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evans-heaven · 7 years

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Solo Antics~s.m.

(short and unedited oops)

We had been serious for five months exactly.

The moment I knew was when he was headed off to New York for a few days to promote his new single. He gave me a key to check up on his condo while he was gone, and never asked for it back.

I should have known it was mine to keep, though. It was on a white cold chain that he placed around my neck before we said our goodbyes at the airport. He took my face in his hands, kissed me throughly, and said, “Take care of yourself, and my condo,” he smirked and let me go, headed to the gate where his team stood, waiting to board the flight.

I couldn’t blame myself for being oblivious. Shawn knew I was a total trainwreck when it came to remembering where things were. I thought he put the key on a chain in case I put it down somewhere and forgot where. That had happened far too many times. My phone, the charm bracelet he bought me, every pair of shoes I’ve ever owned…the list was neverending.

I walked down the hall to the door of his condo. It had become a ritual of ours to dinner at each other’s places- whether one of us would cook or order takout. It was his turn, and I had told him I would get off of work early (perks of being a writer, I could finish my articles and edit where ever I pleased) so I would to head straight to his condo so we could cook dinner together.

I knew he probably had no intention of making anything, because Shawn was certainly not an iron chef. But since I knew my way around the kitchen, we were definitely making our own creation tonight. And maybe dessert in the bedroom.

I took the key from around my neck and unlocked the white door, turning the handle and entering the condo. It was slightly messy, but that was no surprise. Shawn always said he didn’t have time to clean up in the morning as he was always so rushed to get to the studio.

I rolled my eyes and giggled, riding myself of my coat. “Shawn?” I called, realizing that he didn’t appear at the sound of the door.

I furrowed my brow and walked along the expanse of the living room, waiting for a response. While doing so, I spotted his breakfast dishes on the vintage coffee table situated in front of the white L-shaped couch. I shook my head and smiled, walking towards the table to clear the dishes- two bowls, fruit and most likely cereal, and a coffee mug that still has some dregs in it, probably stone cold. I picked them up and headed to the kitchen and dumped them in the sink, getting ready to wash them when I caught sight of the post-it stuck to the faucet.

I plucked it from its position and read it out loud. “Dear Y/N, running late at the studio, so I’ll be late for dinner. I went to the grocery this morning so you can start cooking without me. I’ll be back around 6:00. Love, Shawn,”

I pouted deeply. Cooking was literally no fun without him. Who would I smear spaghetti sauce on? Who would blow flour in my hair as we made crepes for dessert? In the few times we made actual dessert, of course.

I blushed at the thought. No part of me felt like baking tonight, though. I fanned myself with the tiny slip of paper, sighing, suddenly hot and bothered, thinking of all the things we had done in this kitchen, in his bedroom, even in his bathroom.

Feeling my thoughts drift, I realized we had never done it in the living room. Probably because of the gigantic floor to ceiling window behind the couch. Yeah, that was never going to happen.

I balled up the note and threw it in the trashcan next to the island. I rolled up my sweater’s soft sleeves and turned the faucet on, making to wash the dishes, but my hands stopped as I was about to grab the cereal bowl. I smirked.

“Hm,” I hummed deviously, turning the water off, swiveling away from the sink, and folding my arms as my smirk deepened.

Shawn wouldn’t be home for another- I checked my watch- two hours. Slowly, I walked out of the kitchen and down the hall that led to his bedroom.

“Two hours, eh?” I mumbled as I opened his door, welcomed by his unmade bed, crumpled up towel on the floor, pyjamas thrown over his loveseat that was opposite his bed. My eyes drifted to the closet. “Alone in this huge condo, with nothing to do,” I said to myself, walking towards the two large white doors that led to his clothes.

You could clean.

Oh, please.

I ran straight for his closet, tearing the doors opening and shuffeling through his clothes that were neatly secured on hangers. Thee assortment of gray, black, with he occasional splash of red or blue. T-Shirts, dress shirts and sweaters all passed through my fingers.

My v neck sweater, skinny jeans and pumps were clinging to my skin and getting extremely unbearable, seen as how I had to walk up and down the office, then to his building. Unable to take it anymore, I pealed the items off my body, only in my underwear. I tossed them into the hamper and rummaged through the clothes again for something to wear. Shawn’s clothes were so comfortable. Whenever I snuggled up to him on his couch or his bed, always felt like I was wearing what ever he wore- the fabric of his clothing was that transferable. Imagine what it would be like to actually wear it?

Eventually, I decided on a crip white shirt- the one that accompanied the suit he wore to the Grammys earlier that year. I practically owned it- I ripped it off him after the ceremony and had to sew the buttons back on myself. It was mine. I picked out a pair of his black Nike socks as well from the drawer below the rack of shirts, and slipped them on my feet.

I threw the shirt over my body and buttoned it up from the bottom, stopping halfway. My lace undergarments peaked through the fabric as I walked out of his closet, closing the doors behind me.

As I exited his bedroom, I suddenly felt ambitious. From where I stood, I could see the living room. And suddenly, it was like The Nanny all over again as I slid across the waxed floors, screaming boisterously, Shawn’s socks aiding in the movement perfectly. I stopped right in front of his couch, spreading my arms out for balance, and just stood there, admiring what was outside that huge window. He had the perfect panoramic view of the toronto skyline, the CN tower standing out above all of them. I always thought of his first tattoo- now joined by many others- whenever I saw this sight. I smiled softly and plopped down face first on his couch, reaching for the remote. I aimed it at the TV and pressed the button, but that wasn’t what I turned on.

Noise suddenly blasted from his stereo system- the sound of ‘Shape Of You’ blaring loudly from the speakers that hung next the TV. I popped up from the couch and threw my hands in the air, the remote flying from my grasp. I began to dance around the condo, my hips swaying to the beat of this song that would never get old.

I found myself inventing new dance moves (or at least I thought I was) while I moved around the expanse of Shawn’s living space. I had a carefree smile on my face as I waved my hands around and occasionaly belted out lyrics. My tiny, cramped apartment would never allow any sort of outrageous movement like this, which is why I took advantage of the time I had to myself here.

I was shocked at the way I was acting, to be honest. I had never been this outgoing before. Granted I was alone and the only person I had to entertain was myself.

“GIRL YOU KNOW I WANT YOUR LOVE!” I shrieked as I bent down by the waist and popped back up, my hair flying around my face and tumbling over my shoulders as I continued to girate and sway to the music.

I danced for the duration of the song until it stopped. I panted heavily and walked back over to the couch, sitting on the edge of it. I piled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head as I got up again to get a drink of water, pausing the music player before another song could start.

Holding my glass in my hand as I tumbled it around, hearing the ice clink against it, I walked down the same hallway that led to his bedroom, venturing further down. It was almost like I had never been there before, the way the things I had seen many times prior surprised my all over again- such as the guitar shaped bookshelf and the replica of the Backstreet Boys’ star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

I came to his music room, where his guitars, keyboard and drumset lay. My fingers ran along the instruments aimlessly as I recalled all the occasions on which I had heard him play them. Every concert I had ever been to, he had shredded on these guitars like his life depended on it. And like he told me, it did. I smiled as I thought about how happy he was when he was on stage. And I couldn’t blame him. The guitar had the power to make you feel invincible.

Suddenly, I got a thought.

“I am on a roll today!” I exclaimed, gently picking his bass up. I searched around for his mini amp, and found it next to his desk. I grabbed it and ran back outside to the living room.

This shouldn’t have been too hard. Shawn had taught me how to play his bass before. It was basically the same thing- only I was doing it on my own.

Placing the strap across my body, I plugged it into the amp and gave it a hard strum, the sound echoing throughout the condo. I gasped and drew my hands away from it, eyes wide.

“Okay, I don’t remember you being that loud,” I said nervously, wondering how many people heard that. “Let’s try this again,” I muttered. Placing my fingers accordingly on the strings, playincg notes softly. I only strumed the ones I remembered from the song Shawn taught me, and it was obvious. The entire thing was detatched and awkward. Still, I was proud of myself. I was atrocious at anything artistic or musically talented. This was the best I could do on my own.

Eventually, I stopped whatever the hell I thought I was doing and just gave another powerful strum, racing my fingers across all the strings at once.

I would have done it again, but the door swung open and in walked Shawn, lips set in a straight line. He folded his arms at me, cocking brow.

I giggled nervously, my heart rate speeding up. “Um…..hey babe! You’re back early!” I exclaimed, setting the bass down quickly and walking over to him, taking his stiff hands in mine and pecking his lips. “How was the studio?” I asked. I felt like I child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. My face contorted awkwardly as I tried to lighten the mood.

“Good. I got a lot done. And uh, clearly you did too,” he said, his face no longer blunt, as a grin spread over his face.

I breathed out and smiled. That look he gave meant he wasn’t actually mad. “Yeah, I did,” I laughed, brushing my hair out of my face, his hand coming up to help me as he kissed me gently on the forehead.

“At least you didn’t burn the place down,” he chuckled.

“Don’t mistake me for you, Mendes,” I scolded jokingly, poking him in his bicep as he wrapped his arms around my tightly, one hand running across the small of my back while the other gripped my bum.

“How funny. I decide to come home from the studio early because I felt bad for leaving you alone to cook. Speaking of which, did you even start? Or were you too busy attempting to shred on my bass?” he asked, cocking a brow at me once again.

I blushed guiltily, then scoffed. “For your information I’m way better at that than you’ll ever be,” I teased as we swayed back and forth.

He only laughed and shook his head, pressing his lips to my head again, not saying anything.

For a while we just stood there, staring out the large window wordlessly. A few minutes later, when I was practically in a trance from Shawn’s hold, he spoke up and brought me back to the world.

“Y/N, baby, why are you wearing my shirt?” he asked, not looking at me, keeping his nose buried in my hair.

“My clothes were getting uncomfortable,” I said simply. No need to sugarcoat it.

“Mmm…acceptable excuse,” he said.

“This shirt’s comfy. Even though you have a terrible sense of dress,” I joked, laughing into his chest.

He snorted. “Oh, you know you love me,” he bragged, pulling back from our embrace to look me in the eye.

I smiled and placed my hands on his chest, smiling up at him. “Of course I do,” I muttered, leaving wet, mess kisses on his neck, causing a groan to escape the back of his throat.

“How about you show me how much you love me,” he didn’t ask, it was more of a demand.

I complied, grabbing his shirt and pushing him forcefully onto the couch. Once he laid flat, I climbed onto of him and pressed my lips to his, running my fingers through his hair, until they settled at his nape. My knees settled on either side of him as our kiss intensified.

I broke it, just for a second, and whispered, “Gladly,”

Hope you enjoyed 😘

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes smut

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gashinamoon · 7 years

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An Eye for Poetry - an Olicity fic

Summary: Oliver and Felicity make great use of the fridge magnets that they'd originally bought for their kids to play with.

Words: 1502

Notes: So my friend Brianna posted this tweet and I haven't really been able to stop thinking about it since. So this happened. You're welcome, Bri. I hope you all enjoy this! Please let me know what you think! Thanks to @ghostfoxlovely for helping me pick names for the kids. I've literally never written a fic where they have kids before and I had no idea how stressful it can be.

Read on AO3

Waking up on Sunday morning was always bittersweet for Felicity Smoak.

It was nice because Oliver always took the kids to the park early so she could sleep in or get the house cleaned or read a book or do some work or whatever she felt like doing. So she was grateful, she really was.

But it also meant that almost every Sunday she woke up in an empty bed and the house was too quiet and both of those things never made her feel like doing much at all besides waiting for her family to come back.

She never thought she’d ever be one of those wives and moms who misses their family as soon as they leave her sight, but over the last 3 years, that's exactly what she’d become. And it was especially bad on Sundays. She just didn't have the heart to tell Oliver that she really wished he wouldn't take the kids out so early. They all always came back so happy and excited and she knew they'd had a great time, Oliver included, and she just couldn't bear to take that from them for her own purely selfish reasons.

Today, however, was different.

She’d woken up and rolled over to Oliver’s side, slipping her arms under his pillow and breathing in his scent, the way she always did when she woke up without him, only this morning, she’d found a note under the pillow. Grabbing her glasses excitedly she’d found that it was written on a piece of notebook paper that had been torn messily from the book and it was slightly sticky with… something, she assumed it was maple syrup or maybe juice from some strawberries, and it said;

Morning, mommy! We left you a message on the refrigerator! And there's pancakes on the table! Love you, Emilia & Isla

PS Daddy had nothing to do with this PPS Daddy also said the pancakes would be cold by the time you woke up but Isla cried so we made them anyway. They'll probably still taste good if you microwave them for 3 minutes. PPPS Sorry about the kitchen. We were driving daddy crazy and he had to get us out of the door before he cried. He says he’ll clean it up as soon as he gets back and we’re taking naps.

Felicity chuckled to herself and smiled as she reread the note several times. It was written in Oliver’s handwriting, but she could tell he’d been distracted or in a rush because it was almost intelligible by the end. She could perfectly picture the girls wanting to write it themselves, even Isla who was only 2, and Emilia’s 4 year old handwriting alone would have taken up six pages in the notebook. She knew they'd still be downstairs writing it now if Oliver had given in, like he usually did when they wanted something. Anything.

She laughed again and got up out of bed, slipping on Oliver’s shirt that he always left for her on the floor by the bed, and a pair of her fluffy socks. Leaving the bed unmade, she headed downstairs.

Oliver was right to have apologised about the kitchen. There were dishes in the sink as well as in the dishwasher that had been left open, there was the same sticky substance that had been on the note all over the counters, there were crayons and markers and superhero action figurines all over the floor and the girl’s pyjamas had been left strewn over the back of the bar stools at the breakfast table. It definitely looked like it was worthy of an apology.

But she’d definitely seen it look worse.

Ignoring the mess, she walked over to the fridge, smiling at the plate of pancakes that had been left for her as she passed the table. There were two, covered in maple syrup and raspberries which explained the sticky stuff, with a knife and fork left neatly next to the plate. They were also cold, as Oliver had said, she could see that even without trying them, but she looked forward to putting them in the microwave and eating them all the same.

Reaching the fridge, she saw that the magnets they had with different words and letters on so that the girls could practice their spelling and writing, had been arranged into what looked like some sort of poem.

She is a goddess to me My sun and my moon A luscious garden of beauty My ship through the storm

Felicity felt her cheeks blush red hot with happiness as she read the poem. The girls had clearly had very minimal input.

Oliver could be such a huge sap sometimes, and she could never understand fully whether she absolutely loved it or kind of hated it. She’d never been the overly romantic type, even with Oliver let alone before him, and she sometimes still struggled with his affections for her. Of course, deep down she adored hearing him say things like this or doing ridiculously sweet and wonderful things for her, but those things also had the tendency to make her feel inadequate sometimes, like she just couldn't compete or didn't deserve them. And then there were the times where they just made her blush and also cringe a little inside because come on, “a luscious garden of beauty” was a sentence she was sure didn't come from this century or the one before it.

Grinning to herself at just how painfully over the top Oliver could be sometimes, she bent down and gathered some of the remaining magnets together to add her own sentence onto the end.

As she thought of something to add, she remembered how ridiculous Oliver had found these magnets when she’d first bought them, telling her that no 3 year old needed to know complex words like dazzling or effervescent or shattering just to name a few that had been in the pack. He’d eaten his own words a few days later when said 3 year old had walked into the living room and asked why the sun was so “resplendent” that morning. Felicity had just smiled smugly to herself at the shocked expression on his face. Later that night he told her how happy he was that it looked like at least one of their kids would grow up to be geniuses like their mom. Felicity hadn't argued with that.

Finishing up her touches to Oliver’s poem, Felicity stepped back and snapped a picture on her phone, sending it to Oliver in a text before smiling and going over to her pancakes to heat them up for breakfast.

Emilia and Isla were playing happily together in the sandbox at the park when Oliver felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. They'd been out of the house for an hour now and since it was so early, they were practically the only ones there. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, clear blue skies and bright sunshine forecast for the entire day. After the chaos that had ensued in the kitchen just an hour ago, Oliver was glad to be out of the house and far away from all the mess even if he did feel bad about Felicity having to wake up to such disarray. Part of him hoped she’d still be asleep when they got back and he could clean it up himself.

Glancing down at his phone, his opened the text, smiling widely when he saw it was from Felicity. His grin soon turned into choked laughter when he opened the picture attachment.

It was an image of his poem on the fridge, except there was an extra line on the bottom so that the poem now read:

She is a goddess to me My sun and my moon A luscious garden of beauty My ship through the storm

and dat butt hot

Underneath the picture was a simple text message.

Your poem was nice, but you forgot something.

He laughed again as he reread the text. It was just so… Felicity. She had to be in a very particular mood to not make a joke out of something overly romantic that he’d said or done for her. At first, it had annoyed him. All he wanted was for her to see herself the way he saw her but she always seemed so adamant to lessen it somehow, like it made her uncomfortable. But after talking about it, after hearing how she felt sometimes, like she wasn't worthy of his affection somehow, it had only made him want to do it more. One day she’d see herself how he saw her, he’d make sure of it. And for now, he would have to just take her cute little blushes, dry humour and slightly self deprecating jokes as they came.

A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

Come back, please. I miss you guys. Love you.

Barely 5 minutes later, Oliver and the girls were in the car on the way home.

If you want to be tagged in my fics/chapter updates, feel free to let me know! :)

(Also, let me know if there’s anything you don’t want to be tagged in! i.e. fics that aren’t strictly Olicity/Arrow, I’m more than happy to remove tags!)

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#olicity fic #olicity fic rec #olicity #oliver queen #felicity smoak #oliver x felicity #olicity fanfiction #arrow fic #mywriting

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