Anonymous asked:angel / demon au + olicity
Oliver always found feathers in his bed after. It should annoy him, it really should. But for some reason, it always made him smile.
He was a demon, for Satan’s sake. It was one thing to corrupt an angel for fun, it was another to fall in love with her. He was pretty sure if this was a competition, then she’d be winning.
A soft chuckle caught his attention then and he turned to see her leaning in the doorway to his bedroom. She was wearing one of his shirts, a long, dark green number that reached mid-thigh, and holding an overlarge mug of coffee in her hands. “I don’t know how one man can look so happy and so grumpy at the same time,” she mused, walking toward him on the tips of her toes. Because the floor was always cold and she hated having to put on slippers or socks. She was a funny little thing like that.
Her toes were painted pink this time. He sighed. He was the worst demon alive. He really was.
But then she was reaching for him, sliding a hand up his chest, over the puckered scars his human body could never get rid of. Every place her fingers touched turned black, symbols and markings bleeding through for a moment before they sunk back beneath his skin, hidden from plain sight. He caught her chin and tipped it up to kiss her, his hand burying in her hair, fingers tripping over curls and silver feathers alike.
Angels and demons were forbidden from being together.
A funny thing, when he thought about it. The forbidden was what demons loved most.
But there were limits.
Demons could play, could tempt, could do everything in their power to turn an angel dark. But just as they had the power to corrupt the angels, the angels were just as capable of making a dark soul light again. And Felicity was doing a pretty good job of trying to do just that.
Or was she?
Sometimes he didn’t know.
Sometimes he thought she liked him just as he was, dark and brooding and full of sin and tragedy.
She tasted like coffee and hope and sunshine. He breathed it in, wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her in close, grinning as she laughed against his mouth, hitching one leg up high on his waist and lifting herself up, her arm wrapping around his neck.
When she pulled back from his lips, her own were swollen. He took her coffee from her and placed it on the bedside table before he slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt and up her thigh, teasing over soft skin.
She cupped his face, her thumb stroking over his cheek, and then she bent to kiss his stubbled chin, her hair sifting over the back of his arm as she did.
He breathed in deeply, that floral scent of her, full of peace and love. His nostrils flared; he shouldn’t like it so much. He should like sulfur and fire and the crisp scent of smoke. His eyes flashed black, the pupils a bloody red. But she didn’t cringe, she didn’t pull back or flinch. Instead, she pressed a kiss to his brow.
"You want some help getting those feathers out of your sheets?" she asked softly, rubbing her fingers up and over the hollows and arches of his face.
He shook his head, sliding his hands under her thighs and squeezing before he turned and pressed her back against the mattress. “Let’s add some more instead,” he murmured, before he tore the shirt open, sending buttons flying, and knelt between her thighs.
She grinned up at him. His angel. Felicity. Bright as sunshine and soft as satin.
He’d probably never make it to heaven; he’d never really wanted to. But this was as close to it as he could imagine anything being, and as long as she’d have him, he wasn’t going anywhere.
[not accepting prompts.]