And so came another AU.
This time is the once requested by a series of anons for the 1KAU meme: co-stars.
Now, unlike the previous ficlets I've written for that meme, this one spurred more words, warranting it to become a (small) multi-chapter story. It'll take only a handful of chapters, as I'm jumping to the juicy and defining scenes instead of letting myself be super carried away with slow burn, as usual.
So this chapter is pretty much a snippet of the present and build up to understand this 'verse.
I sinceriously hope you like it :) Happy read!
LOVE IN SHADES OF WRONG
Let it be known that Felicity Smoak knows very well that dating a co-star is a bad idea. Even more, sleeping with your co-star is a very bad idea.
Yet if she's honest with herself, that notion is the furthest thing from her mind as Oliver Queen presses her against the desk, his curious hands and expert mouth eliciting a whimper from her parted lips that would make her blush were she not... well, distracted.
But let's rewind to how exactly they got there, shall we?
It all started with Felicity's big break: an independent film that put her on the map and in the award show's nominees short-list. From a first time human drama about abandonment issues and getting back on one's feet -two fields Felicity had plenty of experience in- to being named Cannes's revelation star and a whole lot of flashing lights that startled more than dazzled her.
In all honesty, she'd never been one for being on the spotlight. The actual storytelling and living multiple lives in one entranced her much more than Hollywood's fakeness did; but she loved that project and if she had to flash some empty smiles and answer one too many personal questions for it, so be it.
It wasn't all bad, really. Touching people with her work and wearing designer dresses were definitely plusses. It was just... overwhelming.
Thank god she had Sara by her side through it all to hold onto her sanity.
They'd been best friends since their high school years. In truth it had been Sara the first immersed in drama club and modeling, cheering Felicity to join along and pursue her hidden dream. It wasn't until she'd been graduating from MIT that Felicity finally gave it a shot.
A single recorded audition from her dorm room that would fall on the hands of one John Diggle and change her life forever.
Fast forward two years where she first met him.
Oliver Queen.
Billionaire, superstar, devilishly handsome Oliver Queen.
He had been in the business since his teenage years, first as a heartthrob and resident tabloid trouble-maker; then, after his father's passing and subsequent five-year break, reappearing in a more somber version of himself, more mature and daunting, but equally intriguing.
Gone were the shallow roles as he moved onto praised and awarded ones, of deeper characters, darker, tormented and layered; and so had become his private life as well.
Drunken disorderlies and media scandals were replaced by the occasional picture of him with a model or two in a deserted island or outlandish yatch. Were there once was oozing charisma and blatant flirting, there was stoic silence or empty words behind a well-crafted mask.
That's when she first got into him.
After all, mysteries had always bugged her.
And she would be lying if she said he didn't leave her star-struck that very first day.
Maybe it was the blinding lights and cameras of the theatre. Or the jittery feeling due to being nominated. Or could be the fact that everything she thought she knew about him, from his work mixed with tabloid gossip and interviews seen in passing, blew up right from the very first 'hello, I'm Oliver Queen'.
Not one to disappoint a crowd -read, an overjoyed Sara by her side-, Felicity went on a one-minute babble that started with asserting who he was like five times and ended up with the mention of his famous father and his, well, lack of life. Even an expert at selling lies as him couldn't mask his dislike at that last topic.
World famous and overly-awarded film producer Robert Queen had been the big guns of the business. Rich as only imaginable, he'd been the one to kick-start Oliver's acting career back then, and never missed a chance to state so ever since (a fact Oliver would latter admit made his blood boil and restraint be tested).
But where were we?
Right, the first ever rambling fit Oliver ever witnessed.
"I'm sorry. Calling out your dead father was definitely not what I'd planned to say when I met you. Not that I ever really pictured meeting you at all... though my fifteen-year old self sure had at least one dream about it - which you definitely didn't need to know about, like ever."
Thankfully by the end of it the corner of his mouth lifted in an actual smile, unlike the faked and forced ones he so often sported (that seemed to be enough for the press but only served to draw her in more).
And then, as if his sinful appearance and hypnotic gaze weren't enough to blow her mind, he said this:
"Slade was right. There's something about you."
Come again?
"Slade. Wilson? The Slade Wilson responsible for my three favorite films ever? He knows who I am?"
As nonchalantly as possible (as if this wasn't the turn-around of her career) while still looking amused at her excitement, he went on.
"He loved your performance and has this role he says you'd be perfect for," he paused as she stopped breathing, then averting his eyes added, "He's not wrong; you were terrific," effectively erasing any possible cohesive response from her.
"Oh frack," she let out right as the lights dimmed announcing the commercial break was over and they should retake their seats.
"Good luck, Felicity," he breathed passing her paralyzed form.
And right then and there, Felicity Smoak decided her name had never sounded better.
After that it took Sara physically shaking the life back to her body to get a grip.
Felicity would be lying if she said her eyes didn't stray his way for the following hour or so. And she's be shy to admit she found his trained on hers as well.
At the end she didn't win, but she might as well had, for she got the phone call offering her an audition to Slade's upcoming project not a week afterwards. Nothing like the star lead's nod of approval to get a shoe in, apparently.
Yet sometimes you gotta watch what you wish for.
"Sara, I can't do this!," Felicity found herself saying as she closed the final page of the script. "I mean, it is glorious and exciting, but way out of my comfort zone or even realm of capabilities."
"Oh yes, you can. If there's a word that's never gone along with you is 'can't'."
"As if Oliver Queen and Slade Wilson weren't intimidating enough, a con-artist who has every man in the room in a puddle at her feet? That's as far from me as you can find."
Yet it wasn't, if Sara's eyebrow raised and meaningful pause were any indication. At least in the captivating as hell front.
"Isn't playing multiple lives the reason you wanted to act in the first place?," she argued in place, knowing the initial fear of not being good enough was pulling at her friend's emotions. "For the record, I think you'd be great at it. It is a pretty sweet role by what I could read, challenging and intense. You think about it."
And so she did.
So Felicity would blame Sara's faith in her and that god-dammed irresistible character in the page for embarking on the journey that would shake her world.
Auditioning wasn't in her list of favorite things to do. And rightfully so. Scary, intimidating people with blank expressions weren't exactly the most reassuring crowd; but she was learning to deal with it.
Chemistry tests, on the other hand, were a whole new, uncharted territory.
Like how did it work? Did fireworks were supposed to burst out when your eyes met, bringing a light-bulb to life over the director's head signaling that it'd work?
And what about the awkwardness of having to straight-on play along with someone on the spot? Where there were no markers or even a playing field established.
Pacing back and forth around the waiting room, nursing a second cup of coffee in her shaky hands, Felicity tried to clear her head and focus on what she knew.
Her character.
The small window since the reading of the script had been spent getting to know and love her, the ins and outs of her intricate mind and mission, tapping into the confidence and self-assurance she possessed.
Calm, poised, in control. Aware of every inch of her body. Deliberate moves and looks, always playing a game of deception.
She was taking a deep breath, straightening her posture when a throat clearing startled her.
"Hi," Oliver Queen called, bursting her bubble and causing pure Felicity to spring forth.
"Hey," she sighed, taking him in once again.
Though just as tensed as he'd been that night at the award show, he didn't seem guarded, but drained; his rumpled hair a proof of his growing frustration over the day's work.
Yet he smiled down at her, soft and light with a hint of curiosity in his gaze.
Her breath hitched involuntarily at the sight. God, she hated how much like a teenager he made her feel.
"Oliver, Felicity? We're ready for you."
The classical interruption came forth in form of an assistant calling them into the room. Oliver gave a polite nod in return but turned back to Felicity once alone again.
"You ready?"
"Not really," she voiced before thinking, "I mean yes, I want to, but in the more general sense I'm freaking out. I feel like I know 'her' already, but it's just..."
"Just what?," he inquired calmly as she nervously trailed off, turning to biting her lip instead.
"I don't know how this is supposed to work. No offense, but I barely know you and now I've got to cross that door and full on come at you as her," she babbled, blushing as she went on. "I mean, what are the no-cross lines here? I know how she would be flirting with 'him' you, not you you, of course. But-"
"Felicity," Oliver whispered taking one step closer, amusement and the ever-present intrigue painting those greek-god features of his. "Just walk in there as her and...," he paused, a hand ghosting over the naked skin of her shoulder, before breathing out what left her shivering in his trail as he left the room, "don't hold back."
And so she didn't.
Walking into that room and leaving no doubt that she was 'her' in all her captivating glory. Coming up to (not) Oliver Queen and leaving him in a puddle under her penetrating gaze. Feeling empowered, reveling in the surprise in his deep blue eyes at her changed demeanor and the rewarding clenching of his jaw at her softest yet purposeful touch.
Her official offer came less than a week later.
She signed on the dotted line, with the effect Oliver had on her still fresh in mind.
Oh she was so screwed.
Not like that.
Yet.
Thanks for reading!
I would love to know your thoughts about it, suggestions, quotes you enjoyed, if you dig the style (I'm trying something new with more narrator-like intrusions here and there, as well as the time jump), whatever comes to mind. Just a sole smiley face will do the trick to make my day :)
xo, Lucy