Here’s what I’m seeeing/ hearing. Felicity sort of growls her name at the beginning, I think she’s bugging Oliver about how he says her name.
WHICH IS EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED.
Then I think it’s Barry, who calls her honey, though I wish it was Oliver, but the voice sounds too cheerful and not growly enough to be Oliver. (But there is a small part of me holding out that it’s Oliver)
But the fact that it’s Felicity forgetting that the comm line goes to everyone and not just Oliver kills me.
And reinforces my head canon that because Oliver seems to have a private channel or line. The sexy shenanigans that they get up to when they use that line.
“It’s personal.” Felicity growled in frustration – actually growled – and jabbed at the screen again.
Set post 4x02.
A/N: This is the direct result of three hours of trying to snag Star Wars tickets last night with the Fandango website repeatedly crashing, and also @jsevick‘s post here. Geeky Olicity fluff ahead. Not liable for the toothaches.
It was a quiet night in Star City. The team called it an early night and split off for their separate homes. Felicity had split off to the living room once they were in the loft, while Oliver had headed to the kitchen to grab some water. On his way back towards the living room, he heard the agitated babbles well before he saw the blonde responsible for the noise. He wasn’t surprised to see her tapping furiously at her tablet. It was like an extension of her, something she was rarely without, even when they had been living in Ivy Town. He watched her for a moment, smiling at the intense look of concentration she was giving her tablet even as a muttered “frack” escaped her pink lips.
It’s not so bad during the days, she’s working, she’s busy. And so is he…doing mayor stuff. She can see how much he loves it, making a difference, as himself. Rebuilding the man while he rebuilds the city. This is the man she has always seen made flesh.
But then night falls, and hoods go up. And sometimes, Curtis is there as chaperone. And sometimes all Oliver is, is a low grumbly voice in her ear, whispering “Felicity” in that growl, that makes her warm and shivery still.
And sometimes, they’re alone, in the lair. So empty and quiet now. And he stands next to her when they look at the monitors. So close that she can hear the creak of his leather when he moves, feel the heat radiate off him, the scent of him.
She makes sure he doesn’t see her, close her eyes briefly, let the sensations overwhelm her and remember.
Remember the weight of him, the veins that pop in his arms when he braces himself over her, the scraping of his beard against her inner thigh, the crinkles that appear when he smiles down at her. How when he wakes up his hair goes every which way and his eyes, so intense and sharp normally, are still unfocused and as blue and clear as the Balinese waters they swam in once upon a time.
Why is she torturing herself, why does she have to remember every single detail? She reminds herself all the reasons they are not together. And that it’s a blessing that things are good between them. But then he’ll reach for something or pass behind her, softly brushing against her skin. And where he touches her burns like fire.
She gives herself that moment, to remember the touch of his lips, pressed lightly against her neck, the way his breath would catch when she did that thing, how his neck would flush and his eyes would close right before he came for her.
And then Felicity opens her eyes and tries to forget again.