Anonymous asked: I dont know if you are still taking prompts for fic's but i have one if you still are..Olicity: After the slade ordeal oliver and felicity are alone in the new foundry. They tip toe around the "i love you" thing again. And they kiss(a soft gentle kiss).

AN: Yet another post finale Oliver POV! I seem to gravitate to writing from his POV instead of Felicity's? Which is weird because in the past I've always been more drawn to writing the woman.

He'd avoided being alone with her. Or tried to at least. It sounded harsh, and he knew she'd noticed, knew it had hurt her feelings, but he needed time to reconcile himself with the way he felt.

Out of the two of them, he would have put money on Felicity being the one to be most affected by those three words falling from his lips. But it's him who can't breathe when he looks at her, him who's heart pounds a staccato rhythm when she smiles.

He hadn't thought it would mean as much as it did. He'd always known he cared for Felicity, perhaps since that first day he'd met her. But it wasn't until he stood before her, three syllables falling like shattered glass in a silent room, that he felt the shift.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before. Him and Felicity, together. She's beautiful, funny, charming, the sort of girl you want to end up with at the end of the story. But he hadn't entertained the thoughts further than a fleeting fantasy here and there, something impossible and ridiculous that would be nice in a different life.

But then he was telling her he loved her, taking in her surprised little expression, the way her eyes widened, the way her cute lips fell open. And there it was, this feeling in his chest that hasn't gone away since. An aching desire to have that fantasy, that crazy impossible idea of them, become a reality.

It wasn't until he said he loved her, that he realized how true the sentiment is. He does love her. In every meaning of the word. So he avoided her. Because that's what he does. Tucks emotions he can't handle away in a vault to deal with at some later date, if ever.

Which is why, on a Thursday night in their new lair as Felicity keeps calling it, the careful house of cards he's built since that day weeks ago, comes crumbling down.

Because she's babbling about some new code language that's apparently all the rage, and her nails are painted the color of the sky and she's wearing a red dress and he's filled with such affection, adoration, for her that it's overwhelming.

"Are you even listening to me?"

His eyes snap up from where they've been resting on her pink lips and he offers her an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, sorry. I just… got distracted."

"Do you understand what this means? This is revolutionary, Oliver. Revolutionary!"

He's pretty sure she's still talking about the hacking thing. Most of it's going over his head anyway, her tech jargon sounding like double dutch for all he's understanding. But she's so passionate about it, waving her hands around and barely pausing for breath, that she could be speaking in archaic Latin and he'd still find it entertaining.

Which is exactly why he didn't want to be alone with her. Because she's so much harder to ignore when it's just the two of them. She's impossible to ignore, ever actually, but his feelings are easier to handle when there's a buffer between them. He knows that his willpower is hanging by a thread, has been for a while, and all it will take is—

She giggles, her nose scrunching up and her eyes dancing. He's not sure why she's laughing, all he can really think about is how pretty she is.

He could walk away, turn his back and close the door between them, shutting her out before he does something he might regret. But he doesn't. Because he can't for the life of him find the resolve to remove himself from the shiny bubble that surrounds her. She's warm and light and despite everything, happy. And all he wants is to soak in as much of her as he can, like a man who's lived a life-long winter, feeling the sun on his back for the first time.

For someone who takes pride in his self control, he isn't doing a very good job of staying away from her. He's not sure he cares.

"Felicity."

She pauses at his interruption, hands stilling midair and eyebrows raising as her eyes meet his.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he steps forward, closing the distance between them until he can feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own. She doesn't move back, and he likes that she's never been intimidated by him, standing proud in all her five-foot-four glory, confident that he would never hurt her.

She's looking up at him curiously, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

He ducks head slowly, watching every minute expression on her face, pausing when they're breathing the same air, the moment charged and precarious.

After a second, he leans down further still, and she tilts her face up slightly until his lips are hovering mere millimeters from hers. She breathes out sharply and he feels it warm against his skin. She smells like mint and jasmine, and he can see every freckle on her nose.

There's hesitation still, as he searches her eyes, looking for any signs of reluctance. And then finally, slowly, carefully, his lips brush hers.

It's just a caress really, and then another. The room is silent and still, the only sounds their gentle breathing and the beat of his heart loud in his ears. The moment stretches like a lifetime, neither missing the significance of what's happening, neither sure of the next step to take.

"Is this a trick?" She whispers the words against his lips, so quietly he almost doesn't hear her.

"No." His reply is fast and sure, and then he's kissing her. A hand reaching for her waist, pulling her gently forward until she's pressed against him, while the other moves to cup her face, thumb brushing against the curve of her cheek.

He kisses her softly, slowly, filling it with all the emotions he can't find the words to say. All the things he wants to tell her, all the promises he wants to make, coming down to the gentle movement of his lips against hers.

It's perfect. She's perfect. And all the reasons he has for staying away from her, while still valid and still a concern, melt into the background where they belong. Because he doesn't think that anything will ever be quite as important as this, the taste of her on his tongue, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

He'll figure the rest out later.

Just one other quick thing guys, all the prompts I fill for this collection are sent to me at my fanfic tumblr (find the link on my profile). As much as I appreciate the reviews, I'm unlikely to fill a prompt if you leave it here. When I start accepting prompts again, if you'd like to jump across to tumblr and send them to me there, I'm much more likely to get to them! Thank you!

And also while I'm at it, thank you for all the lovely messages you guys have given me on this fic, I don't have time to reply to everyone, but I read and appreciate them all. Y'all are the best. x