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These were the nights that Felicity Smoak lived for.
She was a 26 year old business owner with a packed full schedule and a very demanding best friend. She never had time to just, bask, in the way that her life had turned out. She never had the time to really enjoy her success, to just reflect on how good her life was. However, on the one or two nights a week when she would come home to the faint sounds of banging in her kitchen, to the smell of something delicious simmering on her stove, the view of her ridiculously handsome boyfriend bent over checking something in the oven, she let everything else fade away.
Her and Oliver Queen had been together for just over 3 months. They had known each other for the majority of their lives, and while he had always harbored feelings for her, she was new to the game. They had recently connected over planing a party for mutual friends to celebrate their wedding and they had been together ever since.
At first, they couldn't get enough of each other, and had spent every possible moment together. But then the wedding ended and their friends came back from their honeymoon and life returned to normal. And while both Oliver and Felicity were very lucky to run two very successful businesses, it didn't leave them much time for each other. So, about a month into their relationship she was pleasantly surprised when she came home from a stressful day of interviews to hire more staff into her ever growing business, to find that Oliver had swiped her house key from his sister and had come over to cook the two of them dinner.
She was still constantly learning new things about Oliver. The most surprising was that he was a damn good cook. Apparently he had been adorably close to his nanny/house keeper when he was growing up and she had insisted that if he were going to be glued to her side then he would be useful. After that first night it became a little tradition with them. And it was often the only time they got to see each other. After the first month, Felicity gave in a finally gave Oliver his own key, so that he could return Thea's copy to her. If he had been able to tell what a huge leap that was for her, he didn't comment.
So here it was, three months in and they had settled into a nice little routine. It felt comfortable and Felicity couldn't imagine herself being happier. That night, as they lay curled into each other, their heartbeats slowing back to a steady rhythm, she felt Oliver leaving chaste kisses on the crown of her head.
Still one of her favorite things about him.
“I love you.” He whispered into her hair, his arms tightening around her for a second.
She felt the familiar rush in her chest, the one she always felt when he said those words to her. In the beginning he had refrained from saying it that often, and she assumed it was only because he didn't want to make her feel pressured to return it. But after a while it was almost like he couldn't hold it in anymore, and now he told her several times a day.
“Good luck in that meeting with your attorney today, love you.”
“I'm sending Thea a bouquet of flowers to congratulate her on the magazine article on the club, do you want to sign the card?...Okay, I send it over, love you.”
“I'm leaving the office now, do you want me to swing by and keep you company until you finish up that paperwork? Okay, well text me when you leave, I love you.”
At first she had just felt the rush, and nothing else. It was a nice feeling, to have someone love her. To have someone there with her, that cared about her. And she really did care about him. She loved spending time with him and she could really see them going somewhere. But she just didn't feel love. Not at first.
That changed one night about two months in.
They had gone an entire week without their dinner. Work had been really hectic for the both of them, with Oliver dealing with a security breach and Felicity had been in the midst helping her new staff settle in, and had been adjusting to suddenly being the boss of over a dozen people. She missed him. That was a strange feeling for her. She had dated plenty in college and after and she had never really had that feeling of missing someone.
That feeling consumed her every thought. In her typical fashion she over analyzed it to death, wondering why this was different, why suddenly she had become this needy girlfriend. She had never been that girl before, and had always done her best to avoid being that person. That was when it had first occurred to her that maybe she did love him. That maybe this was the first time she had ever actually been in love with someone. But it was such an unfamiliar feeling that she couldn't put the words to it, not yet.
That had been almost a month ago, and every day she felt it a little more. Her heart beat a little faster around him, she got a few more butterflies in her belly when he smiled at her. She got a little more breathless when he kissed her. She craved his touch a little more each time they fell into bed together.
And she felt a prick behind her eyes whenever he said those words, and her throat itched with the need to return the sentiment. But something always held her back. The rush in her chest always turned into a tightening and she felt a second of panic as her mouth would open.
So that night she lay there with him, the words on the edge of her tongue and she really thought that when she spoke that she would say it.
“Does it ever bother you?” Was what came out instead. Words were so hard. She felt him stiffen behind her, and not in the good way. She squeezed her eyes shut and hated herself for a brief moment.
“What?” He asked, he voice hoarse from overuse and sleepiness. She pulled at his wrists to loosen his grip so that she could turn around to face him.
“That I've never said it?” She asked quietly, wondering why she had chosen now to have this conversation. Wondering why she wanted to have it at all. Oliver frowned, and she hated that his eyes were so sad. His overly expressive, beautiful eyes. They always broke her.
“You want the truth? Or the good boyfriend response?” He asked, trying to smile and lighten the mood.
“I want the truth, that's always the good boyfriend response.” She responded honestly. Even if it made her feel like shit, she needed to know. He sighed, adjusting until he was flat on his back. But he brought her with him, pulling her into the crevice between him shoulder so that her head rested on his chest. That made her smile.
“Then yes. But not because I don't think you care about me. But because I just love you so much that sometimes I don't know how it would ever be possible for you to feel the same way about me. And if I'm being honest with you and myself, it feels a little lonely.” He told her, and she was proud of him. That level on honesty wouldn't have been possible for him five years ago.
And it wasn't possible for her even now.
So she simply squeezed him with the arm wrapped around his abdomen and pressed a kiss to his chest.
Neither one of them got much sleep that night.
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Once Felicity realized that what she felt for Oliver was love, and what her silence was doing to him, she knew that she had to make it right. Not telling him how she felt might be shielding her own heart, but it was doing serious damage to his. And the one thing she had promised herself when deciding to give this a try, was that she would do anything she could to not hurt him.
So a little over a week after that night she had worked up a plan.
Task One: Text Oliver that morning and tell him that she would be in meetings until after 8pm.
Task Two: Have Sin cancel all of her meetings and reschedule them for later in the week.
Task Three: Bribe Thea to leave the loft for the night. (Not hard at all since she had basically been living in the Glades with Roy)
Task Four: Find something really simple to cook that even she couldn't screw up.
Task Five: Pray that she didn't poison Oliver.
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To say that Oliver looked surprised to come home on a random Wednesday night to find his girlfriend in his kitchen looking frazzled and the faint smell of burnt hair in the air would be putting in very mildly.
“Fe-li-ci-ty.” He said upon walking in, his face expertly schooled to hide the worry he must have felt.
“Before you say anything, I want you to know that this came from a place of good.” She was quick to tell him, rushing up to him and grabbing his arm, pulling him away from the kitchen and into the dining area to the table. “I tried really hard, and picked pasta because it's simple and because 'everyone likes Italian' but apparently being able to boil water isn't something you're born with.” She confessed, flustered.
He looked over the table, at the meal that was very obviously take out from their favorite restaurant and smiled. “Just tell me the fire was a small one.” He joked, but then sobered when he looked from the food to her face. “Fe-li-ci-ty.” He said again, looking panicked.
She winced, biting her lower lip and shrugged, “It was on the smallish side.” She said, holding her fingers about an inch apart to indicate the size and pouted when he pulled his arm from hers to run his hands over his face.
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Given that her day had been such a disaster, she had expected dinner to end up the same way. But after Felicity had assured Oliver that the smell of burnt hair wasn't anything that a bandage couldn't fix, and that everything they were about to eat had come from a qualified chef, it had gone pretty well.
Conversation flowed easily and he seemed pretty happy about her surprise, no matter how awkward it had started out. Dinner was slowly winding down, and all the dishes had been cleared and they were now sitting on the balcony, sipping wine and enjoying what could be one of the last mild weather nights of the year.
“So,” Oliver started, bumping his shoulder into hers as she looked out over their city. “What brought this on. I thought you had accepted your fate as the non cooker in this relationship.” He teased with a smile.
She took a deep breath, letting it out on a laugh. “Yeah. I guess it's only fair. We can't all be this good looking and talented in the kitchen.” She joked back, but it came out kind of weak and nervous. And of course he picked up on it right away.
“Felicity? Is everything okay?” He asked, turning into her, the hand not gripping his glass coming to rest on her bent elbow and she knew that there was only one way to do this.
'Just spit it out, Smoak'
“No, actually. I kind of need your advice on something.” She started and he frowned, confused.
“Okay.” Was all he said and she forced herself to smile big even though her nerves were on edge.
“You see, there's this guy. And he's pretty cute, I guess. I mean you should really see how he wears a pair of jeans. I mean, it's criminal.”
Oliver chuckled, his frown and unease fading away. “Oh yeah? Sounds like quite the guy.” He said, his tone very serious but he had on the goofiest smile she had ever seen and all of her doubts faded.
“Yeah. But see, the thing is. I kind of love him?” She blurted out, staring at his chest to keep herself from choking. But then she looked back up at his face to see him frozen in place, so she continued, “But I don't really know how to go about telling him, ya know? I mean, how do you tell a dude that you love him? Especially when it's mostly just because of how his ass fills out a pair of jeans? That just seems like an awkward conversation to have.” She babbled, her eyes never leaving his face. Slowly he seemed to process what she was saying and his smile softened and he ducked his head.
That she could be the reason for that, for this man ever being bashful, it always made her want to drop to her knees.
He nodded, his head still bent and pursed his lips. “Yeah.” He said, clearing his throat and she could have sworn that his eyes were a little watery. “That, uh, that sounds like a problem.” He said softly, and she couldn't tell whether he was moving closer to her, or if she was gravitating to him. It didn't matter though, because either way her hands were now on his chest and his were gripping her shoulders and yes, those blue eyes of his were definitely more than a little moist.
“Go any advice?” She whispered against his lips and his smiled grew and the first tear slid from the corner of his eye and down his cheek.
“I think you should say it as often as possible.” He said as their lips connected, she whimpered a second later when he pulled away just far enough to whisper, “Maybe you should even scream it.” before his lips returned to his and she couldn't help but think that was the best piece of advice she had ever been given.
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