Sure I can! I’d never heard that song before (I know, I live under a rock), so I’m sorry if it’s not at all what you expected! And I’m also sorry it took me a little while to get back to you, but it’s been a crazy week.
Connor walks into the apartment with a deep sigh, eyes falling shut. When the door closes behind him, it’s almost like he’s safe again, leaving his bad day behind.
Oliver isn’t home yet. He’d texted Connor earlier to let him know he was staying late at work, but they could still do a late dinner if Connor was up for it. Which, as it turned out, Connor totally was because, honestly, right now he doesn’t think he’ll be hungry any time soon. Granted, it’s still early for dinner, even more so for a late dinner, but his mind is eating away at him.
He’s going back on everything said and done. He was so sure he could win this, slam dunk, open and shut, and yet everything went to hell and he’d lost his case. He’d never admit it to the fellas at the firm, but Connor certainly wouldn’t feel as bad about this loss if it was another one of his millionaire clients losing some pocket change in a lawsuit.
What’s eating him up is the look on his client’s face. She had sat in his office, crying into the tissues he’d handed over, and Connor had assured her that she was going to be fine. He’d told her that he was going to deliver justice and right the wrong that was done to her husband and her family.
However, he’d lost the case and all of that went down the drain. The defendants had walked out of the courtroom with smiles on their faces, proving once more that with enough money you can get away with anything, while his client looked at him like he was less than dirt on the bottom of her shoe. And, in that moment, Connor knew she was right.
“This cab is going to take at least half an hour,” Oliver
mutters as he looks down at his phone, “do you think I should change these
pants? I’m not sure about these pants.”
Connor can’t stop thinking about last night. The way that
Oliver had come up beside him while he grumbled his way through the dishes. The
way he’d slid his hand under Connor’s sweater and moved his fingers feather
light over his belly until Connor dropped the dishes and turned. The way he’d
winked and slid a condom on him before he blew him, something that for better
or worse had never crossed his mind before. He’d thrown his head back, tried to
grasp at the soapy sink, and ended up leaving soap suds in Oliver’s hair.
“Connor? Connor these pants are awful and you were going to
let me go out like this –“
Oliver was going on and on, something about his pants, he
hated those pants but he thought they were his fanciest pair. Well. Well Oliver
shouldn’t do anything he hates. He lunges towards him so quickly that Oliver’s
eyebrows jump up and almost disappear. He pushes him back onto the wall, curls
his hand around the back of his head to keep him from cracking it against it,
and kisses him. But he more than kisses him, he tries to tell him – with his
lips and his tongue and the very air in his lungs. He tries to tell him I know what you did last night and there is no way I’m letting you get away
with that. He tries to tell him I’m
not scared of you and you’re the
place in the world I feel safe and I
love you, Oliver, I love you.
“Connor,” Oliver pants out, clinging to him and pulling him closer
and effectively negating his next words, “we can’t – we don’t have time.”
He plants his hands on either side of Oliver’s head and tilts his hips into Oliver’s. He revels in the little moans and whimpers.
“That thing in your pants,” Connor whispers into his ear, “is
telling me otherwise.”
okay i’m saving your other prompt to fill the fake boyfriends, later, okay?? but for now you get – superhero au
“-Then there’s my pit of lava, the put which I will slowly low you into, recording your screams so your super-boyfriend can-”
“Are you finished yet,” Oliver asks, giving the super villain of the week, the least amused look that he can manage. It’s a bit difficult because his glasses are cracked, but but the way the costumed baddie flounders a bit, he must be on the right track.
“You dare defy the great Giz-”
“Look my lunch break is nearly over, and I’d really like to wrap this up,” Oliver says, smiling in spite of his current situation, because out of the two of them he’s supposed to be the nice one, the one who politely wishes his kidnappers well before Connor uses his super powers (not the super seduction ones, the enhanced abilities that come from being half-alien) to free him.
Speaking of which, he looked up just as the roof of wherever he was being held became slightly more holy than it had been before.
Perfect timing.
“Hey, Ollie, there’s still ten minutes left of your lunch break,” Connor says – or well his superheroic alter ego says – “think after I finish with this we could, you know.”
He can’t see the other man’s face due to the mask meant to obscure his features, but he know that Connor’s doing that think where he smirks, and it’s not even fair.
“Depends on how long it takes you to beat up whatshisface.”
The aforementioned villain chooses that time to object insisting that, “I will not be easily defeated.”
Said supervillian is predictably wrong.
It’s too bad Oliver can’t just say that he was kidnapped (yet, again) when he shows up twenty minutes later to work. Though with the red marking on the side of his neck, it’s doubtful that anyone would have believed him.
Tattoo artist AU. Written on my phone (hence any typos).
The first time he goes in to get a watercolor tattoo of a phoenix on the back of his right shoulder. He runs into Oliver online. Each review raves of Oliver Hampton’s skill and patience. There aren’t many artists who have the style he wants, but Oliver fits the bill.
It just so happens that he falls in love. Well, love is too stong of a word, Connor decides. But Oliver had a charming, sweet smile that catches Connor off-guard and leaves him wondering when cute started to be his type. Connor can swear too that when he first takes off his shirt that Oliver takes him in. But he doesn’t have much time to figure it out between taking it off and lying down on his stomach.
Wrote a bit more to this (you have to read it first, if you haven’t yet!). And if you wonder why I stopped where I did, I’ll let you know that I don’t feel like going any further yet. Sorry if you expected more. I’m an utter disappointment and I’m sorry.
The following day probably comes with fluttering stomachs for both of them. Again, it’s not like those silly teenage love stories, it’s just that it feels like the next, scary step in whatever they’ve been building underground almost every morning for the past couple of months.
Connor ends up having to run back inside his house after locking his door because he almost forgot about his books for that day’s classes, and Oliver almost burns his tongue on his too hot coffee, because he got distracted by his own thoughts.
It’s strange. It’s like finally meeting face-to-face someone you only ever texted or exchanged emails with; except the chances of this being a catfish situation are way lower. They’ve seen each other’s faces many times before, even if they never heard each other’s voices.
It was just a kiss. One, tiny, little kiss at a party. Connor thought it’d be fun to play spin the bottle. He dragged his best friend Oliver into it. He hadn’t expected to land Oliver on the first spin.
He hadn’t expected Oliver to kiss him like… that.
It was just a kiss, Connor tells himself again and pushes a hand through his hair. He hadn’t seen Oliver since that night, avoided him all weekend.
It’s hard to avoid him now, with Oliver standing outside of his dorm room door. They always walked to class together.
“Hey. We have to hurry or we’re going to be late.” Oliver’s lips wrap around words Connor barely hears. Less than 72 hours ago, those lips were pressed against Connor’s, coaxing Connor’s open for a tongue to slip inside.
And that tongue. It darts out to wet Oliver’s lips now, but Connor remembers the taste of it, of the strawberry daiquiris Oliver had that night. Or it’s persistence, mapping out Connor’s mouth while Connor clung to Oliver’s shoulders, that kiss rendering him senseless to all but Oliver.
“Connor? You listening?” Oliver waves his hand in front of Connor’s face.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m good,” Connor says, but his gaze shifts to those hands, those long fingers that now wrap around the straps of Oliver’s backpack. Less than 72 hours ago, those hands had cupped the back of Connor’s head, fingers splayed through his hair, easing Connor back so Oliver could take more, claim more. Connor had downright melted then. He still felt weak in the knees now, just thinking of it.
Oliver lifts a brow, but Connor sees the way those brown eyes darken further. The way Oliver’s gaze keeps flicking, ever so slightly, down the length of Connor’s body.
“Oliver. Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?” Oliver’s breathless tone gives Connor a boost of courage.
“If I asked you to kiss me again, would -”
“Yes,” Oliver says like he’s been holding it in all 72 hours. He slides into the room, wraps his arms around Connor’s waist, and crashes their lips together.
Oliver is just as good at kissing the second time around.
I once read a fic and for some reason that idea came to mind again. I can’t remember which fic it was, but if someone reads this and it reminds them of something, let me know so I can give credit where it’s due, since the original idea wasn’t really mine to start with.I think I found it!!! So this fic was based on the idea in this one.
But, basically, you have to imagine that Connor and Oliver get on different sides of the subway every morning to go to work, and they see each other practically every day. At first, they’re just another random stranger to one another, but then one day Connor is not looking down at his phone and Oliver isn’t looking at his wristwatch again to make sure he won’t be running late, and they both look up.
It’s not love at first sight or anything like that; it’s a polite smile of a good morning, the way you do to a random nice-looking stranger. And the following days, it gets nicer. They build a small little rapport. Connor doesn’t feel so bad for having to wake up super early to stop by Annalise’s before going to class, and Oliver doesn’t feel like every day is gonna be the same dragging routine. Because now there’s that small smile shared from two different platforms on the subway.
And maybe one day Oliver will adorably/awkwardly wave at Connor and then look down quickly in embarrassment. Then when he looks up again, he finds Connor grinning and the corners of his eyes crinkling. And the next day Connor will take out a notepad and write “hey” in big dark letters, and Oliver will take out his tablet and quickly scribble a “hey” back, before one of their trains arrives at the station.
Coliver/Addie!Verse Easter egg hunt. (And, to any followers who may celebrate, Happy Easter! Hope you have a wonderful day! -Jules xoxo)
“I founds another one!” Addie cries, holding the colored egg aloft as she runs to add the egg to her Easter basket between her fathers on the stairs. From their vantage point on the bottom steps, Connor and Oliver have a perfect view of their open first floor and are sipping coffee while enjoying their daughter’s search for her Easter eggs.
“Found,” Oliver corrects and reaches down to brush her hair back when she stops to look at all the brightly colored eggs in the basket. “How many did you find so far?” They bend over the basket, counting together as Addie points to each one.
“…Eight. Nine.” Addie looks up, her gaze darting between her fathers. “Any more?”
“Well, the Easter Bunny hid fifteen and you found nine so that means there are six left.” Connor places his coffee cup a step behind him and holds up one hand and the other thumb. “This is six.” He counts out each number, bobbing each finger in time to help demonstrate. “There are this many left.”
Addie processes this, taking a moment to look at Connor’s fingers and then at the eggs in her basket. “Okay,” she says, turning back to the living room with a determined look in her eye. “Six.”
Oliver smiles, leaning back on his elbows. “Where’d you hide the other ones?”
“By the way, have you been taking kick boxing and not telling me about it?”
Before Oliver even finished his question, Connor had already slid both his hands into the pockets of his coat, out of sight but most certainly not out of mind. He should’ve seen it coming that the bruises and scrapes along his knuckles would be noticeable enough to force him into an unwanted conversation. “It’s not exactly your business what I do with my free time,” he responded, glancing to his right and left quickly to gage whether or not anyone else in the hallway might care enough to eavesdrop before he leaned in a bit closer. “Besides, you’re the one always worried I’ll end up dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“Well, somebody has to worry about you if this is how you come home.”
Oliver moved in across the hall three years ago. Ever since then, he had expressed concern that Connor might be taking too many risks with his lifestyle. Connor had shrugged his advice off as some kind of pathetic attempt to casually nudge him toward monogamy and sobriety but who the hell wanted to spend every weekend on a couch watching boring as fuck documentaries? Trust me, he’d tried to tolerate those plans more than once, hoping the night would end with Oliver dragging him to the bedroom. Unfortunately Oliver had made it clear again and again that he had no interest in sleeping with someone who refused to entertain the possibility of a relationship.
This caused an incredible amount of tension between them, for the record.
Still if you asked Oliver, he’d definitely say he considered Connor his friend. If you asked Connor, he’d more than likely claim he didn’t even know Oliver’s name. That wasn’t fair, of course, but he couldn’t go around admitting he gave a shit about some guy who wouldn’t even fuck him when blessed with the opportunity again and again. .
“Look, I’m fine,” Connor insisted, stepping back toward his own door. “You don’t need to go all overprotective dad on me when I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” He managed to swallow down the urge to say something ridiculously cliche like, you should see the other guy, if only to save him yet another lecture about what might happen if he ended up in a fight he couldn’t win. “I don’t need you or anyone else. Got it?”
lanablack 