[It is a week after Connor found out that Oliver’s test result was positive. Connor insists on spending every evening and night with Oliver because Oliver’s parents cannot fly in to see him yet because of the snow. Connor and Oliver have just finished eating a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, orange juice, bacon and strawberry-jelly toasts that Connor has committed himself to make every morning. But Oliver doesn’t want to lead Connor on. He doesn’t know how this relationship can go on after the revelation. His mind is too clouded to find the right words to say…to let Connor go easily. “It’s better this way,” he keeps telling himself.]
Oliver: I don’t need you. [The words come out sharper than he intended. It’s too late now.]
Connor: Don’t say that.
Oliver: It’s the truth. [He might as well commit.]
Connor: You don’t mean that.
Oliver: When did you become such an expert on knowing somebody’s feelings? [Hit him where it hurts most. It’s the best way to make his words convincing.]
Connor: Did you really have to go there? Why don’t you just stab me in the heart with your bare hands? It would hurt less.
Oliver: Don’t be so dramatic. [He is.]
Connor: Oh, now I’m dramatic. How ironic.
Oliver: I have the right to be as dramatic as I want. You, of all people, should understand the circumstances.[Silence. They evade each other’s eyes, and Oliver finds himself staring at a photo in The New York Times newspaper on the table.]
Tag: to read
Oh can you do the one with one being the waiter and the other being on a very bad blind date? Thank you! (you’re an amazing writer btw)
Connor isn’t supposed to be paying attention to the restaurant patron’s conversations. He’s just meant to take their order, bring the food, and fill the drinks as needed.
But when this piece of work leans back in his chair as Connor is pouring his water, looks at his – frankly, ridiculously hot – date, and says, “You’re lucky I showed up to this blind date. We both know you couldn’t do better than me,” Connor decides his job isn’t worth this crime against the universe.
So Connor dunks his pitcher of water right over that asshole’s head.
random coliver headcanon: I always picture Oliver being the early riser who cooks breakfast and makes coffee for Connor because he knows his boyfriend is overworked so he always tries to make weekend mornings better and sweeter and when Connor is still sleeping at 11 Oliver kisses him good morning and wakes him up with kisses on the nose omg the fluff just killed me
this is everything!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
“Wha?” Connor lifts his head with a groan. Disoriented, he blinks, looking around, and then squints up at Oliver. “What?”
“Good morning,” Oliver murmurs again and leans down to kiss Connor’s forehead. “Thought you might want to get up.”
“What time is it?” Connor asks, sitting up on his elbows and rubbing some of the sleep out of his eyes.
Oliver glances at the clock. “A little after eleven.” At Connor’s double take, he explains. “I didn’t want to wake you but it was getting late.”
“It’s eleven!” Connor groans and flops back down. “I wasted the whole morning.”
“I don’t really think it was a waste,” Oliver says, as he brushes a light thumb over the bruises under Connor’s eyes. Despite the hours of sleep, Connor still looks worn and stretched. The late nights and terrible diet and lack of exercise are taking their toll but Oliver holds his tongue. He doesn’t want to fight about this again, not today.
“It was,” Connor says, sitting up. “I was going to get up early. Run. Get to the library before everyone. Grab the good table.” He knots a hand in his hair and tugs. “Now the only table left is going to be that one near the draft and there are going to be undergrads everywhere.”
Oliver hums in sympathy and considers. “You know?” he smiles at Connor’s raised eyebrow. “Since the morning is already a waste, how would you feel about – I don’t know – wasting the afternoon too?”
Connor leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms. “Really?”
Oliver shrugs his shoulders and breaks out in a carefree laugh when Connor pulls him under the covers.
Later, Oliver cards a hand through Connor’s hair as he naps. The bruises under his eyes are fading a little and the worry lines aren’t marring Connor’s forehead at the moment but Oliver knows it’s just a matter of time before they’re back. He just works himself too hard.
Oliver kisses Connor’s forehead, closing his eyes and letting it linger. Leaning back, he sends up a wish or prayer or plea for more wasted Saturdays and early nights and quiet moments.
“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” for coliver please please please? :D
Oh this was fun! Had to make it slightly AU – think of it almost like a coffeeshop one. Hope you enjoy it!
Connor is obsessed.
It’s the way he carries himself, shoulders back and back
straight in the way that screams class and confidence – yet with gorgeous brown
eyes that never quite make contact, always focused a little downwards,
suggesting he’s a little shy or afraid of revealing too much emotion in the
depths of those pupils. The angle of his cheekbones and jaw, all so precise –
they call to him, crying for his hands to wrap themselves around his face, pull
him close, press his lips against his. And yet… he never seems to look up, look
forward – look at Connor.Perhaps it’s just too early in the morning. After all, he
only ever sees the guy in the 7:30 rush for coffee. Perhaps the guy has just
trained himself to look down, look away, focus only on the task at hand and
ignore any possible distractions. He is
very softly-spoken – Connor’s only managed to hear his voice once before, catch
the mumbled, “Flat white, please, no sugar,” before he shuffled off to the side
to wait – so maybe he’s just too shy or the crowd in the café gives him
anxiety?But it’s driving him crazy.
Connor isn’t usually the chasing-type – too much energy that should be thrown
into mind-boggling sex instead – but at night he sees his face, dreams of
strong flat whites and almond eyes haunting his dreams. He has to have a
conversation.Or at least… he has to try.
yo I think you should do one of those AU fics where those dumb bullies at school broke oliver’s glasses -again- and connor’s a good boy trying to make him feel better
Oliver knows how to throw a punch. His dad taught him the first time he came home with his glasses split in half. But his dad made him promise, “Only if there’s no other way.”
Oliver doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
The bullies at school knock his books from his hands. When he kneels to collect them, they snatch the glasses off his nose and drop them on the ground. One bully raises his foot. Oliver winces, ready for the crack of glass and the snap of the frame.
“What the hell is your problem, Billy?”
“Stay out of this, Walsh,” Billy says, and looks down at the glasses. Yet before he can stomp them, someone pushes him and he trips backwards.
In the confusion, Oliver makes a dash for his glasses. He brings them to his eyes just as Connor Walsh, resident Adonis of their high school, offers him a sharp smirk and a kind hand.
“T-Thanks,” Oliver says, struggling for words when in direct contact with those intense dark eyes.
“You alright?” Connor asks. “These guys are such assholes.”
“I fucking heard that,” Billy growls. He moves before Connor can react, grabbing Connor by the collar and dragging him into the center of the hallway. “Big hero. What, did you want to score the damsel?”
“None of your fucking business,” Connor growls as he struggles.
Billy pulls back a fist.
Maybe Connor knows how to throw a punch. Maybe he’s waiting for something. Oliver doesn’t know. He doesn’t wait to find out.
Because Oliver’s dad taught him to throw a punch. He made him promise, “Only if there’s no other way.”
Oliver won’t let Connor be hurt.
oliver like to tie connor onto the bed with his tie and ride connor relly slow, until connor its begging oliver to pick up the pace and let him finally come. ;b
NONNY!! ILY!!!
(This is not nearly as nsfw as you might expect but….yeah…I tried….)
“Oliver,” Connor’s voice breaks and he hates how desperate he sounds. Then Oliver moves again and Connor doesn’t give a fuck how he sounds as long as Oliver never stops. “Oliver—Jesus—there—right there—just—faster—” He throws back his head. “Faster—Oliver, faster.”
Careful Enough
or, The Mpreg Coliver AU absolutely no one asked for.Oliver
woke up to the sound of vomiting.Not
his, thankfully. But he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, put on his
glasses, and went into the bathroom. Connor kneeled, hunched over the
toilet, no longer puking but looking miserable.“Are
you sick?” Oliver asked, creeping closer. He rubbed his
boyfriend’s back gently. “You sound sick.”“I
feel like crap,” Connor groaned.
This isn’t necessarily AU, but I have a prompt: Connor goes to Oliver’s workplace. Maybe Annalise has a case that requires them to go to the advertising agency and investigate (like they did with Marren’s employees in episode 4). Or maybe something simpler, like Connor is just meeting Oliver for lunch. Whatever the reason may be, I just reaaally want a fic where Connor sees Oliver at the IT department where he works.
Note: This took for freaking ever and I am incapable of keeping things light-hearted.
As he pushes the glass doors to the advertising firm, a
ridiculous grin on his face and his hair still wet from a shower it occurs to
him that Oliver may be right. He might be a little impulsive. It’s just not any
day that his second class is cancelled and Annalise has decided she doesn’t
want to see any of them today. He tries not to worry about that part, about
what it might mean that Annalise has effectively banned them all from her
presence going on 45 hours. The others are panicked, huddled in Wes’ dungeon
staring at the claw marks on the wall and planning the perfect prison break.
Connor has better ideas. Ideas like brunch.“Good morning,” he says as he leans on the marble reception
desk, flashing a much more subtle smile at the receptionist. “Could I talk to
Oliver?”“Oliver?” the girl – she must still be in undergrad or have
some serious baby-face going on, she looks twelve, “Oh, Mr. Hampton. Of course,
do you have an appointment?”Connor felt the way his eyebrows rose just a little bit, he
wasn’t aware IT people had anyone schedule appointments with them if there
wasn’t a porn virus in their computer. “Uh, no.”“I’ll just see if he’s available,” the woman says as she
grabs pokes at the keys on her switchboard and holds on to the sleek headset on
her ear.“Becky? Is Mr. Hampton available for a Mr …”
The girl looks at him and he jumps in without further
prompting, emphasizing his name with a hushed whisper as she nods. “A Mr.
Walsh?”She continues to nod to herself and notes something on a pad
in front of her before giving the switchboard another poke. “You can go ahead,
it’s all the way down the hall, and he should be in or around his office.”Connor raises his eyebrows in earnest now and taps the
reception counter in acknowledgement. “Great, thanks.”This morning has been bizarre enough by the time he gets to
the back of the advertising firm to find a sleek wooden door with Oliver’s name,
only surpassed by the moment a woman in a pencil skirt dodges him and knocks
needlessly before pushing said door open and sticking her head in. “Mr.
Hampton, Alice has the tracking ready we need your approval. And you promised
donuts if we got the bastard, they haven’t forgotten.”And then he can hear Oliver laughing, not his regular shy
laugh but a quiet weirdly professional thing because this is the Twilight Zone
and Ollie who cries over Legend of the Falls is actually Mr. Hampton here.
“I’ll be right there I’ve just got to – is there someone out there?”The woman in the pencil skirt taps at her phone in a way
that exudes I’m doing my job and not I’m totally on Twitter. “Yeah one of the
models wandered away again.” Her eyes snap up to him, “The people you’re
looking for are in the next floor, sweetie.”He crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling out of
place, “I’m actually here to see Oliver.”The woman does a quick double take before stepping aside and
pushing the door open for him. She doesn’t even try to hide the way she checks
out his ass as he walks inside.“Hey, sorry am I interrupting?”
“Connor,” Oliver gets up from beside his desk, hell that’s a
large desk – plenty of room under that desk, and moves to him looking worried, “Becky,
said you were on your way back here is everything okay?”“Yeah.” Connor nods even though at this point he really has
no idea. “Yeah my phone died… did you get a promotion?”Oliver tilts his head, “Uh not recently. Not for three years
now. You sure everything is okay?”“I just wanted to get some lunch. Brunch? But if you’re
busy…”“I can stop being busy.” Oliver says, with a tiny tentative
smile, “Just. Give me ten minutes? You can come with.”Connor nods, still dazed as he follows Oliver to the
cubicles where he’d actually pictured him. But no, the people here are more
harried looking than Oliver – their ties and blazers not as neat as Oliver’s
suit. How had he never noticed that before? How well Oliver dressed to go fix
fax machines and delete viruses all day.Oliver stops abruptly at one of the cubicles and Connor
looks around himself to make sure he’s not in the way of the headless chickens running
around him with lanyards full of USBs bouncing on their chests.“Okay let’s see.”
“It’d be beautiful if it weren’t such a low blow,” the
woman, presumably Alice, says at a screen full of white text jumbles.“Yeah, Henry is gonna pitch a damn fit but that’s not our
problem anymore. We did our job. And yes,” he says the last out loud for the
crowd of jumpy tech people, “I do remember about he donuts.”There’s a general cheer, halfhearted from some and too
enthusiastic from others and Oliver leans over to whisper in Connor’s ear, “You
ready to go?”Connor nods dumbly, reeling from all the new
information, from this whole new perspective on this man he’s been practically
living with for months. The office continues to buzz around them as they make
their way back down the hall to the desk where Ollie left his jacket and it
strikes Connor like a bucket of iced water, a thought that wouldn’t really
occur to anyone but him and anyone else working under Annalise. Oliver isn’t
the disgruntled over worked office drone, he’s the big guy on the floor – not the
obvious suspect but the potential victim. And if Connor looks over their
shoulders at the mass of on edge too frantic technicians and holds Oliver’s
hand a little harder just then well, a little more paranoia about his boyfriend’s
workplace wouldn’t hurt.
Please could you write a coliver drabble for “Kiss me.”??? :)
When they are out at the club or the bar or even a restaurant, Connor’s the one who moves first, reaching out to take Oliver’s hand across the table, or wrapping his arm around Oliver’s waist while they stand at the bar.
In public, Oliver is all shy touches and blushing, sideways glances.
The second they get home though, with the door to apartment 303 closed and locked behind them, Oliver’s the one who grabs Connor and manhandles him against the wall. Oliver’s the one seeking out Connor’s mouth and kissing him senseless.
And Connor’s the one breathless and blushing and holding on because – holy shit – Oliver’s hands are grabbing his ass, and when did his pants even get on the floor?
Oliver’s mouth is hot on Connor’s neck. He’s wearing too many clothes and they’re too far from the bed. Connor might be flying, or maybe he’s just off the ground. He can’t really tell.
Everything’s too much and not enough at once.
“Oliver,” Connor breathes. Oliver stops, pulls away, and looks at him. The heat in those dark eyes burns away all coherent thought. Connor can’t remember what he was going to say or why it mattered. He just wants Oliver back on him in every way possible.
Connor licks his lips, drops his gaze to Oliver’s, and says, “Kiss me.”
Oliver smiles and obeys.
Leave the light onAt first it’s the light on the bedside table. One day Oliver lets it slip that he really has trouble falling asleep with the light on and Connor makes him stop. Then it’s the light under the microwave. Oliver leaves little post-its on the button about dinners left warm in the oven or leftovers covered in the fridge.
In the condo, it’s the office light because it’s closest to the garage door. Flicking it off becomes part of Connor’s evening routine. Bag down. Coat hung. Reach around the door and flick off light. More often than not, on the few nights he actually gets home before Oliver goes to bed, he ends up turning on the office light because reaching around the door for that light switch is such a part of his routine he can’t break it.
In the first house, it’s the lights by the fireplace.
In the second house, it’s the light up the stairs.
In the last house, it’s the lights in the laundry room. Alerting Connor of shoes left strewn about and backpacks littering the floor as he comes home after a day of spending too much time defending people he doesn’t believe in. After toeing off his shoes, he reaches down to hang up small coats that slipped off their rungs and slip mittens back into pockets. He bends to re-pair up sandals and slippers and jelly shoes. When did those come back in style?
One day, Connor says to Oliver, “You know, you don’t have to leave the lights on. I can find my way in this house blindfolded.”
“I know,” Oliver says, resigned as he picks up stuffed animals left around the living room. In all their years together, he’s never said a word about Connor’s late nights at the office. “I just like leaving the light on. It’s like one of those beacons in old stories. The light helps you find home.”
Connor thinks of their children, sleeping safety above them, the dog passed out on the landing of the stairs, the evidence of the life they’ve build together surrounding them in this modest two-story in the comfortably middle-class neighborhood. “I don’t need a beacon,” he assures and the reverence in his voice startles him. “Nothing could keep me from finding my way back to you.”
Oliver sets down the basket of stuffed animals and kisses him, soft and sure, as the furnace kicks on and the house settles comfortably around them. “I know,” he says, brushing a thumb over Connor’s jaw. “I just – I just like leaving it on. I don’t like thinking of you coming home to darkness.”
Connor kisses him again and resolves, for the thousandth time, to stop having so many late nights stuck at the office.
lanablack 