Chapter Text
Oliver Queen is forbidden fruit.
That’s not a phrase to be taken lightly. You could even be as bold as to claim that anyone repeating that phrase sarcastically, or improperly emoting while saying it, was a hindrance to society.
It is quite important to express the emotional toil behind the words. Feel the broken hearts. Hear the sighs of best friends longing to enjoy their drinks without hearing a drunken ramble about the ex that just doesn’t care. Cringe at the relationships cracked. Experience fully the terrible package that is Ollie Queen’s dating portfolio.
There needs to be some showmanship when saying the Oliver Queen is forbidden fruit, but careful on how much tension and melodrama you add in. If you take it too far, the next thing you know, you're on the set of a seductive film noir. That was just about the last thing Felicity Smoak needed to imagine.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she would say to a private detective, lighting up a cigarette, face hidden by a large brimmed hat. “Oliver Queen is forbidden fruit, and I was never one for breaking the rules. Honest.” And then she’d lift her head and all you would see is a smirk that says she’s already exfoliated, waxed, moisturized, and has her cab fare rolled up in her purse.
No, that simply would not do. Felicity needed the energy behind the phrase to be a dire warning, said by a haggard old woman shaking her cane. Maybe add an ominous dumming in the soundtrack and some crows cawing. Hell, maybe even some wind gusts. Anything would do, as long as it was sexless and alarming.
Oliver Queen is FORBIDDEN fruit.
In actuality, just hearing his name- whether brought up on the news or thrown around in this godforsaken city that he just about owned- was enough to mute the warning bells and whistles.
Not to mention that the entire mantra she created was useless when the term “forbidden fruit” conjured up thoughts of Fruit of the Loom. Was there any science behind word association? Not that Fruit of the Loom was any better than the actual “forbidden fruit” and the creation story. Either way- affordable cotton undergarments, or Adam in a leafy loincloth- the slogan that was supposed to keep her from thinking about Oliver Queen in a sexual way actually made her think of him with little to no clothing. And that was not allowed. Because he’s forbidden fruit. And that’s a fantasy.
If she bothered to write down the “How to Stop Thinking About Oliver Queen Manifesto” that she wasted a whole tank of hot water in the shower on, she would remember that fantasies were verboten. Fantasies were nothing more than daydreams. The manifesto clearly went over that in the opening articles. It read:
Daydream
§ Fantasies are, in fact, daydreams of an unrestrained mind. Dreams, as we all know from Cinderella (1950), are wishes that our hearts make. No wishes, dreams, hopes, or doodles in the back of a notebook like you’re 12 again are allowed to be made regarding Oliver Queen at risk of acting on said thoughts.
It was quite a logical assessment that a waterlogged Felicity Smoak came up with.
Oliver Queen was outlawed. Prohibited. Banned.
How was Oliver Queen a forbidden indulgence, you may ask. Hasn’t he historically, uhh… proven that he, um… is always available, regardless of relationship statuses?
No need to beat around the bush, heaven knows that Oliver’s paid enough attention around bushes for us all. He was a slut*.
*Please note that this is Thea Queen’s description of her cherished brother. She is a very sex positive woman who in no way discourages sexual freedom and liberties, but she also believes that cheating is scumbag activity. At this time, “slut” is the only word - in her opinion- that manages to encapsulate the dicking around her brother has done. If you try to incorporate “fuckboy/fuckboi” into her vernacular she will suck her teeth, roll her eyes and walk off. “It sounds too cutesy,” she will insist while storming away from you.
Yes, Oliver has been easily attainable in the past. A slut, the echo of Thea repeats. His less than loyal ways were a contributing factor in the “off limits” problem. Unfortunately, it’s because of Oliver’s sordid relations with both Lance sisters that Felicity has given him his first strike.
You may also wonder why all of this is important to Las Vegas native, MIT graduate Felicity Smoak. What’s a first strike from Felicity upon one man upon the millions made up in the population of Starling?
When Donna Smoak and Quentin Lance first started dating, Felicity was surprised, but happy for her mother. Lance was a good man who provided a calm to Donna’s exuberance. In the loving way only a daughter can speak about her mother, Donna was A LOT. When Donna left Vegas to be with her daughter in Starling, Felicity wasn’t exactly thrilled. Sometimes Donna’s doting and fawning nature could be stifling. Luckily, Lance thrived under Donna’s beam of affection, never once trying to dampen his wife’s intense nature (which wasn’t always the case with her mother’s past relationshits- typo intended).
Felicity hadn’t expected that Lance would come to take up such a huge part of her own heart. It was one thing for her mother to find a suitable partner, Felicity always imagined Donna would find her somebody . She had so much love to give, it was inevitable. But despite the numerous high-school-esque phone calls where Donna would moon over her new guy (and horrify her daughter with details of their sexual exploits) Felicity was prepared to use the “my mom’s husband” rhetoric in her life. From their first meeting, it was clear that Quentin Lance was never going to be just another guy. The corny/stereotypical wedding speech phrase, “not losing a mother, but gaining a father” just so happened to be true. With two grown daughters of his own, Lance couldn’t help but radiate Dad Energy, and Felicity simply adored it.
As with many fathers of the Starling area, contempt for Oliver Queen was almost instinctual. Lance managed to hold a grudge that still made his daughters roll their eyes regardless of:
- The years that passed since the cheating debacle
- The marriage of Laurel to Tommy where both Oliver and Sara acted as Best Man and Maid of Honor
- The frequent inclusion of Oliver in family events.
The stark contrast between Quentin’s warm, “Hiya sweetheart,” followed by a snarl and, “Queen, you’re here too,” at Laurel and Tommy’s engagement party was the first real interaction Felicity had with the infamous Oliver Queen. She couldn’t help but snort at the immediate change in atmosphere. Tommy chuckled low beside him. “They’ll let just anybody in here, huh?” He joked, trying to get his (at the time) future-father-in-law at ease. Quentin gave nothing more than a “hmph” while shaking his nemesis’s hand. “Mr. Lance,” Oliver said diplomatically, obviously trying to keep a low profile.
Felicity always took Lance’s under the breath Oliver Queen-related complaints and criticisms with a lick of a Himalayan salt lamp, but she had come to expect a little more cockiness from the man, the myth, and the legend. Obviously, Oliver Queen wasn’t a demonic plague like Quentin made him out to be, but she expected some naughtiness. Maybe an, “I go where the liquor flows,” or a mischievous sparkle of the eye. Something! But here he was, calm, collected, and possibly -dare she say it- more mature at the moment than Quentin Lance?
Quentin went from shaking Oliver’s hand with a hell of a lot of machismo to playfully tapping her shoulder. “Come on, there’s a glass of red and some cheese puffs with your name on ‘em.” Was it too weird to get a “My Step-Dad is my Hero” t-shirt?
Lance’s face lit up at whatever grateful reaction was written on her face. But before they had a chance to walk away, Tommy cut in on her gastronomic fantasies, “Actually, I thought I could introduce you to some friends, if you’re up for it.”
Felicity fought the urge to ask if Tommy was talking to her. Obviously, he was. Laurel and Sara had repeatedly insisted that she needed to make new friends in Starling that weren’t work related or “ancient as fuck”. Plus, how rude was it to just stand there, unintroduced, while everyone else around her talked? That was Tommy’s job- to play host, even at his own engagement party- and make everyone feel comfortable. “Sure, sure, of course,” Felicity said, a bit embarrassed that she was ready to ditch social politeness for a glass of wine and some munchies. She turned to Quentin. “Please don’t let Mom drink my wine.” His smile was slightly dampened. “I make no promises,” he joked, turning back to go to his seat. Whenever Felicity was confident with the belief that Quentin and Donna were a case of opposites attract, they would reveal that they had so much more in common than first glance. Their grasp of pulling the guilt card was perfectly balanced.
Tommy gave the standard name and point introduction while Felicity blushed lightly. She shook her head in what she could only guess was her body’s way of conveying an apology for wanting to run away and stuff her face. “Sorry, I have wine blinders on tonight. Or every night, really,” she explained. Tommy snickered while Oliver smiled warmly, eye contact unbreakable. “I promise I’m not offended,” He said like a charming bastard. “I’ve been warned of your ways, Felicity.”
Well, so much for her belief that she was impervious to the wiles of frat boys. All this one had to do was say her name and she was a goner. Felicity forced out a light laugh, hoping neither of the men beside her could hear how she almost just swallowed her tongue. “Maybe it’s time for me to pick up a hobby that isn’t drinking wine.”
“Or incorporate wine into a hobby,” Oliver, the absolute sage, noted. Felicity bit her lip, preoccupied by the thoughts he unintentionally brought up. “Logically, I know that there are millions of hobbies to invest time into, but all I can think of is SCUBA diving. And somehow, I feel like signing your name next to ‘I promise to never tipsy dive’ is required for certification.”
“Maybe that’s why we only did one session,” Tommy said.
Oliver nodded along, “I’m sure your claustrophobia had nothing to do with it.”
Felicity chuckled at the light ribbing, but managed to keep the flow of the conversation. “Did you substitute SCUBA with any other hobbies? I’m looking to poach some ideas here.”
“I disgust myself every day with how much I like golfing,” Tommy offered. “Actually,” Felicity said with a raise of her eyebrows, “I don’t hate the driving range. There’s food and drinks! I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked over to Oliver. “You got anything?”
“I do archery,” Oliver said with an entirely too hopeful lilt in his voice. Tommy groaned and finished his drink in one swallow. “He’s been trying to recruit everyone into picking up a bow and arrow. Don’t give into the peer pressure.”
Felicity smiled at Oliver. “I don’t hate it! I read Zen in the Art of Archery for an acting class, long story, but it did make archery sound so meditative. I am a liability with sharp objects, though. If you tell me where you go, I promise to find the next best rated range if I do try it out.”
“Enthusiasm for ancient art is rare from this unfortunate group of people. You’re remarkable, Felicity Smoak.”
Yes, he was teasing, but holy shit did it warm her to the core. Men like Oliver Queen were lethal. He made her feel special without even trying or meaning to. Felicity forced herself to pull it together. She just met this beautiful goon! Based on the stories she heard from the Lances and Tommy, he couldn’t help but ooze charisma. They only met ten minutes ago. It was dangerous for Felicity to romanticize his actions as being anything other than friendly.
Thankfully, Oliver took that moment to excuse himself. The space would no doubt help Felicity get a clear hold on her thoughts. He did his part by greeting Mr. Lance and introducing himself politely to the new girl. His obligations ended there.
After Oliver’s departure, Tommy introduced Felicity to a bunch of people she was sure to never see again. They were nice enough, but very stuffy. Or maybe she only felt that way because they didn’t talk much other than, “This venue is just perfect, isn’t it?” or “Quite the turnout, huh?” Somewhere along the meet and greet train, Felicity made her way to Sara and Nyssa’s table.
“It’s odd to see you without a glass of something,” Nyssa said with a frown. Felicity could only snort. “You’d let me know if I’m nearing a drinking problem, right? I always thought my Barbie accessory would be a laptop, turns out it’s a glass of wine that I’m really known for.”
“I’d need a glass of anything after talking to Greg Martin.” Sara fake gagged at the thought of the bank manager? Assistant banking something or other? Whatever his job, he was one of the less appealing meetings of the evening. How could someone so dull be so memorable?
Thoughts of Greg and just how did he fit in with the rest of the energetic Lance-Merlyn friend group occupied her mind when from seemingly nowhere, Oliver Queen waltzed back in her direction, a glass of wine daintily being held in each of his massive bear paw sized fists.
He handed her the drink in his left hand. “I’m sorry to say, but your mom claimed squatters rights on your other glass.”
Felicity could only groan in delight. Gratitude beat out the shock and surprise she felt as the wealthiest (and best looking) waiter she ever encountered brought her a glass of sure-to-be-delicious red wine.
Felicity gave an appreciative groan. “How much do I have to slip you to keep this going all night? I’ve got about $20 in cash, but I can Venmo you.” Because a simple Thank you was too much to ask her brain to produce, apparently.
“I’m surprisingly cheap,” Oliver said while clinking their glasses together. Just as quickly as he arrived, he was gone.
Felicity took a sip and sighed, trying desperately to think of the exquisite drink and not the man who brought it to her. It was a lot easier to get lost in her glass than she imagined it would be, especially since it was a strong contender for the best wine she’d ever tasted. Unfortunately, wine bliss meant that she forgot about Sara and Nyssa behind her. The chance of the pair discovering a newfound penchant for being unobservant was very low, but Felicity still held out hope.
“Look at you, making friends. Good looking friends. Good looking and clearly interested friends with glasses of wine,” Sara teased.
Felicity rolled her eyes, wondering just how much she’d have to drink to make the “clearly interested” part of Sara’s taunts go away. She tried her best to quickly explain her first encounter with Oliver, desperate in her attempt to make the situation seem more like a friendly gesture and not the flirty one it looked like. “The heartbreak of being paraded around and not sitting with Quentin must’ve been really obvious for him to bring me a drink like that.”
Sara could only laugh. “Dad must’ve loved that. Yet another one of his girls walking away with Ollie Queen.”
And just like that, she felt clarity. Felicity was just another Lance doomed to enter into the Oliver Queen spiral.
Even if there was a certain chemistry. Even if Oliver wasn’t the same playboy ( slut!) he was as a teenager. Even if she was SURE she could handle a casual hookup with her stepsisters’ (pluralized) ex (and she wasn’t so sure). The two of them could never happen. She wouldn’t let it. It was too much of an awkward and history filled situation to throw herself into. And for what? Possibly great sex? Would orgasms beat out the pure embarrassment of having to admit to her step sisters, both of whom had already slept with this guy, that she too had given into temptation and hit it? No, they wouldn’t.
She could spend the rest of the evening being non-receptive to any flirting sent her way. Who was to say that he’d be back anyway? They only talked for less than ten minutes. And it wasn’t like she would cross paths with him again, right?
Felicity looked down at her feet, the realization that she and Oliver could never be made her feel a little wobbly. “Is anybody sitting here,” she asked Sara, leaning on the chair in the hopes that touching the most surface area would give her some sort of chair possession rights over any previous occupants.
“Thea and Roy are over there,” Sara pointed to two other seats at the table, “so these two are yours for the taking. Unless you mean to bring Greg over here. In that case, we’re booked solid.”
“I’m as solitary as an oyster,” Felicity joked, or at least she tried to. Sara saw right through her attempt at humor. Though she didn’t know the shitstorm Oliver Queen blew around in Felicity’s mind, she knew whatever funk Felicity was in had to be curb stomped.
“Oysters are aphrodisiacs. And they make pearls. And there’s oyster festivals all over the place. People love oysters. And we love you.”
Felicity snorted. “That was beautiful, Sara.”
“Furthermore, even if you were a solitary oyster, you don’t need a geoduck in your marine habitat.”
Felicity could only close her eyes in amused acceptance. The genuine thoughtfulness could only last so long before Sara Sara-ed it up in the best way. It was appreciated, just very...Sara.
“What’s a geoduck,” Nyssa asked, “Or do I not want to know where you were going with that?”
“A very penile looking clam,” Sara answered without a qualm.
Nyssa patted Sara’s thigh. “I can’t picture it, and I’m fine with that. But she’s right. You are perfect. And I’m quite pleased that you aren’t tainting our table with an idiot that I’d have to fake cordiality with.”
“Too late, Roy’s already here,” a silvery voice said from behind Felicity. Thea and Roy. Even if Felicity wasn’t told that she was sharing a table with them, Thea’s voice/face/dress/posture/accessories/overall aura would give away her identity. What exactly were the Queen genes made of? It was like Moira nursed her children on Essence of Cool and read them James Bond novels in utero just to be sure they would ooze poise and elegance.The kind of self-confidence Felicity only felt when she was working on electronics.
Thea sat herself gracefully into the seat Roy pulled out for her. “Since when are you cordial,” he asked Nyssa.
Felicity was too invested in Nyssa’s squabble with Roy that included hand gestures and flicked pieces of bread from the table to notice Thea’s immediate interest in her. And yes, perhaps Thea’s first reaction was rooted in the “shiny new toy” phenomenon. But that did not change the fact that Thea Queen had an amazing gut instinct about Felicity Smoak.
“I’m Thea, by the way,” she said, leaning her body towards Roy, trying to inconspicuously end up in Felicity’s eyeline. It had all the makings of a mean girl move, but Thea delivered it with pure youngest child energy. It was less about forcing Felicity into introducing herself and more about Thea grasping at any form of attention. Regardless of how approachable Thea made herself, Felicity was still a little frazzled at the introduction. Same as she was with Oliver. Damn those Queens.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Felicity said politely. “I’m Felicity Sm-” She drifted off at the sight of Thea’s eyes popping out of her head. “That son of a bitch made us a kids table,” Thea said indignantly. “Malcolm being the bitch. No disrespect to Rebecca, I hope she rests in eternal bliss. But her shithead son is really in for it. Laurel, too.”
“I’m Roy,” her boyfriend said over the continued rant against Tommy. “Don’t be alarmed by her. She has slight paranoia at being classified as the baby, unless it’s a situation where she can benefit from being the baby.”
“Technically, I don’t even think I belong here,” Felicity said with a laugh. She had heard about Thea being a bit dramatic, but she never guessed this would be what they meant. “I escaped from Greg Martin and plopped here, if that makes it any better.”
“You’re right where you should be,” the authoritative voice of Laurel confirmed. “We’re over there,” she pointed to the decorated seats not far from them, “best man and maid of honor there,” she pointed to Sara’s seat and the empty seat next to Felicity, “troublemakers there, and Felicity far away from Dad and Donna.”
“That actually stings a bit,” Felicity admitted.
Sara rolled her eyes. “We’re way more entertaining than Dad.”
“Oh my god,” Felicity said, just realizing what the implications of the seating arrangement meant. “This is an intervention!”
Laurel put a warm hand on Felicity’s shoulder. “I’m not saying you need to fly the coop, I’m just saying your Friday nights shouldn’t be spent in the geriatrics unit.”
“I’m sure they’d love to hear you call them that,” Felicity said with a touch of scorn at being called out. Meanwhile, Sara just scoffed. “Dad, maybe, but Donna’s a total babe!”
As someone who lived for the spotlight, Thea was also very perceptive to knowing when others were uncomfortable from attention. Though Thea could see that Laurel was just trying to get Felicity to open up, maybe this wasn’t the time or place to be doing it. The curse of the eldest child, playing the role of parent when they should be enjoying their own engagement parties.
“If you’re into painting and drinking, there’s this new studio that’s doing paint nights,” Thea said casually. “Roy won’t go with me because it’ll ruin his reputation.”
Roy shook his head. “I’ve told you this time and time again. If it gets out that I’m good at art, I’m gonna be imprisoned for all the taggining that I’ve denied doing over the years.”
Felicity faintly heard Laurel sigh out, “That’s not how it works, Roy.”
“That actually sounds really cool,” Felicity said to Thea, grateful for her invitation (even if she wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Thea was genuinely inviting her out.)
“Yeah?” Thea asked. “Everyone’s been telling me that it’s too suburban mom-ish to want to go. And by everyone I mean Tommy and Ollie.”
“And add me on there,” Sara threw in.
Thea clapped her hands. “Yes, girls night!”
“I meant add me onto the group bullying you for wanting to go.”
Thea gave Sara a sneer. “See what I have to put up with?” She asked Felicity.
That was all it took for Felicity Smoak to become best friends with Thea Queen. What started as a polite invitation turned into a genuine friendship with movie nights and apartment crashings. It was this friendship that cemented Oliver Queen’s second strike.
He was Thea's brother. He went from being a distant untouchable temptation, to the physical embodiment of a donut shop next to the gym. He was always around and always making her doubt her self control.
Believe it or not, Felicity was capable of keeping it in her pants.
So why the hell after 6 months of a repeated mantra, two strikes, and a very controlled libido, was Felicity Smoak making out with Oliver Queen at her step-sister’s wedding?