Bad Things - prologue ~ Oliver Queen x Reader
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.
Name: Y/N Y/L/N Known Aliases: 'Y/N Vance,' 'Black Arrow,' 'Malevolent' Occupation: Unknown Status: Unknown Family: Unknown Abilities: Electricity, Telepathy, Teleportation, Regeneration DOB: Unknown
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."
~
prologue, 1 , 2
