Notice how Bernie’s actions mirror her words perfectly? She’s subtly moving in closer to Serena to show just how much she wants to commit to her and sneakily does so while Serena’s not watching. I’d say A+ for body language! Ugh. My heart.
Could Jemma’s and Catherine’s acting get any more perfect than this?
It was obvious we weren’t meant to be forever, but that
night our paths crossed and for a short moment we found one another. We found
one another and yet I didn’t realise I was looking for her, but it’s when I saw
her that I knew she was what I needed, I knew she was what I was searching for.
The next day we would be strangers to one another, but that night we somehow
found each other in what seemed like an endless sea of people. The next day we
would be back to our normal lives, but that night nothing could stop us to have
some fun. Everything about her was special and enthralling, she obviously
wasn’t “perfect”, as if there is such thing, but she was for sure more
remarkable than any other girl in the room. It wasn’t her look that immediately
winded me, of course she was beautiful, but the first thing I caught about her
was her scent as she passed by me at the bar. The usual cloud of smell in the
club could not contain the gentle turmoil that was her aroma. The smog of
alcohol and sweat was easily pierced by the soft ray of her fragrance. And as
she passed by me a whiff of her aroma was casted on me, her sweet scent
caressed my nose and grabbed me by the chin, my head had no other choice but to
follow her silhouette in the crowd. She smelled delicious and flavourful, she
smelled like love and passion, and she smelled sweet and somehow rough, all that
at the same time. In no time her perfume drowned my mind with desire and burned
my lungs with passion, I wasn’t sure what I was feeling anymore but for sure it
felt good. After that, I had no other choice but to leave my drink there, I had
no other choice but to leave my friend mid sentence here, I had no other choice
but to follow her. I joined her on the dancefloor, took her by her hand and
spun her toward me, she giggled and stared into my eyes. Spinning her around
sent a gust of her fragrance that only charmed me more. Quickly we sweated and
moved with passion and yet our clothes were still on.
After that everything else happened so fast, we talked, we
danced, we drank, after that it didn’t take long before my mind began to spin. She
proposed some shots and enchanted by the idea I followed her back to the bar.
There she moved closer and closer to me, there I think I pulled her towards me,
there she mentioned a discreet place for later. Before I could respond anything,
we went back dancing. On the dancefloor, we could not leave one another and after
dancing for a while she bit her lips and gave me a bewitching wink. Then, she left
her friends there as she dragged me through the room, she dashed down some
stairs and I followed her to another floor, then we flew across a calmer and
less crowded room and we dove down some more stairs. We landed into a small and
dark corridor, she turned to me and said with a mischievous smile that we should
not be bothered here. But honestly, she could have brought me anywhere I would
have followed her anyway, at this point I was completely under her spell. At
the end of the long corridor she opened a door and invited me in. To this day,
I’m still not sure who did what next, I’m still not sure what happened
afterward or at least in what order. Next thing I remember was the intoxicating
feeling of her lips stuck against mines. I could not let her go, her lips’
taste stayed on my tongue and her lipstick reddened my mouth as she took my
breath away. A mere tease of her inebriating body and already I craved to lick
more of her, I hungered to eat her, I thirsted of her juice and I demanded her
moans. Even the few shots we took beforehand could not dull our senses. It
seemed as if our outrageous lust sharpened our minds and controlled our bodies
in this devilish act.
Our tongues latched on one another and caressed around in our
mouths. It seemed as if our tongues like our bodies could not be separated.
After all, we could not stop to touch and caress one another as we spun around
the small bathroom. In an indecent whirlwind, I pinned her on the stall door,
she straddled me on the seat, I bent her over the sink, she pushed me on the
wall. We were in a continuous tempest of passion almost too small for the room
to contain. After she pushed me on the wall, she latched her claws on my shirt
and kissed my chest. Her crimson lipstick stained the white fabric of my shirt,
she was obviously and lewdly marking her catch while unbuckling my belt.
Though our foreplay was long it was rushed, it was passionate
but delicate, it was rough yet sweet, and somehow our foreplay was hot in that
cold bathroom. Or so it seemed to us. Our foreplay could have been a few minutes
or many it did not really matter. Time obviously did not stop for us but we
surely did not want to waste any second, we wanted to use every minute we had
with our bodies before getting caught. In an instant her mouth was on my crotch,
she was tasting me through my underwear, passing her lips on my bulge and
underlining my swelling with her tongue. Then, in a quick motion her fingers
snatched my underwear down. I could hear her silently savour me as her lips lapped
on my cock. Surprised by her mouth work I stutetered a ccurse as I closed my
eyes. I could not see anything but I could feel her tongue trace my length and
I could feel her saliva quickly coat my cock as her tongue coiled me. Once she got
me to the hardness she wanted, once she filled her hunger, we quickly switched
place on the wall. Swiftly I spread her legs apart and pulled down her pants.
My hands dove into her panties while my mouth began to cover her breast. My
teeth then pulled down her bra as my fingers slowly slid inside her. Once
inside of her, I heard her swallow her saliva and let out a faint sigh of
relief as she enjoyed the penetration of my roaming fingers. Then, my nose
rubbed against her skin as my mouth caressed its way to her nipples, circling
around her nipple I felt her push her breast in my face as she took a deep
breath. At this moment, my fingers pushed deeper inside her as my palm pressed
against her clit, there I felt that my warm hand on her sensitive button made
her shiver as she slightly grasped my forearm. I let her take a moment before my
fingers began to viciously pump in her and my palm began to rapidly quake on
her sensitive clit. Quickly, her juice dripped on my hand as I devoured her
breast. Nibbled and fingered she tighten her grip on my arm as she let small moans
escape her mouth. Now, with my mouth all over her breast, I must say that her
body felt like honey, a delectable nectar that stuck to my lips and rolled on
my tongue. The warmth of her body made me forget the staleness and coldness of
the bathroom atmosphere. After a while, my hand slid away and all my fingers
latched to her body as my mouth went back to hers. My hands wanted to brush her
silhouette, my fingers wanted to paint her curves as our lips coloured our mouths
of her red lipstick. Her moans tamboured into my ears and the rhythm of her
gasps mixed with the music to restlessly hit my eardrums. Even tough I was still
rock hard I could have been satisfied with just stealing her some moans, but her
mischievous eyes said that she had more plans for me. She then let herself fall
into my arms and I lift her up as she wrapped herself around my hips. I pinned
her to the wall and we continued to exchange some deep kisses as we grinded
against each other. I could feel that her soaked panties could barely restrain
my cock as the tip was beginning to push between her lips. The tempo of the grinding
continued to be heavy and dirty and we both knew what we wanted next.
I let her down to her feet and we went to the sink. Her back
to me I caressed some kisses on her neck as my hands stroked her figure. I then
bent her over, or more like she bent herself over before I could do anything,
anyway we both wanted that either way. I eagerly took protection from my pocket
and quickly put it on, my cock was throbbing as I could barely wait to feel
more of her. I gave her a little slap on her beautiful ass and pushed her dripping
panties aside. Then I slid my cock up and down her wet lips as she backed her
rear on me. I pushed the head in and we both let out a moan of solace as she
began to slowly move her hips, her ass moving in circles while the head of my
cock was barely pushed inside her.
She shivered as I rammed my cock into her. The pounding of
my cock in her echoed in the room as the mirror trembled from the blasting
music of the club. Her moistness made lewd noises and this mesmerizing sound
covered the noise of the locked door that was shaking because some people were
trying to get in. I honestly did not realise she locked the door behind,
everything happened so fast. But, I did not give it more thoughts as now I
pushed deeply into her, she was only stopped by the sink as she received inside
of her all my cock. The walls were shaking and we could not tell what was causing
it, the pounding music of the club or the fierce ramming of my cock that was
rocking the sink on the wall. I continuously pushed into her as my whole cock
pumped in her with ease and rapidity. My hips rammed and shoved my cock into her
with harshness and strength as her panting and moans only enhanced the music.
In a way, it seemed as if her breathing and quivering had matched perfectly with
the beat of the music. Actually, it almost felt as if the loud and energic symphony
of the club could only be background noise to her suggestive and provocative moans.
She closed her eyes and she let out cries of pleasure as I slapped her ass and
pounded her pussy some more. She looked at me in the mirror, not at me as a
person but as a momentarily giver of pleasure, she seemed to have been happy
with her catch as she slowly brushed her tongue across her lips. I gave more strength
in my thrusts, using all she gave me to burry my cock. Her hips tuned my pace
and pushed on my cock at the right moments, she made sure to have all of me in
her, she made sure to use all my length while she shivered on it. If at this
moment, we would not have been both so selfish, our act would have been so
selfless to one another, but in a way the meaningless of our sex was dedicated.
After all, we did not want our moment together to last forever but to be
memorable. So, I kept fucking her senselessly, her face inches away of the mirror
as she moaned and shivered under my shoves. With this heated sex her shameless
pleasure made her icy reflection fluster. Her warm moaning breath crashed onto
the dirtied and old mirror as steam began to cover it. She sang for some more
and I gave it to her. Then, I felt her getting closer and closer. She let her
head fall down and she tightly grabbed the sink in front of her as her legs began
to quiver. But, I grabbed her hair while pummeling my cock into her, I then pulled
her hair to make her see the lustful scene in our blurry reflection. Her
whimpers quickly crescendoed and it did not take much more time before we both
finished in a gale of moans and grunts.
I gave her a kiss on her back as I retired myself. We both
slowly took back our breath for a moment. She readjusted her clothes as I threw
the condom in the trash. We put back our clothes while exchanging satisfied grins
to one another. Then, she came closer to me and stared into my eyes as she bit
her lower lip. We both wanted an encore but at the same time we both needed to
take some air after this tornado of passion. She kissed me one last time and
turned toward the door, freezing me on place with a huge smile on my face. She
unlocked the door and began to open it, but she stopped for a small moment, she
slightly turned her face toward me but without looking at me, she seemed to
have had a brief moment of hesitation but then she disappeared in the confused
crowd waiting outside the door.
This is legit bothering me. I swear to God, I never thought Brittany Anne Snow could get any more blindingly gorgeous, but then I see her beautiful ass in person when she hops up on stage and low and behold, SHE SOMEHOW IS MORE STUNNING. WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE!! WHY DID NO ONE WARN ME???LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
I just realised rhysand was making feyre his queen in acotar. IN ACOTAR. She has a diadem/crown on her head when she goes to the ball under the mountain. Like fuck. This is prophecy of how she would become high lady and how she was his queen. Could this ship be any more perfect! Let’s have lots more crown wearing in acowar please!
what she means:
i'm 100% happy with all canon hp endgame ships except hinny I don’t hate it or anything but I feel like JKR could have developed it A LOT better (Ginny in general deserved more than what she got tbh that poor girl gets so much underserved hate) and also I just feel like lunarry would’ve been perfect because let's face it Harry was totes into that girl and it would've been such a harry thing to do to surprise everyone and end up with looney lovegood if JKR had been regretful about any endgame it should've been hinny and not romione what was she thinking???
(Hiiiii!! I know probably very few people will see this, but I’m posting this as a small fanfic of sorts. I wrote this in an emotional haze, and hope you guys enjoy !!!
Warnings: Mentions of verbal abuse. Self hating, self demeaning.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Mystic Messenger or any of the characters. I just wrote this for entertainment purposes.
Shining and curly and unruly and so many words to describe it.
She always found it beautiful.
He was as vibrant as the sun for her, leaving her mesmerized at every glance.
But more so on him. It just looked best on him. It fit, very well. She could go on and on, about how perfect she found him, despite everything he went through, because it was a part of him. And she loved every single part of him, and wanted to protect him from it, wanted to protect him from the pain and help him heal. So she decided to act on her feelings, she decided to move forward with him, and despite his distance and his cold demeanor, she knew what he would truly be like. She knew he had love in his heart, and just that he was too scared to show it. And she was okay, she knew it would be a process, she knew he would need time to heal and process what was going on, which is why she wouldn’t rush it. She wouldn’t force him to open up to her, that would just hurt him more. So she waited. She waited patiently, and while his words did hurt, she knew it would be okay. She didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all.
And then he broke through his shell, and began to love the girl he pushed away.
She was so ecstatic. He was beginning to show love and not hold back his feelings! She was so happy for him, she was so happy that he was making progress, and while it’s slow, it’s still good. She was so proud, not just because he returned her feelings, but because he actually stepped forward and decided to let out his feelings and emotions instead of bottling them up or pushing them behind a facade. So they grew closer and closer, as they began the hunt for his brother. It was still a process, but they were making it through.
And he decided to leave evidence of his existence on her.
And she was happy.
But happiness only lasts for so long.
~fast forward to the present~
He had his brother back, and he was healing too, slowly but surely.
He had his fiancée besides him, and she still loved him as fiercely as those days in the apartment.
But he still had his days, his days of anger and resentment. His days of pushing her away, because he felt unworthy and undeserving, and wanted to hurt her so she would leave, a temporary pain to save her from a permanent one.
But she was stubborn, smiling through the pain, and through the suffering, wanting to be a light for him to come out of his darkness, a gentle light that healed, not a harsh light that burned. So she stayed. She stayed through it all, and he loved her for it. He loved her as fiercely as she loved him.
But it didn’t stop him from doing it.
It was a long day, Saeran was angry and tired of the same routine, but really, just needing an excuse to lash out because the hormones were taking a toll on him, she was trying to be calm, but today was just a little too long, a little too hard, and a little too much for her to easily handle, and she was offset as well. Saeyoung was just too overwhelmed, and lashed out at her for trying too hard to get them to stop.
She needed air. He needed a drink. He left with a slam, she slipped out a few moments later in silence.
It was stupid.
He was drunk, she was pretty, and he was just a little too emotional to really think about what he was doing.
He took that pretty little girl back, Saeran didn’t even notice, that the girl Saeyoung had on his arm was a little too tall, a little too leggy, and had the wrong hair color.
He didn’t notice that it wasn’t ~her~
She came back, a little while later, Saeran was in his room, trying to calm down, and she had a few groceries in her hands, hoping a small, home cooked meal would help smooth some of the tension, but she wanted to apologize.
Apologize for just being a little too much.
But as she walked closer:
All she could hear was moaning.
High pitched, pretty little moans, and she couldn’t believe it.
A slight crack in the door showed, that he was on top, clothes everywhere, and breathy little moans were sounding off from the girl underneath. She quietly closed the door.
She wasn’t angry, she wasn’t going to go into a fit of rage, no. She should have known. Of course she wouldn’t be enough. Why would she be? She could never ~really~ be enough. I mean, look at her. She wasn’t the tallest, thinnest or the prettiest. She wasn’t talented, she didn’t have anything special about her. She was just….her. Nothing extraordinary, she was less that ordinary. She couldn’t pass average in anything. So why would he, someone as bright as the sun, stay with her? She wasn’t helpful, obviously, after today, it was clear she couldn’t fulfill his needs.
She walked away from the door slowly, gently setting the groceries down in the kitchen. She should leave. She should get out, before either of them notice her. But something was bothering her:
Why was her face so wet?
She can’t be crying. No, no, no. She frantically wiped her face, chiding herself for crying. She has no reason to cry. She should have known. She should have tried harder. It’s her fault. She has absolutely no right to cry. She pinched herself, angry that she allowed herself to get this weak, to get this emotional, when she deserved every bit of it. She was too clingy, too nagging, too suffocating. Obviously, she needed to get a hold of herself. So she took a deep breath, quietly began to leave the groceries in neat piles, where the twins could see them, and left a neat note, requesting them to eat something, and to stay on top of the medication.
But she wanted to leave one last thing.
So she wrote a note.
“I’m sorry, I’m so so, sorry for everything I’ve done. I’m so sorry I wasn’t enough for you. I hope you could forgive me, for not being that little bit both you and Saeran needed. I don’t blame you, not in the slightest. So please, don’t get angry. You both need someone who has that little bit. Thank you both, so so much for taking care of me, for loving me and showing me so much affection. You both have given me truly wonderful memories. I just wish I could have said the same for you. Please, take care. Eat on time, take your medicine, take breaks and most of all, take care of each other and love each other. I’m truly sorry for everything. Please remember, to always shine, you were my sun, and moon. Please forgive me, for never becoming a star.
So she set the letter down, grabbed her small bag, it just had the essentials, nothing to really sustain her until she found a place, and slowly slipped out.
“Hi, Jumin? I was wondering if I could come to your place for a little while?”
Newt couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face any more than he could help the words that burst forth. “I love you,” he blurted, his eyes catching her gaze, watching as her expression went from surprise to elation. “I…I’m sorry I just…uh…stated it…that way. Without preamble…I meant to preface my declarations with so much more–”
Tina laughed and leaned over to kiss him, the light peck turning into something deeper the longer she remained. “It was perfect. Just the way it was. I do adore your preamble as much as I adore you, Newt…” she hesitated, grinning widely when he blushed. “And I do. Adore you as well.”
A little something I wrote today at job. No beta, just my feels and my mistakes.
The sweetest way
He was sitting on the bed, his back leaning against the wall, still dizzy because of what happened a few minutes ago. His mind was filled with memories of bare skin, messy hair, shadows of flames licking the contour of luscious curves. He could still smell her scent, feel the heat of her body pressed against his. Did it was real? Wasn’t it just a dream? It had been so perfect that he couldn’t be sure. The taste of her lips, the softness of her touches, the sound of her moans…It was a dream, it couldn’t be otherwise.
As he was expecting to wake up any minute, the door of the bathroom opened and she was there.
She was there, real and alive. She was there, naked and smiling, her long caramel hair falling on her shoulders. She was there, more gorgeous than ever.
She didn’t say a word, she just stared at him, her eyes shining with joy as she walked to the bed and sat up next to him, facing him.
Marcus didn’t make a move, he didn’t even try because he was too captivated by the glorious woman in front of him.
«A penny for your thoughts,» she said after a few seconds as she softly let her fingers starting to run on his chest.
Marcus offered her a shy smile and shook his head, softly.
«Nothing,» he answered at first but she raised an eyebrow and as always she won.
«You’ll think it’s stupid,» he said with shifty eyes.
«Just tell me,» she insisted with a tender voice.
«I…I feel like I was waiting for this, I mean, for us. Like if I had waited for you and me my entire life without knowing it,» he confessed with an embarrassed smile at the corner of his lips.
Abby remained quiet but her smile was growing.
«See, this is stupid,» he added with a sigh, bending his head.
«I love you,» the words get out of her mouth like if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Marcus looked up at her and remained speechless, shocked. It was the first time she was saying it explicitly and it undid him completely.
She was smiling with her whole face. Her lips were smiling, her eyes were smiling and at this moment she seemed filled only with love and pure happiness.
He wanted to say it back, to make her know how badly he was in love with her but he was too overwhelmed to speak. He just stared at her, like the stupid idiot in love he was but, as always, she took the lead.
Abby grabbed his face with one hand and leaned toward him. The light pressure of her fingers on his jaw invited him to lift his head and he didn’t resist. She captured his lips with hers and he was lost. Lost in her love, lost in her passion, lost in her. In her arms, nothing else mattered anymore.
Deep down inside him, Marcus knew that even if they were about to die, it wasn’t important anymore because now, he knew what love, real love felt like. She had shown him in the sweetest way.
Sodapop has never seen someone so perfect. Everything about her was so captivating. The way her smile made you smile. Her loud laugh that could bring you back to life. The dimples that rose on her cheeks. How her hips seemed to hypnotized him in their swaying nature. Just everything.
He loved her, he knew that for sure. Every time he would see her his heart hurt from her perfection. She was so different from any other girl he had ever met. She read more books than he could ever count and her view on life was just so intoxicating. Sodapop could stay there all day and just listen to whatever she has to say. Whatever it was, from her life, to the vase knowledge she holds or whatever the color of the sky is.
The only problem was her boyfriend. He wanted her to be happy, that’s all he wanted but that Soc was nothing but trouble. Soda feared for him to use and hurt her. He wouldn’t be able to see her sad or even shed a tear over that self absorbed tool.
Clary was more than surprised when she found out Alec could draw, and draw well. She was certain he didn’t believe he was good at it, nor that he meant to show her of all people, but she had caught him unaware, doodling runes and other still life drawings. Of course, when she thought about it later, it made perfect sense; Jace had told her that Alec was the one who drew his and Izzy’s runes in the places they couldn’t, and he had been the first to get them right when they were younger. And so, Clary made it her mission to get Alec doing art with her as much as possible. At first it was her dragging him along to get canvases and then buying him his own, ‘on a whim’, so he wouldn’t be bored watching her. He slowly started to get more into it, and the more his art became more complex and multidimensional, the more happy he seemed to be after their little sessions. Clary even overheard him talking to Magnus, “I don’t know how to explain it, babe, but… it helps somehow.” Magnus replied in a low voice, and she knew they were wrapped up in each other’s arms. “It’s a release, isn’t it?” There’s a pause, Alec must have nodded, before he speaks again. “I’ll have to thank Biscuit.” Alec laughed softly, and Clary backed away, not wanting to eavesdrop on their private conversation any longer. When Alec initiates one of their art sessions for the first time, she wraps him in a hug, and is even more surprised than when she found out he had natural talent as an artist, when he hugs her back.
Here you go @lovesdaryl - this is exceptionally rushed, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Anyway, after this little angst-break I can now return to the smutfest I was wriitng ;)
Carol imagined that in another world, in another life, this could have been the picture of perfect, blissful domesticity.
The plates cleared and cleaned after a delicious, home-cooked meal.
The log fire blazing in the grate.
The man she loved more than any other huddled under the warm, knitted blanket, gazing softly into the flames.
But this wasn’t another world. This wasn’t another life. This was here and now, in a dangerous and cruel world, and the man she loved was more lost and broken than she had ever seen him.
The flickering light from the fire illuminated Daryl’s face, highlighting just how tired he was, how much the past few weeks seemed to have aged him.
“I know you said you were going back tonight,” Carol said softly, as she knelt before the fire, placing herself beside him. “But I can’t let you. Not tonight. Not now. You stopped me running away once before. Let me return the favor.”
“I didn’t…” he began, but trailed off. Even in the dim light Carol could see the words he wanted to say were paining him. “I shoulda been there to bring you back before. If I had, we wouldn’t have been out there and been captured, and… Glenn…” He dropped his head, and his shoulders shook with grief. Very tentatively Carol reached towards him, and he accepted her touch readily, clutching to her like a lifeline as he wept.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered to him over and over, as she tried to comprehend the loss herself. Both Glenn and Abraham, gone forever. The idea was inconceivable. And it was precisely why she had run away; to escape the never-ending cycle of death. But it seemed that she couldn’t outrun death for long. And with Daryl here now, her choice to run was laid bare.
Finally he quieted, and very slowly he raised his blood-shot, swollen eyes to meet her gaze. “Come back with me,” he said.
Her heart ached to say yes, to leave with him, but she wasn’t ready to go back. As long as she stayed away from Alexandria she could pretend, deep in her soul, that both Glenn and Abraham were still alive, that her family was safe. “I’ll think about it,” she said, and she moved her hand to cradle the back of Daryl’s head, then placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
But as she tried to move away, Daryl held onto her, and pressed a sudden, clumsy, wet kiss to her lips. “Come back with me,” he repeated.
She was breathless, her heart pounding with the shock of what he had just done. She had wanted him for longer than she could remember but had never wanted to push him, and so had always waited for him to make the first move. She had long assumed that her feelings would never be reciprocated. Very tentatively, she brushed some of his tears away from his cheek with the pad of her thumb, then ran her hand gently over the unshaven scruff of his jaw and drew him closer, brushing her lips softly over his. “Stay tonight,” she said. “And I promise I’ll think about it.”
He nodded softly, and pulled the blanket from around his shoulders so that he could wrap them both up together, and Carol allowed herself the slightest of melancholic smiles. There was that scene of domesticity that she longed for at last…
Robert quite naturally was concerned that any slipup on
Sally’s part would undoubtably lead to him. His concerns magnified
when Loyalist officers began living in the Townsend home, but his
apprehensions escalated in November 1778, when Simcoe began living
there. He knew by reputation that Simcoe was no fool, and worse yet, he
could be ruthlessly brutal. Even more worrisome to Townsend was the
knowledge that Simcoe’s mission included ferreting out enemy espionage
activities on Long Island. In short, the spy hunter was living in the
home of the spy he was pursuing. Townsend was worried that any misstep
by himself or Sally would place all the Townsend’s in danger. Long
Island historians like Frances Irwin maintain that Sally had been
passing information to Robert for some time, and she continued to do so
with intelligence that she gleaned from her association with Simcoe and
other Loyalists in the Oyster Bay area. But no one was more aware than
her brother Robert of the disastrous consequences her discovery would
have on the Townsend family and indeed on the Culper Ring. — Paul R. Misencik
Hey guys, happy Saturday/Sunday! So I usually don’t do this, but thanks to amazeballs s4 trailer and frankly an indecent amount of fan flailing on my part, I wrote a little thing based off the Olicity cuteness in the trailer.
Tagging (since I assume they’ll be interested, but no hard feelings if you’re not)
Felicity had never been good with recipes. Or recipe words. Spells and wand movements — sure. She could swish and flick the hell out of any Harry Potter movie marathon. But the perfect slide-and-nudge to fold an omelet in the pan?
Suffice it to say that her inner nerd was more interested in fictional magical schools than making sure she didn’t die from eating burned eggs.
Felicity licked a smear of avocado off her thumb and paged back to her bookmark in Cooking to Impress by Katie Cheng — highly recommended by the nice lady at CC Bookends, who recognized Felicity around the second time she came in looking for the equivalent of Cooking for Dummies. After a slightly embarrassing recount of the burned pizza bagels, and the cardboard-consistency French toast, Ellen had nodded understandingly and suggested recipe books with pictures. Lots of them.
Which didn’t make her feel like she was about twelve. Then again, twelve-year-olds didn’t usually choke their boyfriends with calcified breakfasts (they just teased each other and exchanged edible bagged lunches — ah, to be in sixth grade again).
Felicity almost slid straight off the countertop when she leaned forward to check the time. The wall clock beside the row of cabinets read ten minutes to nine, and even five months into their vacation, Oliver was infallibly on time when it came to routines. She’d watched him jog up the lane at a little past eight in his favorite green hoodie, which meant that he’d be back nine-ish, smelling of seawater and possibly wet dog (Oliver was inexplicably popular with the stray that haunted the stretch of coast near their house).
Also, hungry. Hopefully hungry enough to eat whatever she put in front of him (impressive, please be impressive). Or, failing that, he could eat something else. And Felicity knew he liked that just fine. More than fine, if she was being self-congratulatory.
Even though she was alone, Felicity inched the book higher to cover her face, as if to hide the fact that she was blushing at the thought of what Oliver could have instead of breakfast.
Avocado, cheddar and tomato omelet. Not too much to ask for. Visual distraction and deceptive impressiveness — her bread and butter. So far, she’d grated the cheese without skinning her knuckles (score), sliced the tomatoes without taking off her fingers (double score), and hollowed out two avocados without getting green gunk all over the spotless kitchen cabinets like the last time (who knew those things could be so slippery). And to top off this auspicious sundae, said ingredients had made it into the pan of bubbling eggs and now awaited the highly-anticipated omelet fold.
Which she could totally manage.
Felicity picked up the spatula and practiced the slide-and-nudge in the air, waving her wrist around with careful exaggeration.
Slide and nudge. Slide and nudge. Slide and nudge.
Layer ½ of omelet with tomatoes, avocado, and cheddar — she’d done that — after three to five minutes, the eggs —
“— should not look like that,” Felicity declared, wondering why, instead of an artful contrast of green-red-and-sunny-yellow in the copper frying pan, there was a smoking, psychedelic mess of highlighter colors in the vein of Do Not Eat, Poison.
Felicity leaned over the pan. “Frack,” she said, prodding at the mixture with the edge of the spatula while she paged through Cooking to Impress for rescue advice.
And…nothing. No advice on how not to make her boyfriend think that she wanted to send him to the hospital with explosive diarrhea.
“Are you getting tired of me already?”
Felicity’s head shot up, because she had not realized that she’d been talking out loud. Oliver — in his usual catlike way — had managed to walk all the way from the front door to the kitchen counter without making a sound, and now had a front row seat to another disastrous Felicity Smoak attempt at a home cooked breakfast. Kudos to him for smiling like it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, not like he’d just walked in after a healthy morning jog to find his girlfriend presiding over the scene of a culinary crime.
“This,” she said, accidentally flicking a piece of psychedelic egg onto Oliver’s copy of National Geographic, “is not what it looks like.”
“Hm.” Oliver stepped up to the stove top and peered into the smoking pan with polite interest. “It looks like you’re making me breakfast.”
Felicity waggled her spatula in a ta-dah kind of way. “Surprise,” she said sheepishly.
Something popped in the pan, and Felicity yelped, scooting a good few inches away from the stove.
“Maybe we should turn the heat off,” Oliver suggested mildly.
“Probably a good idea,” Felicity agreed, her voice muffled behind Cooking to Impress.
Two minutes later, the still-faintly smoking pan was soaking in the sink, and the color-swirl eggs (now with an added shade of burnt-stuff-brown) were on a plate beside a tall glass of Oliver’s usual vegetable juice (gross).
Felicity was still sitting on the counter, hiding half of her face behind the book. “It’s testament to my nonexistent cooking skills that your yuck-juice looks pretty appetizing right now,” she said, grimacing at the remembered taste of liquified kale (the sacrilege).
Instead of sitting down at the breakfast bar (or making a hasty excuse to go for another run), Oliver came up to her, planting his broad hands on either side of her legs. “Morning,” he said, leaning close.
Even through the makeshift face shield, Felicity could tell that Oliver did indeed smell like the beach, and a hint of wet terrier (dammit, the mental image of Oliver running alongside a hyperactive stray made her want to do things to him).
Felicity lowered Cooking to Impress — slightly. “Morning,” she said back, trying her best to be cool and casual, even while half her face was hidden behind a book. “How was your run?”
“Wet,” he answered. “I came back early to see you.”
“I think the universe foresaw that I might blow up your kitchen,” Felicity said, in her best sagely voice.
“Our kitchen,” he corrected.
“Our kitchen means that I have to do the cleaning up.”
“You don’t have to do the cleaning up.”
“Really?” Felicity said.
“Really,” he said, and there was something in Oliver’s voice that made her feel warm and liquid, like she could slow-dance in the sun with her hands in his, like she was stretched out in their big, white bed with her arms thrown above her head and content to be kissed.
Speaking of kisses. Part of the infallible morning routine was the Welcome Home kiss, whether Felicity was reading on the couch, or perched on the kitchen counter, or still lazing around in bed — Oliver never failed to kiss her hello. The type of kisses varied. Sometimes it was just a quick peck on the lips on his way up to the shower, other times (and Felicity liked these the most) it was a lingering kiss, tasting of languid, unhurried mornings and hours on their hands, with nowhere to be, nothing to do, and nothing to fear. At times like these, it felt like he was making up for all the times their kisses had meant goodbye.
Felicity tipped her head back, just a little, her eyes heavy-lidded, lashes sweeping her cheeks — even though every nerve in her body felt like it could spark like a live wire. With all the serotonin bouncing around inside her skull, Felicity had forgotten about the book — and her slackened grip — until Oliver pulled it from her hands and lifted her straight off the counter, planting her barefoot on the kitchen tiles with one arm, holding it behind his back with the other.
Felicity leaned back at the waist to look up at him, laughing. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” she said.
“It is,” Oliver concurred, giving her a glimpse of the book before he whisked it out of sight again.
Oliver-trying-not-to-laugh was a setting Felicity hadn’t quite figured out yet. It was equal parts gratifying, stop-and-stare, and (because she was hardwired that way) arousing. Felicity — clocking in at five feet five inches and an unspecified but comparatively insignificant body weight — knew her advantage, going up against six feet plus of muscle mass and tactile training.
She coiled her arms around Oliver’s middle, not-so-subtly reaching for the book as she leaned the length of her body against his. As far as secret weapons went, the sight of her in one of Oliver’s shirts was the atom bomb of all decisive moves, but failing that, a pair of thin sweatpants and bare shoulders would do the trick just fine.
Felicity bit her lip to stop from smiling at the distraction in Oliver’s stare, as his frankly superhuman senses were bombarded with her closeness. And the fact that she’d snuck her hands up the hem of his hoodie, scraping her nails lightly against his hipbones in the way she knew he liked.
“Felicity,” he said, and she was pleased to hear that his voice had gone scratchy — for reasons that had nothing to do with the non-existent California cold.
“What’s it going to cost me?” she asked, in her best sultry voice.
One of Oliver’s hands slipped against her shirt, grazing an inch or so of exposed midriff. His palm felt hot enough to burn, and Felicity luxuriated in the pleasant shivers dancing up the length of her spine, the responsiveness stirring somewhere in the depths of her belly.
They were both swaying on the spot, almost too distracted by each other’s closeness to answer. But Felicity didn’t need him to. Sometime in the middle of their mutual diversion, Felicity had gotten the answer to her question, and she moved closer still, sliding her thigh up the inside of Oliver’s leg.
“Felicity.” Oliver was smiling now, and so was she.
Felicity only bit her lip, raising her eyebrows in a wordless question.
She got her answer when the book landed with a flutter of open pages, and Oliver’s hands were suddenly on her arms — stroking from elbow to wrist — pulling her flush against him with a kind of wordless confidence that made her catch her breath. Felicity teetered on her toes, on the giddy edge of losing her balance, and her head fell back just in time to receive Oliver’s smiling kiss.
Trying-not-to-laugh, teasing, and smile-while-kissing — all Oliver settings Felicity hadn’t quite gotten used to just yet. Not because they were rare, but because every day brought her something new about this rare and complex man, to the point where she was having trouble keeping track of it all — the endless novelty of discovering who Oliver Queen was.
“New discovery,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. “You smile when you kiss now.”
“Is that good?” Oliver asked.
Felicity nodded enthusiastically, making them both laugh. Oliver brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears with his callused fingers, looking down at her upturned face like he was content to stay there for the rest of his days.
“Oliver Queen,” she breathed, and watched his eyes warm at the sound of her saying his name. “Poisonous breakfast aside — how do you feel today?”
Oliver looked over her head for a moment, then back at her, running his thumbs thoughtfully down the sides of her cheeks. “I’m happy,” he said.
Felicity stood on her toes and surprised him with a kiss, simultaneously an apology for cooking disasters and a victory lap for winning the fight over a cookbook. “Good,” she answered.
He watched her stumble over her words, trying to say without saying what was in her heart. After everything that had happened, everything she had been through…. all the pain and blood, her death and resurrection, the scars Saundor had left in his inelegant machinations, her inner agony at not feeling “good enough”… and here she was, still trying to comfort him; to make him better.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe he’s an actual,
real human being.”
You could only nod your head
in agreement as you stared at the television screen. You and one of your
closest friends were watching Captain America: Civil War (for what had to be
the hundredth time) and you had to admit, the visuals in this film were far
more appealing than any of the previous films. Especially the scenes involving
Captain America and the tight gray t-shirt.
“Honestly,” she continued as
she stared at the screen (she’d paused it on the helicopter scene), “how is he
real? He is actually the definition of perfection.”