Based on this prompt from otpprompts: "imagine your OTP on their first date. Person A asks person B to hold hands just like couples do, and when they do, they ended up blushing the whole time. Then person B wakes up, only to found that it was only a dream, and cries over it. What happens to person A is up to you."
Based on the Olicity first date in "The Calm."
It's not the first time Oliver has ever held Felicity's hand. They do it often actually, in danger or for for comfort or occasionally out of politeness. The feeling of his hand wrapped around hers–so small and cool and soft–is familiar.
But this feels different. This is the first time he's reached out simply because he wanted to.
The date had gone better than expected. After the initial awkwardness, things had been smoother, more like their usual way with each other. She had rambled, he had laughed, she had complimented him on the choice of restaurant and that had given him more pleasure than his plate of spaghetti, delicious as it was.
They were walking out after, Felicity telling him some ridiculous story about that time in high school when she was caught counting cards at the Luxor, when he just reached down and took her hand in his.
He worries that maybe it's the wrong thing to do as she pauses mid-sentence and stares down at their hands with a startled expression—until she intertwines their fingers. She looks up at him after, a soft smile on her lips, and he lifts their hands to gently press his lips to the back of her hand.
Her eyes are hooded as they follow their hands to where he rests them on his chest before they snap back up to look into his. They turn toward each other in the same moment and Oliver wonders if Felicity can feel his pulse spike. He knows hers has when he rests his free hand on the side of her face and pulls her in.
He wakes up just before their lips meet.
Oliver sits up on his cot in the Verdant basement and breaths deep as he tries to reconcile his dream with his memories of what really happened on his first date with Felicity. The explosion, her blood, their talk in the hospital later, but most of all that kiss—the one he can still taste.
He shuts his eyes and puts his head in his hands, focusing on taking deep breaths until the memory of how it felt to have her for those few moments doesn't feel so suffocating. But when he opens his eyes again, he sees that damn fern sitting in the corner–flourishing despite how often he neglects to water it–and all he can think of is her.
With a frustrated sigh, he throws off the blankets and heads off to the training area. Maybe he won't dream about her if he's exhausted. It's worked before.