Just a small thing I wrote and wanted to share, set at the start of season 4, let me know what you think :)
...
Never again
When Oliver woke up, he noticed two things. Felicity wasn't by his side and he'd slept in late, which almost never happened, but he felt so at peace since they moved in this house in Ivy Town that it shouldn't come as a surprise.
Then he noticed the smell.
He sprung up from their bed, throwing the sheets on the other side, and almost tore the door off its hinges on his way out, not bothering to put on a shirt.
There was a fire.
"Felicity!"
After checking the bathroom at a glance, he raced down the stairs barefoot, taking them three at a time. The smell of smoke was thicker and caught in his throat when he entered the living room. He called her again but no reply came. If she'd inhaled too much smoke, she could be passed out... Blood pounding in his ears, he scanned the place, searching for the source of the fire, dreading to find her lying on the floor.
The door to the kitchen was ajar, black smoke coming out of it.
A clatter of metal followed by a soft exclamation prompted him to rush in.
"Fel–"
He stopped in his tracks.
Disheveled, Felicity was holding a burning pan under the cold water of the faucet, creating even more smoke with a hissing noise that covered her muttered curses. In the sink, two other pans were piled up, similarly blackened.
"What's happening?"
She jumped and turned her head towards him.
"Oliver! Thanks for the heart attack!"
Flour adorned her forehead and cheek and she was wearing incredibly thick blue oven mitts that he'd never seen before. They went halfway up to her forearms and were covered in pandas. Adorable and totally her. The sight appeased his heart but adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.
She turned off the faucet and let the pan land unceremoniously on the other two.
"Did I wake you? Sorry, I got excited when I woke up before you for once and decided to bring you breakfast in bed as a surprise, but clearly the stove isn't functioning today."
"I don't think the stove is the issue here."
His soon to be fiancée was notoriously bad at cooking. Still, she raised her gloved hand at him with a warning look, as if meaning to point her finger at him menacingly.
"I usually manage the pancakes."
Only when they made them together.
He kept that to himself, not wanting to contradict her, and she frowned a little, taking her mitts off before joining him in a few steps.
"Are you okay?" she asked with a tentative hand on his elbow, mindful of his hypervigilance.
He gently cupped her cheek, delicately wiping away the flour with his thumb. Studying his face, she tilted her head in his hand, enjoying the contact.
"I thought the house was burning down," he confessed in a breath.
She laughed and a smile crept up on his lips, all his worries gone.
"Is that why you're only wearing shorts? Not that I'm complaining!" she added, letting her hands roam free on his chest, her touch igniting a fire in him.
He bent his head and they kissed, sweetly, tenderly. Contentment and joy filling his very being, he smiled against her lips.
"Can you make me a promise?" he asked as they parted.
"Yeah?"
"Never cook for me again."
She chuckled and hit him lightly on the chest.
"Fine. But only if we finish making these pancakes together and take them upstairs to eat breakfast in bed like I planned. And spend the day there."
"Deal."