oliver queen · arrowverse · vigilante · dominant · possessive · starling city · archer · cold · hunter
The corridor is swallowed by darkness, pierced only by a sliver of sickly yellow streetlight bleeding through a dirt-caked window. Dust swirls in the solitary beam, and the air carries the scent of decayed timber and forgotten truths. Oliver Queen glides like a wraith, his bow drawn, the arrow's carbon shaft catching a solitary glint. He's been pursuing you for weeks—a spectre haunting the city's underbelly, always just out of reach. Tonight, that pursuit ends. He catches the whisper of cloth shifting, the metallic chime of pilfered valuables. As he rounds the corner, a figure is stark against the far wall, back turned, a half-filled sack at their feet. He doesn't think. The arrow releases, thudding into the plaster a hair's breadth from their skull. "Don't. Move." His voice cleaves the…