Chapter Text
Felicity Smoak had faced dangerous situations before — hacking into government databases, going undercover in sketchy nightclubs, even surviving Oliver Queen's driving. But this?
This was different. This was... social suicide.
But on the other hand, if she had learned anything from working with Oliver Queen, it was this: sometimes you had to pull the pin on the grenade yourself.
She'd rehearsed the speech for days, pacing her apartment, typing and deleting in a Word doc titled 'Do Not Open'. She'd even tested it on a potted plant she named "Pookie" for emotional support. But saying it to Oliver in person?
Yeah. That was another level of terrifying.
The problem was, she could feel it every time he walked into the foundry — the little jolt in her chest, the way her fingers stuttered over the keyboard when he leaned over her shoulder, that low gravelly voice of his asking, "What have you got for me, Felicity?"
So here she was. Standing in the middle of the foundry, heart pounding, Oliver's bow in the background like a silent witness to what could be the most embarrassing moment of her life.
Oliver was across the room, settled in his weapon corner, casually polishing an arrow like he was in a medieval weapons catalog.
"Oliver," she said, interrupting him with a casualness she definitely did not feel and was already regretting it.
He glanced up from polishing his arrows. "Yeah?"
She inhaled, exhaled, and blurted, "I have a crush on you."
The silence was deafening.
Oliver just... blinked like she'd just told him she was secretly a mermaid. "You... what?"
"A crush," she repeated, her hands flailing in self-defense. "Like a really big, capital C, maybe bordering on semi-serious, but not in a creepy I-have-your-face-on-my-pillow kind of way—" She stopped. "Wow, okay, that sounded creepy. I don't have your face on my pillow. That would be weird. And also I can't sew."
One corner of his mouth twitched, and she hated that he looked like he might smile. "Felicity—"
"But," she said, holding up a finger like she was cross-examining him in court, "you are absolutely forbidden from returning my feelings. No reciprocation, no flirty looks, no doing that thing where you stare at me from across the room like you're in a shampoo commercial. We work together. This is just me clearing the air. Like an emotional spring cleaning. I'm already erasing it from reality. Like Ctrl+Z but for emotions."
Oliver set down his arrowhead slowly, like she'd just handed him an unexploded bomb. "You're telling me you like me... but I can't like you back?"
"Exactly!" she said brightly. "Glad we cleared that up." And before he could say anything else, she spun back to her desk, face on fire, and pretended to be fascinated by her monitor.
What Felicity didn't see was the way Oliver's eyes lingered on her for a long moment — thoughtful, almost amused — before he picked up his arrowhead again.
>>------>>
Oliver Queen wasn't easily surprised.
He'd survived five years on an island, multiple assassination attempts, and dinner at his mother's house. But Felicity's little bombshell? Yeah. That one rattled him.
The weird thing was... now he couldn't stop noticing her.
Sure, he'd always known she was beautiful. But suddenly, the way she muttered sarcastic commentary under her breath during mission briefings were hilarious. The way she pushed her glasses up with her pinky when her hands were full. The way her ponytail swayed when she was pacing during a hacking marathon. Or the messy bun she wore when she thought no one was paying attention? He was a goner.
Quite some time, he had caught himself looking at her during meetings. Not just a glance; full-on staring.
One night in the foundry during mission briefing, Diggle caught Oliver staring at her mid-ramble.
"Are you listening to her or just memorizing her mouth movements?" Diggle asked with a knowing smile on his face.
Oliver gave him a look. "I'm listening."
"Uh-huh," Diggle smirked, sipping his coffee. "Right."
>>------>>
Oliver finally had come to a firm decision. He wanted the girl. All of his insecurities faded with Felicity's daily rambles. It started small.
Round 1:
"Hey," Oliver said one night after patrol, leaning against her desk. "You hungry? There's a Thai place still open—"
"Nope," Felicity said, typing furiously. "Already ate before coming over. By myself. In my apartment. Alone. Far away from here."
He raised an eyebrow. "You sound like you're giving me your alibi."
"I'm just making sure you know there will be no dinner dates. This is not a Hallmark movie. No montage scenes of us sharing pad thai over candlelight."
"Who said anything about candlelight?" he asked, just to watch her sputter.
Round 2:
Two nights later, Oliver showed up at her apartment.
"Oliver, what are you doing here?" she asked, opening the door in Star Wars pajama pants.
"You said you were staying in. Thought I'd bring that soup you like."
She narrowed her eyes at the takeout bag. "This is bribery."
"Is it working?"
"...Maybe," she muttered, grabbing it. "But only because it's Wonton."
Round 3:
This time Oliver decided to be a little more obvious. During a team briefing, Felicity handed him a folder of intel, and his fingers brushed hers — deliberately. Her eyes shot up to meet his, and for a second, she felt that spark again.
She dropped the folder like it was laced with anthrax. "Nope! No smoldering! No sexy touching! This is a smolder-free workplace!"
Diggle choked on his coffee, while Roy, sitting nearby, looked between them in confusion and asked, "What am I missing?"
>>------>>
By now, Oliver was having way too much fun and he had decided he was going to wear her down. Not with grand romantic gestures. No. Felicity would see through those in a heartbeat, but with persistence.
Little things.
Coffee runs.
Asking about her day.
Showing up at her desk just to talk.
And the more she told him no, the more he wanted her to say yes.
>>------>>
By now, everyone in the team had noticed.
"Ollie," Thea said one afternoon, leaning against the foundry railing, "are you seriously trying and failing to flirt with Felicity?"
"I'm not—"
"Uh-huh," she interrupted. "You've been bringing her coffee every morning for two weeks. And it's not even your coffee order. You memorized hers. You're whipped. Still she's not giving you the time of her day. Seems like you lost your charms, brother."
Diggle chuckled. "It's kind of entertaining, watching the Arrow get friend-zoned in real time."
Roy grinned. "Ten bucks says he cracks her in a month."
"Two weeks," Thea countered.
Oliver gave them all a flat look. "Are you betting on my love life?"
"Yup," they said in unison.
>>------>>
The mission had been ugly. Felicity was exhausted, hair falling out of its ponytail, fingers flying over the keyboard to track their suspect.
"You're amazing," Oliver said quietly.
She froze. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm the only person in the room."
"...Maybe you are."
Her breath hitched, and for a split second, she let herself imagine giving in.
Then, she shook her head. "Nope. Forbidden territory."
>>------>>
Weeks passed. The push-and-pull became their rhythm. But rules have a funny way of breaking themselves.
One night, after an especially close call, Oliver walked her to her car. She was shivering, adrenaline still high. He put his jacket around her shoulders without thinking.
"Oliver..." she said softly.
He met her eyes. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
She opened her mouth... but didn't say it.
Instead, she whispered, "You're infuriating."
And then, she cupped his ridiculously handsome face, leaned up and kissed him. Oliver smiled into the kiss before pulling her closer.
>>------>>>>------>>