homemade dipping sauce

Aprons and Sticky Notes

(You can thank @yespleasehawkeye for this.)

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Felicity lay on the couch under a mountain of blankets, a box of tissues and a recently-refilled 64 ounce travel cup of water within reach. Balanced precariously on the couch cushions and far enough under the blanket so Felicity didn’t have to risk exposing an arm was a bag of potato chips and a bowl of melted chocolate. Netflix was playing on the TV over the happily burning fireplace. It was winter, so thankfully it was cool enough to be burning a fire and Oliver didn’t complain when she’d asked him to turn it on before he left for work this morning.

She heard door to the loft open. Speak of the devil. It spoke to how horrible Felicity felt that she didn’t even try hiding her chocolate-and-potato-chip snack.

“Hon?” Oliver called and she heard him moving toward the couch. “I know you said I should do Arrow duty without you tonight, but… Are you dipping potato chips in melted chocolate?”

She didn’t turn over. Didn’t even move. Her entire body was one huge ache and her head and nose were so stuffed that she didn’t even know how her brain was processing information.


Oliver was silent for a moment and Felicity knew exactly what he was doing.

There was a new side to Oliver she’d found during their road trip. She called it Master Chef Oliver. Ever since he discovered an undying love for cooking, he didn’t stop. Much to the chagrin of her clothes. Despite his protests – both verbal and… biblical – that he loved how she looked, she’d had to start working out. Sure, she could’ve eaten healthy, but why?

Oliver had made it his mission in life to get Felicity to give up her “teenage boy going through puberty” diet and actually eat like a healthy, functioning adult. It hadn’t gone well so far, but Oliver was nothing if not determined.

Whenever she worked at home, he always brought her these healthy snacks like organic carrots with homemade secret dipping sauce (that she thought tasted like celery but everyone else seemed to love). He would sneak around behind her when they were getting ready for a movie night and replace all her snack choices with much healthier (and far less tasty) options. Except her ice cream. He knew better than to touch her ice cream.

Even now, when she was home sick with the flu, he was trying to help her recovery while still getting her to eat healthy. Like being sick didn’t automatically give a person a pass on all things greasy and chocolatey.

Master Chef Oliver was trying to compose himself before he made his argument.

“Did you run out of the soup I made you?” he asked. She heard him opening the fridge and couldn’t help but grin, knowing he’d find the entire quart still in there.

“Nope,” she responded, popping the ‘p’ with as much power as she had in her sniffly, sick self.

“Felicity, all that sugar and grease isn’t going to make you feel better. Weren’t you listening when I read you that research study?”

Ah, yes. Her fiancée only did research outside of work for one reason: food.

“You weren’t wearing the apron.”

“When I handmade those noodles and perfectly cooked everything exactly how you like it before making my own broth I most certainly was – ”

“You weren’t wearing just the apron.”

That made him go quiet.

Oh, the apron. Felicity may get occasionally annoyed at Master Chef Oliver, but he came with the perks of the apron she’d given him randomly one day. She’d seen it in the window when she was out shopping and couldn’t resist buying it for him. The apron was normal, but it was printed with an over-drawn, super muscular guy in tiny white underwear. It’s not as good as the real thing, she’d said, but I can’t ask you to cook naked all the time.

They’d done a lot of adult, non-cooking related activities after she’d said that.

She often joked since then that she’d only eat his healthy food if he cooked it for her in that apron. Only that apron. It had led to some truly fabulous countertop and dining-room-table orgasms. It was kind of an open invitation whenever he wore it.

“Felicity,” he groaned, walking over to the couch and leaning over it so he could look her in the eye. His were molten hot, but his mouth was pinched. “Remember what happened last time we had sex when you were sick?”

She pulled her face into an expression that she often said was her version of his “grumpy face.” He said he didn’t see the resemblance but that didn’t stop her. “I infected your scientifically perfect body with my impure germs and made you sick,” she grumbled, not stopping mocking him at his voice.

His mouth opened but he seemed slightly stunned for a moment before he couldn’t hold back his laugh. “I didn’t say that!” he insisted, his eyes still hot but also sparkling with humor and Felicity couldn’t resist smiling back.

“Not in so many words, but I felt the silent judgment of my less-than-scientifically-perfect immune system.”

Oliver leaned over and Felicity’s eyes slid shut in anticipation of the kiss, but she felt his soft lips and scratchy stubble on her forehead and couldn’t help but pout. Which he laughed at when he pulled back. He laughed!

“I love every part of you,” he said. “Even your inferior immune system.”

Felicity sighed and gazed up at him. “Oh, well. I guess this was a waste,” she said, throwing back the blanket to reveal Oliver’s greatest weakness.

Aka: her tight green sleep tank top and teeny-tiny pajama shorts that were dark green and covered in lighter green arrows. She thought they would just be a cute joke, but the first time she’d worn them Oliver’s eyes had darkened before he practically dragged her into bed.

It had been funny at first. Of everything he’d ever seen her in it was these sleep pants that did it the most for him? He said it was a combination of the green, the arrows, and the undeniable power of her ass.

Felicity would never admit that the majority of the working out she’d done after her clothes started to get tight in Ivy Town was squats and lunges.

“Felicity,” he said again, but it was much more of a whine this time. His hands clenched on the back of the couch, his knuckles going white. His brows furrowed over his bright, beautiful, hot eyes and Felicity grinned.

“I guess I might as well change. I have this cute onesie that – ”

She never got to finish her sentence because Oliver vaulted over the couch, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her so hard she thought their mouths were going to fuse together.

Fine by her.


Felicity woke up disoriented. And still sick.

She was naked now, but there was a nice, warm Oliver draped over her on the couch so she didn’t mind. At some point, he’d put the apron on and she’d laughed the most she ever had during sex.

She grappled for her phone on the counter, wondering how much time had passed, and was distracted by how many text notifications she had. All from her mother, talking about how she was going to come see her “sick baby” and “give her some mama love” to make her get better.

She was concerned to see they came with increasing frequency until, about an hour ago, there was one that said, I’m here!

It was then that she noticed something weird on her face.

She reached up, pulling the small yellow sticky note off her forehead and staring at it like it had grown out of her head before she groped for her glasses to read it.

Hi, baby! Came by to see you. Found you like this. Good job, baby! P.S. – I didn’t peek!

Only her mother could fit so many words on such a small, yellow square.

She turned to wake up Oliver and share the story before she saw another sticky note on his forehead. And realized his ass was bared to the world since he wasn’t wearing anything under the apron.

I didn’t really have to peek.

Felicity’s face felt like it was on fire and she was sure she was even more crimson that the flu made her. “Oliver!” she exclaimed, nudging him to get him to wake up and get off her so she could appropriately freak out and schedule her life not to see her mother for the next month.

He snuffled and groaned, which was a big difference from his normal wakeup of instant-readiness.

Maybe flu-sex wasn’t such a great idea.

“Oliver, wake up. We have to plan how we’re going to avoid my mother for the next month.”

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Tandoori-spiced chicken with roasted squash, corn on the cob, steamed vegetables and homemade satay dipping sauce