Based on a prompt for Olicity from an anon who took the idea from tickatocka's Tumblr: "i really want an "i accidentally broke into your house/apartment because my friend lives next door to you and i was in the area, drunk, and i thought i was climbing into the right window and falling asleep on the right couch (and i did wonder when my friend got two cats but i didn't question it) so now i'm hungover and shirtless in your living room so um hi howya doin" au"
Oliver wakes up to a woman screaming. He flies off the couch he was sleeping on and finds a petite blonde he doesn't know or remember in front of him. Which isn't exactly a first for him after a night of club hopping.
"Stay back!" she yells and raises her arm, ready to throw something at him. It might be more frightening if her weapon of choice weren't a pink, polka-dotted coffee mug–the contents of which she seems to have flung around the room during her outburst.
"Where's Tommy?" he asks and rubs his eyes groggily.
"There is no Tommy! Why are you in my house?!" the woman yells, her hysterical tone suggesting he's about to get a face full of coffee mug.
"Lady, calm down," Oliver mutters and puts up his hands in surrender. "I'm not gonna hurt you. My friend and I have a standing agreement that I can sleep it off at his place when I want to avoid my parents' lectures. Clearly, I broke into the wrong place. Tommy Merlyn doesn't live here?"
"No," she replies, annoyed. "Wait a minute, Tommy Merlyn," the girl says, dropping the hand holding the mug to her side as she thinks. After a moment, she smiles excitedly and points at him with the coffee mug, splashing its remaining contents in the air. "You mean, Cute Tommy, with the pretty blue eyes. He lives three doors down."
"Cute Tommy?" Oliver repeats, suddenly intrigued. "I don't think I've ever heard him called that." The girl blushes and he suddenly notices how pretty she is, her blonde hair tousled from sleep and a pair of glasses framing blue eyes that could rival his best friend's.
"Yeah, um, that's kind of my private nickname for him," she replies, cringing and glancing around the room as if she's looking for a way to escape.
"Private? As in...are you two...?" he suggests, surprised.
"No!" she yells and waves her hands. "No, no, no, no, he and I don't really know each other outside of that, like, polite acknowledgment thing you do with your neighbors when you see each other. No, I've been single since my last boyfriend decided he couldn't handle my late nights. Which probably aren't anything like the late night you appear to have just had. Usually I'm just working late writing code. But, anyway, he couldn't handle the idea that my job might be more important than him." She pauses a moment, seeming to notice the amused, somewhat perplexed smile on his face and then continues. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you that. Just forget everything I just said and also maybe don't mention to your friend that the weird girl down the street has a nickname for him."
"I think he'd be flattered, Miss..." he probes, intrigued after that adorable outburst.
"Smoak," she replies, slightly flustered. "Felicity. Felicity Smoak," she finishes, her hands moving in time with her words. "But let's keep it our secret anyway. You do kind of owe me for breaking into my house."
Now it's Oliver's turn to blush. "I'm really sorry about that," he says with a nervous laugh, scrubbing a hand through his hair and ducking his head in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to make you spill your coffee..." he pauses as he takes in her now-ruined pajamas but gets distracted when he notices how long her legs look in the tiny shorts, "everywhere," he finishes, his voice husky.
"It's OK," she says, shifting nervously under his gaze. "I'll just buy one on my way into work."
"How about you let me buy it for you?" he asks with a roguish grin.
