[fic] Hurricane Felicity
Title: Hurricane Felicity
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: Arrow
Characters/Pairings: Oliver POV; Oliver/Felicity
Word Count: ~1100
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Spoilers through S2.
Summary:
Author's notes: This is also from a prompt at the comment-a-thon in fluffyfrolicker's LJ: any, Here comes a storm in the form of a girl / She's the finest sweetest thing in the world. I'm fairly certain I have a sickness. It's called Olicity-itis
Everything changes after the island.
Yes, Oliver knows how trite that sounds, considering.
But everything with Felicity changes after the island. After that remark, Talk about unthinkable. You and me, I mean.
It's not because he hasn't already thought about it. It's not even because being with Felicity would be dangerous (for her) if he intends to keep doing what he's doing (which he does). It's not even because Oliver Queen is a guy who can pretty much get any girl he wants, and that's how it's always been.
The island hadn't changed that, at all.
What provokes him, what needles his brain to the point of explosive irritation is her thinking that. That her summarization of everything boils down to her believing that there's any reason he wouldn't want her.
Because he wants her. Like, all the time. She's smart and beautiful; she's sarcastic and sentimental; she's free with her affection, and completely uncensored. He smiles more when he's around Felicity and that's not something he knows just because Diggle pointed it out to him. Once, or repeatedly, whatever.
It's not because since Laurel learned he's The Arrow that her gaze has become harder to bear, because she looks at him through hero-tinted lenses now.
It's because Felicity would tell him to pull his head out of his ass in the same heartbeat that she would volunteer to be bait for the baddest of bad guys.
She's brave in a way that most people aren't; she's the unassuming one who runs towards danger with no high ideals about it. She's just good; and Oliver has spent way too much time with her to be unaware of all those things.
So, what's unthinkable to him, in the end, is the idea that she wouldn't know the truth of everything he's ever said to her. As intelligent as she is, she should know that the only unthinkable thing about them being together is that he could never deserve her, that she's too good for him; that she, in all her blonde, bespectacled glory should never settle for someone like him, who is too fucked up from everything in his life to be able to give her even a hint of what she should have.
It's these thoughts that make him surly and short-tempered, and heated words start to be exchanged almost on a daily basis. Between him and Digg, and him and Felicity; even Roy snaps at him one day with a, "What the fuck is your problem? God!"
Oliver's problems are too many to list, so he just hunches his shoulders and goes back to sharpening his arrows and pretends he can't feel them all looking at him with wounded eyes.
Time goes by, some days slower than others, and just about the time he's truly talked himself into a total self-flagellation that guarantees that he'll never let Felicity know that he meant every word of that I love you, she comes floating into the lair, a happy, sappy expression that forces him to examine her more closely than he normally does.
"Barry's awake," is all she says, and then he starts seeing her a lot less. Because the commute to Central City is, you know, time consuming.
Then she shows up, sad and forlorn. Digg's the one who gets her to share that Barry's just going through a lot right now, so dating isn't very high on his list of priorities, and jealousy raises its proverbial head within Oliver's chest to the point of madness. His next tip from Detective Lance is just the adrenaline rush he needs, but he completely misjudges a jump and ends up landing hard on his shoulder, losing the bad guy, and disappointing Starling City's police force all the way around.
Alone at the lair, half naked, he straps an icepack on his shoulder and sits on the floor, wallowing.
She finds him there, and rushes to his side when she sees him slumped on the cold concrete.
She squats down next to him and whispers, "Ohmigod, Oliver. What in the world?" He glances down and sees that the bruising is already visible across his shoulder and down his arm, and that her worry isn't necessarily over the top, at least not tonight.
He wishes he could chalk it up to alcohol he'd consumed to dull the pain (he hadn't even gotten that far, to be honest), or a lack of inhibitions because of a brush with death (but it was just carelessness, not actual danger that caused the problem).
It's just Felicity's eyes filled with concern, and her fingers tucked up under the icepack, and her general proximity to him.
(And Oliver's complete inability to deny himself something even when he knows better.)
He just lifts the hand of his uninjured arm, cups her jaw gently, and pulls her mouth to his.
Then she loses her balance and ends up sprawled across his lap, gasping his name and elbowing him somewhere particularly sensitive.
"Oh, holy sh--" she grumbles. "I'm sorr-- did you just? Like, is this a dream? What the heck?"
He wraps an arm around her shoulders and yanks her upright, grunting in pain as she assembles her limbs. "Felicity?" he murmurs, his voice strained, now largely due to a different injury.
She stops squirming and looks into his face, and when he says nothing else, she's the one who kisses him, and it's like the world is suddenly right somehow.
It hasn't been right in so long, possibly ever if he looks too critically at every moment of his life, but this one, with her mouth on his, and her arm sliding around his neck, and that little sound she makes in her throat when his tongue glides over her bottom lip?
Yeah, he just can't care too much about self-imposed rules or logic or being sensible.
Felicity Megan Smoak has been whirlwinding through his life for two and a half years, and for the first time he's in the calm eye of the storm. She lifts her mouth from his and whispers, "Oliver?" and he thinks about all the words they're gonna have to exchange at some point, all the words that matter, that he should give her.
And he will. But for right now? He just tilts his head and steals the smile from her lips by pressing his against it. She opens her mouth, tightens her arm around him, and sits in his lap for so long he loses track of time.
It's the best time he's ever had.
Author: badboy_fangirl
Fandom: Arrow
Characters/Pairings: Oliver POV; Oliver/Felicity
Word Count: ~1100
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Spoilers through S2.
Summary:
Author's notes: This is also from a prompt at the comment-a-thon in fluffyfrolicker's LJ: any, Here comes a storm in the form of a girl / She's the finest sweetest thing in the world. I'm fairly certain I have a sickness. It's called Olicity-itis
Everything changes after the island.
Yes, Oliver knows how trite that sounds, considering.
But everything with Felicity changes after the island. After that remark, Talk about unthinkable. You and me, I mean.
It's not because he hasn't already thought about it. It's not even because being with Felicity would be dangerous (for her) if he intends to keep doing what he's doing (which he does). It's not even because Oliver Queen is a guy who can pretty much get any girl he wants, and that's how it's always been.
The island hadn't changed that, at all.
What provokes him, what needles his brain to the point of explosive irritation is her thinking that. That her summarization of everything boils down to her believing that there's any reason he wouldn't want her.
Because he wants her. Like, all the time. She's smart and beautiful; she's sarcastic and sentimental; she's free with her affection, and completely uncensored. He smiles more when he's around Felicity and that's not something he knows just because Diggle pointed it out to him. Once, or repeatedly, whatever.
It's not because since Laurel learned he's The Arrow that her gaze has become harder to bear, because she looks at him through hero-tinted lenses now.
It's because Felicity would tell him to pull his head out of his ass in the same heartbeat that she would volunteer to be bait for the baddest of bad guys.
She's brave in a way that most people aren't; she's the unassuming one who runs towards danger with no high ideals about it. She's just good; and Oliver has spent way too much time with her to be unaware of all those things.
So, what's unthinkable to him, in the end, is the idea that she wouldn't know the truth of everything he's ever said to her. As intelligent as she is, she should know that the only unthinkable thing about them being together is that he could never deserve her, that she's too good for him; that she, in all her blonde, bespectacled glory should never settle for someone like him, who is too fucked up from everything in his life to be able to give her even a hint of what she should have.
It's these thoughts that make him surly and short-tempered, and heated words start to be exchanged almost on a daily basis. Between him and Digg, and him and Felicity; even Roy snaps at him one day with a, "What the fuck is your problem? God!"
Oliver's problems are too many to list, so he just hunches his shoulders and goes back to sharpening his arrows and pretends he can't feel them all looking at him with wounded eyes.
Time goes by, some days slower than others, and just about the time he's truly talked himself into a total self-flagellation that guarantees that he'll never let Felicity know that he meant every word of that I love you, she comes floating into the lair, a happy, sappy expression that forces him to examine her more closely than he normally does.
"Barry's awake," is all she says, and then he starts seeing her a lot less. Because the commute to Central City is, you know, time consuming.
Then she shows up, sad and forlorn. Digg's the one who gets her to share that Barry's just going through a lot right now, so dating isn't very high on his list of priorities, and jealousy raises its proverbial head within Oliver's chest to the point of madness. His next tip from Detective Lance is just the adrenaline rush he needs, but he completely misjudges a jump and ends up landing hard on his shoulder, losing the bad guy, and disappointing Starling City's police force all the way around.
Alone at the lair, half naked, he straps an icepack on his shoulder and sits on the floor, wallowing.
She finds him there, and rushes to his side when she sees him slumped on the cold concrete.
She squats down next to him and whispers, "Ohmigod, Oliver. What in the world?" He glances down and sees that the bruising is already visible across his shoulder and down his arm, and that her worry isn't necessarily over the top, at least not tonight.
He wishes he could chalk it up to alcohol he'd consumed to dull the pain (he hadn't even gotten that far, to be honest), or a lack of inhibitions because of a brush with death (but it was just carelessness, not actual danger that caused the problem).
It's just Felicity's eyes filled with concern, and her fingers tucked up under the icepack, and her general proximity to him.
(And Oliver's complete inability to deny himself something even when he knows better.)
He just lifts the hand of his uninjured arm, cups her jaw gently, and pulls her mouth to his.
Then she loses her balance and ends up sprawled across his lap, gasping his name and elbowing him somewhere particularly sensitive.
"Oh, holy sh--" she grumbles. "I'm sorr-- did you just? Like, is this a dream? What the heck?"
He wraps an arm around her shoulders and yanks her upright, grunting in pain as she assembles her limbs. "Felicity?" he murmurs, his voice strained, now largely due to a different injury.
She stops squirming and looks into his face, and when he says nothing else, she's the one who kisses him, and it's like the world is suddenly right somehow.
It hasn't been right in so long, possibly ever if he looks too critically at every moment of his life, but this one, with her mouth on his, and her arm sliding around his neck, and that little sound she makes in her throat when his tongue glides over her bottom lip?
Yeah, he just can't care too much about self-imposed rules or logic or being sensible.
Felicity Megan Smoak has been whirlwinding through his life for two and a half years, and for the first time he's in the calm eye of the storm. She lifts her mouth from his and whispers, "Oliver?" and he thinks about all the words they're gonna have to exchange at some point, all the words that matter, that he should give her.
And he will. But for right now? He just tilts his head and steals the smile from her lips by pressing his against it. She opens her mouth, tightens her arm around him, and sits in his lap for so long he loses track of time.
It's the best time he's ever had.