oliver queen / the arrow x reporter reader; cw angst ish fluff ish
💭 written with smallville!oliver queen in mind
oliver queen, notoriously rich playboy (and the green arrow behind closed doors), is not amused when he meets you, the nosy reporter from the daily planet who doesn't have an ounce of self-preservation.
the first time oliver meets you is as the green arrow. slinging through the streets of star city, he's surprised to find some metropolis journalist so far from home. but more than that, he's shocked to see just how careless you are when you're chasing a lead. it's like you don't even care if you get hurt!
"for your information, i totally had that handled." you dusted off your pants and waved away the outstretched hand he offered.
he rolled his eyes under his mask. "you almost got your ass handed to you by that fence, which might i add is electrified."
"and that concerns bootleg peter pan because?"
at that he scoffed. "i'm—"
"the green arrow aka arrogant asshole vigilante, yeah i know."
"arrogant asshole is taking it a little bit far," he deadpanned.
you ignored him. "listen, i'm sure there's some damsel in actual distress out there for you to help, but i've got a story to chase on queen industries, mr. glorified leprechaun, so i'll take my leave now."
he watches you leave and a very tiny part of him smiles at the thought of you despite the sarcasm and biting insults.
the second time he runs into you, oliver is at a charity gala that queen industries is hosting to boost their publicity (or rather, their public image which has taken a dip in light of recent news). he sips leisurely on the glass of champagne as his eyes trail after you (because he wouldn't admit it, but you looked damn good in what you were wearing tonight).
"mr. queen, sorry to interrupt, but i'm with the daily planet," you flash your business card to him and try not to act surprised when he actually takes it, "i've just got a few questions for you."
"and this wouldn't be about the collaboration between queen industries and luthercorp on meteorite technology, would it? because that isn't public knowledge yet, and considering that we recently had a security breach," he looked at you squarely, "it'd be awfully convenient for you to have insider information regarding said breach."
you tensed under his gaze. technically, breaking and entering wasn't criminal unless you got caught, which you hadn't been. plus, it's not like you stole anything, you'd just been . . . exploring queen industries' laboratories for a scoop on their experimenting.
"i have my sources," you settled on saying. "unless you're accusing me of—"
he scoffed, and you frowned. it sounded familiar.
"no, i wouldn't be so much of an arrogant asshole to accuse you of such a thing," he quipped sarcastically, the comment slipping out before he could think twice.
that was definitely familiar.
"now that you mention it mr. queen, how are you so sure it wasn't that green masked vigilante that no one seems to know anything about that broke in?" you pressed on, gauging his reaction, "mr. glorified leprechaun could have been the cause of your security breach."
he didn't say anything nor give you the satisfaction you were looking for, but you'd gotten all the reaction you needed.
"i'll be seeing you around, mr. queen."
"that's not likely."
the third time oliver sees you is when his mask slips off his face from all the blood. he'd stopped in an alleyway briefly to catch his breath; he should have known better than to let his guard down.
the lit cigarette between your fingertips fell to the ground as your eyes widened with recognition.
"i knew it," you breathed. "oh, i fucking knew it."
and you're all but barreling over to him before he can stop you from coming any closer. he's bleeding from all over, bruised from the night's patrol, and he doesn't want to hurt you. not to mention, he's feeling faint—dangerously faint.
so he catches you in his arms just as you catch him.
"you can't tell anyone," he says before passing out leaving you with one hell of a problem on your hands.
💭 i'm feeling a part 2 in the works
💭 update: i have crazy writer's block for oliver queen i'm sorry 😭 the part 2 is being worked on but if it'll see the light of day any time soon . . . i'm not sure
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.
This is the prologue for a fic I'm writing on Wattpad, sharing it here because I'm kind of proud of the story.
~
"Ollie?" Your voice cracks as you look between him and the power-dampening cuffs on your wrists. "What are you doing?"
The shock doesn't come from being thrown into a cell. It comes from the icy glare in Oliver's eyes—the same eyes that once looked at you with nothing but love. Now, they hold a cold, unrecognizable look. You knew this moment would come eventually. You knew he'd find out about your double life, but even in your worst nightmares, it never felt like this.
"You've been working with us since the very beginning," Oliver growls, stepping back as the glass door slides shut, sealing you inside. "And all this time, you were playing us. Playing me."
You swallow hard, trying to ignore the sting of his words. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You joined Team Arrow as a means to an end, to gain his trust and operate under the nose of your biggest threat. You never intended to develop feelings. You never meant to fall in love.
"Well, you found me out," you say, lifting your bound hands to wipe away the tears you refuse to shed, "Congratulations, Oliver. It only took you six years to finally see what was right in front of you."
Oliver's jaw clenches, his hand forming a tight fist at his side, "You've killed innocent people, Y/N. This is where you belong."
You scoff, tilting your head with a bitter smile, "What do you think you know? You found out I'm Malevolent, but I bet you don't know half the people I've killed—or why."
"Then tell me!" Oliver slams his fist against the glass barrier. You flinch, flashes of your father's abuse overwhelming you. You force yourself to take a deep breath, pushing the fear back down.
To be honest, villainy might as well have been written across your forehead from the start. Your father beat you senseless before you were even old enough to understand what abuse was. Every small mistake became an excuse for his rage. Your mother wasn't any better—always drunk or high, barely aware she had a child.
You carried those scars for years, blaming yourself. Maybe if you hadn't touched this, or looked at that, your father would've left you alone. Maybe if you behaved better, your mother would have loved you.
But eventually, you convinced yourself that you deserved better. You left the torment behind and joined the Army as soon as you were legal, it was your first real break. You fell in love, got married, and had two beautiful children. For the first time in you whole life, you were happy. It was a kind of happiness you never even though existed growing up. But it didn't last. It never does.
"You wouldn't understand," you whisper, dropping your gaze. "You see everything in black and white, Oliver. I'm forced to live in the gray."
He steps closer, his expression torn between fury and something softer. "Then help me understand," he demands, his voice breaking for the first time. "Why did you do it? Why did you betray us?"
The question hits you hard, and suddenly the walls of the cell seem to fade away. Your mind drifts back to a moment you've tried so hard to bury—a moment that still haunts your every waking thought. The moment that's driven every waking moment and every decision you've made for the past few years.
You push open the front door of your home, smiling as you call out to your children. "Melody? Michael? I'm back!"
There's no response, normally the second you'd walk in the house you'd be greeted by their little footsteps pounding excitedly towards the door. They always knew when you were home. You suspiciously set your bag down and walk into the living room, expecting to find toys scattered across the floor and the sound of laughter echoing through the house.
Instead, it's silent. Eerily silent.
A chill runs down your spine, and the smile fades from your face, you pull your gun from it's holster at you side. "Melody?" you call again, your voice trembling slightly now. You step into the kitchen, and that's when you see it—the shattered glass on the floor, the overturned chairs.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you move down the hallway. It feels like your feet are made of lead, every step heavier than the last. You push open the door to the kids' room, and the sight before you rips the breath from your lungs.
Melody and Michael lie motionless on the floor, their innocent eyes frozen wide in terror. A single bullet wound pierces each of their small foreheads, their once-bright faces contorted in horror—the image sears into your mind, you know their expressions will haunt you forever. You drop to your knees, a choked scream tearing from your throat as you scoop up and cradle their lifeless bodies. "No, no, no..." you sob, rocking back and forth, pressing kisses to their cold foreheads, "My babies."
You can barely see through the tears as you stumble into the bedroom you once shared with your husband. The bed is soaked in blood, the sheets tangled around his lifeless form. His eyes are vacant, the same gentle eyes that once looked at you with love.
You collapse against the doorway, a guttural scream of agony ripping from your chest. Your entire world has shattered, and you know in that moment that nothing will ever be the same.
You don't know how long you sit there, but when you finally stand, your tears have dried. All that's left is a hollow emptiness inside you, a cold determination that replaces the grief.
You will find out who did this. And you will make them pay.
You're jolted back to the present, the cold walls of the cell pressing in around you. Oliver is still standing there, his eyes locked on yours, waiting for an answer.
You open your mouth to speak, but the words die in your throat. He doesn't bother to repeat the question. Instead, he taps the computer screen, and you watch helplessly as the pipeline seals itself shut, cutting off your powers and any chance of escape—for now.
~
Oliver storms into the main room of STAR Labs, where the rest of the team waits in silence. The tension is palpable. He can feel their eyes on him, but he doesn't want to talk. Not now. Behind his stoic mask of indifference, he was hurting. His mind raced, searching for any plausible explanation that could clear your name and bring you back into his arms. There had to be a reason—he was sure of it.
He had worked with you for six years, memorized every quirk, every fear. He thought he knew you better than anyone, better than you knew yourself. And yet, in this moment, he realized he knew nothing about you at all.
He heads straight for the computer, typing furiously until your file appears on the screen. The national meta database is almost blank, save for a few vague details.
Oliver slams his fist down on the desk, his voice a broken whisper. "Why the hell does no one know anything about her?"
Barry steps forward, pulling nervously at his fingers. "Oliver, I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to talk to her. Not at her. You can't threaten her or berate her. You have to listen."
Oliver's hands tremble as he grips the edge of the desk. He's fighting to keep his emotions in check, but he knows Barry is right. Maybe if he had listened to you sooner, things wouldn't have turned out like this.
"Okay," he finally mutters, the word coming out strained.
~
The hiss of the pipeline door opening makes you jump to your feet. You're surprised to see Oliver standing there, still dressed in his leather costume, the hood pulled back to reveal his tired, conflicted expression.
"Who are you?" he asks, stepping closer to the glass, his voice barely above a whisper.
You meet his gaze head-on, forcing yourself to smile. "I'm Y/N. Or did you miss that?"
"Y/L/N or Vance?" he demands. "Because you told me your last name was Vance."
"I lied," you say flatly, dislocating your thumb to slip out of the cuffs. The pain barely registers anymore; you've trained yourself for this.
"What's your story?" Oliver's voice cracks slightly. "Your meta file doesn't list anything before six years ago. Why?"
"I erased it," you reply flatly, feeling the electricity crackling beneath your skin as your powers return. "You don't deserve to know, because then you'd understand. And I don't want your pity."
"Damn it, Y/N! Talk to me!" Oliver slams his hands against the glass. You flinch, and a bolt of electricity shoots from your fingertips. His eyes widen, landing on the limp cuffs dangling from your wrists.
Your eyes glow bright blue, and the electricity wraps around your arms like coiling serpents. Memories of your family flash through your mind, intensifying the charge. The glow brightens, and your hair lifts as lightning surges around your body, wild and untamed.
"My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I served two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. I fell in love, got married, had twins—Melody and Michael." Tears well up as the electricity grows volatile. "They're all dead now."
You thrust your arms forward, shattering the cell. Glass and metal scatter like shrapnel, the blast sending Oliver flying across the room. You land gracefully, lightning still crackling around your arms. As you step onto the platform, Oliver rises, bow drawn and ready.
"Y/N, stand down!" he commands, just as Barry speeds in.
"How the hell..." Barry mutters, taking in the wreckage.
They knew you were powerful, but breaking out of the pipeline was supposed to be impossible.
"Move, Oliver," you growl, advancing. "I don't want to hurt you."
Barry lunges at you, but you sense his move before he makes it. You blast him with a bolt of lightning, sending him crashing down the hall.
"Y/N!" Oliver shouts, more urgently now. Your eyes narrow, glowing brighter.
"What's the plan, Oliver? Are you going to talk it out with me, babe?" You mockingly pout, and he pulls the bowstring back even tighter.
"I'm not saying it again," he warns, aiming straight at your chest.
"Good, neither am I." You lunge forward, snatching the bow from his grip and hurling it across the room.
He grabs your arm, twisting it behind your back at an unnatural angle. You scream, but instead of yielding, you snap your own arm, freeing yourself from his hold. With your good hand, you throw a punch, but Oliver catches it, flipping you over his shoulder. You hit the ground hard, gasping as he looms over you.
"I told you to stand down, Y/N."
You laugh through the pain, eyes glowing once more. You hurl him across the room with a surge of electricity. "And I told you to move."
As Oliver collapses, you take a moment to catch your breath. Then, you walk over and use your good arm to grip him tight, dragging his limp body across the debris. With a practiced gentleness, you prop him up against the wall, adjusting his head so it rests back comfortably.
You kneel down, brushing his hair away from his forehead. For a moment, you let your fingers linger, tracing the familiar lines of his face.
"It's for the greater good," you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, "I still have a mission to finish."
Before the island, you and Oliver Queen shared glances, tension, a kiss on a rooftop that never got the chance to become anything more.
Then he died.
So you bled the soft parts of yourself dry and became your own weapon. Now, five years later, you're both back in Star(ling) City—hardened, dangerous, and forced to work together.
But Oliver doesn’t recognize who you are now.
And when a mission goes sideways, everything explodes.
Oliver Queen x Reader
Before the island, Oliver Queen was a storm in a tailored suit.
Loud, beautiful, infuriating.
You weren’t in love with him.
But you were circling it.
You knew him the way people knew hurricanes.
By pressure. By instinct. By the damage he left behind.
He was the Queen heir — smug and dangerous, charming in a way that made your stomach twist. And every time he looked at you across some glittering event, it felt like gravity shifting.
He never asked for your number.
But he always found you.
A hand on your lower back. His voice low in your ear. That lazy grin that made your skin burn.
You told yourself it was nothing.
A flirtation. A bad idea with a beautiful face.
But there were moments.
Tiny things.
The time he ducked out of a party just to sit on the rooftop with you, fingers brushing yours as you passed a stolen bottle of champagne back and forth.
The way he’d say your name — slower than necessary, like he liked the taste of it.
The kiss.
God, that kiss.
You hadn’t planned it.
You were arguing — half-drunk, half-laughing — and suddenly he was inches from your face. Eyes darker than you'd ever seen them.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you’d whispered.
“Like what?” he asked, already knowing.
“Like you mean it.”
He kissed you anyway.
And you let him.
You didn’t sleep together.
He left you with a smile and a soft, "See you around."
And you never did.
The Queen’s Gambit went down three weeks later.
And Oliver Queen, for all the privilege and bravado he’d carried like armor, died.
You didn’t cry.
You’d known better than to count on him.
But something cracked inside you. Quiet. Deep.
You didn’t know what to do with that grief.
So you did what you’d always done — you ran.
Only this time, you didn’t run away.
You ran into it.
You disappeared.
Trained with mercenaries. Learned from killers. Followed whispers of death and justice across continents.
You stopped needing protection.
You became the thing people needed protection from.
By the time you came back to Starling, you were a ghost of the girl he used to flirt with.
And by then, the hood was already legend.
You’d heard the stories — a vigilante taking down white-collar criminals, swift and brutal.
But you didn’t believe it until you saw him.
Until you were on the same rooftop, chasing the same target, and he turned —
And those eyes found yours through the dark.
He froze.
You didn’t.
Your blade was at the dealer’s throat before Oliver could even speak. And when it was done — when the man was unconscious and bleeding at your feet — you finally turned to him.
He hadn’t moved.
Just stared.
Like he’d seen a ghost.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” you said flatly.
His mouth twitched. Something like a smile. Something shattered.
“So were you.”
You didn’t ask where he’d been.
And he didn’t ask what you’d become.
Not then.
But it didn’t take long before your paths crossed again.
Then again.
Until silence turned into strategy.
And tension turned into proximity.
You weren’t a team.
Not really.
But the streets ran cleaner when you worked together.
And slowly, too slowly, he let you in.
But the more he saw of you, the more you saw it in his eyes — that flicker of recognition trying to claw its way back through guilt and grief.
He didn’t know what to make of you now.
You weren’t the girl he once kissed on a rooftop.
You were sharper. Colder. You moved like you didn’t need anyone — especially not him.
But sometimes, when it was quiet…
When you were both bruised and breathing and the world outside had gone still…
He’d look at you like he almost remembered how to love you.
And that hurt worse than the blade in your ribs ever could.
The door to the bunker shuts hard behind you.
Not slammed, not quite.
But heavy. Final. Like it’s sealing you in.
You drop your weapons on the metal table without ceremony — a blade still slick with blood, the black sheath echoing as it lands. You don’t take your gloves off yet. Not because you forgot. But because your hands are still shaking.
You breathe in through your nose.
Exhale through your teeth.
You are not sorry.
And that’s going to be a problem.
The overhead fluorescents hum softly.
A distant monitor beeps.
The med cabinet’s light flickers as you open it.
You don’t need stitches. Not this time.
But your ribs burn and there’s dried blood running down the inside of your suit — collateral damage from someone who deserved worse than they got.
You unclip your vest. Peel it off like skin. Underneath, your black undershirt clings to sweat, to impact bruises, to everything you haven’t said yet.
You hear him before you see him.
Boots on concrete. Measured. Controlled.
He walks in like the whole world is pressing down on his shoulders — and for a second, you hate him for how calm he looks.
His arms are crossed. His jaw’s locked tight.
But his eyes?
His eyes look like they’ve already started the argument.
You don’t turn.
“If you’re going to tell me I went too far,” you mutter, voice low, “don’t waste your breath.”
There’s silence. Thick. Stifling.
Then Oliver’s voice — razor-sharp, quiet.
“He begged.”
The breath you take is slow.
Measured.
Not because you feel guilty.
But because you don’t.
And you know he hears it.
“I did what had to be done.”
“No,” he says, stepping closer, voice getting harder. “You did what was easy.”
You finally turn.
And everything between you tightens.
He’s a few feet away now.
Still holding it together.
Still trying not to feel too much.
But you’re not here to be gentle.
“You froze,” you say evenly. “I didn’t.”
His expression flickers. Just a little.
“That’s not what happened.”
“No?” You take a step closer. “Because it looked like you hesitated. Looked like I had to clean up your mess.”
That breaks something.
“Don’t,” he says. Low. Cold. “Don’t act like this is about me being weak.”
You don’t flinch.
“I’m not acting.”
He’s breathing harder now.
Not from exhaustion.
From you.
“You used to be better than this.”
The words slip out like they taste bitter.
Your jaw tightens. “You used to see me.”
“I still do.”
“No, Oliver.” Your voice drops. “You see a ghost. The girl from the rooftop. The one you kissed and forgot and buried when the Queen’s Gambit went under.”
His mouth opens. Shuts. There’s pain behind his eyes now — and you hate that it still makes you ache.
You step in. Close enough to feel his breath.
“I’m not her anymore,” you whisper. “I bled her out years ago.”
He’s shaking his head. Not denying it. Just trying to swallow it.
“I didn’t want this version of you,” he says, quiet.
“Then you shouldn’t have left.”
That lands like a slap.
And you mean it.
You mean every word.
His voice drops. Barely audible.
“I lost five years of my life.”
“And I lived every second of them,” you snap. “Alone. Angry. Becoming the kind of person who doesn’t need someone like you telling her how to do this.”
Oliver exhales. Looks away.
And that — that look — it splinters something raw between you.
Because he still can’t accept that the girl he once flirted with at parties is gone.
And you can’t accept that he wants her back more than he wants you now.
You turn back toward the med table, chest heaving, trying to get control of your breath, your voice, your rage.
Then, softly:
“I’m not sorry for what I did.”
Silence.
You hear him step forward. Slowly. Deliberately.
Then his voice — low, level, quiet in the worst way:
“I know.”
You turn.
And this time?
The air shifts.
Because the next words are close.
Too close.
And you’re both about to break.
Your chest rises and falls too fast.
You’re not out of breath — not from the mission. Not even from the pain in your side.
But the air feels thin. Like all the oxygen has been replaced with tension.
You can feel his gaze on you. Heavy. Calculating.
Like he’s still trying to figure out who you are.
And you’re sick of it.
"Say it," you whisper.
You don’t yell. You don’t have to.
The words hit harder because they’re quiet.
Oliver’s standing near the center of the bunker, arms still tense from whatever fury he’s choking down. The bruises on his jaw are blooming violet, dried blood at his collarbone.
He looks like a man unraveling beautifully.
And it should terrify you.
But you just want to tear him open.
"Say it," you repeat. “Whatever it is. Whatever you’ve been biting back since the second we walked in here.”
His mouth opens, closes. He paces one step. Then another.
Then he stops.
Looks up.
“You scare me.”
The words land like a slap.
You freeze. Not because it surprises you — but because he means it.
Every syllable is soaked in it.
You stare. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says, voice low. Not cruel. Just… bare.
“You scare me because you don’t hesitate. Because you fight like you don’t care if you walk away. Because you don’t flinch anymore, even when you should.”
He takes a slow step forward. One hand curled into a fist, the other twitching like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or push you away.
“And I used to think I was the one who came back broken,” he says. “But then you looked that man in the eye tonight and didn’t blink while you drove your blade into his shoulder.”
His voice catches.
“And I realized I don’t know who the hell you are anymore.”
The silence stretches.
It buzzes in your ears like static.
Your blood feels too hot in your veins.
You swallow, once. “Then why keep me around?”
Oliver’s mouth parts like he might deflect — deny — retreat.
But he doesn’t.
His voice drops into something quieter. Something that sounds too much like a confession.
“Because I can’t let you go.”
That’s when it happens.
The shift.
The air changes.
Something between you snaps, but not in half — it snaps tight.
You can feel it pull. Between your ribs. Low in your stomach. Beneath your skin.
Oliver steps in — and your backs are no longer straight. Your spines curve toward each other like they were always meant to close the space.
“You think I don’t see you?” he breathes. “I see everything.”
His hand is at your wrist now. Light. Testing.
“I see the way you hold it in. The way you fight like it’s penance. The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching—like you’re daring me to stop you.”
You swallow, hard.
He leans in, close enough that his forehead almost brushes yours. His voice barely a breath.
“You’re still bleeding. I just don’t think you know it.”
You shove him.
Hard.
And the contact sets everything off.
He stumbles back two steps — and in one breath, he’s lunging again.
It’s not a brawl. It’s a controlled fire.
You swing — he catches your arm. You twist, drop your weight, spin around him and land a palm to his chest that knocks him a foot back.
He smiles. It’s dark.
He rushes again. His shoulder collides with yours, driving you into the nearest wall — you twist and use the momentum to lock him by the forearm.
It’s not a spar anymore.
It’s grief in motion.
You’re both breathing hard now, chests heaving with more than just adrenaline.
He grabs your wrist again. This time with real intent.
You push your leg between his — twist him — shove him off balance again.
Your bodies crash into each other like magnets fighting the inevitable.
Until your back hits the wall — and he’s right there — so close you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.
You’re pinned between his forearm and the wall, your faces inches apart.
Your breathing syncs.
You’re both frozen.
And then—
He looks at your mouth.
Just for a second.
And something breaks.
He kisses you like it’s a sin.
Like he’s already damned, and this is his favorite part of hell.
His lips are rough. His grip bruising.
You gasp — and that’s all the opening he needs. His mouth slants over yours again, desperate and messy and so full of everything he can’t say.
You kiss him back with five years of rage.
You bite his lip when he leans in too close, and he groans into your mouth like it’s the first sound he’s allowed himself to make all night.
His hand tangles in your hair. Yours fists in his shirt.
Summary: A mission goes wrong, leaving reader gravely injured. Oliver, consumed by worry, carries her back to the base, refusing to let her slip away.
Word count: 1009
Masterlist
Oliver Queen Masterlist
The night was cold, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood—my blood. I struggled to keep my eyes open, but the pain in my side was like fire spreading through my body. My breaths came in short, ragged gasps as I collapsed against the damp alley wall.
Footsteps pounded against the pavement. Fast. Desperate.
"(Y/N)!"
Oliver's voice cut through the haze clouding my mind. A second later, strong arms caught me before I hit the ground completely. His scent—leather, sweat, and something undeniably him—wrapped around me as he scooped me up, holding me against his chest.
"Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice rough with worry. "You're gonna be okay, just hold on."
I wanted to reassure him, to crack some joke about how he worried too much, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness tugged at the edges of my vision as I weakly grasped at the front of his suit.
"You... came for me," I managed to whisper.
His jaw clenched. "Of course I did."
He moved fast, faster than I'd ever felt him move before, his arms tightening around me like he was afraid I'd slip away if he loosened his grip even a little. Every step sent jolts of pain through me, but I could barely register it anymore. All I could focus on was the steady rhythm of Oliver's heartbeat against my ear.
"Almost there," he muttered. "Just stay awake, (Y/N). Don't you dare close your eyes."
I tried. God, I tried. But everything was getting so heavy.
The next thing I knew, the world shifted again, and suddenly, I was on a cold table, the harsh fluorescent lights of the Arrowcave burning into my retinas. Oliver was right there, his hands pressing down on my wound, his face drawn with fear.
"Felicity!" he barked. "I need medical supplies, now!"
"I'm on it!" I heard her frantic typing in the background.
Oliver's fingers trembled slightly as he applied pressure to my wound. It was rare to see him like this—scared. But his voice, though tight, was steady. "You're not dying on me, (Y/N). You hear me?"
I forced a weak smirk. "You... worried, Queen?"
His eyes flashed with something intense. "Of course I'm worried," he admited, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb brushed against my cheek, gentle, reverent. "You're not just another soldier in the field. "You're—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "You're important to me."
I tried to hold onto his gaze, but the pain was too much. My body gave in, and the last thing I felt was Oliver's hand tightening around mine.
"I've got you," he murmured. "I'm not letting you go."
Darkness swallowed me whole, but somehow, I knew he'd keep his promise.
--
Pain was the first thing I registered as I slowly drifted back into consciousness. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed through my side, but it was nothing compared to the crushing exhaustion weighing down my limbs.
I tried to move, but a firm hand gently pressed me back down.
"Don't," Oliver's voice was low, rough, and closer than I expected. "You're still healing."
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim lighting of the Arrowcave. My head swam as I tried to take in my surroundings. The monitors hummed softly, casting a blue glow across the room. Felicity and Diggle were nowhere in sight. But Oliver— was right beside me, sitting on the edge of the medical table, his hand still gripping mine.
"You stayed," I murmured, my voice hoarse.
His jaw tightened. "Of course I did."
I tried to sit up, but pain flared through my side, making me suck in a sharp breath. Immediately, Oliver's other hand came to rest on my shoulder, steadying me.
"Take it easy," he warned.
I let out a weak laugh. "When do I ever take it easy?"
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he just stared at me, like he was trying to convince himself that I was really here—that I was still breathing. Then, before I could say anything else, his grip on my hand tightened.
"You almost died, (Y/N)." His voice was raw, his usual controlled exterior cracking at the edges. "I carried you in here, covered in blood, and for a second, I thought—" He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. "I thought I was going to lose you."
I swallowed hard. I'd seen Oliver worried before, but never like this. Never this shaken.
"I'm still here," I whispered, squeezing his hand as best as I could.
His fingers curled around mine, like he was grounding himself in the warmth of my touch. "Yeah," he murmured. "You are."
A heavy silence settled between us. His thumb brushed absently over my knuckles, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart sutter.
"Oliver..." I hesitated. "I've been doing this long enough to know the risks. I knew what I was walking into."
His jaw clenched. "That doesn't mean I have to be okay with it."
I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could, he let out a breath, his head dipping slightly as if the weight of the moment was too much.
"I'm not okay with it, (Y/N)," he admitted. "Because if something ever happened to you—" His voice wavered, and for the first time, I saw it. The fear. The vulnerability. "I can't lose you."
A lump formed in my throat.
I could've played it off, made some sarcastic comment to lighten the tension. But this wasn't a moment for deflection. Not this time.
So instead, I lifted my free hand, weak as it was, and rested it against his cheek. His breath hitched, but he didn't pull away.
"You won't lose me," I promised softly.
His eyes searched mine, something unreadable flashing through them. Then, slowly, he turned his face into my touch, pressing a gentle kiss against the inside of my palm.
April Roberta Merlyn, known affectionately as "Robbie" or "Goldie," was born into a complex family with connections to both the Merlyn and Queen families. Her childhood was marked by the dynamic relationships within her family, including her close bond with her biological father, Tommy Merlyn, and her adoptive father figure, Oliver Queen.
Raised primarily by Tommy, April grew up as a daddy's girl, cherishing her time with him and viewing him as the best father figure in her eyes. Her relationship with her Aunt Laurel also played a significant role in her upbringing, with Laurel serving as a maternal figure and role model for April.
Despite the challenges and turmoil within her family, April developed a protective streak, often finding herself entangled in their struggles and challenges. Her loyalty to her family was unwavering, even as she grappled with her own fears and vulnerabilities.
———————————
Personality:
April Roberta Merlyn is a dynamic and multifaceted individual. She is ambitious and determined, always striving to achieve her goals and make her mark on the world. Her wit and charisma make her a natural at connecting with others, and her courage and compassion shine through in her interactions.
April is also creative and imaginative, often using her talents in writing and photography to express herself and capture the beauty of the world around her. Her loyalty and kindness are unwavering, making her a reliable and supportive friend.
Despite her positive attributes, April has her struggles. She can sometimes be lazy and unmotivated, preferring the comfort of her own world to facing challenges head-on. Darkened by revenge for what happened to her father and hatred towards her grandfather. Trust issues and feelings of hopelessness occasionally cloud her judgment, leading to moments of jealousy and rash decisions.
However, her faithfulness and respect for others usually guide her back on track. April's journey is one of growth and self-discovery, as she learns to balance her strengths and weaknesses while navigating the complexities of her family's legacy and her own aspirations.
Skills and Interests:
April is a talented writer and aspiring copywriter/content writer, with a passion for storytelling and creative expression. She enjoys photography, writing, and occasionally playing the guitar in her free time. In her youth, she created videos using her Barbies, showcasing her early creative instincts.
April also has experience playing baseball and possesses basic combat skills, having learned archery and firearm handling from Oliver, Diggle, and Laurel. Despite her initial reluctance to engage in combat, April eventually embraces these skills as a means of self-defense and protection for herself and her loved ones.
Relationships:
While April is single for the most part, she develops occasional crushes on individuals like Dick Grayson, Superboy, and others. Her friendships extend to superheroes like Supergirl, The Flash, Batgirl, The Atom, Starfire, Miss Martian, and Beast Boy, among others, highlighting her ability to form meaningful connections beyond her family.
--------------------------------
Likes:
Writing and storytelling
Photography
Playing the guitar
Making videos using her Barbies (when she was younger)
Baseball
Spending time with her family and friends
Watching comfort movies
Dislikes:
Betrayal and manipulation
Feeling trapped or powerless
Uncertainty and instability
Conflict and violence
Being lied to or deceived
Feeling isolated or alone
Professional Aspirations:
April aspires to become a copywriter or content writer, leveraging her passion for writing and storytelling to pursue a career in creative and strategic communication. She envisions herself using her skills to craft compelling narratives and connect with audiences through impactful and engaging content.
~~~~~~~~~
Strengths:
Ambitious and determined
Charismatic and witty
Courageous and compassionate
Respectful and kind
Creative and imaginative
Faithful and loyal
Weaknesses:
Tendency towards laziness and lack of motivation
Struggles with trust issues and feelings of hopelessness
Prone to bouts of jealousy and rash decision-making
Vulnerable to manipulation and exploitation by others
Difficulty managing intense emotions and conflicts
Can become hateful and switch sides depending on the situation
Challenges & Turmoils:
April has faced numerous challenges and traumas shaped by the tumultuous events surrounding her family's past and their involvement in dangerous conflicts. The custody battle between Oliver and Malcolm placed her in the center of a power struggle, along with issues within the League of Assassins, forcing her to confront her own fears and vulnerabilities.
The death of her father, Tommy Merlyn, in a tragic accident deeply impacted April, leaving her grappling with grief and loss. The traumatic events surrounding her aunt, Thea Queen, further tested April's resilience and fortitude, exposing her to violence and danger that threatened her sense of security and stability.
Despite these challenges, April has demonstrated remarkable strength and resilience, navigating the complexities of her family's legacy and finding her own path amidst the chaos and turmoil. Her journey towards self-discovery and healing promises to be a compelling narrative of growth and redemption.
———————————————————
->Discovery of Oliver's Secret Identity:
One evening, during a lavish party at the Queen mansion, chaos erupted as intruders infiltrated the premises, sending guests fleeing for safety. Amidst the confusion, April found herself separated from her family, lost in the crowd as panic spread throughout the house.
As she sought refuge on an upper floor, April stumbled upon a masked figure clad in green, engaged in a fierce battle with the intruders across the hall. Fear gripped her as she instinctively reached for the nearest objects, hurling them towards the intruder in a desperate attempt to defend herself.
To her surprise, the masked figure approached her with caution, his voice gentle and reassuring as he spoke. April's initial fear gave way to curiosity as the figure revealed himself to be none other than her uncle, Oliver Queen, known to the world as the vigilante Green Arrow.
In disbelief, April questioned Oliver's motives and identity, uncertain of whether to trust him. However, Oliver's gentle demeanor and familiarity with her family's history convinced her of his sincerity.
With a mixture of shock and awe, April watched as Oliver removed his hood, revealing his face beneath the mask. In that moment, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and April realized the truth about her uncle's secret identity.
Overwhelmed by the revelation, April struggled to comprehend the implications of Oliver's double life as both her beloved uncle and the masked vigilante who fought to protect their city. However, as Oliver extended his hand in reassurance, April made a silent promise to keep his secret, knowing that their bond as family was stronger than any mask or disguise.
With a newfound sense of understanding and connection, April emerged from the encounter with a deeper appreciation for her uncle's heroism and the sacrifices he made to keep their family safe. As she reunited with her loved ones, April carried with her the weight of Oliver's secret, a silent guardian of the truth amidst the chaos of their tumultuous lives.
—————————————————
Archery and Marksmanship:
April possesses a natural talent for archery, honing her skills with dedication and passion. She first discovered her love for the sport under the guidance of her uncle Oliver, who recognized her potential and encouraged her to pursue marksmanship as a means of self-defense.
Though April also knows how to handle firearms, her favorite weapon of choice is a crossbow. She finds comfort and familiarity in the weapon's design and mechanics, favoring its precision and versatility in combat situations.
Whether at home or at the Arrow Cave, April can often be found practicing her marksmanship with her crossbow, fine-tuning her aim and mastering her technique. She approaches each shot with determination and focus, channeling her passion and conviction into every arrow she looses.
As she grows in skill and confidence, April embraces her aunt Thea's words of wisdom, remembering what she's fighting for with every shot she takes.
The quote, "If you remember what you're fighting for, you'll never miss your target.”, becomes a mantra for April, guiding her in both her marksmanship and her life's journey as a guardian of justice and defender of her family.
With her unwavering determination and her trusty crossbow in hand, April stands ready to face whatever challenges may come her way, knowing that as long as she keeps her eyes on her target and her heart set on her purpose, she will never miss the mark.
--------------------------------------------
—April Roberta Merlyn is a young woman shaped by the legacy of her family and her own personal trials, continuously growing and discovering her path.
As she navigates the challenges ahead, one thing is certain: her story is far from over, and the future holds endless possibilities for this resilient and determined heroine.
~~~~
That's all folks! Pls let me know what you think
Remember to like, comment and share
Warnings: arrow s1 spoilers, mentions of death, nightmares, weapons, violence, cursing, let me know if I missed any :)
Pairings: Oliver Queen x sister reader, Thea Queen x sister reader, Moira Queen x daughter reader
*not my gif*
Summary: When that yacht went down, you lost everything. But now, Oliver is back
A/N: Welcome to book place’s one year event!!
Inspired by: Paradise by Coldplay
Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work
When she was just a girl, she expected the world
“Have fun,” You smiled as you hugged your father, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.
He matched your smile, hugging you back tightly, “Don’t get too comfortable around here without us,” He teased, “We’ll be back before you know it.”
“We’re counting on it.” Your mother said with a smile, watching as her husband turned to her with a large grin.
As the two of them said goodbye, you turned towards your twin brother, and you scoffed playfully, “Just get out of here.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hold back the smile that broke out on your face.
He matched your sarcasm by crossing his arms over his chest and lightly glaring at you, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll miss you too.”
The grin widened on your face and you took a step forward, wrapping your arms around Oliver’s torso as he hugged you back in return.
Your brother turned his head slightly and planted a kiss on the side of your head in his own farewell.
“Make sure the yacht doesn’t sink.” You joked, not quite understanding the power behind your words.
“Don’t worry,” Oliver reached out and teasingly ruffled your hair, “I know how to swim.”
But it flew away from her reach
“-and then the boat went down,” The officer in front of you had his hat off and he stared at the three of you sympathetically.
Immediately, Thea fell against your mother with a loud cry leaving her lips as tears began to roll down her face like a waterfall. Moira tightly grasped onto her and held her to her chest while they sobbed together for the loss of your father and brother.
But you stood there, feet rooted in place and heart frozen over, you were sure that it had stopped beating.
Your brother- your twin brother- was dead. Your other half was gone. And though the two of you didn’t always see eye to eye on everything, you were still each other's best friend. You knew everything about each other and now that he was gone, you were certain that you would fade away into nothing.
Because without Oliver, where did you stand? How could you be expected to walk through life without your partner in crime by your side?
You were barely able to register the way your mother moved to wrap an arm around you, and how her and Thea clung to you. But you were still yet to move, to show any sign of what you were feeling, to look away from the officer.
“I understand that this is a lot to take in-“ He didn’t even finish his sentence before you slammed the door in his face.
Thea and your mother whipped their heads up and their lips parted in shock to see your arm still outstretched to where you closed the door.
Without a word, you shrugged off their hands and turned on your heel and walked away.
So she ran away in her sleep
“At least take a moment to think about this,” Moiras voice was desperate, begging, “We barely just had a their funeral, I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind-“
You cut her off as you slammed down the top of your suitcase and leveled a glare at her, “I am in the right frame of mind,” You moved around her to begin collecting things off of your desk and placing them in a bag, “And what I’m thinking is that I need to get the hell out of the place that’s reminding me so much of my dead father and twin brother.”
The words made her recoil, as if struck, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You had spoken the truth, it hurt more to stay in a place that reminded you so much of them than not.
“You can’t just leave your family at a time like this,” She whispered, eyes filling up with tears.
It seemed like all of you had cried enough tears to last a lifetime after the reality of the situation had finally crashed over you at the funeral and you had broken down in a pile of sobs. You were surprised to see that she could still cry, you had thought that all three of you would have long since run out of tears.
Finally, you sighed and gently placed your bag down, softening at your mothers voice and making your way over to where she stood before wrapping your arms around her, “It’ll be alright,” It was an empty promise, and you both knew it.
She sniffled, holding you against her tightly and whispering in your ear, “Where are you even going?”
You cleared your throat, slowly pulling away, “I don’t know yet.” You answered honestly, “But I promise I’ll call you soon to let you know I’m alright.”
There was hesitation and fear clear as day present in her face, but you paid it no mind as you picked your bags up and made your way out of the room, bidding her one last farewell.
You froze in your steps though when you sucked in a sharp breath. Thea was standing right outside your door, staring up at you with those wide eyes of hers.
“Where are you going?” She asked softly.
A sigh left your lips and you gently brought the girl in for a hug, “I just have to go away for a little while, Thea,” You whispered, “I need to clear my head.”
She bit down on her lip and averted her gaze from your own, “For how long?”
“I don’t know. But I promise, I will be back.”
Dreamed of para-para-paradise
Your eyes snapped open and you flew up into a sitting position, breathing coming out rapidly and in gasping spurts.
It had been three years since the yacht went down and you were still yet to come home after all that time. You had moved to a nearby city, only communicating with your family every so often to let them know that you were still alright.
But no matter how much time passed, you could never shake that feeling of wrongness.
Somewhere inside you, against every bone of better judgment, you believed that Oliver was still alive. You knew it was wrong and you knew that it was nothing but false hope. But no matter what you tried, no matter how much you begged yourself to move on, you couldn’t.
How could you? After being told what had happened and it was as if half of your soul had been ripped out?
The nightmares began the day you recived the news. Senerios flashing in your mind of what could have happened. Of all the different painful ways your brother could have died. Your mind was a never ending torment of the whole thing.
Once you were finally able to get your breathing under control, you dropped your head into your hands and ran them down your face with a groan.
Your head picked up after a moment and your eyes subconsciously found the small picture frame that sat on your beside table.
In it, Oliver had his arm slung over your shoulder with a wide grin as you doubled over laughing at something that he undoubtedly said. It was your sixteenth birthday and you both looked so happy, so free. So oblivious to what was to come.
It had taken you about two and a half years before you could put that picture up without feeling like you were painfully being stabbed in the heart. But even now, it wasn’t the easiest thing to look at.
Para-para-paradise, para-para-paradise
Five years. That’s how long it’s been. That’s how much time passed and you had finally, after all these years, begun to learn how to burden your pain correctly. How to be able to still live your life without him by your side.
That’s why you decided to return home for the first time since the funeral.
Just a few days ago, you had called home with the news and both your mother and Thea seemed ecstatic, much to your relief. You had been worried that they would scoff and turn their noses up at you that you were finally coming back after all these years of pushing them away.
It wouldn’t be a permanent move, just for a few days, to see how things were. Because despite everything you had been through in the last few years, you still had a life that you built in your new home for yourself, and you weren’t quite ready to abandon it entirely.
Now, as you stood, staring up at your childhood home, the one you had almost never dreamed of returning to, you were hit with a wave of reluctance.
What if too much had changed over the years? What if your family had just felt inclined to allow you back, only doing so because of the guilt that they felt?
You nawed on your bottom lip as you contemplated the possibilities, but ultimately came to the conclusion that you needed to get over yourself and you confidently pushed the door open with slightly more force than was probably necessary.
“Y/n?” Thea’s voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears the second you stepped into the entryway.
Quickly, your head snapped over to where your sister who was not so little anymore and smiling brightly, came bounding down the stairs and flinging herself across the room to come crashing into your arms.
“Thea,” You breathed out, allowing your eyes to flutter shut in contempt as you hugged her tightly to your chest. You had missed her far too much.
A new voice- more like a gasp- reached your ears and you opened your eyes to come face to face with your mother.
Quietly, Thea slipped out of your hold and stepped back to give you and your mother a moment.
Moira brought a shaky hand up to her mouth as tears filled in her eyes. It was almost as if she hadn’t expected you to actually come today.
“Hey, mom,” You greeted quietly, being the one to take the striding steps to meet her where she stood in the doorway and wrap your arms around her.
“Oh,” She breathed out, hugging you to her tightly and placing a tearful kiss on the side of your head, “I missed you so much, sweetheart.”
Every time she closed her eyes
You let out a loud laugh, throwing your head back and letting your eyes crinkle up as giggles left your mothers and sisters lips as well at the story Moira had just told.
The three of you were sitting around the dining room table, chatting about what had happened in the last five years and eating lunch.
At first, you thought it would be an awkward and stiff conversation, but you soon realized that your family missed you just as much as you had missed them, so you were able to flow into a lunch that consisted of laughter and catching up.
“Ma’am,” A voice tentatively called out from the doorway, a worker stood there hesitantly, seemingly embarrassed for interrupting, “There’s a phone call for you.”
Moira was still sobering up her chuckles as she answered, “Take a message and tell them I’ll get back to them as soon as I can.”
“Ma’am,” She said again, a little bit more confident this time, “It’s the hospital.”
All three of you fell into complete silence as the words dawned on you. The only family you still had was sitting in this room, so what could they want?
Wordlessly, your mother stood up and followed the worker out of the room, leaving you and Thea to share a worried glance behind her back.
A few moments later, you heard a sharp gasp come from the direction and you and your sister immediately shot to your feet and rushed into the room.
Your mother stood in the middle of the room with a phone grasped tightly in her hand and tears flowing freely down her face with a hand placed over her mouth for the second time that day.
“Mom? Mom?” Panic began settling in the pit of your stomach as you hurried to her side and gently took a hold of one of her shoulders, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Painfully slow, she turned her body to face you and over her shoulder you could see Thea watching the two of you with worry.
Your mother then breathed out the one thing that made your heart stop.
“Oliver…”
“Ollie?” Thea came to your side, “What about him?”
“He’s… he’s alive.” Moira cried out, dropping the phone onto the carpeted floor and throwing her arms around the two of you.
But you were frozen in shock.
Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was alive. Oliver was-
“Oh my god,” You sobbed out, legs giving out and falling to the floor. You could no longer support yourself.
He was alive.
When she was just a girl she expected the world
“He’s right through here,” You barely even registered the doctor's words as he led you through the halls, “But just be careful Mrs and Miss Queen, this isn’t the same Oliver that you lost.”
Forcefully, Moira made herself plant her feet as she watched you practically float through the air and towards the door that had just been guestered to. As much as she longed to follow after you, she knew that you needed more than anyone to go in before a single other person could see him. She owed you that much.
For some incomprehensible reason, your mind was completely blank, almost as if you had gone into autopilot. Nothing of what you had done as soon as you heard the news had been by your own free will. It was as if something had possessed you and tossed your conscience to the side.
You opened the door and took a step inside. The snapping sound of it closing seemed to finally break you out of whatever trance you had been placed in and you blinked once. Twice.
A very tall figure that stood with his back facing towards you turned around at the sound, and you felt like you were going to pass out.
He was Oliver Jonas Queen, there was no doubt about it, but he had changed so much. He was taller, more muscular, so much more mature looking.
There was something behind those stunning blue eyes of his that automatically led you to believe that he had become a guarded man, holding secrets that you couldn’t even begin to guess.
Something about being on that island- as you had briefly been informed on the way over- had changed him. The only thing you couldn’t tell from a single glance was if it was for better or worse.
“Ollie,” You breathed out. It was the only thing that you could say.
“N/n,” He smiled softly, striding across the room and gently wrapped his strong arms around you.
“I-I-“ You stuttered incomprehensibly before throwing your arms around his torso in a desperate manner, “Ollie-“ You sobbed into his chest, a fresh set of tears emerging from your eyes and staining his- no doubt- new shirt.
He didn’t seem to care in the slightest though, only strengthening his hold around you, letting out an almost inaudible sigh of contentment as he did so.
“You’re here,” You whispered, almost as if saying the words aloud would send him away again, making him disappear into nothing.
“I’m here.” He repeated, placing a kiss on your forehead, “I’m here.” There was such intensity in his relief that you began to fear all the things he had been forced to go through.
You pulled away with a tearful smile, the first genuine one that you wore since before his disappearance and cupped his cheek with a disbelieving laugh, “You’re really here.”
But it flew away from her reach
“Thea?” You knocked on her open door and stuck your head in with a wide grin, “It’s time for dinner, you coming?”
She snapped her head up from staring at her hands from where she sat on her bed and you immediately realized the way her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tear marks.
Worry grasped onto your body and wrapped itself around you as you automatically rushed to her side and crouched down before her, older sister instincts kicking in, “Hey, hey,” You said softly, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Your sister shook her head, chuckling tearfully and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, “No, nothing. I’m just so happy.”
A smile of relief grew on your face when you realized that she was alright and you reached up to gently swipe a stray piece of hair away from her eyes, “I know, I am too.”
“It’s just- I finally have both of my siblings back.” She breathed out with a wide grin.
Your smile, however, faltered at her words, “What do you mean?” You asked quietly.
Her eyes flitted up to you and she bit down on her lip guiltily when she realized what she said and she shrugged, “No, it- it’s just- it always felt like I lost both you and Oliver when his ship went down.”
Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach and your breath caught in your throat, “Oh, Thea-“
“I’m not trying to make you upset,” She immediately rushed out, “It’s just- you left right after Oliver disappeared and it just felt like both of you had died even though I knew that you hadn’t.”
Tears of your own began to fill your eyes, one of sadness for the first time that day, “I’m so sorry.” You whispered, “I never- never meant to do that to you, Thea. I-I just couldn’t stay after everything-“
“And I know that,” She gave you a soft smile and squeezed your hand, “I know that you had to do what you had to do. I’m just happy that you’re both back.”
A smiled sadly, moving another piece of hair behind her hair, “I am too.”
And the bullets catch in her teeth
“Come on, you have to admit, that was fun.” You spoke with a large smile as you swung your arm around and linked it with your twin brothers.
Oliver smiled, placing his hands in his pockets with his arm still wrapped around yours, “It was.” He agreed.
The two of you had just gone out to lunch with Tommy, figuring that it would be best for all three of you to catch up at the same time, given that you all used to be- and still are- best friends.
You turned down an alleyway to take a shortcut to where you parked your car, happily chatting away with one another.
Ever since he got back, the two of you hardly left each other's sides. It felt more comfortable- safer- to be in the vicinity of each other whenever you could. Almost as if that would lessen the chances of the other being taken away once more.
“Freeze!” A deep voice sounded behind you all of a sudden, and you both halted in your steps, “Now turn around with your hands up.”
Quickly, your panic filled eyes flitted over to Oliver, making brief eye contact with him and he gave a subtle nod of his head to let you know to do as was said.
You both turned on your heels with your arms partially raised, and your breath caught in your throat when you caught sight of a man pointing a gun straight at you two with a ski mask pulled over his face.
“Give me your wallets.” He demanded.
No. No. No. No. No. No-
This couldn’t be happening. You just got Oliver back, you would not let anything take him away from you once again.
Quickly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your wallet, drawing the man’s attention away from your brother long enough for him to shift his body in front of yours slightly.
You stuck your arm out to hand it to the man, and when he moved the gun into one hand and began to reach for it, Oliver quickly stuck his own arm out, slamming his fist into the side of the man’s face.
You stumbled back as the man’s eyes rolled back and he fell unceremoniously to the ground. Knocked out cold before he even hit the pavement.
Oliver let out a sigh through his nose, not even flinching upon the impact of his fist with the man’s jaw before turning back towards you.
“Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, eyes scanning over you for any sign of injury.
All you could manage was a small nod of assurance.
Before the island, the only fights Oliver ever got in were bar fights. Ones filled with sloppy punches and slurred insults. Never had he ever actually learned how to fight for real, let alone know how to punch a man out cold in one go and not look even remotely fazed.
“What happened to you on that island?”
It was the dreaded question. The ‘do not go there’ topic. Something that every single person had been avoiding since his return.
The man stiffened in front of you, “I don’t want to talk about the island.”
There was that look again. The one you saw in the hospital when you first went to retrieve him. That guarded, cold look that held secrets that clearly had restricted access.
“We have to at some point,” Your voice was now coming out as begging, “It can’t be healthy to keep all that bottled up! God knows what you were forced to go through. And I just want to help-“
“You can help by leaving it alone.” He snapped.
At his words, your spine snapped upright and a hard look of your own overcame your features, “Fine.” You said in a cold tone that could rival his.
All at once, he softened and ran a hand down his face with a sigh, “Look, I’m sorry, n/n. It’s just-“ He took a stuttered breath, “It’s just a lot.”
You softened as well, “I know that,” You mumbled, crossing your arms over your chest, “And I’m not trying to force it out of you. I just want to be here if you need to talk about it.”
“I know,” He walked over and hugged you, “I know. And I appreciate that, n/n, I really do.”
Life goes on, it gets so heavy
“I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, Oliver!” You shouted.
Ever since that day in the alleyway, something seemed to change in your twin brother. No longer did he stick by you every available moment, he now distanced himself from you- from everybody.
“You’re always running off to god knows where, doing god knows what!” You continued, feelings anger and betrayal and nervousness rising inside of you, “We just got you back, and you seem hell bent on making us lose you again!”
Oliver stood stiffly across from you in the living room, arms crossed over his chest and head bowed to the floor. Not once did he shout back, he just took your words with that guarded exterior of his.
“Just talk to me!” You begged now, “I’m not asking you to tell me about those five years- that’s your own business to tell at your own leisure. But I’m your twin sister for god's sake! Tell me what’s going on with you now- in the present.”
“It’s… complicated.” He finally spoke and raised his head to meet your burning gaze, “I promise, I’m only trying to protect you-“
You let out a loud scoff, throwing your arms up mockingly, “Yeah, sure feels like it!”
Anger finally seeped through his mask and painted his features, “What do you want me to say, Y/n? What- you want me to be the same person that I was before the island? You want us to tell each other everything again as if we aren’t grown fucking adults?” His voice gradually raised throughout his small speech until you physically flinched back at the volume of it.
Both of you stood, chests heaving up and down in short pants as you tried to catch your breaths, and for a few moments, that was the only sound echoing in the vast room.
“Fine.” It was your turn to put on a cold exterior, “Fine, you’re right, Oliver. We don’t know each other and we don’t have to. Why would we? We’re ‘grown fucking adults’. We don’t need each other anymore. We’re not children.”
His arms dropped to his sides, “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
You shook your head and backed up, holding your hands up in surrender, “No, no. I think that’s exactly what you meant.”
“Y/n-“ He called, but it was too late. You had already stormed out of the room.
The wheel breaks the butterfly
“How did you know I’d be up here?” You mumbled, not lifting your head from where it rested upon your knees that were pulled to your chest.
Moira sighed, carefully lowering herself to sit beside you on the roof, “You used to come up here all the time whenever you and your brother got into a fight.”
You winced slightly, “You heard that?”
She hummed, “Put on quite a show for me and Thea… while on the other side of the house.”
“Sorry about that,” You whispered, taking your sleeve and rubbing the tear stains off your face.
“Oh,” She breathed out sympathetically, reaching over and rubbing your back comfortingly, “It’s alright, sweetheart. You both just said some things you didn’t mean, nothing you can’t come back from.”
You looked at her uncertainty, “Are you sure? We were both pretty brutal.”
Your mother wrapped her arm around your shoulder and allowed you to rest your head on her own, “That’s true, but you and I both know that you two can’t go very long in an argument without making up.”
“I know that,” You whispered, “But that was before. We’re both different people now.”
You missed the way she lifted her head to look at the window she had just crawled out of to come see you, “That’s true. I don't think either of you could last in your arguments as long as you used to.”
Confusion overtook your features and you turned your head up to her with furrowed eyebrows, but her eyes were trained elsewhere. You followed her line of vision and paused. Oliver stood on the roof, looking as if he had just climbed out.
Moira left a lingering kiss on the top of your head before walking back into the house, offering your brother a reassuring smile on her way.
Wordlessly, Oliver sat down beside you, staring out at the garden that you could overlook from where you were perched.
At the same time, you both turned to each other and synchronously said, “I’m sorry.”
You chuckled slightly when you did so, each relaxing slightly.
“I didn’t mean it- any of it.” Oliver said, turning apologetic.
“I know,” You stated, “Neither did I. It’s- it’s just that after everything we went through-“
He cut you off by wrapping an arm around your shoulders like your mother just had and pulling you into his side. Oliver dipped his head to give you a kiss on the top of your head, “I know. I know.”
The two of you fell into a silence that lasted until you finished watching the sun fully set.
Every tear a waterfall
“This is the first time I’m seeing this since the funeral.” You admitted, swinging your arms back and forth by your side.
Oliver turned to you, “Never felt like coming to visit me?” He teased.
You shook your head, “It wasn’t that.” You admitted, “I moved out as soon as the funeral was over.”
Your brother faltered in his steps before catching up to where you now stood, feet planted in front of his and your fathers empty graves.
“You moved out?” He asked in surprise, this being the first he was hearing of it.
“Yeah,” You laughed slightly, “The day you came back was actually the first day I had come to visit home. Looks like we both thought that would be the perfect day to do so. Maybe it’s a twin thing.” You hummed thoughtfully at the end.
“I-I didn’t know you left.” He stuttered out, turning to look at you.
You were slightly taken aback by the way he was taking the news, “Well, yeah… it hurt too much to stay here.” You explained, head tilting slightly as you tried to figure out why this was such a big deal to him.
“I thought- I thought you were still here after all this time.”
“Oliver,” You laughed slightly, “What’s the big deal? I’m here now.”
He shook his head, “It’s just- I thought you had mom and Thea to look after you all this time- and now I find out that you were alone for everything?”
You fell silent, finally seeing what the big deal was for him, “Oh,”
Tears shone in his eyes, “I went through all of it alone- but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to as well.”
“Ollie…” This was the first time since his return that you saw him get so emotionally upset over something.
“Why didn’t you stay with them? Why didn’t they stop you from leaving?” He asked suddenly, “They could’ve taken care of you-“
“Hey.” You cut him off sternly, taking his hand in your own and shaking it firmly to get his attention, “That was all my own decision. And besides, we’re both back now, so it doesn’t matter. We’re alright now.”
In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes
You laughed loudly as Oliver threw a piece of popcorn at you, “Oh, come on! You know it’s true!”
“It is not.” He scowled playfully.
Thea joined in your amusement, “Oh, it totally is!” She snickered, “You used to be too scared of the dark to sleep alone! I remember- you would always sleep with mom and dad!”
The three of you sat around the couches in the living room, munching on popcorn with a long- forgotten movie playing in the background.
“I did not!” He protested.
“Oh, yes you did, young man.” Moira smiled at the sight of her three children, all playfully bickering with one another as she entered the room.
“Mom!” He complained as yours and Theas cackling grew louder at her admitted statement.
“I’m sorry,” She shrugged, completely unapologetic, “I can only speak to the truth.” She jokingly wagged a finger at Thea, “And don’t you be laughing, young lady, remember what happened during the Christmas party when you were eight?”
Your sister's eyes immediately widened with horror and it was then Oliver’s turn to join in on your laughing.
“Mom!” She shrieked, “That’s not cool! Don’t bring that up!”
“And you,” Moira playfully narrowed her eyes at you, “Need I remind you of your seventeenth birthday fiasco?”
“No! No!” You quickly shook your head back and forth.
Your mother was the only one left laughing after that, but you couldn’t deny that this felt good. Joking around as a family again. All together.
In the night the stormy night away she'd fly
You tiptoed across the hallway towards Oliver’s room as if you were a child again. The two of you used to sneak a candy bar or two up to your rooms during the day and stash them under your pillows for the nighttime and would oftentimes have a mini party with one another while feasting on your treats.
This time though, it was different. There were no more candy parties. No more stifled giggles in the middle of the night. No more childhood.
About a few minutes ago, you had woken up with the feeling that something was off- that something was wrong. It was such a strong feeling that it became practically impossible to ignore. So you found yourself throwing off your covers and creeping to your twin brother's room to try and figure out what was wrong.
As soon as you stepped through the already opened door, you realized what the problem was.
Oliver was sitting on the edge of his bed with his head dropped like a rock into his hands while his elbows rested in his knees. He had a nightmare.
You didn’t know how you knew, it just came to you and there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that it was what happened.
Wordlessly, you shuffled into the room and sank down onto the mattress beside him.
At first, he tensed up and whipped around to face you, only to relax when he realized that it was just you.
The silence carried on between the two of you for a few minutes before you spoke up in a small whisper, “I used to get nightmares almost everyday after you and dad…” You trailed off and swallowed thickly.
“What did you do about them?” His voice was as soft as yours was. Your brother didn’t even question how you knew.
“Not enough,” You admitted, hugging your knees to your chest, “I let them plague my mind because I didn’t know what else to do about them.”
“What were they about?” You could tell from the sound of his voice that he didn’t want to push, but curiosity had taken over.
“How you- I mean how you could’ve…” You harshly blinked tears away, “Every nightmare would be a different scenario of how you could have died.”
Without another word, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you into a strong, side hug, planting a kiss on the side of your head as you leaned into his chest.
“They stopped, though.” You craned your neck to look up at him with a teary smile, “As soon as you came back. I haven’t had another one since.”
He shook his head softly, “I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.”
“Don’t apologize.” You copied his head shake, “There is absolutely nothing that you need to be sorry for. The ship going down wasn’t your fault.”
Oliver gazed at you with sad eyes, “But I wish it hadn’t happened.”
You let out a small laugh, “Of course,” Small giggles continued to pour out of you, “You can’t actually be glad something like that had happened.”
A smile pulled at the ends of his lips as he turned his head away from you to look out the window, “No, I suppose not.”
Dream of para-para-paradise
“What the hell is all of this?” You asked quietly, turning in a slow circle from where you stood.
“You know what this is.” Oliver called softly from behind you. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked- dare you say- nervous.
About an hour ago, he had rushed into your room, rambling nonsense about not wanting or being able to lie to you- his twin sister - anymore, and had practically dragged you out of the house and to an old abandoned warehouse that used to belong to your father.
“You’re the vigilante.” You breathed out.
Deep down, you felt as if you had somehow known all along, because now, it all made sense. The obvious secrets, the interaction with the mugger, the difference in, well, everything about him.
“Oliver.” You turned and looked him directly in the eyes, “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Oliver had been gone for a long time. Nobody really knew what happened in his time on Lian Yu, except for him. And he kept that information close to his chest. His family didn’t need to know what he went through.
Moira welcomed her son back with open arms. She was more than happy to let him back into their home and into her heart. So relived after all those years she morned him and his father. She was instant on a party and a press event to announce his return. But she couldn’t risk loosing her child again, so she hired him a body guard. Jonathan Diggle was to follow Oliver around whenever he leaves the house. Drive him to and from locations and see to it he was brought home to her. Oliver didn’t like this, but he wanted to appease his mother.
Oliver had missed his mother of course. But he grew to miss his siblings just as much. Thea was so young when he left on that boat, and Y/N even younger. He doubted they would even recognise him. Thea was angry, something he expected. People reacted in weird ways to grief, and she had taken it hard. He watched from afar as she drank at a party, still too young to consume alcohol but not caring anyways. But he couldn’t tell her what to do, she thought he was dead for the past 8 years.
But he saw her with Tommy, his best friend. And Tommy was trying his best to get Thea off the floor and out to the car. He appreciated that his best friend had been trying to take care of his little sister. But you were nowhere to be seen at this party. Oliver assumed Thea would drag you along with her everywhere she went, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe the two of you didn’t get along like he imagined in his head. Which saddened him a little. He hoped if you didn’t have him, you’d at least have each other.
He met Tommy out by the car, greeting Thea. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. And she was more than wasted.
"Oliver." She mumbled.
"Let's get her home." He spoke to Tommy, ignoring his inebriated sibling.
Tommy smiled up at his best friend, just happy to have him home. Oliver gave him a silent thanks for keeping his little sister safe while he was away. The ride home was mostly Thea drunk mumbling into Oliver’s chest as she nearly fell asleep on him. Oliver didn’t mind her line of questioning, just happy to have her there.
He knew his mom was likely to throw a welcome home party for him soon. Considering the Queen’s were a high importance family, the press would have a field day with his return. But he could use Thea to stave off the party at least another night. Letting her sober up before the inevitable announcement of his valiant return home.
He carried his sister inside and Tommy followed after. Moira met him at the door, looking at her daughter questionably.
“Hello Tommy” she greeted.
“Hello Mrs. Queen.”
Moira invited Tommy to stay the night, enlisting his help to set up a party in the morning. Oliver carried Thea to her bedroom. He tucked her in and bid her goodnight. She was still mad at Ollie for leaving her, but she’d get over it eventually. There was still one person he’d yet to see. Someone who didn’t greet him when he came home. His youngest sister y/n.
He wandered the halls that night, unable to sleep in the coushy palace that was his home. He’d grown used to the rugged conditions of the island. His calloused body felt rough against the gentle sheets. He remembered her nursery being in the easy wing. She didn’t cry much as a baby, like he or Thea, so Moira and Robert didn’t feel a need to coddle her and keep her close. But he figured she wouldn’t still be there. Why keep the same room when there where countless others in the mansion.
He checked each room, all of them coming up empty. He began to grow concerned. It was two in the morning, where the hell was his sister? He wouldn’t wake anyone in search of her though. Thea was certainly exhausted, and his mom probably emotionally so. He finally opened the last door to his left and found what he was looking for. A room clearly occupied by a teenager.
There were posters plastering the walls, a lava lamp in the corner, and a seemingly endless supply of plushie creatures on the bed. But still, no sister. Her bed was empty. But he calmed his nerves, thinking perhaps she spent the night at a friends house. Thea had been out all night partying despite his return, so it wouldn’t be odd that Y/N wasn’t compelled to come running home either. She was even younger than Thea, perhaps she didn’t remember him at all.
He sighed and made his way back to his room, calling it quits for the night.
The next morning was chaotic as expected. Paparazzi where swarming the outside of the mansion, somehow catching word of his return already. Moira was doing recon, while Oliver attempted to sneak out. But John cut him off.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The older man asked.
Oliver sighed, Diggle was about to become a pain in his ass, that was for sure.
“Have you seen Y/N?” He asked.
“Hmm?” Diggle hummed.
“My sister, she wasn’t here last night. Perhaps she snuck in sometime this morning? I’d rather see her before facing those sharks outside. Imagine learning your brother his home from the tabloids.”
John sighed.
“I was just paid to keep an eye on you Oliver. Haven’t seen anyone else enter the house this morning.”
It was worth a shot. Oliver declined to his fate and put the sharks at ease, stepping outside. The next few hours were a whirlwind, of questions and party set up. Until half the town was cramped into the mansion and Oliver was the man of the hour.
Yet someone was still absent. Oliver had no idea what Y/N would look like all grown up. But his instincts told him she wasn’t here. He approached Thea and stopped her dancing to asks.
“Have you seen our sister?”
Thea shrugged. Oliver sighed heavily. He gently grabbed her arm and led her away from the vapid college boys swarming her. They were much too old for her anyway.
“What the fuck Oliver!”
“Why won’t anyone tell me where she is? What’s going on?” He asked.
It was Thea’s turn to let out a sigh.
“Did you check the closet in the foyer?”
She walked away giving him an odd look. Oliver thought this was strange. Why the hell would she be in a closet? But none the less he skilfully managed to ditch prying eyes and his security detail and make his way to the front room. Which was mostly free from loiterers.
He didn’t know how to approach, if she was hiding in a closet, she must have a reason. He gently knocked on a closet, something he never thought he’d do. He heard shuffling inside, indicating that someone was indeed in said closet.
“Thea, what are you doing away from the- oh…”
Oliver was shell shocked for a second. Seeing her so grown threw him off, he didn’t know what to expect. The tone of disappointment in her voice kinda hit him harder than he expected.
“Oliver?” She asked.
He gave her a smile.
“Aren’t your guests missing you?”
“Parties aren’t really my thing anymore.”
She grabbed his collar and pulled him into the closet, slamming the door shut.
Oliver let his eyes adjust to the dark, and stood there awkwardly. He cleared his throat, about to speak.
“Someone was walking by, they would have seen you and dragged you back. You’re the man on the hour.” She explained simply.
“Thanks. So, what’s with the closet?”
“You’ll make fun of me.”
“I’m your brother.”
She scoffed.
“By blood? Maybe, but I don’t know anything about you. You sure as hell know nothing about me. Besides, don’t brothers bully their sisters or some shit?”
He chuckled at her vulgarities, he didn’t know what to expect.
“You selling drugs out of our foyer?”
“You were legally declared dead mate, still are until mom’s lawyers figure out that bullshit. If anything, I’d be selling drugs our if my foyer. And no. That’s not it.”
He held up his hands in mock defence.
“I’m, you and dad left your coats in this closet before you disappeared. They still smell like you. I come here when I need to breath.”
“You come to a musty closet to breath?”
“And there’s the judgment. Get out!”
“Hey, no. Look I’m sorry.”
“There’s things you don’t know Oliver. You were gone a long time. So I’ll spell it out for you. I have autism. Means I’m a bit different then the rest of you. Parties overwhelm me and make me want to rip out my teeth. I also hâte change, you being a live was a major one. So I’m not leaving this closet until it feels safe again. It was nice meeting you brother. Glad you didn’t drown.”
He simply stared at her for a second. She was blunt, no lies like everyone else. A stupid grin broke out on his face.
“I can steal us some snacks from the party and be back before anyone sees me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re a dork, you know that!” She pushed him out of the door. “I like the cheese squares and the orange soda, come back without those you’re getting locked out.”
Oliver thought he made a mistake to come home. Not ready to be back in society. But seeing everyone, seeing his little sisters, he knew he made the right choice. He was home, and he was excited to learn what they meant all over again.
An: ahhh sorry this was short. I haven’t been in the mood for writing recently. But when I am I will write y’all some longer form content. Be back soon when the burn out were made off! 🥰
