pulp fic

Tempered (In which Oliver loses it)

virgodess192379 captainolicitysbedroom Thanks for the prompt. Smuttier version coming too. Hope you like it! :)


It was the lacrosse player from her college. 

The one who used to stalk her. 

She had bumped into him again one day while leaving the office, and he had loomed over her, bigger, burlier than she had remembered, and the unhealthy obsession he had had with her had flared even brighter. 

For almost five days, Felicity had been aware of the guy following her around but she hadn’t called the cops yet, thinking it would go away like last time, in a few days. It didn’t. It escalated. 

On the fifth day, she met Oliver for dinner at a Chinese place, nervous and antsy because of the car she had seen tailing her. Oliver had been out of town for the last few days, something which had not helped in her growing anxiety in the house, all alone. But she hadn’t wanted to worry him, knowing he would drop everything in a second and return if he even got a hint of what was going on. So, she had kept quiet and last night’s reunion had been too thoroughly distracting for her to tell him anything anyways.

He smiled her upon seeing her like he always did and pressed a soft kiss to her lips for a few seconds, suddenly pulling back, searching her face. She didn’t know what had given her away, whether it had been the way she had pulled him closer to feel that safety he always represented or whether it had been the distracted way she had kissed him back. But one second his mouth had been on hers and the next he was frowning down at her, his hands rubbing her arms soothingly.

Looking up at those concerned blue eyes, she told him. Told him about that time in college and how the guy had just backed off after harassing her for a while, and how he had seen her again and the obsession had returned and how he had been following her for the last few days. She kept talking, telling him everything, and saw his eyes harden with each word, the rage he felt tensing his entire body, his muscles coiled for action like he had a bow and arrow notched right there. 

She saw him inhale deeply as he got his anger under control, and then changed the subject, telling her of his trip and his meeting with Thea and they enjoyed the dinner, teasing and laughing. 

They walked out of the restaurant after a while, and she knew Oliver’s mind, for all the smiles and teasing, was still on the stalker guy. He pulled her close to his side, scanning the street, his body still with awareness when suddenly, the guy emerged from the shadows. Oliver pushed her behind him and took a step closer to her stalker, who had come out of the darkness to block their path. 

The stalker looked at her and Oliver put a hand on his shoulder, his posture so cold and voice so lethal that she felt a shiver go down her veins. 

“Back off, right now.”

The threat in his voice was clear, the threat in his body even more so. The stalker looked angrily between them, a bit bigger than Oliver in size, which she knew from years of experience was nothing. If it came down to it, Oliver could crush multiple men that size in seconds. 

The stalker stepped back, his eyes on Felicity, and smirked. Then he started speaking. Crude words. About her and her anatomy. Words that made her blood boil and Oliver’s body still even more. That was the only reason she wasn’t punching the guy. If she lost it, Oliver would too. 

“Get the fuck out of here if you want to keep breathing.”

Oliver’s low, harsh voice told her exactly how close to the edge he was. Very. She knew that anyone slandering Thea or her pushed him to the edge like nothing else. And the guy just wasn’t quitting. 

And then, he looked at Felicity with lecherous eyes and started speaking of the things he’d like to do to her, of how he’d truss her up and fuck her, in much cruder terms. Felicity stilled and saw Oliver’s back stiffen impossibly more and closed her eyes, knowing there wouldn’t be any stopping him now, at least not from getting in a few hits. To be honest, she didn’t even want to. 

The guy kept talking. 

Oliver snapped. 

He was on the guy before she could blink, shoving him to the ground and punching his face repeatedly, the raw, brutal grunts from his throat so furious it stunned her. Felicity had always known the power in his muscles that he kept contained under strict control, even when he fought in green, but this was something else entirely. 

There was no control. Oliver had unleashed all his strength on the guy, who fought back, but was no match for her boyfriend. 

She heard three guards from the restaurant rush forward and pull Oliver off the bleeding, almost unconscious guy. She saw the way Oliver struggled, completely out of control, pushing forward to get back to him, saw how the three men were having a hard time restraining him, how his eyes had a madness she had rarely seen before, how his heaving chest was still rumbling with enraged noises, how he was ready to tear the guy apart, limb by limb. 

Felicity saw it all.  

Then she stepped forward, to stand right in front of him and put a hand on his chest. He started struggling like it was a random hand just as his eyes fell upon her. She saw the hot, pulsing blue stare at her for a few seconds, felt his thundering heart under her palm, felt the vibrating need for action thrumming through his body. 

Then she felt him calm. He kept his eyes on hers and stopped struggling, his breaths becoming cooler, the rage in his eyes slowly getting under his control, as he just looked at her. 

The guards breathed sighs of relief and left with a grateful look at her, and she took Oliver’s face in her hands, smiling up at him. 

“My hero,” she whispered and saw his lips twitch, just like they always did, and he pressed his forehead to hers, pulling her closer to his still angry body, still breathing heavily. 

He pressed a kiss to her lips, opening her mouth to his tongue, the adrenaline inside him switching direction perhaps. But she felt the hunger, the need for release in that kiss, and kissed him back, pulling him towards the car. 

He pulled back, his heated eyes telling her exactly what he intended to do tonight, telling her how rough he was going to be, telling her he was going to lose that control again, with her. 

She saw it all, and whispered against his mouth, her own excitement running through her veins. “Take me home.”

He took her home.


Tagging beautiful peeps under the cut. Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged. :)

Keep reading

MMFD fic prompt: “Awake?” Part 2

Part 1 is here.

A ton of notes and tags are at the bottom.

But my gratitude to madfatty for the beta is right on top.



Awake?” - Part 2

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with everyone today? Can’t they let a hungover man sleep? It’s barely gone one PM, for fuck sake.

Ping.

Finn grabs his phone and shoves it under the pillow. Sometimes that helps to muffle the sound, especially when he’s still half-asleep. But his head is pounding, feels like he’s being kicked in the skull repeatedly. By someone who’s really good at football. Messi or someone. How much did he drink last night? He doesn’t think it was that much. Headaches like these usually follow a night of total anarchy, something spacial like a rave or a music festival or something, that justifies spending all your cash ondrinking whatever someone might sell you. And also some chips or a kebab or ohhaawww don’t think about food! Don’t think about food!

Keep reading

Random present for anyone still up, and for boopboopbi and flylittlekoala: a piece of chapter four of the pulp-fiction-writer!Bucky AU…

Um, slightly nsfw, non-explicit intimations of spanking about to happen. As ever, the first italicized bits are Bucky’s story…

##

Four: “Princess Jama and the Barbarian Conqueror,” J.B. Barnes, Weird Tales, 1940

“I swore I would return you to your father, princess,” Rogaz rumbled, catching her by the wrist, “and by Crom, I shall do it!”

Jama kicked him.

He caught her easily the second time, and regarded her with a warrior’s hard-edged sympathy. The magical sword Kring hummed to itself in the corner, weaving its spell, singing to Fate the way it did in idle moments. “You don’t wish to go back?”

“I wish to marry whom I choose!” she retorted, and tried again to run. Lightning crashed down, splitting the tree near the mouth of the cave; the torrent of the flood thundered and sang, and Rogaz’ blood sang too, snatching her back from the cliff-face. He flung her down across the blankets and scowled. “It is not safe!”

“Safer than here,” she demanded, “with my father’s lapdog bounty hunter?”

His smile was merciless. “I am no one’s lapdog, princess. Must I teach you this lesson?”

And despite herself Jama felt a shiver low and deep inside: something awakening, at the sheer primal force of the man, the captivating strength and fighter’s soul. “Teach me, then,” she retorted: choosing, choosing for herself, as a princess should.

The mercenary grinned, drawing her near. “Princesses who refuse to listen,” he growled, “who run out into storms, should be scolded, Highness. Like a child—” And he sat upon the rock where his sword sang and purred, and pulled her down hard over his knee; his hands seemed everywhere, one holding her wrists, one cupping her backside, and she should wish to squirm free but her mind seemed hazy, yielding, caught under some spell of dominance—

He spanked her hard and firmly, again and again, as a princess had never been spanked before; the blows came quick and merciless through the torn gauze of her veils, and she wailed but did not struggle; she felt that strange shiver rising again, a liquid liquefying heat, a need that sizzled from her backside and along her spine and into the heart of her, and when he paused she demanded wildly, “More—”

Steve stopped reading. Steve, very thoughtfully, looked at Bucky. “Oh fuck,” Bucky said, very slowly trying to put a pillow over his own head and smother himself in fluff.

Keep reading