After the Storm
Pairing: Oliver Queen x Female Reader
Genre: Fluff, Angst
Characters: Oliver, Y/N
Description: A mission leaves Oliver physically beaten and unravelling. Y/N is the only person he allows close enough to see the cracks beneath his armour.
Rain pounded the bunker windows, making the glass shake. Outside, the city glowed with neon and thunder, but down here, everything was uncomfortably quiet.
You sat on the edge of the medical table, twisting your fingers in your lap while the elevator doors opened with a loud groan. Oliver stumbled out first. Your breath caught, and worry for Oliver quickly took over your nerves.
Blood stained his suit sleeve, bruises marked his jaw, and he looked exhausted. Diggle came in behind him, looking tired too, but you couldn’t take your eyes off Oliver. “Oliver-” “I’m fine,” he muttered automatically. His lie bothered you more than you expected. “You’re dripping blood on the floor.” “I said I’m fine.”
Diggle slipped upstairs before the argument could start.
Oliver took off his hood with a frustrated sigh and tossed it onto a chair. He gripped the table, his shoulders shaking a little. It wasn’t from anger. From pain. Your chest tightened. You grabbed the medical kit and moved closer without saying anything. “I can do it myself.” “And yet you haven’t.”
He looked like he might argue, frustration in his eyes, but then his expression changed. He just looked tired. He sat down heavily. It was quiet as you cleaned the cut near his ribs. Oliver hissed when the antiseptic touched his skin. “Sorry,” you whispered. “It’s not your fault.” The storm outside rumbled again.
You tried to focus on bandaging him, but your hands shook. It was hard to keep your mind from spiralling. Even as you pressed the gauze to his skin, you still saw flashes from just hours ago, the sickening moment you thought you’d lost him, the echo of a gunshot too close, that same, cold fear flooding your chest. Relief mingled with dread, turning your stomach inside out. You kept remembering all the times he’d barely made it back, every grim call, every fresh wound, every night where you counted the seconds until you heard the elevator and knew he was safe. Sometimes you pictured what life would be if he didn't come back at all, a wordless emptiness, his empty chair, his laugh gone from the room. The thought made your heart race, almost painful with how much you needed him. Lately, every mission felt like waiting for bad news, like the universe was just biding its time before it took him away. You wished for a future where he would always walk through those doors, where you could let go of fear long enough to hope that someday, this constant ache would fade.
Oliver noticed. His gaze softened immediately. “Hey.”You refused to look at him. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Use that voice on me.” A small, tired smile appeared on his face. “What voice?” “The one that makes me forgive you.” His smile faded right away, replaced by guilt. “I didn’t mean for tonight to go sideways.” “That’s the problem, Oliver.” Your voice cracked despite your efforts. “You never mean for it to.” The words lingered in the air.
Oliver stared at the floor for several long seconds before speaking again. "When I was on the island..." he began quietly, "I got used to believing I was already dead." His jaw tightened. For a moment, you saw the memories flicker behind his eyes: building a fire with numb fingers in the pouring rain, burying the watch he took from Yao Fei, the taste of salt water as he dragged himself onto the sand after a firefight gone wrong. The biting sting of salt air in open wounds, the endless damp chill in his bones, the echo of distant gunfire. "Sometimes I still think that way."
You finally looked up. Seeing how vulnerable he was made your frustration fade, replaced by a deep compassion. “That doesn’t mean you get to scare me half to death every night.” His expression softened further. “You care about me that much?” You let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “You cannot seriously ask me that.” Oliver blinked, almost stunned by the answer. He could read his enemies so well, but he couldn’t see himself.
You finished wrapping the bandage carefully before murmuring, “I love you, you idiot.” You said it before fear could stop you. Time seemed to stop. Even the thunder felt quieter. Oliver stared at you like the world had stopped turning. Then, very gently, he reached for your hand.
"You shouldn’t," he said. He hesitated, then looked down, fidgeting with the edge of the bandage. For a heartbeat, something deeper flickered across his face—fear, not just for you, but of himself. Sometimes he wondered if he belonged anywhere outside the violence that kept finding him, haunted by mistakes and losses that clung to his conscience. "Every time you get close to me, you put yourself in danger. What I do, what follows me... I don't know if I can live with the thought of hurting you, too."
Your heart cracked a little. “That’s your response?” “No.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “That’s me trying to protect you.” “From what?” “Me.” His honest words hurt more than if he had yelled. You stepped closer until your knees touched his. “Oliver,” you whispered, “you don’t get to decide that for me.” He looked into your eyes, hoping to believe you. You leaned in and pressed your forehead to his. He finally let out a shaky breath.
For the first time that night, his body relaxed. "I love you too," he admitted quietly, like the confession terrified him. You felt warmth spread through your chest as you melted into his embrace, the press of his arms grounding you, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The air around you was thick, carrying the scent of rain and antiseptic, mixed with the distant metallic tang of blood. Outside, the storm still raged, thunder rattling the glass and the rain drumming a wild rhythm against the bunker windows. But inside the bunker, wrapped up in Oliver’s arms, the world narrowed to the shelter of his body and the heat between you. Each breath you took was laced with the sound of water hitting concrete overhead, steady and relentless, a constant reminder that you were safe, here and now.
