so.”

Now Ellie was getting deeply concerned for her friend. “Has she even left her room since she got here? You know, just to get some fresh air or a different scenery than the same four walls?”

Alfred pursed his lips, like he was as conflicted as she was. “As much as I agree with your views, Miss Ellie, perhaps we need to give her more time to come to terms with everything. Trust me, we’ll look after her,” the older man assured her warmly and surprised her by letting his hand brush her shoulder in comfort.

Involuntarily, her lips formed into a small but appreciative smile at Alfred’s display of affection. “Thanks, Alfred,” Ellie whispered in gratitude and sent him a soft glance.

The echo of a humming sound from the hallway prompted Ellie to pull out of Alfred’s embrace.

“What smells so good?” Dick’s voice called out in curiosity when he wandered into the kitchen. His hands were sitting on his waist, enticing the attention to the detective badge stuck on the belt loops of his dark-blue jeans.

“Pancakes, Master Dick,” Alfred offered and just in time to place a fresh and warm breakfast treat on a large plate.

“Help yourself.” Ellie nodded towards the small pile of pancakes.

Ellie merely arched her eyebrows at seeing Dick dump a diabetes-like coating of maple syrup on his two flapjacks.

“Coffee?” Alfred asked, lifting a full coffee pot in the air, and without missing a beat, poured the black liquid into an empty mug on the kitchen island.

“Thanks, Al,” Dick said and instantly took a sip from the energizing drink.

While hot liquid flowed down his throat, Ellie mentioned, “Black coffee, huh? Why do I get the impression that you and your father are almost the same person?”

Dick mockingly pursed his lips in thought. “Moi?” His hand covered his chest, almost in an insulted way. “Bugs me. Speaking of the less-handsome devil, where is Bruce?”

“He had to get to Wayne Enterprises early to talk to Fox about the toxins used by the clowns for experimentation,” Ellie explained with a muffled voice.

Dick sighed and took a healthy bite from his breakfast. “Yeah, I heard about that at the station. Damn assholes.”

“Why is Dick allowed to curse around here, and I get instantly reprimanded?” Damian inquired with an indignant voice while he and Tim descended from the stairs.

“That rule applies to everyone, Master Damian.” Alfred glanced at the youngest child briefly before sending a dark glower in Dick’s direction.

“Good morning, guys,” Ellie greeted both children. “You up for some pancakes?”

Tim mumbled, “G’ morning,” under his breath while Damian chose to only nod in acknowledgment.

There was a certain bounce in Tim’s steps when he made himself comfortable on one of the bar stools next to Dick and nodded in pleased consent.

His eyes were shining with excitement when he helped himself to a small pancake and dropped several types of fruit on top of it, including blueberries and sliced apples.

Ellie poured herself a cup of coffee with some milk and two spoonful of sugar and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter while Alfred turned off the heat from the stove. Fondness lit up in her eyes when they gazed upon Damian taking a tentative sip from his refreshing mug of cocoa before trying some cut-up strawberries.

“And here I thought you weren’t a breakfast person, Damian.”

With his mouth half-full, Dick answered with his head thrown back, “Dami likes to sample or rather let others try it out first. Like he’s some sort of paranoid king.”

Damian didn’t dignify his words with a tilt of his head. “Don’t call me that,” he merely said, hinting at the chosen nickname.

“Dami, come on, look—” An obscene amount of pastry was crammed into his mouth to prove his point before eating noisily while talking, “— nom nom nom, so good.”

Dick’s antics elicited the same physical reaction Damian and Ellie were displaying. Damian furrowed his brows. “You’re disgusting.”

“Please, Master Dick, have I taught you nothing?” Alfred admonished quietly.

Dick gulped down his food contents. “Sorry, Al.” Ellie felt his gaze settle on her in question. “You ready to go?”

With a nod displaying her agreement, Ellie replied, “Sure am,” and poured the rest of the lukewarm coffee down her throat with a satisfied moan. “Okay, let’s go.” Twirling her finger in the air, Ellie was ready to go to work and placed her mug in the sink.

“Be good, boys,” Ellie called out with a small wave when her body was already moving away. Quiet murmurs brushed against her back as a goodbye.

“So, how long have you been a cop?”

The rain was still falling relentlessly while Dick was driving her on his way to work. He narrowed his eyes in the driver’s seat and stared at Ellie with speculative scrutiny. “Do I detect a certain undertone there?”

“Oh no, it totally suits you.”

After shaking his head in jest, Dick chuckled to himself. “It’s been a long time since I received a backhanded compliment,” he mused under his breath. “And I’ve been a detective for four years, most of that time I spent in Blüdhaven.”

Ellie remembered him telling her that. Not to mention, how Bruce once told her that his son used to visit from Blüdhaven.

“Oh wow, tough place to be a cop in.”

Dick sent Ellie another inquisitive glance. “Sounds about right. You ever been?” She could understand the young man’s curiosity. Ellie knew of the stereotypical status the crime-ridden city held and the way people spoke of it despite never having visited it to gain a personal perspective.

Ellie nodded once, as conflicted memories rang through her mind. “Lived there for … I don’t know, most of my childhood and youth when I lived under the roof of my aunt and uncle.”

Respect shone in his eyes when Dick’s eyebrows rose. “Gotcha,” he said.

The towering building of Wayne Enterprises would always invoke a humbling feeling in her body when Dick dropped her off in front of the square in Old Gotham before turning to his own police duties when he drove off.

It didn’t take long with her sitting at her desk and overseeing the network infrastructure before Bruce requested Ellie into his office.

Despite their nighttime activities—Jesus, weird phrasing—Bruce usually didn’t discuss their vigilante business at work. Unless there was some serious work incident she didn’t know about.

The heels of her ankle boots stomping on the marble floor beneath her gave her a strange bout of confidence as Ellie passed Atticus sitting behind his office desk.

While he was tending to a phone call, she only pointed towards the grand oak doors to Bruce’s sanctuary to which the executive assistant nodded his head in affirmation.

Ellie briefly knocked on the sturdy wood, merely to hear the deep voice of Bruce pierce through the door. “Come on in, Ellie.”

Following his invitation, she stepped inside to discover with tingling awe how his wide shoulders and back in a sharp gray suit were facing her. Bruce bent over his desk and examined several document sheets. The muscles in his back rippled with every single delicious movement. It actually rendered her speechless when she tugged on her bottom lip.

“You do know that you don’t have to knock, right?” Bruce sent her an open expression over his shoulder and gathered the rustling papers into a dossier.

Ellie shut the door behind her with a satisfying click before stepping further into the CEO’s office. Smiling briefly, the young woman shrugged her shoulders. “Just making sure I don’t disturb any … indecent undertakings.”

Bruce’s expression twisted to an uncomfortable aura when he furrowed his brows. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’d like to think that we do things differently here than at LuthorCorp.”

A worn-out sigh blew between her lips when she made herself comfortable on the couch by the high-ceiling windows.

Ellie smiled bitterly once a certain memory invaded her mind like a spider coiling around the inside of her head. “I wasn’t thinking about the Luthors actually.”

Bruce’s eyes hardened at Ellie’s mysterious words, but she had a feeling that he knew her file by memory and could guess which company she was talking about.

In her quest to shield her pride, Ellie put her tablet in her lap and cleared her throat. “So, what did you call me in for?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes before settling down next to Ellie, brushing the fabric of his suit away as he eased back on the couch.

“Just wanted to let you know what Fox found out.”

Ellie’s interest piqued at once when she stared at Bruce to display her true sentiments towards those findings. “What did he say? Are the kids safe?”

Bruce glanced at his surroundings to reveal a biting smile. “‘Safe’ is a broad term. Fox analyzed a strange chemical mix from the compound—his words, not mine. Something about stimulants and genetically modifying substances.”

A chill went through her body at the image Bruce vividly portrayed. Ellie couldn’t help but feel connected to those poor souls. Despite her own traumatic experience with Scarecrow and Professor Strange who pumped her with a highly concentrated phobia-triggering toxin, Ellie couldn’t envision what those kids had to endure and would have to face in the future.

“How high is the probability that we could be dealing with new kinds of meta-humans?”

“Very high. And an even greater danger that those kids could have died from the half-assed procedure.”

Ellie exhaled deeply at the sour reality Bruce was depicting and shook her head. “Damn clowns. What do you plan to do?”

With pursed lips, a deep furrow anchored between Bruce’s eyebrows when he sent a curious glance towards Ellie. “What makes you think I’ve got something planned?”

Ellie’s lips quirked into a teasing smile when she pointed with her finger to those brown orbs. “I know that glint in your eyes. It’s the same expression you had on your face right before you wanted to achieve your own Die Hard in an elevator.”

Bruce shook his head and effectively hid a small smirk.

“This morning, I sent over the legal documents to West Mercy that I would cover any hospital bills for the kids in the ICU.”

Despite her raised eyebrows to display her surprise, Ellie shouldn’t have been. “Healthcare in this government is a joke if you don’t have it,” she mused under her breath, with a small nod.

After she had heard the radio call about the transfer of more than dozens of children into intensive care, her curiosity had peaked. Just as she expected, all those primary locations where those kids were abducted were low-income communities. It still tore at her heart to find out that most of these children were orphans who needed a stable home more than an uncertain time in a hospital bed.

“No teasing words that I got more money to throw out the window than Ted Kord?”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Oh please, I never said that’s a dreadful thing. If anything, you’re helping these victims. I won’t condemn you for wanting to help people. Anything else you want to tell me?”

Bruce’s eyes lingered on hers, as if he was silently looking for answers only she could give. Avoiding Ellie’s gaze at the last second, he shook his head with a bittersweet look. “No, that’s all.”

Torn between confusion and wanting to make a joke, Ellie replied, “Alright, thanks for the short update, I guess?”

Bruce smiled lightly. “Anytime.”

“I’ll see you at home?”

Nodding with slow movements, he said, “I’ll see you there.”

As her body moved towards the office door, Ellie could only think, “That was so damn weird.”

Ellie hated bringing her work home—and since when did she call Wayne Manor her home? —but desperate times called for desperate measures. Especially since Bruce’s unsaid words managed to successfully distract her from work. She usually would’ve worked from the safety of her own room, but she wanted to intercept Bruce once he walked through the doors.

But once a few hours had passed, Ellie’s concern for him only rose. The scurrying form of Alfred passing behind the living room couch where she was sitting made her open her mouth. “Alfred, where’s Bruce?”

The butler tilted his head and kept the clean laundry basket in a tight grip under his arms. “Master Wayne didn’t tell you?”

Ellie raised her eyebrows in befuddlement once Alfred finally confirmed her suspicions. “Tell me what?”

Without giving her an answer, Alfred bent forward to turn on the TV with a click of the remote. The flat screen turned to life and revealed Bruce standing in front of a building, with cameras snapping in a blinding and staccato rhythm.

The headline ‘Bruce Wayne inducts renovated orphanage’ was visible at the bottom of the screen, with the small detail ‘named after Marion Grange, a close confidant of the Wayne family and former Mayor of Gotham’ underneath it.

Bruce appeared composed by the onslaught of media coverage and let a small, neutral smile thrive on his lips. These were one of those instances when Bruce’s cool-as-a-cucumber attitude in front of reporters truly astounded Ellie. How the entrepreneur could remain calm and collected in light of the media shoving cameras into his face, like it was no big feat at all. How he could render them speechless with just one look.

“—to the Marion Grange Orphanage. After the cowardly attack on Gotham’s children, the Wayne Foundation is more than willing to stand up for this young generation. We are not here to remind of this trauma, but instead I’d like us to be a unity. To support them as best as possible. Why not start by giving them a renovated home?”

Ellie breathed in deeply and felt her unfocused eyes gaze at Bruce’s bashful smile. She could sense the burning stare of Alfred’s lingering on the side of her face. Expecting some sort of reaction from the woman. No living person could stay this cold after hearing this billionaire willingly offering his money resources for the sake of the community. Rich entrepreneurs like Maxwell Lord, not included.

The brunette cleared her throat as soon as that thought unconsciously entered her head. All this time had passed, and that name still threw her off balance. “Bruce doesn’t waste any time, huh?”

Alfred supported the bottom of the laundry basket on the back of the couch. “That’s Master Bruce for you. If he wants something, he’s going to make sure he’s getting it.”

An amused smirk lifted one corner of Ellie’s mouth at the reminder of Bruce’s stubbornness. The memory of his job offers and how he sought her out, came forth.

“I figured.”

If anything, Alfred’s affirmation of his ward only revealed how Bruce and she were so much alike. At least regarding the things they believed in and felt passionate about. The cowardly assault on her best friend, Barbara, only made her realize the depths of her unconscious darkness inside her. And how far Ellie was willing to go to keep the people she loved safe.

Just as expected, catching the Joker proved to be an almost impossible accomplishment because of that undying and morbid loyalty of his entourage of killer clowns. It would work in their favor that Harley’s so-called allegiance was tenuous at best.

A sudden and unexpected thought hit her out of nowhere at the reminder of that psychotic psychiatrist.

“Something the matter, Miss Ellie?”

She cleared her throat at being roused from her contemplation. “How long do you think Bruce is going to be away for?”

“I’d reckon for the rest of the night. You know what a social butterfly he is—always making friends at those functions. Not to mention, I made him promise to mingle and not to come back until ten in the evening.”

A strained smile twitched at the corners of her lips once Alfred confirmed her assumptions before he wandered away to continue the laundry. The thought that reckless ideas only came during the night intensified.

The Arkham Asylum footage of Quinn’s breakout came to mind. Ellie narrowed her eyes as she strained her ears to the butler’s receding footsteps.

Harley had hesitated. It was all Ellie needed to be certain in her belief. That Harley would’ve gone with Ivy if given the chance.

With her resolve strengthening, Ellie stood up to turn off the TV with the push of the button. It was time to have a chat with Poison Ivy.

Famous last words.

The grass under Ellie’s shoes made soft-dewy sounds while she was walking down the path leading from the back of the manor. The strap of her backpack was a soothing anchor on her shoulder.

After pressing a few buttons on the keypad to access the CCTVs of Gotham City, Ellie was certain of Ivy’s location, the botanist’s trusted safe harbor of the Botanic Gardens, while bending over the Batcomputer in the cave. Just to be on the safe side, she filled her bag with some herbicide agent, a sonic cry gadget and her tablet.

To be honest, it kind of baffled Ellie that Bruce had some herbicide lying around. Just in case Poison Ivy would meddle too much into his vigilante work.

The long navy-blue overcoat that reached her knees was a nice comfort to ward off the strange fall/winter chilliness as Ellie pushed her lapels higher up her neck. Her thick-rimmed glasses fogged up from the brisk weather.

“Where are you going?”

The young voice carried mysteriously with the wind from behind. Strangely, the haunting effect was more startling than hearing the noise itself.

Ellie stopped in her tracks, covering her chest to slow her pounding heart. “Oh sheesh, wear a bell, why don’t you, huh?” Her body slowly turned around until she was facing the stoic-faced Damian. “Maybe I’m just going out for a walk,” Ellie defended herself and hoped that Damian wouldn’t question her backpack.

He crossed his arms over his chest, displaying his trademark stance. “And that’s why you took some herbicide with you? To obliterate some weed along the way?”

Ellie blinked profusely, trying to process Damian’s quick thinking.

“I was in the Batcave,” he explained. “I’m invisible if I want to be.”

Ellie rolled her eyes with a sigh. “Damn ninjas,” she grumbled under her breath.

Her glasses must have fooled her when she thought she saw the corners of Damian’s mouth twitch.

“You’re far more reckless than I thought you would be if you intend to face the green lady.”

“That’s why I’m just going to have a simple conversation.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Father won’t like this,” he admitted with a dark promise.

Oh God, was she proving to be a sort-of bad mother figure?

It was excruciating to even exhale the words from her mouth. “Well, I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Ellie’s revelation made Damian raise an eyebrow before stating, “Alright, I guess I’m in the mood to vanquish some plants.”

She knew Damian would be perfectly capable of defending himself but the idea of the young boy getting hurt—even the notion of it—pressed a pounding migraine behind her eyelids. One occurring event of Damian having to endure a phobia-induced episode was enough in her eyes.

Ellie’s pained thoughts prompted her to turn her head to study the side of the boy’s face, wondering what had happened in his life to being forced to face this vigilante life.

Brown eyes were staring back at her. “What?”

Ellie shook her head, not knowing if she could find the words to say how sorry she truly felt. That she felt responsible that Strange hurt him and that she left them all.

“Nothing.”

Their walk after their train ride to Robinson Park remained quiet while dawn slowly set in and cloaked them in a protective shroud. It surprised Ellie how Damian’s presence took away this uneasy fear—at least most of it.

The wraith-like silhouettes of the greenhouse stood ominously among the leafless oak trees of the Botanic Gardens. Ellie clenched her hands into fists the closer they got to the looming glasshouse and felt her nervous beating heart pound in her head like a constant reminder.

Taking the tablet out of her backpack with a quiet whirr of the zipper, Ellie accessed the CCTV of their surroundings. “No hostiles so far,” she mumbled under her breath. “I wonder where Grundy is.”

“Oh please, everybody knows Solomon Grundy keeps to the West side of the Gardens.” Damian continued with shrugging shoulders after receiving a perplexed look from Ellie, “He likes stroking and talking to the enormous Venus flytraps Ivy set up there.”

Ellie arched her eyebrows. This seemed to be public knowledge among the vigilantes. “Good to know that Grundy’s just a big ol’ softie.”

A grunting sound left Damian’s mouth. If it were any other situation that didn’t involve a cloak and dagger operation, Ellie would have teased the usually deadpan kid. But for now, Ellie metaphorically patted herself on the back for magically creating a smile on his face—she would take what she could get.

“Do you mind?”

Damian squeezed past Ellie and entered the premises with a turn of the knob, taking on a defensive stance once he was inside. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled over his head to shroud his identity. The material of the brown cord jacket he was wearing tensed under his straining muscles, as Damian was getting ready to fight some plants.

“Sure thing,” Ellie whispered at a moderate volume and hoped these words were able to reach him as she stood a few feet behind him.

They turned a corner and just as she expected, a Venus flytrap made twitching movements and hissing sounds. Right before it instinctively reared its hungry head to their direction, opening its mouth to spit a long-range attack.

“That’s just perfect,” Damian grumbled in dismay, tapping his index finger against his pant leg. An action that made Ellie narrow her eyes and invoke a feeling of déjà vu. “Stay behind me.”

Damian barely even uttered the words before he did a somersault and evaded the mutant hybrid’s seed bombs by making an enviable split in front of it. With a grunt, his arm held the plant back, choking the life out of it.

“Wait, Da—, no!” Her boots stomped on the floor as she scurried towards him. The flytrap made wheezing sounds, struggling for air. Ellie felt uncomfortable when it twisted its head towards her, despite the absence of eyes in general.

“I thought I told you to stand back,” he grunted with great exertion. Damian stood behind the hybrid plant, slowly suffocating it with his arm.

“We’re just going to have a conversation. I’m not really interested in torturing her pets.”

Damian’s eyes burned with dark malice. “You realize this thing can still spit, right?”

“I just need you to subdue it, not kill it.”

Ellie’s gaze wandered to where she imagined its eyes were. “Damian’s not going to harm you.” The boy’s answer was an indignant harrumph. “I just want to talk. Tell your … Ivy this is about Harley.”

The plant shuddered, like the connection to the botanist compelled it to, before slowly closing its mouth.

Ellie’s wide eyes met Damian’s. “Now, let go, please.”

Clenching his jaw, hesitance still ruled over his features. “Fine, but if that thing opens its mouth again, I’m hitting it.”

Sensing its freedom again, it unhurriedly turned its head at the challenge, finally meeting Damian. It was vibrating with a purring noise.

Disgust took over his face.

“Stay here, alright? I need some alone time.”

Confusion was apparent in his furrowed brows. “Oh, you’re actually serious.”

“I’m going to scream if I need you.” Ellie shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe you should follow Grundy’s example. Stroke it and talk to it.”

Damian huffed and faced his new nemesis with his arms folded and at least six feet between them. “Yeah, right.”

Ellie could feel his stare burn a hole at the back of her head with her descent down the stairs, trying to shake off the eerie feeling of being in the company of Poison Ivy’s hybrid plants sitting in every corner of her lair. Just thrumming with energy and unreleased pheromones. Simply standing back and watching Ellie with interest.

She tried to instill some courage by quietly talking to herself. “Okay, nothing freaky here. Everything’s a-okay.” She stretched her arms at her side with jerky movements.

While she was inspecting her surroundings, Ellie noticed how Ivy seemed to have dug deep under the greenhouse, restructuring the facility, and exposing the sewer system.

At the end of the drainage system, a tree monster with its head made of branches almost hit the ceiling of the corridor. Ellie’s nervous steps halted even more the closer she got to the unfamiliar branch creature. It made grumbling noises while sluggishly walking around, with every step it took, squeaking wood noises accompanied it. She felt like the guest of honor when it opened the gates on her left, intending for her to walk through.

“I guess that’s me then. Nothing weird about any of this.”

“Excuse my babies,” a sultry rich voice called out from the center of the basement.

Finally, Ellie caught sight of the woman’s red hair before her green skin did. Ivy leaves adorned her fiery head and revealed a path down her slender neck, arms, and legs. A form-fitting bodysuit revealed her long legs and ended over her hips. Up close, her upper body had a more ‘human’ tanned skin color as it progressed into a more luminous green. Inky-green veins on her jaw dispersed down her neck. Ivy’s face had a more shimmering light-green complexion, making her seem like a party girl who was just into green glitter.

Subconsciously, her feet stepped towards her, feeling fascinated by Ivy’s aura.

The red-haired woman tilted her head in enthrallment and let her eyes glint mysteriously. “If I had known I would get guests for tonight, I would have laid out the Christmas lights early.” Ivy’s red-varnished nail tapped against her jaw in speculation. “Especially if they look so delectable. Maybe litter this place with some cocoons. Make it nice and homey.”

Ellie shuddered at the thought of mummified victims lying around in every corner, depicting some haunted greenhouse instead.

“I’m not here for a date, Ivy. This is about Harley.”

Like a flipped switch, Ivy’s vibrant green eyes dimmed, giving off a serious disposition. Ivy’s naked feet padded on the floor to get closer to Ellie. She stayed rooted in place, not letting Ivy intimidate her but knowing what she was in for as soon as she would utter Harley’s name in Ivy’s presence.

“What about dear old Harley?” Her gravelly voice and stone-cold expression made her heart pound nervously in her chest. Ivy’s closeness let her body temperature rise and made Ellie realize how the botanist stood a head taller than her.

Okay, she was damn threatening if she intended to be.

“This is kinda about Harley. All I want is the Joker. What would you say to an arrangement, so I can deal with him for good?”

Ivy licked her lips and tilted her head to inspect her adversary better. Barely hidden interest was shining in her eyes. “What can I say? I wouldn’t invite him to my birthday party.”

“We have a common enemy. I want the Joker … gone.”

A bored expression took over her face. “What makes you think I’d want to help you?”

“You’re saying you lack motivation in getting a girlfriend away from her abuser?”

Ivy snorted while rolling her eyes. “You presume to know what I want, but you don’t, little girl.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes, trying to detect some cracks in her armor. “What I know is that Quinn revealed the slightest reluctance in escaping Arkham … and leaving her beloved green friend.” She coughed, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of insulting Ivy’s complexion. “I mean, you. Just in case Harley knows any other people with the same … nature-green skin.”

Ivy hummed under her breath, barely even fazed by Ellie’s words. Her eyes were focusing on a spot next to her head, lost in her own thoughts. “Is that so?”

“If it weren’t for a lunatic boyfriend knocking her unconscious, then yes. I’d say so.”

Ivy’s eyes stared at her again, dark intent was taking over. “What do you want exactly?”

“It’d be nice to have an ally, at least temporarily. Help me take him down. Keep your ears - or at least ivy twines - on the street and tell me where to find him.”

Ivy pursed her lips. “Getting Harls away from the Joker sounds perfect. But don’t get me wrong, cross me, and my beloved babies will strangle you to death.” Her fingers shaped into claws as they inched closer to her throat.

A strained smile tugged on Ellie’s lips. “Alright, duly noted.”

Ivy’s eyes reduced to slits. “What’s your name again?”

Ellie swallowed thickly, unsure if she should reveal her real name at last. “Rhodes,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Ivy smirked. “Rhodes,” she tasted the name on her lips with a sensual voice. It was strange hearing her pronounce her last name like it was a delicious dessert. “You may call me Ivy.”

A humming noise left her when she nodded her head in consent. Her brown eyes found Ivy’s gaze lingering on her lips. As much as Ellie felt flattered, she didn’t want to take the risk of her poison kiss.

“You’re not going to kiss me, are you?” Ellie asked anxiously, biting her lip with hesitation.

Ivy smirked crookedly, meeting her lips with fire shining in her eyes. “If you want me to. I wouldn’t say no, Rhodes. I mean, why not go all in to seal our arrangement, you know?” Ivy arched an eyebrow and let her breath ghost over her cheeks.

“Now, don’t get any ideas, Ivy.”

Hooded green eyes were gazing with deep longing at her mouth and purring vibrations reverberated from deep within her chest. “Pity.”

Mild concern disclosed in her furrowed eyebrows and folded arms. “What is your fascination with the Joker? He killed your dog for sport, or something?”

Ellie debated with herself on how much she could or should reveal. “That bastard mutilated a friend. I don’t take kindly to people disabling my family.”

Understanding shone in Ivy’s eyes when she nodded slowly. “He’s all yours. But for now, you should hit the night scene of Gotham. Maybe try Penguin’s club in town. Tomorrow night. I hear he has a deal going down. Keeps Harls close.” Her arms stretched at her side. “Let’s keep in touch, why don’t we?”

Smiling fondly, Ivy cocked a hip and made a humming noise. She lifted a hand, waving sultrily goodbye in a silent answer.

A/N: Just so you know, when I teased Maxwell Lord in We are not our masks, I had no idea he was going to be in Wonder Woman: 1984. You could say I'm not sticking to that universe.

Ivy's 'look' was inspired by a mix of the Arkhamverse and the game DC Universe Online. To be honest, I reaaaaalllllly loved writing the scene with Ivy and Ellie. Such a great, fascinating dynamic they both have.

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @alwayshave-faith @ikranfuad @daydreaming-gemini @bluegalaxyprime @liadamerondjarin @steph21369 @andrewswifes-blog @yanna-banana

#steph writes #watchtowerindistress #we are not our demons #batfleck #batfleck x oc #bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne imagines #batman x oc #bruce wayne #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman imagines #batman imagine #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #bruce wayne x batmom

17 notes · View notes

hercesofourtime · 2 years

Text

tag dump Oliver Queen

I’m not the person I used to be (oliver queen)

you have no idea on how powerful the truth can be (oliver queen | musings)

how do i look? like a hero (oliver queen | mirror)

fight to live (main | oliver queen)

you are at war with two sides of yourself (oliver queen | headcanon)

relationships tags (canon)

precious cargo (oliver x mia)

you will always be the love of my life (oliver x felicity)

you better (oliver x william)

i don’t want to die down here (oliver x digg)

you are a really good father (oliver x lance)

yachts sucks (oliver x tommy)

we used to date (oliver x laurel)

you are getting good at that (oliver x roy)

mom it’s me (oliver x moira)

you will always be speedy to me (oliver x thea)

verse: it’s always been you (oliver x lena | soul mates) you make me feel like i am home again (oliver x lena)

we deserve happy (oliver x cassandra)

we’ve all got our secrets (oliver x amelia)

#tag dump: oliver queen #I’m not the person I used to be (oliver queen)

0 notes

killerxnstincts--archive · 6 years

Text

&. ❛ i went home and scratched his name on the side of a bullet ( aaron guerrero ) ❜

&. ❛ you left for a trip and didn’t come back and i’m still stuck on you ( oliver queen + greenmartyrdom )❜

&. ❛ and he was unfaithful to the most wanted because she wanted the most ( elizabeth fallon )❜

&. ❛ he would have given her the world but she tore his heart to pieces ( marie axes ) ❜

&. ❛ she chose a path and left them behind ( isabella de luca )❜

&. ❛ he barely remembers her face but her touch remains on his heart forever ( rebekah rossi )❜

&. ❛ pretty and deadly look good on you ( alex contavius )❜

&. ❛ hypnotic posion ( kayla reyes ) ❜

#&. ❛ you left for a trip and didn’t come back and i’m still stuck on you ( oliver queen + greenmartyrdom )❜#&. ❛ and he was unfaithful to the most wanted because she wanted the most ( elizabeth fallon )❜#&. ❛ he would have given her the world but she tore his heart to pieces ( marie axes ) ❜#&. ❛ she chose a path and left them behind ( isabella de luca )❜#&. ❛ he barely remembers her face but her touch remains on his heart forever ( rebekah rossi )❜#&. ❛ i went home and scratched his name on the side of a bullet ( aaron guerrero ) ❜#&. ❛ pretty and deadly look good on you ( alex contavius )❜#&. ❛ hypnotic posion ( kayla reyes ) ❜#( tag dump )

1 note · View note

fastallen · 5 years

Text

tag dump 03 : characters

#°♡° the very thing that makes you different is what makes you special | martin stein #°♡° the bravest thing you can be is optimistic | iris west #°♡° sometimes you just have to slow down | henry allen #°♡° fear is what holds people back from being who they should be | patty spivot #°♡° may the speed force be with you | cisco ramone #°♡° the best way to teach somebody something is to throw them in the deep end | joe west #°♡° expect the plan to go off the rails | leonard snart #°♡° for new heroes will always rise | wally west #°♡° im your daughter from the future and i think i made a big mistake | nora west allen #°♡° its not a burden if we shoulder it together | cailtin snow #°♡° sometimes the past is worth remembering | ralph dibny #°♡° speaking of pain | eddie thawne #°♡° a man often meets his destiny on the very road he takes to avoid it | eobard thawne #°♡° lightning gave me abs | barry allen #to be added #tag dump #°♡° im really good at keeping secrets | felicity smoak #°♡° wear a mask | oliver queen

0 notes

ao3feed-brucewayne · 4 months

Text

I Was Lightning Before The Thunder

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OxklATw by WingsOfTheDamned Another place to dump my Billy Batson-centered drabbles, one-shots and ideas. Most of them identity reveal fics bc there's not enough identity reveal fics out there Words: 7722, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Lightning In A Bottle/Endless Drabbles-One-Shots Fandoms: Shazam! | Captain Marvel (Comics), Shazam! (Movies - Sandberg), Justice League - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Characters: Billy Batson, Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman), Bruce Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), Arthur Curry (DCU), Barry Allen, J'onn J'onzz, Shayera Hol, Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance, Freddy Freeman (DCU), Tawky Tawny, Mary Batson | Mary Bromfield, Eugene Choi (DCU), Rosa Vasquez (DCU), Victor Vasquez, Darla Dudley, Pedro Peña, Courtney Whitmore, Cissie Sommerly, Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine, Nabu (DCU), Shazam the Wizard | Mamaragan Relationships: Billy Batson/Courtney Whitmore, Billy Batson & Justice League Additional Tags: Billy Batson-centric, Billy Batson Needs a Hug, Good Sibling Billy Batson, BAMF Billy Batson, Let Billy Batson Swear, Billy Batson is Captain Marvel | Shazam, Identity Reveal, Secret Identity, Identity Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Not Beta Read, Family, Friendship, Protective Diana (Wonder Woman), Justice League Family Feels, Some Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Angst and Feels, Homeless Billy Batson, Shazamily (DCU), Misunderstandings, Drabble Collection, One Shot Collection, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Protective Justice League, Caring Justice League, Thavma and Billy will sometimes be two different beings, References to Marvel bc I never waste the opportunity to do so read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OxklATw

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

2 notes · View notes

olicitysecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess.

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow.

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List.

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze.

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm.

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her.

Huli jing.

His anonymous hacker ally.

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean.

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word.

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island.

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note.

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all.

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked.

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support.

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support.

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?”

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him.

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

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

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before.

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes.

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible.

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence.

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him.

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false.

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s.

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure.

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit.

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him.

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help.

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?”

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently.

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.”

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.”

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.”

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped.

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them.

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret.

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.”

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?”

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of…feel around.”

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him. He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb.

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing.

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response.

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was.

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not.

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes.

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that.

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected.

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists.

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife.

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced.

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought. She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation.

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious, strategic manner that he was unused to in other people.

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing.

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak.

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer.

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her.

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.”

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed.

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind.

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder.

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place.

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him.

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her. He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability.

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too.

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water.

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick.

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

62 notes · View notes