702 Delicity Drama

Thanks @only4arrow

Thanks @klarolicityswan

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#someone once pointed out that oliver says felicity’s name like it’s a sentence #and he really #truly does#sometimes it’s ‘could we please get back to the topic at hand’ #sometimes it’s ‘felicity you need to look at this come here now’ #sometimes it’s just ‘hey i need you to do this thing’ #and sometimes it’s ‘i know what you’re going to say; you don’t have to say it’ #and sometimes it’s ‘i love you’ #‘you’re worth it’ #‘you are the choice i’ll never remember making’ #give amell lots of the credit for this #cause it sure as heck isn’t scripted  (via andyouweremine)

Shipping is so weird. Like i’m in love. With their love.

THE BEST GIF USAGE

, 😁😂😆

Encore With Al-Saheem PROMPT FICLET #9

So, this prompt came from here, and it was my own in a roundabout way but whatever. I need to exorcise Olicity sex from my brain and exploring smutty alter ego of Oliver was too good to resist. This is slightly rough. You have been warned. :)

The rain was pounding down on the concrete as Felicity slowly made her way across the street in the middle of the moonless night, towards the store round the corner for a pint of ice-cream. It seemed like that was all she survived on these days. Her heart, since returning from Nanda Parbat half a dozen weeks ago,was both heavy and hopeful. Heavy because how did you leave the man you loved and the man who had made you see stars over and over again and the man you knew was doomed so you tried to drug him out of a secret tunnel by joining hands with Viper Merlyn but still failing and leaving with nothing but a goodbye kiss?

Hopeful because duh. The man was as subtle as a freight train and he had dropped really ridiculous hints that he would be back and not to give up hope which she wasn’t but it was hard. Hence her staple diet of ice-cream and memories of that one night on satin sheets that left her panting at night. Boy, he owed her a lot of orgasms when he came back. He would be lucky if she let him even walk after she was done and since he was a woman, and hello, blessed with multiple orgasms that he knew exactly how to give, yup. No walking for him.

But she walked on for now, lost in her fantasies, getting drenched but not really caring, the cooling drops feeling good on her over-heated skin. She was just walking past an alley when a gloved hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed her, pulling her into the darkness of the street. She started to yell but the hand muffled her mouth. Channeling her inner Sandra Bullock, she tried the SING move but the man was gargantuan and did not even let her move.

But it was when her front was pressed into the wall that fear truly struck her. And the way the man pressed himself against her back made it very clear that his little man was not so little anymore. She had to get away. For herself. For Oliver. With renewed strength, she twisted and turned and struggled but the man kept her pinned, letting her tire out.

Heart thumping and sinking down to her knees, she was about to sob out when she felt his lips graze the hollow just between her ear and her neck, the hollow that she had hated when she was a kid, the hollow that was her supernova spot, the hollow that only one man knew was her turn on button, and she froze. It was the hollow that not one of her few lovers, creepy as the word was, had ever discovered. None except Oliver. And he had spent more than half the night going back and forth between her lips and that spot, his stubble grazing it just the right way, his tongue flicking over it in a way she didn’t even know was possible.

She felt the same flick of tongue on her wet, slippery skin, at the exact same spot, and she felt her body relax, and get aroused. The fact that he had gone for that spot first told her it was him. He knew her body like a maestro. He kept softly licking at the spot, and a mewl escaped her before she could notice it, his hand leaving her mouth. The rain was pelting down on them and she slippery feel on her skin just inflamed her more, her eyes drifting down to his hands. They were covered in black leather. Slowly turning her head around, she took him in and her heart stuttered.

He was in the League’s black, his big, broad body even broader and even more imposing in their clothes, his face covered in some black fabric that only left his brilliant blue eyes visible, blue steely eyes that just gazed back at her, so unlike that night when they had been submerged in love and heat. Oh, there was heat even now, and love too on the fringes, but there was something else in his eyes that made her heart race, something so primitive and bestial and animalistic that it made her gut clench.

She put up her hand to draw his mask down, to expose his face, but as soon as she raised it, he pressed himself into her ass, pressing her into the wall and bit down on her neck, his mask somehow not stopping his mouth to be naked on her skin. She yelped at the harsh bite of his teeth and he soothed the spot with his tongue, thrusting over her hips over the layers of drenched clothes.

She pushed back against him, aroused despite herself, her nipples hardening into buds with the heat and the cold. Moaning, she felt him remove a glove with his teeth, his other hand holding her down, making her writhe against the rough wall. She had thought that given the last time, maybe he would tease and taste and explore a little before going into the let’s-make-felicity-an-inferno-territory. She was wrong.

Before she could blink, his hand was under her skirt, she heard the rip in her panties and felt him invade her core with two fingers, knuckle deep before she could even realize what was happening, and she cried out sharply at the invasion. She was already so so wet for him, her body weeping for the release only he would give her. He added a third finger and pumped them furiously in and out of her, while she clutched at the wall, her entire body shivering with the crescendo that was building over and over and over again.

Suddenly, as soon as he had thrust in, he pulled his fingers out, turning her chin with one hand and making her watch as he licked each digit clean of her juices, his mask on the ground with her torn panties. Her throat dried, watching as he savored her taste, keeping their eyes together, cleaning his fingers thoroughly of any residue, and swooped down, penetrating her mouth with his tongue without warning. There were no teasing, peppery kisses this time. This time, he was going all for it, making her taste herself on his pillaging, forceful tongue, thrusting into her mouth repeatedly, battling with her tongue for dominance.

His hands came in front of her blouse and he ripped the buttons off with grip, in a gesture that inflamed her senses to complete ecstasy. Boy he was hot, and very un-Oliver-y, but he was still Oliver and she knew he would never hurt her. So when his hands pulled down her bra cups and covered the skin, rolling the engorged nipples in his fingers roughly, she arched into him, pushing her hips back into erection.

Suddenly, like he was doing everything tonight, he pushed up her skirt to her waist, exposing her completely to his eyes in the dark side street, and hiked one leg up with his hand under her knee, spreading her wide and almost naked against the wall. A few seconds passed, his eyes roving her exposed flesh, and then he was against her wet heat, coating himself in her juices, the rain water still pouring down on them.

And then, he thrust up into her, burying himself to the hilt in one motion while biting hard on her hollow spot, eliciting a loud cry from her. Her bare breasts rubbed against the arm he had wrapped around them to protect it from scraping on the wall, but the friction of her wet skin against his wet, rough forearms was so delicious that she groaned. He pulled completely out of her before she had even adjusted to having his huge girth inside her, and thrust in again, biting that hollow spot again, rubbing his arm across her nipples again. The combined sensation was too heady for her body, and her knees weakened, crumbling, unable to support her anymore.

And then, like he had just hiked her up and flipped her over that night with brute strength, he took a step from the wall, making her back lean completely into him, supporting her entire weight by the arm against her breast and on her hiked leg, keeping her exposed to him. It was so hot that she felt another gush of wetness engulf her insides, and feeling it perhaps, he pulled back and thrust in faster than earlier, but not stopping this time, drilling her hole with his erection, pounding and biting and sucking and nibbling and she was losing it, feeling the arousal coil tighter and tighter inside her, getting ready for an explosion she knew would have her scream.

“Oliver,” she panted and he froze, making her heart scream in frustration. She had been so close. She tried to move but he held her still, slowly muttering against her ear in his low voice, the one she had missed so, so terribly.

“Say my name.”

She blinked the rain out. “Oliver.”

He tightened his arms around her and growled. “No. Say my name.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I am. Oliver!”

“I am not him. Say my name.”

And she got it. All of a sudden it became so unbelievably clear and she wanted to smack his face. Her anger spiked and she enunciated deliberately. “OLIVER!”

A primal sound escaped his throat and he pulled out of her, leaving her wet and weeping for his possession. But he was not done. He turned her around and pinned her against the wall, pulling her hips forward so that only her shoulders rested on the wall, pulling up her body with only his arms under her knees, the position automatically spreading her wider that she had ever been, and he slid in again. Her eyes fluttered close.

He thrust hard, so hard her mind blanked for a second, letting her walls feel him to the hilt. “Say my name!”

She grit her teeth that had started chattering a little for some reason. “Are you trying to seek your identity in my vagina?” she challenged.

With a loud roar, he doubled his pace, a feat she had not thought possible, and pistoned his pelvis right into hers, hitting her g-spot almost every time, her clit rubbing against his hard muscle on each thrust, every twist and rotation of his hips in that mad, frantic pace setting her on fire like never before.

Her orgasm hit her hard, out of the blue, and she screamed out his name over and over again, shaking her head frantically, her body shaking and shivering but her climax just went on and on and he just kept on pounding harder and faster and more erratic. Her naked breasts heaved and her hands clutched to his black uniform that he was still wearing, ravishing her, fucking her like a wild animal. She had not seen this side of him and she had to admit it turned her on.

He swooped down back to that hollow spot below her ear and bit it hard, making her pant again. She could feel another explosion coming and she was not going to survive this.

“Oliver,” she panted. He kept moving in and out of her, shaking his head, his roughness telling her she would be sore and achy tomorrow. She closed her eyes.

“Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver,” she kept chanting, just as another wave washed over her, white spots dancing behind her eyelids as she clung to him, keeping him as the anchor that would hold her to the ground.

With another roar, he exploded inside her, filling her like he had once before, gripping her thighs so hard she knew he would leave a mark. Tomorrow when she would look at herself in the mirror, the evidence of her ravishment would be branded all over her skin.

Slowly regaining his control, he slipped out of her, righting his clothes and putting up his mask that fit his face well, again, as she tried to right her own self under his cool gaze.

“So is this a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am thing?” she asked, nervously waiting for his answer. She knew Oliver loved her more than anything else but the man before her did not believe himself to be Oliver. So what of that love he had for her?

He stepped back and for the first time, she saw him completely in his new attire, so dark and dead against him. He was better than that dull ache of a color. He did not answer, but took another step back, before vanishing into the shadows, leaving her standing there in the rain, questioning her own sanity.

But the proof of his being was etched all upon her. The proof of his existence breathed in her red skin. Al-Saheem may have merged with the night he had embraced but it was Oliver who had sought her out and ravished her.

And her Oliver was a creature of habit.

She smiled and walked back to her apartment, her heart lighter than it had been for a very long time.

He would be back.

olicityalamode dust2dust34 scu11y22 diggo26 dettiot mersayseh arrow-through-my-writers-block geniewithwifi thinkolicity thethornyrant olicitykisses lostritaurie olicity-beautiful-dreamer taurusclh lumenka sleepymomma918 addicted2olicity aboutwhimsicalhedgehog ligapimenta seetheskyaboveus @onifs2 procrastinatingfan rua1412 we-are-the-unthinkable befitandchase letsnevergrowupfan iluvaqt 

I love this. This is yin and yang aesthetic in the best way possible. The same gesture being mirrored, reversed and the lights - one dark in the night with them in greys and black, the next in bright sunlight with them in shades of earth. I LOVE THIS.

Olicity + Oliver’s big smile.

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(insp.)

arrow + incorrect quotes

Olicity + Oliver’s big smile.

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Olicity + Oliver’s big smile.

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