Bad Things - 1 ~ Oliver Queen x Reader
The bass thumps through your body as you sway to the music, your dress clinging to your curves while unfamiliar hands grip your hips. You're vaguely aware of the sweaty bodies surrounding you, but you don't care. It's easier this way—distracting yourself with the noise, the lights, the strangers who don't know who you are or what you've done.
You tilt your head back, letting out a breathless laugh as another shot is pressed into your hand. You down it without hesitation, feeling the burn as it slides down your throat. The liquid courage does little to fill the empty void inside you.
You're heartless now. It's easier that way.
The song changes, and you peel yourself away from the stranger's embrace, stumbling back to the bar. The world around you feels like it's spinning, and you can't tell if it's the alcohol or the weight of your own grief.
"Can I get a glass of bourbon?" you ask, slurring slightly as you catch yourself on the edge of the bar.
The bartender, a familiar face by now, raises an eyebrow. "Keys, Faith."
You roll your eyes but toss your car keys onto the counter. "Happy?"
He pockets them with a smirk. "Not until I see you leave with someone sober."
You let out a bitter laugh, downing the bourbon in one go. The taste reminds you of him—of the man you once loved, of the nights you spent curled up together with whiskey on your breath and laughter in the air.
The sun beats down on you as you shield your eyes with a hand, scanning the desert base. It's your first tour, and you're still getting used to the heat, the dust, the chaos of it all. You're nervous, but you wear a brave face, nodding politely at the soldiers who pass by.
"You look lost," a voice calls out, and you turn to see a man leaning against a Humvee, his grin wide and disarming.
"Maybe I am," you admit with a playful smile, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders. "First tour. Figured I'd get a lay of the land."
"Well, lucky for you, I'm the best tour guide this side of the Euphrates," he jokes, extending his hand. "Nate Vance. And you are?"
You take his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "Y/N Y/L/N. Fresh out of training and apparently in need of a guide."
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, Y/N, how about I start with the essentials? This," he gestures to the makeshift barracks, "is where we pretend to get sleep. And over there," he points to a small tent, "is where we make the worst coffee you'll ever taste."
You laugh, the sound surprising you. It's been so long since the last time you laughed, "Worst coffee, huh? I'll be the judge of that."
"You're on," Nate grins, leading you toward the tent. The conversation flows easily, filled with teasing banter and shared stories. You find yourself hanging on every word he says, mesmerized by the way he talks, the way he makes you feel seen.
The two of you end up sitting on the ground, sharing a laugh over a cup of the promised terrible coffee. He leans in closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know, I never thought I'd meet someone like you out here."
Your breath catches as he holds your gaze, the moment stretching out between you. It feels like the world has slowed down, like nothing else exists except the two of you.
You lean in, closing the distance, and press your lips to his. It's soft and sweet, filled with unspoken promises. You don't know it yet, but this is the beginning of something real, something you'll carry with you for the rest of your life.
Your chest feels tight, and you press a hand to your heart as if to hold the shattered pieces together.
"Another round?" the bartender asks, his voice breaking through your daze.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He pours the bourbon, sliding it over with a sympathetic look. "You okay, Faith?"
You cringe at the use of your fake name but it's well disguised by you knocking back your drink.
"Never better," you lie, pushing away from the bar and stumbling back towards the dance floor.
You push away from the bar, stumbling back toward the dance floor. The numbness sets in again, wrapping around you like a familiar coat. You lose yourself in the crowd, in the music, in the empty promises of the night.
You stay there for hours, dancing with whoever is willing, until something catches your eye. A group of men dressed in all black circles past you for the third time, moving with purpose. Your senses go on high alert, and you quickly scan the room. There are several groups, all dressed similarly, scattered across the club, subtly watching the crowd.
A chill runs down your spine. You stumble across the room toward the bar, trying to act as casual as possible.
"Alex, get me a water," you order, slurring slightly, keeping your eyes on the suspicious men. You glance back at Alex just as he opens his mouth to speak, cutting him off swiftly. "Now."
He doesn't question it. He fills a glass with water and slides it over. You grab it and walk away before he can say another word. The gun tucked into the back of your skirt makes your hand itch to draw it, but you settle for tightening your grip on the glass, chugging some of the water down.
At first, you think the men are here for you, but then you notice a few of them heading toward the bathroom—following a young girl with pigtails. Your eyes narrow as you watch three of them draw guns and slip inside behind her.
You groan, pushing through the sweaty crowd and making your way to the bathroom. You nudge the door open with the toe of your stiletto, peering in just enough to assess the situation. As expected, one of the men has a gun pressed to the girl's throat, while another rummages through her jacket. The third does a poor job keeping watch.
You push the door open fully, stumbling over to the sink like you're just another drunk patron. The sound of guns cocking fills the small room, and you subtly roll your eyes.
"Where are the napkins?" you slur, exaggerating the drunken act as you face the man closest to the door, completely unbothered by the gun aimed at your head.
"Get out of here," one of the men growls, stepping closer.
"I just wanted some damn napkins," you complain, trying to push past him toward a stall. He grabs your arm roughly.
"Listen, you fucking slu—"
He doesn't get to finish. You smash your fist into his nose, using the shock to snatch his gun. You fire off a quick shot, hitting the man holding the gun to the girl's head. The third man lunges at you, knocking the gun out of your hand. It skids across the floor.
He punches you hard, sending you stumbling back into the sink. He swings again, but you dodge, causing his fist to slam into the tile. He yells in pain, and you use the moment to flip him off you. You dive for the gun and shoot him between the eyes.
You turn to help the girl up, but a sharp pain explodes at the back of your head. The last goon grabs you by the hair and slams your face into the sink.
"Fuck," you groan, reaching up to touch the wet, warm patch of blood. "I don't get paid enough for this shit." You stagger to your feet, letting your powers surge through you. Blue electricity dances across your fingers before you blast him, sending him flying into the wall.
You close your eyes, allowing them to fade back to their natural color. You turn back to the girl, who's watching you with wide, fearful eyes.
"Here," you say, pulling the gun from your waistband and placing it in her trembling hands. "I'm getting you out of here, but I need you to be ready to protect yourself."
You turn to scope out the club, but the girl's voice stops you.
"Wait! What's your name?"
"My name?" you laugh, spinning your glass of champagne around in your hand.
"Yeah, you know—the thing you'll have me screaming later tonight?" The guy next to you jokes, taking a sip of his whiskey.
You throw your head back in laughter. "Is that right? It's Y/N."
He leans forward, the teasing smirk never leaving his lips. "What brings you to Star City, Y/N?"
"Honestly?" You raise an eyebrow, and he nods. "I needed to lay low. What better place than the middle of nowhere? I'm just passing through."
He laughs, and the sound does something strange to you. It's been years since anyone made your heart flutter like this—since you felt a spark like this.
"And the band's pretty good, yeah?"
You hadn't even noticed the mediocre country band playing on the stage, but you find yourself nodding. "They're amazing."
The two of you fall into a brief silence as he pours drinks for the customers swarming the bar. When he returns, he's leaning closer, his eyes locked on yours like you're the only person in the room.
"Since you're 'just passing through,' does that mean I won't see you again?"
"Yup. I leave tomorrow morning."
"Maybe you could stay?" He's blushing, and you can't help but choke on your drink, laughing.
"Stay. Just one more night. The band'll be back tomorrow. Swing by?"
You feel a warmth spread through your chest, a feeling you haven't had in years. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. You down the rest of your champagne, smiling softly. "I'll let you know."
"I'm headed out in ten minutes... maybe we could leave together?" He's blushing deeper now, and it's endearing in a way you didn't expect.
"That's it?" you tease. "You crack a few jokes, and my panties are supposed to fly off?"
"Try again tomorrow," you smirk, pulling out a couple of twenties and dropping them on the counter. You're about to walk away, but something pulls you back. Against your better judgment, you turn. "What's your name?"
He meets your gaze, his smile gentle and genuine. "Oliver. Oliver Queen."
You hesitate, feeling a flutter of something you haven't felt in a long time—hope.
