#vegas!au

[spaceshipsandwine]

Vegas!AU fic recs?

I would love to read a McShep story settled in the alternate reality from Vegas. Preferably multi-chapter. Anyone has any recommendations?

[seanfalco]

The Great Death Defying Nathan Young | Nathan Young x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k Warning(s): Suggestive language, Blood, Character Death (but it’s Nathan, so he’s okay)

Summary: Becoming a Vegas magician’s personal assistant, you get more than you bargained for when you find out the hard way that the magic is actually real, and so are your feelings.

a/n: Dedicated to @midnightseance / @imagine-you for our one year friendaversary!  You were the one to inspire this fic with your ideas after all lol.  Thank you Mel for being such an amazing friend and writing partner.  I love you to bits!  (To bits, I say!)

“This your first day?” the woman with the clipboard and headset next to you asked, startling you. Tearing your eyes from the stage, you nodded.

“I’m [y/n],” you introduced, shaking the woman’s hand as she checked her clipboard.

“I’m Deb. Ah, yes, here you are,” she said, looking back up at you. “You’ll be shadowing me today,” she explained. “Apparently Mr. Young needs more than one personal assistant,” she added under her breath.

“What’s he like?” you asked as you fell into step with the woman.

“A giant pain in my ass,” she grumbled with a twist of her lips. “Everyday its something else: ‘I’m hungry, fetch me some more cornettos’, ‘get Marnie a new pair of lingerie, you know th’kind I like’, ‘I need more condoms’,” she exclaimed in a poor imitation of an Irish accent.

“Oh,” you exclaimed, your brows rising in surprise. You were starting to get a better picture of what this Nathan Young you were going to be working for was like and he seemed like a bit of a prick.

——

——

“Mr. Young,” Deb called through the door to his dressing room after knocking several times with no answer. “Mr. Young!” she tried again, louder this time.

“What? Jay-sus, come on in!”

Deb rolled her eyes as she opened the door and you got your first look at ‘The Great Nathan Young’. Sprawled back in a rather grandiose throne-like chair, one long leg thrown over the arm rest, he wore naught but a half open silk robe tied loosely at the waist and a long silver chair round his neck that glittered against his bare chest.

Sporting a dashing goatee and dark wavy locks that framed his face, his dark limned emerald eyes unabashedly looked you up and down, openly checking you out with a small quirk to his lips.

“And who’re you?” he asked, his lilting accent taking you by surprise. It was nothing like how Deb had impersonated.

“This is [y/n], she’s your new assistant,” Deb introduced, sounding bored as she looked disdainfully around his messy dressing room.

“New assistant? I thought I was your assistant!” the dark haired girl you’d seen on stage earlier exclaimed, her voice a rather grating whine.

“What? No, sweetheart,” Nathan soothed, pulling her into his lap. “She’s my new personal assistant, you’re my magical assistant,” he explained and the girl ‘ohhhh’d’ in understanding, letting out a high pitched giggle.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she exclaimed. “I thought you were gettin’ rid of me for a moment there.”

You noticed Deb roll her eyes again and fought the urge yourself.

“Alright, well, if you don’t need anything—” Before she could finish, Marnie spoke up, cutting her off.

“Actually, I’d like a coffee!”

“Oooh, and I’ll have a soda, and a sandwich,” Nathan added.

Ushering you out of the room before the two could asked for anything else, Deb grumbled under her breath, showing you where the food cart was and how to make Marnie’s coffee the way she like it, with extra sugar.

——

You’d only been on the job a handful of days, but you had to admit it was kind of exciting, despite Nathan’s constant demanding whims. Standing off to the side to watch that night’s rehearsal, you couldn’t help but marvel at how real it all looked.

“Marnie! Stop stop stop!” Nathan cried, frustration lacing his voice as he stopped the production to chastise his partner for about the third time.

“What now?” Marnie exclaimed with a huff, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest.

“You’re not hitting your mark!” Nathan groaned, gesturing to the taped off X on the middle of the stage. “How am I s’posed t’make yeh disappear if y’don’t hit your mark?”

“I don’t know! Does it really matter that much?”

This wasn’t the first time they’d ended up in a shouting match either. It seemed over the past few days, since you’d started, there’d been trouble in paradise, the two constantly picking at one another.

“I need a break, I’m gettin’ a fuckin’ headache,” Nathan groaned, walking off the stage and you hurried after him.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked and Nathan pulled his hand from his face to look up at you.

“An aspirin?” he asked, a pathetic note to his voice before covering his eyes again as he slumped back in his chair. Shaking your head ruefully, you went to go grab a bottled water and some aspirin, holding them out to him.

“Here y’go, drink up,” you prompted, watching him pop the pills in his mouth and down them with a swig of water.

“Thanks,” he muttered, eyeing you askance and you smiled— it was probably the first time he’d actually thanked you for anything.

“No problem,” you murmured. “Can I ask you something?” you wondered after a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. You knew he was probably going to tell you “a magician never reveals his secrets” or some other bullshit line, but you had to ask anyway.

“Hmm?” Nathan prompted, his eyes still closed.

“How do you make it all look so real?” you asked, a hint of awe in your voice and Nathan’s eyes opened as he straightened, fixing you with a smirk.

“That’s because it is all real,” he exclaimed grandly.

Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “Alright, keep your secrets then.”

“I’m serious!” Nathan insisted. He looked like he was gunna say more until the production manager called him back to the stage and he let out a heavy sigh, pushing out of his chair. “I’d love t’stay and chat, but duty calls,” he muttered, spreading his hands apologetically.

“Oh, but first… this is for you,” he said, stopping suddenly to turn, and with a flourish he held out a single red rose to you. “I didn’t know what your favourite flower was… or really how t’make anythin’ that isn’t a rose so…” he trailed off with a shrug and you took the flower, watching him walk to the stage in awe.

Turning, you found Deb watching you, rolling her eyes at the grin you quickly wiped off your face. However, once she left, you smiled to yourself, tucking the flower behind your ear.

Busying yourself with rearranging Nathan’s wardrobe rack, you lost track of what was happening on stage until an angry shriek filled your ears and you jumped, your head snapping up. Before you knew what had happened, Marnie was pushing past you, nearly knocking you over in her haste, Nathan hot on her heels.

“No, I’m done!” she exclaimed, stomping her foot in consternation.

“But Marnie, baby, c’mon!” Nathan pleaded, rushing past to follow her to his dressing room.

“You better go after them,” Deb groaned, running her hand down her face.

Not exactly wanting to eavesdrop, it was kind of unavoidable, however, as you stood outside the open door. Marnie was throwing her clothes into a suitcase in a huff.

“I can’t do this anymore! You said it was gunna be a cakewalk, but you lied!” she cried hysterically, her already nasally voice raising an octave.

“What am I s’posed t’do without you?” Nathan countered, trying to get her to stop.

“I dunno, get another assistant! How about her?” Marnie pointed at you, having caught sight of you standing by the door. “I’ve seen you flirtin’ with her!”

Nathan grimaced as he caught your eye, the rose he’d given you still tucked in your hair and you flashed him an apologetic look. “Marnie—” he tried again, but she brushed past him, her bags in hand.

“No, Nathan, we’re through. Don’t follow me!”

“You’ll be sorry!” he yelled after her before sweeping dramatically back into his dressing room. “Well, y’comin’ in or not?” he called when you hesitated.

“What, uhm, what was all that about?” you asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind you. Nathan already had a bottle in his hand and when he turned to face you, plopping down in his chair your brows rose in surprise.

Instead of the long hair you’d come to recognize on him he sported a mess of dark springy curls piled atop his head, and his facial hair was nowhere to be found, making him look nearly ten years younger.

“Oh, who knows? She’s always been fickle, but who needs her, right?” Nathan replied with bravado, waving his hand as he brought the bottle back to his lips.

“You-your face… you look—” you floundered and Nathan snorted.

“Different?” he scoffed, snorting. “Yeah, well, it’s fake.”

“But you said…”

Giving you a patient look as he sat up, he seemed to find your shock amusing. “Th’magic is real, but my appearance ain’t,” he explained. “I mean, clearly, I’m gorgeous, but d’yeh think anyone would pay t’see ‘The Great Nathan Young’ if I looked like this?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

“I dunno, probably. I think y’look better this way,” you added with a shrug, your words taking him aback and he gaped at you. “So, what’re you gunna do now?” you asked, quickly changing the subject, your face starting to warm at your admission.

Groaning, Nathan deflated in his chair. “I’ll have t’find another assistant t’take Marnie’s place, and fast, opening night is tomorrow and if we have to postpone… it’ll be a disaster.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” you asked, trying to lift his spirits, but he merely gave you a flat stare before burying his face in his hands.

“I’ve got a lot riding on this show, if it flops... As a kid, all I ever wanted was t’be a magician and this show is my big break. I guess I could always go back t’do card tricks in casinos...” he sighed, the sadness in his voice tugging at your heart.

Trying to think of something to say, you awkwardly patted his shoulder, jumping when he suddenly sat up, his gaze lifting to you and you didn’t like the appraising way he looked at you.

“What…?” you asked hesitantly, although you could already guess what he was thinking.

“You could be my new assistant!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’re already familiar with the show and—”

“Oh, no no no,” you quickly protested, holding your hands up.

“Oh c’mon! You’d look stunning, and you’d be savin’ th’show,” Nathan argued. “D’you want me t’beg?” he asked, promptly dropping to his knees at your feet, only making your face flare hotter.

“That’s not—”

Before you could finish, he’d taken your hands in his as he gazed up at you entreatingly, his gorgeous green eyes getting the better of you.

“Alright, fine, but Deb’s gunna be pissed,” you groaned.

Instantly Nathan’s demeanor brightened, a grin stretching his face. “Leave that crusty old bat t’me,” he exclaimed, waving the thought away as he leapt to his feet, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you’d even realized it. “C’mon, we better get you into costume, we have a rehearsal t’finish!

——

As you’d feared, Deb was not happy about this new development, leaving her once again to Nathan’s whims as his main personal assistant, and grumbling under her breath, she led you to wardrobe.

“Let’s see how long you last!” she exclaimed as she left you to change. Holding up your costume, you eyed the scanty sequined outfit with reluctance. Sighing, you pulled the costume on and inspected yourself in the mirror. Though you weren’t usually very comfortable wearing something so revealing, you found yourself looking forward to Nathan’s reaction, touching your cheek where he’d kissed you.

“Wow!” he breathed, left stunned for a moment as his mouth fell open, his gaze taking you in. It wasn’t long, however, for his cocky demeanor to return, and he let out a low whistle before flashing you a cheeky smirk.

“See, told yeh you’d look amazin’,” he exclaimed, back in his wig and goatee, and you rolled your eyes; you really did like him better without that ridiculous get up.

Climbing up on stage with him, he walked you through each act and you were thankful you had at least some knowledge of what you were supposed to do after watching Marnie so many times. Up close and part of the action, the magic tricks seemed even more real and though you tried, you couldn’t quite figure out how he did it.

“Well, I think that went as well as can be hoped for,” the production manager exclaimed, a haggard look on his face. He, like Nathan, needed the show to go off without a hitch.

“Hey, you were great up there!” Nathan called, catching up to you as you headed back to the spare dressing room — yours, now — to change.

“Really?” you asked, kinda surprised; you’d felt like you’d just been fumbling your way through it.

“Yeah, you’re a natural,” he insisted, leaning against the wall next to your door and you rolled your eyes, fighting a pleased grin.

“So…” Nathan murmured, his gaze dropping as he leaned in closer, trailing his fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Wanna come round t’mine tonight? I’ll help keep your mind off the pre-show jitters,” he offered.

For a moment you merely stared at him incredulously.

“We’ll get drunk, have a little fun—”

“I can’t believe you!” you exclaimed in disgust.

“What?” he asked, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “I’ve seen th’way you look at me when y’think on one’s watching. You want me,” he argued.

“So you think just because I took Marnie’s place that I’ll sleep with you too?”

“Yeah, why not? Y’know you want to,” Nathan countered.

Growling, you pushed past him into your dressing room. “And here I was starting to think you might not be a total prick!” You caught the surprised look on Nathan’s face before slamming the door in his face, and that at least made you feel a little better.

——

It was the night of the performance, opening night, and you felt like you were gunna be sick. You’d never done anything like this before. What if you fucked it up and ruined the show? Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you groaned, wishing you could relax when a knock at your door made you jump.

“C-come in!” he called, your voice wavering.

When Nathan’s head appeared around the door you directed him a flat stare. “What, you here to ask me for a quick shag before the show?” you sneered, trying not to think about how handsome he looked in his suit.

“No!” he exclaimed hastily, though he looked slightly guilty. “No, actually I just came t’check on you. I figured you might be a little nervous.”

“A little…” you admitted, your glare softening somewhat and Nathan offered you a smile.

“Just… don’t think about the audience. Focus on me,” he murmured. “You’re gunna do great,” he assured you before his eyes trailed downward and quickly back up. “You look stunning by the way,” he exclaimed, quickly ducking out the door before you could chuck something at him, leaving you flushed and slightly flustered.

“Prick,” you muttered under your breath, but the word held no heat.

Waiting in the wings, you felt stage fright wash over you afresh as you caught sight of how many people were in the audience. Your heart pounding in your ears, your breath sped up as your whole body felt rooted in place. How were you supposed to do this?

You have no speaking lines, you reminded yourself, taking a deep breath, then another. All you have to do is bring Nathan his props and look pretty. All you have to do is focus on him…

Suddenly the house lights dimmed and went dark, a hush going over the house.

“You ready?” Nathan’s voice in your ear sent a shiver through you, and you yelped softly as he pinched your ass. Before you could turn to smack him he disappeared with a flourish of the cloak he wore, appearing in the middle of the stage in a cloud of smoke for his grand entrance to a crescendo of music and applause.

For a moment you stared at where he’d been in surprise. You’d never been that close before when he did that, you always just assumed it was some sort of trick with a trap door, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Allow me to introduce t’you my very lovely assistant, [y/n]!”

Nathan’s lilting voice calling your name snapped you out of your thoughts and you nearly missed your cue, hurrying on stage to stand next to him, bowing low to the audience before hanging off his arm.

“Took your sweet time,” he whispered, his brows furrowing slightly. “Thought you got cold feet…”

“How’d you do that?” you hissed, still trying to wrap your head around it.

“I told you, it’s magic,” he replied with a smirk, turning back to address the audience. “For my first trick—”

After your first near miss, the rest of the show went off without a hitch and you were actually starting to enjoy yourself, thankful for the brightness of the lights overhead which kept you from really being able to see the audience that clearly.

“You ready for the big finale, sweetheart?” Nathan whispered, slipping his arm around you.

“I have a name, you know,” you reminded him, but there was no snap to your voice and he merely raised his eyebrows at you.

“Are y’ready for the big finale, [y/n]?” he amended, bringing a grin to your face though you tried to hide it.

“Yeah, I think so. Are you?” you asked. Even though you’d seen him perform this trick several times it still made you nervous.

“You know it,” he answered, a genuine smile splitting his face. “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were enjoying yourself,” he pointed out, nudging your arm.

“I am,” you admitted, hurrying back on stage before he could react.

——

“And now for my final performance of the night, I will be recreating a feat first done by Harry Houdini himself!” Nathan exclaimed grandly to the audience, throwing his arms wide. “Let’s see if I survive!”

“Please don’t say that,” you muttered, helping him shed his cape and fitting the straitjacket on him, securing his arms in place while dramatic music played.

“What, y’worried? I can do this in my sleep,” Nathan murmured, flexing his arms, testing his restraints.

“I’m not… worried,” you argued, stepping back to gesture toward Nathan with a flourish for the audience.

“You are, you’re worried bout me,” Nathan insisted, a smug grin on his lips. “I always knew you cared.”

Scoffing quietly, you didn’t contradict him as the hook descended from above.

“Now that I’m fully restrained, my lovely assistant is going to attach me to this hook where I will be suspended upside down over the stage while I attempt to free myself from my confines!”

The audience gasped.

“Good luck,” you murmured as you helped Nathan lay down on stage, attaching the hook to a rope tied round his ankles.

“I don’t need luck, I have magic, remember,” he countered, grinning coyly at you.

“Nathan—“ you sighed.

“Can I get a kiss for luck, if y’think I need it so badly?”

Rolling your eyes skyward, you bit your lip, bending over him to press your lips to his before pulling back.

“There, now I feel better,” he teased. “When I get back down will y’give me a proper kiss?” he asked as you gave the signal for him to be lifted.

“We’ll see,” you muttered, watching him as he slowly ascended into the air til he stopped, the spotlights training on him.

Holding your breath, you watching him struggle, squirming in the straitjacket, til just like the other times he’d practiced it, he finally freed one arm and then the other, wriggling out of the straitjacket and letting it fall with a thud to the stage below as the audience gasped.

It was when he fought to free himself from the ropes tying his feet together that it happened; he was reaching for the hook to hold onto when the last of the rope fell away too quickly.

You watched in horror as Nathan fell, his name on your lips, the scene unfolding as if in slow motion.

This was not how this was supposed to happen, but the audience didn’t seem to realize it wasn’t part of the show. As soon as he hit the ground at your feet with a sickening crunch, you fell to your knees at his side, a sob catching in your throat, time snapping back to normal even as the world around you felt muted, your pulse the only thing filling your ears.

The quickly spreading pool of blood beneath him had reached your knees now, but you didn’t care, pulling his lifeless body into your arms, stroking his curls away from his forehead, the glamour having faded away.

He’d been telling you the truth this whole time— it was all real...but so was this. How was he supposed to come back from this?

“Nathan, you idiot,” you sobbed, stroking his cheek. “Why’d you have to do something so foolishly dangerous? You should’ve been wearing a wire, just in case…”

You felt your tears fall hotly down your face, blurring your vision. “What am I supposed to do now? I was just starting to like you, you ass—”

“You were?”

At Nathan’s raspy voice, your eyes snapped open and your jaw fell as you found him watching you, a small grin playing at his pink lips which just moments ago had been alarmingly pale.

“Nathan, you’re—! How?” you gasped, quickly wiping at your eyes, blinking back your tears.

“Am I in heaven? Cause you must be th’hottest angel I’ve ever seen,” he joked, his lips twitching as his grin widened.

“Nathan!” you huffed, unamused, your lips quivering. “You fucking asshole, that wasn’t funny! You scared me half t’death!”

“Were you cryin’ over me?” he asked, tilting his head as he reached up to wipe at your damp cheeks. “Don’t cry, [y/n]. I’m alright,” he assured you, his gaze softening, touched at how much you cared.

“How-how did you do that?” you asked, thoughts of anything but the young man in your arms far away.

“Well, I’m immortal, so…” he shrugged as he sat up, wincing slightly.

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, met with Nathan’s raised eyebrows.

“Is it? After everything else you’ve seen me do?”

“I guess not…” you conceded. “You’re still an ass though,” you exclaimed, helping him up to face the audience who applauded and cheered deafeningly.

“Yeah, but you still like me,” Nathan pointed out cheekily.

Opening your mouth to argue, you decided against it, too relieved that he was alive, that you had more time. Yanking him toward you, your mouths collided and he reacted instantly, his arms snaking around you as he dipped you low, kissing you back with a fervor that stole your breath, leaving you panting in his arms as he righted you.

“You wanna come back t’mine after the show?” he asked, watching you expectantly.

“Do you always go to these lengths to get laid?” you teased, even though you already knew your answer.

“Nope, you’re th’first I’ve died for,” he answered with a smirk that made you grin back. “Besides, I’m hopin’ it might be a little more than that,” he admitted as the curtain fell.

Searching his face for a moment you kissed him again. “I’d like that.”

———————

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits @super-unpredictable98 @nightingale-rose @salvador-daley @duck-noises @forenschik @simsiddy @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @captainsheeballs

[spiderman-homecomeme]

Day One - When in Vegas

Prompt: future!au

It’s cutting it close, but here is my first contribution to @spideychellemonth! I’m gonna try my darndest to keep up, but I’m so excited for this guys!! 

This is potentially going to be multi-chapter, mostly because it was getting too long and I was having just TOO MANY IDEAS lmao Let me know what y’all think! This is also based off of an idea an anon sent me a week or so ago about a marriage pact!AU that i just LOVED the idea for 

Basically, the 1.7k Waking Up Married in Vegas!AU nobody asked for pls enjoy! <3

.

.

Fuck.

It’s the first semi-coherent thought that pops into MJ’s head as she’s dragged into a sluggish state that can barely be described as consciousness. Her eyes, feeling as if they might fall right out of her skull, squeeze shut in an effort to stop the sun’s merciless assault. The groan that leaves her mouth as she turns away from the window is almost inhuman, her tongue heavy and dry, throat feeling as if she’d just swallowed barbed wire. If she moves too much, she’s sure whatever concoction of last night’s activities currently residing in her stomach are going to end up on the floor. 

Three gin and tonics, two vanilla screwdrivers, and a few too many—who was counting, really?—shots of tequila seemed like an okay idea last night, at least past-MJ thought. 

That was a problem for future-MJ.

Future-MJ hates past-MJ.

It was true, it was all true, she reflects as her stomach gurgles violently, lurching into the back of her throat. 

It’s a simple explanation, really.

Over time, the enzymes required to metabolize all that booze have started to weaken, no longer breaking down toxins with the same vigor, leaving the elusive acetaldehyde to roam free. 

In other words, she’s thirty.

Gone were the glory days where she could drink the night away and wake up with just a mild headache. The days where she could have as many different cocktails as her heart desired and not wake up feeling like death itself. The days where she could drink just one glass of pinot noir and not feel like an angry bull is stomping on his hippocampus.

But it had been Ned’s 30th, one of her best friends since high school, a real cause for celebration. They were in Vegas, for crying out loud. Sin City. What was she supposed to do?

Not drink?

(Well, yeah. That would have been ideal.)

But where was the fun in that?

Her hand brushes across her bare stomach, and she realizes with a small start that she’s naked. 

She’s not sure if she’s ever been more confused.

Come to think of it, she’s not sure she even knows what happened last night. There’s flashes, very brief flashes of club music, Grey Goose, way too much glitter, and a lot of highly questionable, dumbass financial decisions involving slot machines and poker games.

She’s pretty sure she’s still alive, about 62%, but she’s also fairly certain that her brain has been replaced with cotton and sewing needles. An ache that starts right around her knees shoots up her spine, radiating throughout her body as she pulls the blanket tighter around her and buries her puffy face into the pillow.

When she realizes that any chance of sleep is gone for good, and that she can’t just will this splitting headache away with her own mind, she cracks an eye open. She immediately regrets that decision as soon as the harsh sunlight hits, shaking her head, throwing her arm out in some kind of half-assed effort to fight it off. 

Her heart nearly stops when her hand hits something soft and warm next to her. She yanks her hand back, eyes shooting open to see someone—a man—face down in the mattress, head of chocolate brown waves turned away from her. A rather uncalled for heat swarms her body as her gaze drifts to his exposed back and lingers on the taut muscles there, drifting lower, the thin stop-sheet just barely covering the curve of his—

What the hell happened last night?

But dread starts to mix with the nausea gripping at her stomach as she realizes something about the naked mystery man in her bed.

She knows that curly mop of brown hair.

Immediately, she shoots up from the bed, gripping the sheet against her chest. 

A big mistake.

The nausea finally wins the battle, and she runs to the bathroom, not bothering to cover up as she empties the toxic contents of her stomach into the toilet. 

It’s a wonder Peter doesn’t wake up from her violent retching. 

She forces out a harsh exhale as she flushes down the remnants of her night out, hand reaching out to grip the bathroom counter as she rises on shaky legs. She grabs the complimentary bathrobe—how fancy—and shrugs it on before turning to the sink to splash ice cold water onto her face. 

And that’s when she sees it. 

The gaudy, cheap, obviously fake rock sitting smugly on her left ring finger, staring right back at her slack-jawed expression. 

What the fuck?!

It all comes back to her. 

They’d been so, so incredibly dumb. 

Both of them.

Peter looks stupid good.

He always has, of course, she wasn’t blind. 

But his late-twenties seemed to have been incredibly kind to him. He still had that boyish charm she’d always secretly liked, but now… now there was just something about him, standing under these neon casino lights, wearing a plain black suit with a white tee underneath, that brought back years and years of repressed high school feelings. 

Mutual feelings that neither of them ever acted on. Only joked about.

They would never have worked as a couple, they’d always say.

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

So they both moved on. It was high school. They still had the rest of their lives ahead of them. 

Plus, the risk of ruining their solid friendship was just too great. 

So why, after nearly twelve years, is she having to actively fight back the stupid fluttering of butterflies when he so much as glanced in her general direction? 

It makes no sense. 

It isn’t like they haven’t seen each other since high school. Yeah, it’s been a few months since they last caught up, both of them being too busy with work and the like, but...

They were still friends—best friends, even.

She blames it on the second gin and tonic.

Yes, it’s the warm buzz of the alcohol running through her body that’s making her feel like she’s pretty damn close to walking on air. 

And she chases that feeling, returning again and again to the bar—sometimes with Peter, himself—giving up on actually counting her drinks after the first shot of tequila. 

Tequila was clearly not her friend in this case.

It could also have been the fact that she’s freshly single and she’s had to witness Ned and, now fiancèe Betty, making googly eyes at each other one too many times, and it’s entirely possible that she’s just feeling that creeping loneliness she’d tried so hard to stamp down.

She doesn’t know how they get here, maybe it’s somewhere between her second shot and her first screwdriver, but they’re alone in a booth in the corner. For the first time in a while, her liquid courage doesn’t help stave off the pressure of trying to come up with something cool to say, and she feels, once again, like she’s back in high school. 

It’s an incredibly frustrating feeling.

Peter ducks as he sees Ned looking for him, MJ snickering as she watches the whole ordeal. Ned’s drunkenly leading this poor, unassuming casino patron around, glancing around frantically as he wanders from room to room.

Odds are it’s just another person to try and hook Peter up with. 

Ned means well, he truly does, but frankly, Peter’s a little tired of the constant matchmaking. Yes, he’s been the perpetually single friend for a number of years now, but he seemed to be pretty content on his own.

And plus, he and MJ are having a pretty good time by themselves.

He doesn’t need anyone else.

“But, Pete,” MJ starts, words slurring ever-so-slightly, tone laced with sarcasm. “Everyone knows that being single in your thirties is one of the most shameful things in existence. It’s barbaric. You need to settle down, before it’s too late.”

He throws his head back, letting out an exaggerated laugh. “You’re right. My good years are gone.” 

She tsks, shaking her head. “Past your prime.”

“I’ve truly peaked.” He tips his glass to her, before taking a drink.

A smirk tugs at her lips. “What will you do now?”

“Well...” He laughs lightly, casually stirring the glass in his hand. He looks up at her, eyes glazed over, tilting his head as he fixes her with a fond, teasing smile. “We still have that pact.”

Ah, yes. 

The pact. 

The pact that they’d made—as a joke—when they were sixteen. 

It was simple.

If they were both single at thirty, they’d get married. 

That was the deal.

They even shook on it. 

But, official as that simple handshake was at the time for two hormonal teenagers, it wasn’t something that was ever in any universe supposed to be taken seriously.

Maybe it was just a ring, though. Maybe they didn’t get actually, legitimately, legally get married. They couldn’t have been that dumb. 

Or maybe this was some sick hangover hallucination her brain made up as punishment for drinking too much. 

The rest of the night is a blur, brief glimpses of drunken giggles, his hand in hers flashing through her mind. She vaguely remembers going somewhere outside the casino with him, stumbling through the streets as they pull each other along, bright lights dancing above them. 

Balloons everywhere. 

A corny chapel. 

A Tony Stark impersonator. 

Her expression is oddly calm, a contrast to the utter horror she feels in her gut as she stares at the sparkling ring on her finger. 

This isn’t that bad, she thinks. This can all be over in a matter of hours. 

An annulment was easy, right?

Right?

It’s not like they had sex or anything—

Wait, no, fuck, they did. 

Did they…?

Again, the later part of the night is fuzzy.

Another wave of nausea crashes into her before she has a chance to be confused, and in an instant, she’s hunched over the toilet again. 

And it’s while she’s puking her guts out, while she’s praying that the naked guy in her bed stays asleep where he’s supposed to be, does a boxer-clad-Peter step into the bathroom. He looks almost as wrecked as she is, his hair in wild disarray, bags under his eyes giving Gollum a run for his money. 

He hesitates, knocking gently on the doorframe. “MJ—?” At first, he looks as though he’s about to ask her why she’s in his hotel room, but his expression crumples into one of worry when he sees how sick she is. “Are you okay?”

She scoffs and gives him a weak glance over her shoulder, ready to throw a biting, sarcastic remark back at him, when she sees the way the color drains from his face.

He’s frozen in place, eyes wide, and she hesitantly follows his gaze, right onto that big, fake diamond on her finger. 

Fuck.

[dandelionwishes70]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Matthew Brown (Hannibal) Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Romance, Ice Cream, Dating, Marriage, getting to know someone, Gambling, good luck, winning, Flirting, Halloween, Oral Sex, angel - Freeform, demon', semi public sex, movie Series: Part 2 of It's Vegas Baby!

Excerpt:

"God! You feel soooo good Hannibal! I want you to fuck me."

Hannibal grunts his disapproval of Will's word choice.

"Don't you mean making love?"

Will shakes his head as his hips move in time with his husband's fingers. He closes his eyes as he shivers from the heat traveling up his spine.

"No darlin', This is going to be a good old fashion fucking! Making love..implies...gentleness. I want a primal lust filled hard fuck! I am going to wind you up and let you go!"

Will says between gasps as he raises up taking Hannibal's cock. He lines it up with his hole and pushes his way down.Will places his hand into his husband's shirt pawing at his husband's chest hair. Hannibal stares at Will as his polite mask falls away replaced by something feral.

[dandelionwishes70]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Matthew Brown (Hannibal), Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, Jack Crawford Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Romance, Ice Cream, Dating, Marriage, getting to know someone, Gambling, good luck, winning, Flirting, Halloween, Oral Sex, angel - Freeform, demon', semi public sex, movie, New Year's Eve, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Kissing, Valentine's Day, stuffed dog, Flowers, snoopy friends, embarrassment Series: Part 2 of It's Vegas Baby!

Excerpt from My Funny Valentine:

"Did Will get you drunk in Vegas and get you to marry him?" It's a waspish comment trying to disguise itself as humor spoken by Zeller. He has a terse smile with his arms crossed looking at the couple.

Will's eyes drop and he feels the burn in his ears and tip of his nose. Hannibal only lets the edges of mouth curved in amusement.

"We did marry in Vegas." comes the answer full of amusement that is barely heard droned out by the gasps and titters of embarrassed laughter from the others.Will's head snaps up and he actually growls at his husband.

He wonders if he shoots his husband in the foot would the good doctor divorce him before or after Will's court date. He hadn't planned on telling anyone about Hannibal until the matter was settled. He wasn't ashamed of Hannibal, no chance of that, he was avoiding the looks.The looks and stares the empath will be doomed to suffer under if everything fell through like it has time and time again.

He knew Hannibal couldn't wait to tell his friends about Will. The doctor had inquired about Will's colleagues.But Will had brushed off the questions with a kiss or a fondle.Now he wished he hadn't changed the subject too often as he had.

"I think it's awesome. I bet a great story!" enthuses Beverly.

"Oh it is!" comes chuckles from Jack. Will had forgotten about him even being in the room.

"Ooooo Tell us! " a chorus from Beverly and Jimmy.

"No.no. that's for Will to tell if he wants."

"Thanks for recognizing that fact now Jack!"

Hannibal lays a soothing hand on Will's neck.

"Who sent you the dog and balloons?" he asks in distraction to Will.

Will gives Hannibal a quizzical look.

"Are they not from you?"

[juleswritesallwrongs]

What Happened In Vegas .26

Okay, I have to make this quick, but I wanted to get this chapter to you before I’ll be MIA for the next week. I’m looking at a very offline vacation. But I’ll be back soon. So let me just say: I'm happy you many of you enjoy this story and support it so much. You are amazing and I am forever grateful. Much love.

The wonderful Albiona approved this and I am forever thankful she finds the time to help me despite her crazy schedule.

Okay, this is a plot-moving chapter. I expect words about it and I am ready to explain (when I’m back). ;) Love, Jules

February 6th, 2013 Apparently, “verdant” was timeless with an edge. For weeks Tommy Merlyn had pondered what to call the club. The result was Verdant—and very suspicious, if you asked Oliver Queen. Was it a hint that Tommy knew what lay underneath the dance floor? Was this his friend’s way of telling him that he knew? Or was it simply a coincidence? The sign with the green – pardon, verdant – ‘V’ dangled from a truck crane that heaved the thing into position above the entrance. Oliver’s eyes were glued to it as his brain skipped through all the various possibilities that came with this name. The workers were fighting to get the huge sign up safely. It was a particular windy day in a February that was particularly cold by Californian standards. The zipper of his brown jacket was pulled up as high as it would go as Oliver stood next to his friend in front of the factory that was turning more into a venue with each passing day. “What do you think?” Tommy’s voice cut into Oliver’s worrying. Making sure his face was even, Oliver turned away from the sign swinging heavily. “Why Verdant?” he asked as neutrally as possible.

Wind tore at Tommy’s dark hair. He met Oliver’s eyes. “Because the phrase ‘Hey, wanna come party at Verdant’ just works. It has a cool ring to it, sounds like a place to be. Understated and sophisticated.” “Understated and sophisticated?” Oliver couldn’t help but feel relieved. There wasn’t the slightest doubt within him: Tommy’s reasons for christening his club didn’t involve any hidden intent. He relaxed his shoulders a little. “I never thought anybody would describe anything we did with those words.” Tommy chuckled. “We’re turning a new page. We’re business men now. Our business is a good party.” “That, on the other hand, sounds very much like us.” Another laugh, and Tommy brought his hand to his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this with me.” He motioned toward the sign, still swaying in the wind while the workers yelled instructions at each other. “This is the start of something great, of something that’s my own and not my father’s.” Thoughtfully, Oliver looked at his best friend who was pouring his heart and soul into this club, who had cut cords with his father over it. Malcolm Merlyn was a horrible person, Oliver knew, still he couldn’t help but think that, maybe, Tommy would one day regret the rift separating them. Giving himself an inward shove, he asked, “How are things with your father?” A shrug was Tommy’s immediate reaction, followed by a short, “Tense.” Oliver was debating whether to inquire further when Tommy changed the subjected, “But things with Laurel are better. So, that’s good.” No matter how much Oliver wished it were, this wasn’t a topic that could be ended with a quick nod. The fact that Laurel had been kidnapped by Cyrus Vanch to lure out The Hood wasn’t exactly something Oliver wanted to talk about, but Tommy’s best friend couldn’t ignore it. “How’s she doing?” “She’s handling the whole thing better than I thought. I guess now both of our girls were rescued by The Hood.” “Not the best club to be in,” Oliver dismissed. “Absolutely not,” Tommy agreed. “But things are tense between Laurel and her dad. First, he used her as bait to lure The Hood out. Then, one of his policeman told Vanch that Laurel had a connection to The Hood.” “The latter is hardly her father’s fault.” “Yeah, but her old man would’ve shot Vanch if it wasn’t for The Hood. Laurel’s really disappointed.” Tommy sighed. “Women! Crushing on a murderer, but judging their fathers for protecting them.” Was that an attempt to lighten the mood, Oliver wondered? Because if it was, it sucked. He dug his brain for something to say. “It’s just good that she came out of the whole thing unharmed. Maybe she’ll stay away from the hood guy from now on.” “Quentin took the phone back.” Oliver looked at his best friend. “Good,” he stated with emphasis, because, really, that was good, better for everybody involved. Silence settled over the friends as they both stared ahead, watching the sign being lifted into position, swaying in the wind that was still picking up. Oliver enjoyed the quiet moment, but he felt Tommy shift his weight next to him. Tommy lasted a few seconds, then he sighed heavily. “I told Laurel the truth about Vegas.” Stupidly, Oliver blinked at the other man, because: wow! Oliver knew that he wasn’t an expert on such things and was hardly a person with any right to judge, but even he couldn’t help but think that dropping such a thing on somebody right on the heels of a traumatic experience was... not so good. His face twisted a little. “And?” “And she yelled. A lot.” “Didn’t you say things were better between you?” “They are now. Because after we both stopped yelling—” “You yelled, too?” “Of course I did! She went behind my back to The Hood.” Oliver chose to spare himself any more details. He just wanted a conclusion. “I take it you worked through all those issues and the wedding is still on.” “Definitely on. Very on. All’s good.” “Good!” Oliver tried a smile. “I’m happy for you.” “Thanks, buddy. I just hope that nobody else operates under the false impression that Laurel’s a good way to get to The Hood. With all the people she’s pissing off by being an amazing lawyer, I really can’t deal with her having another bullseye on her back.” Slowly, Oliver nodded. “I’m sure it was just a onetime thing.” Oliver hoped so. Putting Laurel in harm’s way – putting anybody in harm’s way, actually – was the last thing he wanted. But despite that he couldn’t deny the relief that people seemed to have no idea how to really get to him. The whole episode with Laurel had proven that he must have done a good job concealing his identity. If he hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been Laurel tied to that chair in Vanch’s luxurious hideout. Oliver motioned toward the workers struggling with the sign and the wind. “I think we should call this off, if we don’t want to start our business with an accident.” “Yeah,” Tommy nodded. “Crushed by Verdant. Bad headline—if it’s not related to Poison’s shutdown. Max Fuller won’t know what hit him when we open next month. It will be epic!” February 8th, 2013 Damian might be the guy for the numbers but this was ridiculous. “You’re working in a software company,” Felicity told him. “You should know not to install the Google Tool Bar.” “Seriously?” Sitting on his chair in front of his computer screen, he looked up at Felicity, standing next to him. “That’s the biggest problem you have when you look at the computer screen?” “It’s the only thing I can do anything about right now.” She gestured towards the monitor and the numbers piling up there. “You can keep from hiring somebody else and not drag these numbers down even further.” Felicity wouldn’t have the same discussion again. She just couldn’t. “You know what?! Fine. It’s not like anybody’s applied anyway. Happy now?” She saw that her CFO wanted to add something and brought her hand up. “It’s decided. Done with! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to figure out why the damn software deems all jpgs attached to emails as malware.” With quick steps she headed out of his office (next to Felicity and Tak, Damian was the only one who had a door to close—a possibility Felicity ignored) and walked across the loft-like room on the third floor toward her own office. It took effort to push the feeling of helplessness away. The image was very cliché, but it kept popping up in front of her inner eye: herself trying to plug holes in a boat with her bare hands while, despite her best efforts, the water still streamed around her fingers, steadily filling the boat. She was drowning, figuratively. The bugs were making her go crazy. As soon as one was fixed another one popped up. It was as if the bug were updat— Felicity stopped. She had been about to enter her office but instead turned around and nearly ran through the room and down the stairs to the floor below where, Yongtak was standing next to Paige’s desk, pointing at something on the screen (most likely something that wasn’t working). Not slowing down, Felicity grabbed his arm and pulled him after her. An accusatory “HEY!” left Tak’s lips as he stumbled into his office. Felicity firmly closed the door. Hauntingly, she looked at her trusted friend and said forcefully but quietly, “Google Tool Bar!” Nothing but confusion came from Tak and she clarified, “It’s on Damian’s computer.” Tak rolled his eyes. “He’s such a noob, honestly! Biggest computer loser of Firestorm.” Felicity made a dismissive gesture. “That’s hardly new information. And besides the point. The point is: the damn Tool Bar is on his PC!” The frown darkening the master coder’s face lifted after a second. “But it can’t be....” “I shouldn’t be,” Felicity corrected, her eyes glued to Tak. “Not with the restrictions we implemented. Updates of all kinds are limited to admin access—aka you and me. Did you install the Google junk? ‘Cause I didn’t.” Felicity could see Tak’s brain working overtime as his eyes danced left and right. “A virus,” he breathed finally. “But that can’t be. Our firewall is solid.” He looked at her, willing her to trust him. “One hundred percent! I checked. Since the attack I check every day. There were no attacks, nothing unusual, definitely no breaches.” “What if the virus didn’t come from the outside?” “An inside job?” Yongtak looked like he wanted to laugh before consternation took over. “Seriously? Where’s all this paranoia coming from?” The answer was a list of names (ironically). The most prominently listed name was Moira, of course. Her actions had rooted very paranoid thoughts inside Felicity. If considering that your mother-in-law might have been involved in blowing up a boat carrying her husband and son wasn’t paranoid, Felicity didn’t know what was. Oliver was also on that list and Diggle. Both men had made her suspicious of people’s intentions—even more than she had been before. Did she want to consider that one of her employees might have betrayed her? No. Did she have to consider it to cover all her bases? Yes! Ignoring Tak’s question, Felicity said firmly, “It’s a possibility. One that would explain a lot.” “That would also mean we’re stupid.” Tak moved an unruly hand over his forehead and further up, scratching his scalp. “Missing this virus for weeks, probably months, would be utterly stupid. Are we stupid, Fe?” “There’s the possibility that we are.” Her mouth tightened. “We need to check to make sure that we aren’t.” “Without anybody finding out,” Tak added. “If you’re right and it’s an inside job, we have to make sure we don’t spook anybody.” “You and I,” Felicity ordered. “Overtime. Tonight.” “Overtime’s good. That’s probably an all-nighter.” Tak frowned. “Does your bodyguard get a bonus for night shifts?” A playful gleam crept into his eyes. “Or maybe it was him. Peter and his PS Vita.” Hearing that, Felicity visibly froze in shock while Tak stilled in disbelief. “I’m just kidding. Geez. Seriously, you’re too paranoid. He’s just a sweet Russian kid who kills at GTA.” No, he really wasn’t. He was a mobster for hire who she believed to be loyal to the rank the man she loved held in the Russian mafia. How was it possible that a sentence like that described her life? She needed to talk to Oliver. “We’ll know more tonight.” She motioned to his head. “Fix your hair. If you go out looking like that everybody’ll nothing something’s up.” February 10th, 2013 The bullets drilled into the wall, leaving behind a scattering of holes in the grey concrete. The rattling of the Kalashnikov cut through the room again and un-aimed bullets sprayed into the air. A man stood next to the opened crate in a wide stance. His purple shirt was opened two buttons too many, revealing a meaty chest with a golden chain tangling in his black chest hair. His knees were bent and his mouth twisted as he moved his automatic rifle left and right and left again in an uncontrolled gesture that was supposed to look tough but just wasted ammunition. The Hood evaded the bullets easily, took cover behind another crate, then kept moving. The guy was still wasting ammo when The Hood suddenly appeared behind him. The sole of his foot hit the hollow of the gunman’s knee with force. The cracking of his bone breaking followed, but The Hood paid no mind as his elbow connected with his opponent’s face. Blood gushed out of a broken nose. Another calculated hit sent that man into unconsciousness. The Hood drew his bow instantly and shot, aiming in a millisecond. The arrow hit perfectly with a soft clink, followed by a clacking and a gasp. On the other side of the warehouse, the last man stared at the ground, unable to believe that The Hood had just shot the gun out of his hand. In the distance sirens wailed, coming closer. The Hood had to make it quick. In the blink of an eye he was with the skinny man who – now that he had lost his firearm – was suddenly much less brave. He held his hands up in a surrendering manner, but The Hood’s fist was already on the move and even though he could have, he wasn’t in any mood to spare him. Knocked out, the man sank to the floor. Taking a moment to make sure he hadn’t missed anybody that could give the nearing police any trouble, The Hood let his eyes sweep over the room and the crates filled with firearms. The Bratvas would have to do without that fresh batch of automatic rifles. The vigilante looked down at the pale, unconscious man at his feet, the tailored suit and perfectly shined shoes. Matthew Astin—another name to cross off his list. Satisfied with the results of the last five minutes, The Hood hurried toward the exit as the sirens grew close, blue lights already visible. He had to hurry—to escape the police and to pick up his wife from work. Couldn’t be late for either. __________________________________ Felicity Queen had failed her company. Felicity Queen hadn’t noticed there was a virus on her server for... well, if her suspicion was right, she had failed to do so for months. That realization was the worst thing that had happened to her this year—which was saying a lot, because, even though it was only February, her January had started with getting kidnapped. The virus wasn’t deadly. Which was a bad thing, actually. If it had just killed the server it wouldn’t have been so bad. This virus had actually opened a backdoor in their firewall. The thing that was deeply rooted in their system was a masterpiece, making down- and uploads possible despite their vigorous firewall. Suddenly, things became absolutely clear: this explained the increasing bugs in the software. It also triggered new questions, because Felicity was absolutely sure that nobody in her company was able to come up with anything like this—apart from herself and Tak. On Friday, Yongtak Chang had reacted with a hood-moment. Not that he knew that Felicity called it that in her head. Tak had dealt with the aggravation that came with the realization that they were indeed stupid by throwing a mouse through the room—or, rather, at the floor. Yongtak’s throwing technique was worse than Felicity’s. Felicity, on the other hand, had called it a night. She needed to think and come up with the smartest way to handle this. The decision she made after a sleepless night spent pacing and talking (thinking out loud) in her main room under the watchful eyes of Oliver was to use the backdoor to her advantage. She would find out who was behind all of this and what all of it was about. The words between the flow of expletives Yongtak had uttered Friday evening showed that he believed this was corporate espionage. But he didn’t know what Felicity knew, couldn’t consider the failed research that had let a hacker into her network and led her to Tempest and a wreck in a warehouse. A persistent voice inside her told her there was a connection between the hacker and the virus—a voice that had turned louder after Oliver commented that distraction was a powerful strategy in war (that sounded like Sun Tzu—in retrospect Oliver talking about war and possibly quoting a Chinese military master freaked her out, but back then she had been too distracted by being distracted to care.) Whatever the reason, one fact was clear: somebody had planted a virus on her server—which was impossible from the outside. During their first dinner, Oliver had told Felicity that that was what people did: betray you. That statement had rang very fatalistic in Felicity’s ears back then. It sounded much less so now. “Okay, Fe, we were stupid before, but this thing is brilliant.” Tak leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “We fucking outdid ourselves.” Taking her eyes off her own monitor, Felicity looked at him. She sat behind her desk, a laptop in front of her, while Tak had gotten comfortable in her sitting area, his laptop on his legs, his feet on the table. The useless thought that his back must hurt popped into Felicity’s mind. He had been sitting in roughly the same position for twelve hours, since noon. They’d spent the whole Sunday – after a Saturday spent with thoroughly analyzing the virus – coding a counter program on a second, separate, secure network. Considering everything (the fact that they had missed the virus for months, that they hadn’t suspected anything sooner, that this stank of an inside job, that she had been bested at her field of expertise, that she had obviously trusted somebody who wasn’t trustworthy) Felicity honestly felt like they had no right to be cocky. She sent Yongtak an angry glance across the room. “Hey, don’t give me that. We pulled a rabbit out our hat with this one.” He motioned to his laptop. “We should use this as a foundation for a whole new kind of firewall. Scratch the infected shit altogether.” Slowly, Felicity nodded. It was a good suggestion, a smart thing to do next. Their program was designed to notice the backdoor opening and follow the signal to its home-IP. This piggy-backing gave – or at least should give – them access to the hacker’s system while directing the hacker to a virtual environment where he couldn’t do any harm. They could tweak the entire procedure into a general counter-measure. The doorbell rang, the sound barely audible from three floors below, but Brad Foster still looked into the room. “I’ll check,” he said. “It’s probably my boyfriend,” Yongtak told him. “Christopher said he’d pick me up around midnight.” Tak grinned at Felicity, “Boyfriend.... I still can’t get used to that. Can you believe that I got myself a boyfriend?” After quickly glancing toward the open door, he whispered, “Your new bodyguard, how does he hold a key without a thumb?” “He uses the other hand.” Felicity placed her attention back to her screen. She really wasn’t in the mood to discuss her new bodyguard. Letting Pyotr go hadn’t been a logically-founded decision. The Russian had done nothing wrong. His only flaw was being part of the Russian mob and with everything that was happening lately, Felicity felt like distancing herself from them—and since there was no way that she would let Valentina go, it had to be Pyotr. Oliver had agreed, but insisted on replacing him with a member of their new security team and had suggested Brad. The black belt had taken up the offer instantly for financial and ceremonial reasons, as Felicity had found out. His fiancée Melody, who owned a flower shop downtown, wanted a massive wedding and even though Oliver paid well, Brad could use the extra money. Felicity tried to limit the nightshifts, but one had been necessary tonight, since Oliver had expressed the need to hit something. Felicity knew that even though it sounded wrong, giving Oliver the opportunity to vent some of his frustrations was the right thing to do. After a week of John shadowing Moira and coming up empty, plus two evenings spent with Tak and Felicity looking at a computer screens and arguing over things he didn’t understand, he had been... strained. “Man, Fe!” Yongtak voice startled her out of her thoughts. “Would you stop brooding? That’s not you. Just accept it: our program is genius. We’re genius.” “I’m dating a genius. I’m not surprised.” Looking up again, Felicity saw Christopher enter her office—followed by Oliver. “Proof that young love is blind,” Felicity commented dryly. Tak only stuck his tongue out at her before he accepted a peck by Chris. Oliver’s eyes were glued to her. He crossed the room and moved around the desk to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent down and kissed her cheek. “You okay?” “Not yet, but working on it,” was her honest answer. “Okay,” Tak threw his hands up. “What’s with all the monosyllabic crap? What’cha doin’?” For a second she hesitated, feeling slightly guilty, but then she turned to look at the couple watching her. “I cleared Jerry. There’s nothing that suggests that he planted the virus on the server.” Tak stopped mid-movement, his hand hovering over Chris’ knee, who sat next to him. “You checked Jerry?” “I did. I also checked Katie. She’s clean, too. Nothing on her phone or financial records.” She met Yongtak’s eyes. “They were both there when we sat up the new server.” For a second Yongtak stared at her. Understanding took over. His hand flew to his head. “Fuck it!” he cursed. “I always thought somebody crashed our servers because they wanted us to lose information. But they didn’t. They wanted us to start anew with a system that was contaminated from the start. That’s why we never found anything. It blended in with the first setup.” Yongtak’s face twisted. “Fuck, that’s really, really clever.” Felicity shot him a look. Yongtak raised his hands in innocence. “What? You gotta give credit when credit is due.” Oliver’s hands closed around Felicity’s shoulders in silent support. She sighed and changed the subject, “Next time they’ll access our virtual network we’ll know what they’re looking for.” Setting his laptop down on the table in front of him, Tak leaned forward. “You know what all of this reminds me of?” Not waiting for a reaction, he said, “The dude that hacked your home-system.” Nearly apologetic, he looked at Felicity. “He had serious skills and we never found out what that was about. The attack on Firestorm started not long after.” Felicity noticed Oliver’s hands tightening around her shoulders, knowing it was a sign of his tension. The clenching in her own shoulders should tell him that Felicity didn’t like Tak bringing that up – and remembering it to begin with – either. This was the one drop too many. Suspicions and apprehensions, fears and frustrations had filled her up for two days and had dragged her and her mood down. She had fought against it, but she couldn’t anymore. “I know,” she snapped at Tak. “But I don’t want to speculate on that! I need to know who I can trust in my own company!” A moment of silence followed. The harshness in Felicity’s voice shut all men up for a moment. Oliver’s grip on her shoulder was still strong, it grounded and comforted her. Trying to balance her tipping emotions, she took a deep breath. Nobody in this room was to fault for what was going on. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at the couple sitting next to each other. Accepting her apology, Yongtak nodded. Then he sat up straighter in his seat. “Paige, Marlon, Freddy, and James.” Now all Felicity could do was nod. Those were the four people they had trusted with helping setting up the server. “I’ll take Paige and Marlon.” Tak reached for his laptop again when his boyfriend stopped him in mid-movement. “Hold up. It’s past midnight.” “Babe, I need another hour. That’s all.” For a moment the two men looked at each other. Then Christopher sighed. “I have a pepperoni pizza in the car. Let me go and get it.” “Thank you,” Tak answered and gave him a kiss before he left the office. An honest smile played on Felicity’s lips. She gestured toward the door. “He’s a keeper.” Her friend blushed. “I know.” He got off the couch. “Okay, I gotta pee before I go and violate our employees’ privacy.” He went to the door but turned round before stepping out of the room. “Thank you for not questioning me, Fe.” Felicity smiled. “Of course, Tak. I trust you.” She watched her friend leave the room and only seconds later Oliver’s lips hovered close to her ear. His voice was the faintest whisper, “You checked him, right?” “First thing on Friday.” “And his boyfriend?” “Clean, too.” She turned around to face Oliver, the immense guilt showing on her face. “I hate myself for doing that.” “I know.” He kissed her. “But this is necessary to protect yourself. You’re handling this perfectly.” That was a statement Felicity honestly didn’t agree with, but she didn’t have the power to voice her disagreement. Damn it, catching a virus was really exhausting. February 11th, 2013 The sticks crashed against each other with a staccato clacking. Diggle was getting better with this, challenging Oliver more and more. But there was still room for improvement: Oliver blocked Diggle’s attack, redirecting it away from him with so much force that his sparring partner lost his footing and left his body open. Turning, Oliver brought his stick to the back of Diggle’s legs. In the next moment he looked down at Diggle, his back on the mat, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. “You’re getting better,” Oliver complimented and really meant it. A snort left the other man’s lips. “Yeah. Right.” “Another round?” “Naw,” Diggle objected, “I think I’ve had enough. Plus, your mother’s expecting me in an hour. I’m driving her downtown.” “I’m beginning to doubt the use.” The phrasing was the careful way to put it. Because after a week of driving Oliver’s mother, Diggle hadn’t discovered anything. Oliver couldn’t even say what he had expected, but this whole lot of nothing was exhausting. It was tearing at his nerves as it became more and more obvious that he might have to do something he dreaded more than anything: talking to his mother again and pressing harder. He didn’t know if he could do that. “Two more days and her driver’s back. Give me ‘til Wednesday, then we can make a decision.” Diggle reached for a bottle of water. “Plus, your head’s with Felicity anyway.” Oliver pressed his lips together. Diggle knew him too well already. His partner was absolutely right: his thoughts were with Felicity. He was worried about her and his frustrations were growing. Because that was all he was reduced to: thinking and worrying. This was Felicity’s fight, her battlefield. He was of no help to her at all—and he hated that. A vague danger was wavering around them and coating the air with tension, but it couldn’t be pin-pointed exactly. A nameless foe was lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. This hacker was her equivalent of his other archer. And Felicity wasn’t in the battle alone. She had Tak. Oliver agreed that he could be trusted and that she had an able ally, but she was out there fighting while he was reduced to watching. The knowledge that Felicity had mastered her weapons, that she was very good at what she was doing, didn’t calm him enough. Being a bystander wasn’t his strong suit and it was testing his nerves. The annoyance was audible in his voice as he said, “It’s not like I can do anything anyway.” “Trust Felicity, Oliver,” Diggle said. “She’ll identify who’s behind it—and then you can hood up.” Oh, he was so looking forward to that. ______________________________ There was no better distraction than her best friend. Kristina ran up the stairs to the third floor, raised her fist into the air and yelled, “Guess who’s the new Head Nurse of the RQM!” chased all brooding thoughts away for the moment. The assembled Firestormers stared stupidly at the brunette, but the blonde boss of the whole thing laughed. From where she stood next to Jerry’s desk, Felicity pointed across the room. “This girl!” Kristina directed two thumbs up at herself. “THIS GIRL!” Her steps bordering on skipping, she headed to her best friend. “Head Nurse—that sounds kind of dirty, but I dig it!” Felicity greeted her with a laugh and arms opened for a hug. “That’s great news! You deserve it.” Together they headed into Felicity’s office. “I know that you’re the reason I got the job, but I won’t embarrass you, I promise.” “Shut up!” Felicity playfully slapped her friend’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t have suggested you if I wasn’t sure that you’d do an amazing job. This is great. A new start.” “Yes, that’s what I need,” Kristina sat down with her friend. “I decided that I need to ignore men for now and focus on myself.” “That sounds like an advertisement for masturbation.” The words left Felicity’s lips before she could stop them. Kristina smirked before she turned thoughtful. “Good point, maybe I should get a new vibrator.” “That’s really great news—not the new vibrator, the new job. Finally, something good’s happening!” Kristina glanced toward the door and found it closed. “You still haven’t found out who’s responsible?” “No, we—” The door banged open, hitting the wall with a loud thud. It said a lot about the last weeks that Felicity’s first instinct was to hide from another attack (she really needed to intensify the self-defense classes with John). But it was only Tak, who now slammed the door shut. “Wh—” Felicity didn’t get any further as Yongtak stared at her with wild eyes. “We forgot somebody!” Felicity stared at him, not understanding. “What?” “We forgot somebody, somebody else was there when we set up the server. The least likely person, the last person anybody’d ever suspect!” The third “what” within ten seconds danced on the tip of Felicity’s tongue, but the question fell from her mind as the answer became clear. Filled suddenly with tension, she jumped from the seat. Urgently, she asked, “And?” “I checked.” “And?” “A whooping five hundred thousand dollars originated from the Caymans on a well-hidden account in Luxembourg.” Strangely, this sentence chased all the insecurities, worries, and fears away. The definite knowledge was better than guessing. Calm captured her. “At least we were worth a nice sum,” Felicity said. Now it was time to plan her next steps.

[jennymaltzurrak]

♜//Because we obviously need more 'how the heck did this happen threads, amirite? xD You can decline it if you want though.//

//I love ‘what the fuck happened here’ stuff. It’s always entertaining~!

What. The. Fuck. Was. She. Thinking? Nope. Jennifer refused to open her eyes, her mind pounding ruthlessly, clenching her eyes shut putting something over her eyes, even if the shutters were closed. So…was she on a bed? How the hell did she wind up on a bed? In fact, where the hell was she? Her own hotel room? She didn’t know and thinking just bloody hurt. She really should have known better. ‘That’s what you get for waking up in Vagas’ were lines from a song for a good damn reason. But what the hell did she do?! She couldn’t remember, and that’s when her hurting head registered the fact that there was something draped across her stomach. A bare arm in fact. WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[acreepyworldwelivein]

Hangover - Jerkshipping

Well, this business trip had derailed, more or less.

After Ezekiel's client was a no show, the man settled with drinking while inwardly seething. Seriously, it was a simple phone call to let him know that they weren't going to make it. Really, it was just rude not to call.

Then he met Sharna Hikari.

Beautiful, sharp tongued, and probably the only thing good about being stood up. He kept buying them drinks and the night went on... and on... and on...

Up until now, where both of them were asleep in a honeymoon suite. 

Ezekiel sighed, used to dealing with the dull pangs of a hangover but still disliking the sensitivity to everything. Instead he simply focused keeping the woman next to him close, the last night had been extremely passionate and perhaps Sharna would like to keep it only to one night but Ezekiel at least wanted to enjoy her company. He'd order room service as soon as he felt like waking.

Hold on a second. There was something on his hand. Perhaps something got caught on it. Consciousness slowly coming into place, the man lazily tried pulling it off... only to realize that it was a band on his finger. But he hadn't worn a wedding ring in over five years, how was that-

Ooooh dear. Ezekiel slowly pulled away from Sharna in an attempt not to wake her and held his hand in front of his eyes. Yes. That was a wedding ring. 

"... Well. This is a problem."