#arrow imagine

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.

Everyone has a soulmate. Some people pretended they didn’t care, but they did. They all did. A clock appeared on your wrist the day you turned sixteen- thin black numbers etched into your skin like a tattoo, counting down in days, hours, minutes, seconds. No one knew who made them. No one knew why some ran out early, and others dragged on for decades. All anyone knew was that when the clock hit zero, you would meet your soulmate. 

Some people met theirs in grocery store aisles. Some in hospitals. Some in handcuffs. Some never did. Mine had been counting for twelve years now. I stopped checking it after year eight. 

By the time Damien Darhk’s men shoved me into the back of a van, my clock read 00:02:41:09. I noticed because adrenaline does weird things to your brain. I remember thinking, huh, that’s ironic. I didn’t scream. Screaming didn’t help when a man had a gun pressed into your ribs and duct tape over your mouth. I fought hard enough to earn a bruised jaw and a warning blow to the side of my head, but eventually, survival instincts kicked in. Stay alive. Stay conscious. Remember details. They took my phone, my wallet, and my jacket. They didn’t care about the clock. 

The warehouse smelled like oil, rust, and old water. I was zip-tied to a chair alone, for what felt like hours. My heart hammered so hard it hurt. I tried not to think about the headlines- LOCAL WOMAN MISSING, HOSTAGE SITUATION IN STAR CITY- tried not to imagine my clock hitting zero in a concrete room with no one there to see it. I glanced down again despite myself. 00:00:17:42. Seventeen minutes. I laughed under my breath, hysterical and sharp. 

“Figures…” I muttered. 

Damien Darhk showed up eventually, all smug smiles and casual menace. 

“You’re not who I wanted, but you’ll do.” He said, circling me. 

I swallowed. “You kidnap people for fun often, or am I special?” 

He smiled wider. “Tonight? You’re bait.” 

That’s when I knew. This wasn’t about me. It was about him. 

The lights went out without warning. Gunfire echoed. Shouts. Chaos. And then, an arrow slammed into the wall inches from Darhk’s head. A voice cut through the darkness, rough and controlled. 

“Let her go.” 

I didn’t see him at first. Just a silhouette- leather, hood, bow drawn. 

The Green Arrow. 

I’ve seen him on the news. Everyone had. Star City’s boogeyman. Its guardian. 

Darhk laughed. “You always did have a hero complex.” 

The fight was brutal and fast. I barely tracked it, only knew when the ropes snapped, and strong hands steadied me. 

“Can you walk?” The Green Arrow asked. 

I nodded, dizzy. 

He cut the ties and pulled me up, one arm firm around my back. And then, my wrist burned. I gasped and looked down. 

00:00:00:00. 

At the exact sam moment, he froze. Slowly, like he was afraid of what he saw, The Green Arrow looked down at his own wrist. Zero. For the first time, he looked stunned. Human. 

“Are you seeing this too?” I whispered. 

He swallowed. “Yeah.” 

The building shook. We didn’t move. Fate had awful timing. 

We got out minutes later, him guiding me through smoke and rubble, shielding me with his body like it was instinct. He didn’t leave. Instead, he stood there with me, hands flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them now that the clock was done. Finally, I cleared my throat. 

“Hi.” I said awkwardly. “Uh, I’m Y/N.” 

He hesitated, then reached up and pulled the hood back. 

Oliver Queen. 

I recognized him immediately- billionaire, playboy, presumed-dead-then-not, Star City royalty. He looked… different up close. Older than his pictures. Tired. Haunted. 

“Hi.” He said quietly. “I’m Oliver.” 

“So, uh, do you save all your soulmates from supervillains, or am I special?” I said, attempting a smile. 

A corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re special.” 

The words landed heavier than he probably intended. 

Over the next few days, Star City moved on. I didn’t. Neither did Oliver. He checked in once, then twice. Then coffee. Then long conversations that stretched late into the night. He didn’t tell me everything, but he didn’t lie either. I learned he carried guilt like a second skin. That he believed love was something he destroyed. That he was terrified the clock had made a mistake. 

“I’m not good at this.” He admitted one night, sitting across from me on my couch.

“People get hurt around me.” 

I met his gaze. “I was kidnapped before I met you.” 

That shut him up. 

Weeks passed. We learned about each other slowly. Oliver liked his coffee too strong. I hated mornings. He trained obsessively. I called him out on it. He smiled more when he thought no one was looking. 

One night, I finally asked the question that had been hovering between us since the warehouse. 

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked. 

He looked at our wrists. 

“I didn’t.” He said. “But I believe in choice.” 

I smiled softly. “Good, because I choose this.” 

His breath hitched. 

“So do I.” He said.

Dinah Lance adjusted her black leather gloves, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit warehouse. Her Canary Cry wasn’t always necessary; her fists and strategy usually got the job done. Beside her, you moved in silence, mirroring her precision. The two of you had perfected this unspoken coordination over months of working together. What no one else knew, however, was that beneath this professional façade, there was something much deeper: a relationship kept in the shadows.

Dinah had her reasons for keeping things quiet. She wasn’t ready to come out—not yet. Her identity as Black Canary was complicated enough without adding her personal life to the mix. You understood, even if it hurt sometimes to keep your love hidden. The quick glances, the stolen moments, the way her hand would brush yours for just a second longer than necessary during debriefs—it all had to be subtle.

Tonight, though, something felt off. The warehouse was too quiet, too empty. The intel about an arms deal taking place here seemed solid, but now, as you both moved deeper into the building, unease prickled at the back of your neck.

“Stay sharp,” Dinah whispered, her voice barely audible. You nodded, your grip tightening on your weapon. The two of you reached the central room, and that’s when it happened.

The doors slammed shut, and armed men poured in from every direction. You and Dinah moved instinctively, your bodies a blur of motion as you fought side by side. But there were too many of them. Dinah unleashed her Canary Cry, sending a group flying, but more kept coming.

You didn’t see the one coming up behind you until it was too late. The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed through the air, and a fiery pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, barely able to stay upright as your vision blurred.

Dinah’s voice cut through the chaos. She was at your side in an instant, catching you as you collapsed. Her hands were warm and trembling as she pressed against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice weak.

Dinah’s eyes were wild, her calm professionalism shattered. “No, you’re not.” Her voice broke, and you saw tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m getting you out of here.”

The fight wasn’t over, but Dinah didn’t care. She screamed, the Canary Cry bursting from her with a ferocity that left the remaining attackers incapacitated. Then, she scooped you into her arms, carrying you out of the warehouse with a determination you’d never seen before.

The emergency room was a blur of bright lights and frantic voices. Dinah stayed by your side, her hands stained with your blood as she refused to let go. When the doctors finally ushered her out, she stood in the hallway, her fists clenched and her jaw tight.

The rest of the team arrived shortly after, their expressions ranging from confusion to concern. Oliver approached her first.

“Dinah, what happened?” he asked, his voice steady but firm.

Dinah shook her head, her composure cracking. “It was supposed to be a simple mission. We didn’t see it coming.” Her voice trembled, and then she snapped. “They shot her, Ollie! She’s… she’s in there fighting for her life, and it’s all my fault.”

The room fell silent. No one had ever seen Dinah like this before. She was always the strong one, the unshakable Black Canary. But now, tears streamed down her face as she broke down in front of everyone.

“Dinah,” Oliver began, his tone softer now. “We’ll get through this. She’s tough.”

Dinah shook her head, her voice rising. “You don’t get it! She’s not just my partner out there. She’s my partner. I love her!”

Gasps rippled through the group. Dinah’s confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. No one knew what to say. Dinah didn’t care. She turned away from them, her only focus on you and whether you’d make it out alive.

Hours passed before a doctor finally approached. Dinah was on her feet immediately, her heart pounding.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said, and Dinah nearly collapsed with relief. “The bullet did some damage, but we managed to stop the bleeding. She’ll need time to recover, but she’ll be okay.”

Dinah didn’t wait for permission. She pushed past the doctor and into your room. Seeing you lying there, pale but alive, made her knees weak. She sank into the chair beside your bed, taking your hand in hers.

“Hey,” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dinah’s laugh was watery, a mix of relief and lingering fear. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

You managed a weak smile. “Didn’t exactly plan on it.”

Dinah leaned closer, her forehead resting against your hand. “I thought I lost you. I couldn’t… I can’t lose you.”

You squeezed her hand as best you could. “You won’t.”

She lifted her head, her blue eyes locking onto yours. “I don’t care who knows anymore. I love you, and I’m done hiding it.”

Tears filled your eyes at her words. “I love you too, Dinah.”

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. For the first time in hours, Dinah felt like she could breathe again. She didn’t care about the consequences of her confession. All that mattered was that you were alive, and she wasn’t going to waste another second hiding how much you meant to her.

The following days in the hospital were a mix of pain and healing, but Dinah rarely left your side. Her fierce determination extended beyond the battlefield; she took on the role of your protector and advocate during recovery with the same relentless energy. When the team came by to visit, Dinah’s demeanor softened but never wavered. She stood close, her presence a silent declaration that she was no longer hiding her feelings for you.

One afternoon, Oliver stopped by alone. He watched the two of you for a moment before clearing his throat. “You’ve always been strong, Dinah. I’m glad you’re letting yourself be strong for her now too.”

Dinah’s gaze didn’t leave your sleeping form as she responded, “She’s the strongest person I know. I’m just lucky she lets me stand beside her.”

Oliver nodded, a rare smile touching his lips. “You’ve got a good thing here. Don’t let it go.”

When you finally woke up fully, the first thing you saw was Dinah. Her expression was a mix of exhaustion and relief. “Morning,” you whispered.

“Morning, troublemaker,” she replied, her voice soft. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got shot,” you joked weakly, earning a small laugh from her.

Dinah leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ve got you, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

The days turned into weeks, and as you healed, Dinah remained a constant presence. Her confession to the team had brought a new sense of freedom to your relationship. No longer confined to stolen moments, you found strength in being openly by each other’s side. Dinah’s protective instincts were tempered by her unwavering belief in your resilience, and together, you began planning your return to the field.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight next time,” Dinah teased one evening, her hand entwined with yours as you both sat watching the sunset from your hospital room.

“Good,” you replied, smiling. “I’d rather have you by my side anyway.”

In that moment, as the golden light bathed the room, it was clear that whatever challenges lay ahead, the two of you would face them together. For Dinah, the fear of losing you had solidified something she’d known all along: loving you wasn’t just a risk—it was the greatest strength she’d ever found.

The first night you returned home, the air between you and Dinah felt heavier, laden with unspoken emotions and relief. She hovered close as you settled onto the couch, the comfort of your shared space a welcome reprieve from the sterile hospital environment.

“You don’t have to watch me like a hawk,” you teased gently, trying to break the tension. “I’m not going to fall apart.”

Dinah crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway with a smirk that didn’t quite hide her lingering worry. “You scared the hell out of me. Give me a week or two to stop hovering.”

You patted the seat beside you. “Fine. Hover from here.”

She relented, sitting beside you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. The warmth of her presence was grounding, a silent promise that she wasn’t going anywhere. “You know,” Dinah started, her voice soft, “I didn’t just mean it in the heat of the moment. I meant what I said to Ollie and the others. I love you.”

You turned your head to look at her, finding her gaze already fixed on you. “I know,” you said, your own voice trembling with emotion. “And I meant it too. I love you.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, one that held equal parts relief and joy. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips, gentle but filled with everything she couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t the first kiss you’d shared, but it felt like the first time you didn’t have to hold anything back.

The days that followed were filled with quiet moments of healing and rediscovery. Dinah took on most of the responsibilities at home, refusing to let you lift a finger despite your protests. “You’re supposed to be recovering,” she’d say firmly, but her tone always softened when you smiled at her.

One evening, as you sat on the balcony overlooking the city, Dinah joined you with two mugs of tea. The skyline was a sea of lights, a comforting reminder that life continued even after the darkest moments. She handed you a mug, sitting close enough that your shoulders touched.

“I’ve been thinking,” Dinah said, her voice tentative. “About us. About how close I came to losing you.”

You placed your hand over hers, your thumb brushing her knuckles. “But you didn’t. I’m here. We’re here.”

She nodded, her eyes glistening as she met your gaze. “I want to live like this—openly, without fear or hiding. You mean too much to me to keep pretending otherwise.”

A soft smile spread across your face. “I’ve wanted that too. For a long time.”

Dinah exhaled, the weight of her decision lifting as she leaned her forehead against yours. “Then it’s settled. We’re in this together.”

No. You had no intention of telling Oliver about you and Malcolm. Not only was it something you didn’t know how to bring up, but it was also something that maybe your baby brother didn’t need to know about just yet.

Your gaze fell to your left hand where the diamond ring sat. Malcolm had proposed only a few months earlier during a three-week business trip in France for a joint Queen Consolidated and Merlyn Global business deal. Since then, neither of you had spoken about setting a date or anything to do with a wedding ceremony. A part of you was nervous to bring it up; you didn’t want to make Malcolm feel pressured and didn’t want to somehow, accidentally, bring up memories that would sadden him or anger him by reminding him of Tommy’s mother. The other part of you was nervous to bring it up to Malcolm because…because you weren’t sure you wanted to be married to Malcolm Merlyn. Not right now. Not with Oliver being alive and home and all those suspicions about Malcolm being involved with the Gambit bringing up not anger but dread.

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if that box got opened. You weren’t sure you wanted an answer to whether Malcolm had a hand in your family’s yacht going down.

“Oliver doesn’t need to know about my love life, Thea. There is no reason he needs to be told. Besides, it is probably best that we don’t overwhelm him too much. It’s like…how Mom wants to not bother Oliver with her and Walter just yet. Oliver needs time to settle and adjust. No doubt, he’s hardly at any time to mourn dad or…or even Sara.”

Thea nodded as you spoke and then rolled her eyes saying, “So, you’re scared to tell him?”

“Terrified.”

How could you not be?

Oliver from five years ago had been an asshole, but he still tried to fight every boyfriend you had ever had.

The last thing you needed was Oliver trying to fight Malcolm the moment he got back to Starling City, not to mention the awkwardness that could pop up between Oliver and Tommy as a result.

Sighing, you stood and brushed a hand through your hair while saying, “Look, I promise that I will tell Oliver, but for tonight lets keep that between us.”

“Us and Tommy, mom and Walter, Raisa, most of Starling City, and…” Thea continued as the two of you walked out from her room and headed downstairs.

She wasn’t wrong. Too many people knew and too many people could let it slip to your brother. But if you were being honest, your biggest concern was Moira. She hadn’t budged even a little on her dissatisfaction toward your relationship with Malcolm, and Moira took every opportunity she could find to try and keep the two of you apart. Even with you now living in Malcolm’s home.

It had been amusing at first, then weird, and then frustrating. It was like there was something she was trying to tell you without telling you.

Like Moira knew something about Malcolm she wanted you to know but couldn’t bring herself to spell it out.

“Tommy!” Thea grinned as she bounded down the last few steps and practically skipped over to where Tommy and Oliver stood, reconnecting in the entryway.

You met the gaze of your brother’s best friend (who just happened to be your fiancé’s son as well) and forced an awkward smile as Tommy greeted Thea. The two of you were on good enough terms, but you also knew each other’s secrets – secrets that neither of you wanted Oliver to know about just yet. It made the situation uncomfortable, and you were kicking yourself for not having spoken openly about it with Tommy before this dinner.

“Well, this is a sight that I have missed.” You finally spoke up, plastering a smile on your lips as you closed the gap between yourself and the others. “And to think Starling City was only just beginning to heal from the terror of Oliver Queen and Thomas Merlyn.”

Most of Starling City probably didn’t care that Oliver had returned. Those who were excited were, of course, your family and Oliver’s party friends.

Still, the thought of having Oliver home meant that there was a chance for some semblance of the familiar. As close to the “good old times” that you could get to with your dad being gone.

“We will try not to do anything too crazy.” Oliver smiled. His voice soft. He sounded sincere, like he truly had zero intention of being his old self, and his eyes held a softness that younger Oliver would have never shown – it would have ruined his party boy persona.

“Make sure you don’t.” you laughed as Risa stepped into the hall announcing that dinner was about to be served.

Thea snorted, “Let’s not keep mom waiting.”

Oliver chuckled at your sister’s attitude and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, teasing Thea about “Making mom happy” as they followed after Risa.

You couldn’t help but chuckle knowing that your stepmother or Walter had sent Risa to “collect” the four of you; no doubt, Moira was having flashbacks from your childhood to when you, Oliver, and Thea would get so caught up in something the three of you had chosen to do together that it would take your father coming home and being “stern” for the three of you to finally come back to reality.

The thought was bittersweet, but you didn’t mind it. You appreciated that you could remember things like that. Over the past five years, there had been plenty of days where memories of your brother and father had been the only thing that helped you get out of bed and get on with your life.

“Hey Y/n,” Tommy hissed, grabbing your arm, and stopping you from following after your brother and sister. He waited for the two of them to be out of earshot before saying, “Listen I just…wanted to make sure we were on the same page about…things. Like, what gets told to Oliver and what can be saved for some other time.”

You knew what he was talking about, and it had nothing to do with you and Malcolm.

It was kind of sweet that Tommy was so concerned about telling Oliver certain things because he wasn’t sure how his lifelong friend would react. It spoke volumes on how much Tommy respected and cherished his friendship with your baby brother.

You whispered his name and offered a small smile as your gaze slipped to your left hand and the diamond engagement ring that sat there. The smart thing would be to remove the ring altogether. After all, if Oliver didn’t see the ring, then he couldn’t ask about it, but you didn’t want to give the impression that you were ashamed of Malcolm and that you wanted to hide your relationship with him.

“I promise that I won’t say anything to Oliver about what you’ve been up to the last five years as long as you don’t say anything about me and your father. I just...I haven’t figured out how to tell Oliver about us yet.”

Tommy stared at you for a long moment, taking in what you had said, and then breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. “Alright, alright. Thank you, Y/n. I…thank you.”

“Any time, Tommy.” And you moved into the dining room to join the others.

While Tommy and Thea sat to either side of Oliver, you chose to sit across from Walter placing Moira (and Oliver) at the head of the table. You didn’t mind as it gave you a chance to speak softly to your stepmother and Walter about Queen Consolidated and it gave Thea the chance to soak up as much of Oliver’s attention and closeness as she desired. Thea needed that. She had been only thirteen when the Gambit went down – life was hard enough for Thea with being in her early teens, the loss of your father and brother hadn’t helped things at all.

Besides, you would have plenty of time to catch up with Oliver.

It isn’t like he’s going anywhere any time soon.

“…I was hoping to swing by the office.” Oliver’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you quickly snapped your full attention in his direction.

“Queen Consolidated?” you laughed, interrupting whatever Walter had been saying as a response to your brother. “You want to go to…how hard did you hit your head while on that island?” you teased while lifting your glass of wine to your lips.

“I had a lot of time to think while I was away.” Oliver smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “I need something to do with my time, and I was thinking, why not make that something the family business?” his blue eyes looked from you to your mother and then back on you, “Unless this is your way of saying you want the company all to yourself?”

“Shut up, brat.” You laughed with a playful roll of your eyes, “I think it’s a brilliant idea for you to have a hand in Queen Consolidated. Dad would want it.”

“Then it’s settled.” Moira was beaming, clearly happy that Oliver had matured enough to show an interest in your family’s business.

You were proud of Oliver as well, but you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had motivated your baby brother to want to take an active role in Queen Consolidated. Surely, most people who came back from the dead would want to take some time to rest and readjust to life. But Oliver didn’t seem to want to do that.

Actually, that look on his face…it’s determination. He’s home and he has a list of things he plans to do.

But what?

What has happened to you, Olive?

*

When you were younger, the thing you feared the most was that your baby brother and sister would hate you. That they would grow up and realize how lame you were, and they would then want nothing to do with you.

That morning when you got that call that the Queen’s Gambit had gone down, that your father and brother were lost at sea and presumed dead, you felt so silly for your childhood fears. You knew then that the worst thing imaginable was having those you loved ripped away from you in a moment, in the blink of an eye, without warning.

And now, standing outside with Oliver and avoiding going home to an empty house, you felt that fear in your stomach. Like this was all a dream and that you would wake up, having imagined Oliver being alive, and you would be back in that cold, dark world where your baby brother was gone. Taken from you by fate? A tragic accident at sea? Or…at the hands of unknown enemies.

“So,” Oliver sighed, turning to you with a smile, “When do I get to meet the person who gave you that?” he gestured toward crossed arms, at your engagement ring.

“The wedding?” you shrugged, trying to play it cool at first as you looked anywhere but at him. “It…the engagement is actually pretty new. We don’t have a set date yet.”

“Does mom disapprove?” Oliver asked the question softly, his gaze locked on you so tenderly.

You snorted, “Of course she does. Mom…doesn’t think he’s good enough or me. Which is crazy because he’s a businessman, he’s very successful, and his company actually has a lot of dealings with Queen Consolidated.” Your amusement turned to frustration as you spoke, frowning at your own words and the reminder that Moira could pop off and spill the beans about you and Malcolm at any moment.

“Do I know him?”

Your cheeks flushed at his question, and you found yourself chewing on your bottom lip instead of answering.

Humming, Oliver nodded and leaned toward you, placing a kiss to the side of your head as a sleek, black limo pulled up. “I know that I don’t have to worry about you, Y/n. You’re the smartest out of us all. If you’re sure enough about this guy to marry him, then I will trust you and try to wait patiently for you to introduce me to him.”

“Ollie.” You murmured, eyes filling with tears as you wrapped your arms around him, tucking your face into his shoulder as he returned the hug. “I fucking missed you, Oliver.”

He nodded in agreement, saying “I missed you too, Y/n.”

It took all you had to pull away from him, and it was only after the two of you had agreed to see each other again tomorrow that you finally forced yourself to move away from your baby brother and walk to the limo and Malcolm’s driver.

“Jude.” You nodded, refusing to show your surprise as you stepped past him.

“Miss Queen.” He greeted you with a tilt of his head and a small smile.

Smiling in return, you waved goodbye to Oliver once more before climbing into the limo and letting the door shut behind you.

It was only after you were off your family’s property and Oliver was out of sight that you looked beside you at the man who was supposed to be overseas.

“Darling.” Malcolm hummed, his lips turning upward into that ridiculously charming, crooked smile of his.

“You said…”

Leaning toward you, Malcolm placed a kiss to your lips while murmuring, “You needed me here more.”

Tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, you forced a breathless laugh and pulled away, settling back into the seat. “Thank you, Malcolm.”

“Of course.” He took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles, and set it in his lap – seemingly mindlessly playing with the band on your ring finger as he turned to stare out the window, watching the world fly by.

Content and exhausted from the day, you rested your head on his shoulder and let yourself drift off to sleep listening to whatever jazz number Malcolm had chosen for the drive.

*

I hope you all enjoyed it! And I hope you’re all a sucker for sister!reader x Oliver content as I am lol (Oliver being a brother is so lovely to me 😉 )

The next installment will be reader x Malcolm! Probably a gentle day for them! It won’t be out in the next two weeks as I have other one shots (non-Arrowverse) that I want to finish writing/editing/etcetera.

As always, if you want to show some love, feel free to sent me things through my inbox and I also have a Kofi if you would like to support me in that way!

Please be safe and I hope you are having a good day!