So this word vomit just randomly happened. It's just a whole bunch of fluff, tbh! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! xoxo
The change between them had been subtle.
No one acknowledged the changing dynamics – no one realised the small touches, the lingering gazes, the quickening of heartbeats that followed.
He came back from the island a broken man, haunted by the memories of his misery this time, and she helped him heal, slowly and steadily. She stood by his side, held his hand, pushed him with words he didn't realise he needed.
The first night he came to her, eyes swimming with unmasked fear and guilt, she had pulled him inside, wrapping him up in the safety of her arms, and giving them both what they needed.
He had left in the dead of the night.
It became an unspoken agreement between them, the nights they stole. Sometimes it was fast and hard, bruising hands over soft and taut skin, trying to wipe away the past. Sometimes it was slow and torturous, sweat slicked bodies against each other. Sometimes it was to comfort one another – long, drawn out kisses, bodies drawn so close that they lost where one ended and the other began.
It was never love, never something more than two bodies.
And then something shifted.
Oliver stayed the night.
His fingers intertwined with hers, anchoring them both; his mouth left hot kisses everywhere, leaving her helpless for more; he whispered her name, over and over.
Her body was on fire, overwhelmed by the sudden gentleness, the shift in what they had established. She bit down on her lip, refusing to let the words spill from her lips.
Her body arched as she choked out his name, her tears spilling as they both reached their climax.
And in the dark, Oliver laid beside her, tracing patterns on her back as she faced away from him. She willed for sleep to come, so she wouldn't have to watch him leave. Not after he had given her what she had craved, without meaning to.
Couldn't he see? Couldn't he understand, in the way she touched him, the way she opened up to him, that she loved him?
But he didn't leave. When sleep finally won, his fingers were still on her skin.
When she woke up, her body was pressed against his.
For the first time, they joined together in the morning light, no shadows to cover up their pasts.
They began to notice. Their eyes zeroes in on the way Oliver's gaze always slid to hers during board meetings. They noticed the way his fingers lingered – on her wrist, her back, her thigh. They realised how he smiled, a private, small smile, whenever she spoke up, whenever she walked into the room.
There were whispers, but they were never loud enough.
He had laughed whenever she had complained about it, kissing her cheek in a playful manner.
"Let them talk. We know where we stand."
And they did. She knew him better than anyone else did. He shared his fears, his secrets, and his years on the island with her. She was the one who kissed his scars and told him that he was a hero, over and over.
She had been the one to hold his hand when they had stood by Tommy's grave, a year after his death.
"Hello, Tommy."
She had stood, silent, as he had spoken to the one person who was supposed to have had forever. It never got easier, the constant drumming of pain. It dulled down enough to let you live, until night came again and the pain gripped at you.
So she had squeezed his hand, knowing whatever she did, his pain in that moment would never ease.
And in that moment, she had known exactly how much he needed her.
It was as much as she needed him.
It was so gradual, so natural, that she didn't even realise. Not until she stood in her own bathroom, and it had dawned on her.
His stuff was mixed, cluttered, side by side, with hers.
His toothbrush was slotted in next to hers. His shaving cream was in the cabinet, where his floss was, along with her creams. His shower gel, body wash and shampoo was on the rack below hers. It had never occurred to her – maybe it had been because it never bothered her.
In her bedroom, it was the same. There were several tops in her wardrobe that belonged to him. The soft grey jumper that she loved wearing was hanging behind her ones, and in the back was his spare Hood.
Her heart had fluttered as she giggled, albeit a little hysterically.
No one could fault her – when had she missed the memo that they were practically living together?
It was permanence, the way his scent mixed with hers in their bed, the way his clothes and shoes and essentials were everywhere in her house.
So she had cooked him dinner that night, and watched the genuine shock on his face as she had presented him with the spare set of keys to her place.
"It's yours as much as mine. Plus, I live for decorating key-chains. I mean, look at that cute little mini frame for our picture!"
He couldn't remember how he had ended up in the jewellers, but he remembered vividly staring down at the many displays in front of him, eyes wide and quite frankly terrified.
He had been planning on getting her a necklace. It was close to Felicity's birthday, and he had been thinking of necklaces. He didn't know when the thinking had turned into actually driving to the jewellers, but before he knew it, he was walking into the small boutique.
He asked to look at necklaces – something a little quirky, a little fun, but completely beautiful. Just like Felicity.
He didn't know how he had ended up requesting for engagement rings.
It was daunting. How did people do this without suffering from a breakdown? How was he supposed to know which one was perfect out of the three dozen in front of him? Even if he liked it, how did he know Felicity would?
"Mr. Queen, are you okay?"
It was a private joke between them, celebrating the day they had met. They had spent the first one at the foundry, a few weeks after they had brought Oliver back from the island. They had sat together, sharing food, and it had been the first time in so many months that Felicity had heard him laugh. The second year, Felicity had dug up the bullet-ridden laptop, putting it up on display on the high shelf above the TV. He remembered walking into her apartment and seeing the two foam cups of sloppy, bad coffee from the shop in the Glades. He had snagged her in close, kissing her deeply, and they had spent the night on the couch.
The upcoming one left Oliver nervous. They spent the morning in meetings, followed by lunch with Thea and Roy, and the rest of the evening with HR and Finance. Just before the day was over and everything was ready, he pulled Felicity away from her Mac, ignoring her protests of 'five more minutes, Oliver!"
They took the private lift down to the IT Department, and when Felicity looked over at him, slightly wary, he gestured for her to lead. She didn't know what they were doing down here – even she hadn't been down to the IT Department for nearly two years. But she guessed where he wanted her to lead them to, and began for her old office down the hallway.
She stepped in, slightly hesitant at what she would see – but her breath caught, her step faltered.
It was still the same.
The little post-it notes and postcards she had stuck up on the wall were still there – as was the computer she had deemed her only child. The colourful compartment box was still by the corner of the booth, and the caps of her lids were still scattered in random places.
Their laptop, the one that had led them to this day, sat on the desk as well, looking out of place as much as the bottle of red wine next to it.
"You went to all this trouble? Whatever happened to keeping this day simple?" she teased.
He smiled, gesturing for her to sit.
She swung around once, twice, three times in the chair that she had always complained about. It was still temperamental, but now it was a fond memory. As she pulled herself closer to the desk, her eye caught on the small burst of light.
She froze.
The ring sat in the broken F on the keyboard, shining brightly.
"Oh, my God."
It was a ring. Heaven help her, it was an engagement ring.
Her heart clenched, threatening to take flight in her rib-cage.
"Oliver," she breathed out, but the rest didn't come. He kneeled before her, hands resting against hers.
"I thought it was fitting, to wait do this where we first met. You saw right through me that day, Felicity," he chuckled, "It's still a little daunting, how easily you saw through me. But regardless of that, and the fact that I was obviously lying to you, you still helped me. You still stayed, even when you didn't have to."
She opened her mouth, but he shook his head, smiling.
"No interrupting. I don't say it enough, but I love you. I thought I knew what love was – but then you showed me how wrong I was. You touched me as if I wasn't broken; you kissed me as if I was the only thing you needed. Now, I can't imagine not having you by my side. So I want a new journey for us. Let's start a new one, right in this room, where everything started."
She couldn't help the tears that threatened, the hitch in her breath as he reached over for the ring, holding it between his fingers.
"Felicity Megan Smoak, will you marry me?"
"Yes. You know it's always going to be a yes," she nodded as he slipped the ring on, and then she pulled him in for a hard, long kiss.