Sentence prompt: "I understand the whole sleep talking thing but what I don't understand is the princess dragon dream and why I'm in it."
Prompt originally posted here: post/108022477839/ridiculous-sentence-prompts
Thanks for the lovely response to the first part of this collection. I spent all of November and most of December completely immersed in a loooong Olicity project that I wrote for NaNoWriMo. Lately I've been getting stuck with that and decided I needed a change of scenery, so I found a bunch of AU/Sentence prompts and away I went... Here is the second of many more. I may be obsessed. But my obsession is your enjoyment!
Set in the summer after 2x23.
Felicity wakes up slowly, like she's being eased into wakefulness, and she's instantly confused, in that sleepy, floaty, the world is still blurry kind of way.
Partly because she's fairly sure that she's not in her bed. Or even in her bedroom, if the soft whirring that she can hear is any indication. Nothing whirrs in her bedroom because she'd never be able to sleep with all that noise every night.
Mostly she's confused because all she can smell, feel, sense, is Oliver.
His scent is so distinct but she doesn't even know what it is. Some soap he uses or aftershave maybe, although he keeps that scruffy stubble all the time now so she doesn't even know if he shaves. He must, though, because his scruff never seems to grow past incredibly sexy.
It's sort of a pine scent, drawing soothing images of trees and forests to mind, with undertones of leather and an Oliver-smell that she can't quite put a name to.
It makes her want to snuggle into wherever she's sleeping because it's innately safe and warm, but also wake up immediately and move away as far as possible because being this close to him lately is like the most exquisite kind of torture.
Ever since that night, that night, when everything between them changed, yet didn't at the same time, she's felt like they're doing this balancing act. He said that he loved her, but it was only because of the plan.
While she can't seem to let go of the tiny nugget of hope that lives deep inside of her, shoved into the dark corner of things she tries not to examine too closely, the logical part of her knows he didn't mean it. Because come on, he's Oliver Queen and she's just… not.
But he also didn't take it back when she gave him the chance. He'd just smiled at her like an idiot, and she'd wanted to knock some sense into him, but she had just smiled back at him instead, because she's a chicken when it comes to him.
And it's been like that all summer. Sometimes she's so sure that he meant it. That he sees her as more than tech support, as more than his good friend Felicity. His eyes tell her more than his words, especially when he thinks she isn't paying attention and that tiny nugget flares to life again. But then the shutters will come down, like he's reminding himself that he's no good, that he can't have good things, things that are his and she's right back where she started, shoving her hope back into it's place.
I just think that it's better to not be with someone that I could really care about.
The words from months ago still play in her head. The acute pain she'd felt when she'd read between the lines of what he was saying. She'd said that he deserved better and she'd meant it. But it wasn't that he couldn't. He wouldn't. And that made all the difference.
So she's not going to sit around and pine after him. She is not that kind of girl.
No - she's going to live her life: go out, go on dates, spend time with friends that she's brushed off dozens of times this past year. She's going to make a life for herself outside of the lair. Oliver is more than welcome to be a part of that life, but that's his decision to make. Not hers.
Her brain on overdrive, Felicity tries to recall what she did last night. If the way her head is now pounding is any indication, it clearly involved copious amounts of wine.
Lifting a hand to her head, she opens bleary eyes to the world. The room is bright, too bright, and it takes a moment for her eyes to adjust before she can tell that she's in the living room of her apartment.
She turns her head, trying not to jostle him, figuring that he'll wake at the slightest movement. He doesn't stir though, his chest rising and lowering as he breathes the deep breaths of sound sleep. Oliver is sprawled out beside her, feet propped on her coffee table, one arm resting on the arm of the couch, the other thrown along her back, a solid band behind her as she curls into his side. His hand wraps around her hip, heat radiating from that single point of contact. Her head rests on his chest, his heart beating evenly under her ear. Her hand is millimetres in front of her nose, casually draped across him.
It's closer than she's been to him in weeks. Months. Ever. Although memories of swinging across an elevator shaft, of crashing onto the ground on the island come to mind, like her brain is trying to say 'you totally do this all the time'. A shiver races through her. No, they've never slept together. Fallen asleep together! Not slept slept. She fell asleep on Oliver. That's all.
Lifting a hand to her mouth, she quickly inspects for any traces of drool. There doesn't seem to be any, thank god.
Her eyes trace over him and up to his face. It's completely open and relaxed and now that she thinks of it, she doesn't think that she's ever seen him asleep before. Unconscious, sure, but that's not the same thing. It's like there have been years shaved off him and she wants to stay here, in this little bubble with him, forever.
But she really really needs to pee.
Debating back and forth, she turns her eyes to the room. There's an empty bottle of wine on the table and two dirty glasses. The TV is off but there are a stack of DVD cases haphazardly stacked on the floor. Clearly they'd fallen asleep watching a movie.
It's been a common activity this summer, something that makes her incredibly pleased. After noticing that Felicity wasn't spending as much time as usual in the Foundry, Oliver had shown up to her apartment with a bottle of wine and a sheepish smile. She'd immediately invited him in and they'd started the long and arduous journey of updating his drastic lack of pop culture knowledge. Not only that, but for the first time in a long time, he's spending time outside of the Foundry.
By choice.
She thinks that's an important thing to note. Lots of the things Oliver does are things that he has to do, or things that other people think he needs to do. Very few are things that he chooses to do simply because he wants to. But this, this time that they spend together, sometimes with Diggle or Roy, is something just for him. It's time for him to be himself and for them to get to know each other outside of their night job.
Seeing him choose something for himself makes her inexplicably proud. Which may be ridiculous because it's usually just watching movies on her couch, but sometimes it feels like it's building up to something. Something that she can't name but it feels all-important just the same.
Eventually the need to pee is urgent, distracting her from her thoughts, and she regretfully slides out from under Oliver's arm and heads to the bathroom.
When she returns, Oliver is slowly blinking his eyes open, looking around in confusion, like he's lost something.
"Morning, sunshine," she greets him, bypassing the couch in favour of the coffee maker. She knows from experience that this headache will only go away with caffeine. "Coffee?"
"Morning." His voice is rough with sleep and he briskly rubs his hands over his face before standing. "Sure."
She putters around the kitchen, fixing them coffee and determinedly not thinking about how incredibly domestic and normal this all feels.
Nope. Not going there.
Oliver trails after her, seating himself in one of the stools at her tiny bar-top counter. He props his chin in his hand as his eyes follow her movements. She can feel his gaze burning into the skin on her back, sending tingles down her spine and through her body. It's deliciously comforting and incredibly distracting at the same time.
"Did you sleep okay?" she asks, because she's going to drive herself crazy if she keeps overthinking these things in her head. Oliver is her friend. That's all. "I know my couch isn't the nicest but it's pretty comfy, I think. It has good support, or so the guy who sold it to me said, and it's pretty bouncy. Not that I jump on it or anything, I am an adult after all. Not that I do any adult activities on it either, I don't have a sex couch or anything. Oh god, I need coffee."
He laughs softly behind her as she stares resolutely at the coffeemaker, willing it to beep and signal it's readiness. Her brain does not work before coffee and having Oliver in her kitchen, in such close quarters and all sleepy and rumpled and adorable, is scrambling it even more. She can still smell him, as though his scent has permeated her skin and taken up residence inside of her.
"Yeah, it was fine," he responds in an even voice, and bless him, he never seems to be offended by her inappropriate babbles. "But, I do have a question."
Something in his tone throws her off. She can't quite place it. It's almost light, joking, the opposite of serious, which tends to be his default… Turning to face him, she notes that there is indeed a small smile playing around his mouth.
"So. I understand the whole sleep talking thing," he starts, "but what I don't understand is the princess dragon dream and why I'm in it."
Her mouth falls open. That may possibly have been the last thing she'd ever expected to come out of his mouth. "What?"
"You talk in your sleep."
She nods along without thinking, mouth still hanging open, as though this is common knowledge. But… "Hang on. Wait. I do not talk in my sleep!"
Oliver smirks, that jerk. "Last night says otherwise. You passed out halfway through Star Trek and then babbled on and on in your sleep."
This is potentially mortifying. Her brain is a scattered, fast paced, hard to control place to be when she's awake. She can only imagine the nonsense and unfiltered thoughts that could possibly escape in her sleep.
"Oh God," she moans, covering her face. "Please tell me I didn't say anything completely embarrassing."
He shakes his head, that same bemused smile still playing at his mouth. "Nah. Apparently you just subconsciously think of me as the princess of the story and not the dragon. Or the prince. Which is totally flattering and not at all emasculating."
"Oh my God. Oliver, I'm so sorry," she says, but then images from her dream come rushing back in flashes and she can't help the giggles that escape her.
Because she had dreamed of him last night and he had been dressed in a very Princess Peach-esque dress. She's also fairly sure that she may have been the dragon, blowing fire as he took cover in a tall stone tower.
Man. Her brain is weird.
Although maybe this is how she's working through her recent Oliver issues… By dreaming that he's unattainable and trying to set fire to him in her frustration. And also, he is royalty, so that part makes sense. Sort of.
Fortunately he doesn't look annoyed, just amused, and then the coffee maker beeps and she lets out an excited squeal as she turns to pour the liquid gold. She slides a cup to Oliver and leans her elbows on the counter across from him, the image of him in a pouffy dress still playing in her mind.
"So what did you dream about? Now that we know all about my ability to completely embarrass myself even when asleep." She shoots him an easy smile that he returns before looking down at the mug he holds between his hands.
Then Oliver meets her eyes, emotion shining clearly through. It makes her heart skip a beat, the genuine feelings she finds there, because it reminds her so clearly of the two of them standing in foyer of the Queen mansion, when he let those three little words slip out. She had searched his face for the lie, trying to find the cracks, and had come up empty, before he slipped the syringe into her hand and left her there with his words echoing in her heart.
Now he's looking at her the same way, but they're in her kitchen and it's sunny and bright and there's no madman coming to kidnap her, no syringe or secret plan that they're trying to execute.
It's just them, just Oliver and Felicity, and she can't breathe because he's looking at her with love shining in his eyes.
"I can't tell you," he says softly, as though he's telling her the most precious secret. "If I tell you then it won't come true."
Something tells her that she wants his dream to come true, too.