Oliver came to you after another patrol as the Green Arrow. He had several scratches and a deep gunshot wound on his side. You were about to treat his wounds, but Oliver just brushed it off. But when had he ever been able to change your mind? Never.

You sat him down and carefully tended to his wound, occasionally grumbling that he should be more careful and scolding him—which he usually found amusing.

“It’ll heal before the wedding,” Oliver said with a smile, pulling you onto his lap. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he buried his face in your hair, simply enjoying the moment.