#a new thought is never a new thought but rather a continuation

[neellscapsule]

My Heart — Part One

summary | your family realizes how much they have missed. the problem is that you are a grown up by now, and terrible hurt by their neglect.

pairing | platonic slight yandere batfam x batsis!neglected!reader. future conner kent x reader.

warnings / tags | angst, hurt/little comfort, y/n is mentioned as a female, a bit of trauma, family issues, mostly trust and daddy issues. they all love each other (PLATONICALLY) they just don't know how to feel it and express it correctly. it gets darker. you are a bit of a yandere later as well.

word count | 4.9k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :) i plan on making this a series. please vote <3 dick is 28. jason is 23. reader will be 22 in a few months. cass is 21. tim is 20. duke is 18. damian is 13.

next.

New York never felt like home, but it became the closest thing you could hold on to.

You’ve built a life here — tall, untouchable. You’ve shaped it with your own hands, your own colors, your own breath. Nothing about it belongs to the Waynes. Not the apartment nestled above a quiet coffee shop in the Lower East Side, not the canvases drying in the corners, not the framed articles about your exhibitions, not the soft hum of the city seeping through your open window at dawn.

You’ve never liked the quiet.

Which is ironic, considering how desperately you’ve built your life around it.

It follows you now, trailing after you like a shadow, as you pad barefoot across the creaking floorboards of your apartment. Your studio smells like turpentine and old coffee, acrylic paint staining your fingers, charcoal smudged beneath your fingernails. The city hums below you—cars honking, people yelling, life happening. But up here? It’s quiet.

You carved out this life for yourself—a life apart from Wayne Manor’s echoing halls, the Bat‑family’s midnight discipline, the nosey of Alfred, even your father’s distant pride. You’d rather have these narrow, straight streets than that cavernous mansion filled with ghosts.

Eye to eye, the portrait looks at you, analyzing, judging. It's almost like you are the prey, and she is the hunter.��Huntress. Hadn't that been your name once? That stupid nickname that only your family knew about? 

With that, you decide that that piece is never going out to life. 

Here, you’re Y/N Wayne, and people know you because your paintings make them feel something. They know you because your words drip off pages like slow, sticky honey, because the chords you compose linger like ghosts. They know you. Not her.

Not the Huntress.

Not the child who spent her teenage years leaping across rooftops in desperate silence.

Not the kid who wanted, so painfully, to be seen.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

You blink, eyes pulling away from the list of upcoming press engagements your manager slid across the table. Ms. Morley — always Morley, never her first name — has her arms crossed, her expression calm but expectant.

You offer a polite, measured nod. “Yes, I’m listening.”

Her mouth twitches, something between a sigh and a smile. She’s used to this version of you: distant, composed, pleasant, but just far enough away that she’ll never get in.

“This showcase is the most important event of your career. You know that.”

You do. You know it in your bones. You’ve spent a decade painting your way here, clawing through the cement of your own insignificance to find something — anything — that could be yours.

It’s a refined gallery in SoHo. Exclusive, prestigious. People from the Met will be there. Patrons from across the Atlantic. Journalists whose words can either fold you into legend or erase you like you never existed.

“This is the kind of night that defines an artist,” Morley continues, sliding her tablet toward you, the event details highlighted in sharp white. “And the kind of night the press eats up.”

You keep your back straight, your breathing steady. “I understand.”

Her gaze sharpens, thoughtful. “We need your family there.”

The name curls in your stomach like bad wine. You lower your eyes to the tablet, as if rereading the date will change what she’s about to say.

“They should be there. All of them.”

Your throat dries, but your voice doesn’t falter. “They won’t come.”

“Maybe not. But the invitation matters. Publicly.” Her fingers tap softly against the glass table, a steady beat. “Their presence will shift the entire narrative around you. It gives your work weight in their circles. It’ll make people pay attention.”

People already pay attention. That’s why you moved here. That’s why you don’t sign your paintings with your last name. That’s why you carefully, deliberately, separated yourself from the empire back in Gotham.

“I don’t want to invite them.”

Morley doesn’t flinch. She never does. She’s not unkind, but she is immovable.

“You don’t have to want it,” she says simply. “You have to do it.”

You hate that she’s right.

You hate that part of you — the small, broken part — still wants them to come. Still craves to be seen. Still aches for Bruce’s approval, even now, even after you’ve stopped asking for it.

You press your fingers together, folding them tightly until the knuckles burn.

“They won’t come,” you whisper.

“They might surprise you.”

They won’t.

You’ve lived your entire life in the spaces they didn’t bother to fill. You remember what it felt like to sit in the Manor’s library, waiting for Bruce to come home, waiting to tell him about your mission, about how you stopped a robbery on your own. You remember how the words curdled in your throat when he brushed past you, eyes already on the next crisis, the next son, the next city to save.

Dick was the golden child. Jason was the loud one, the troublemaker, the broken boy everyone wanted to fix.

You were just… there.

You grew up alongside them, but you were never that much with them. Of course, your older brothers are much of your favorite part of your childhood; Dick teaching you about gymnastics before he became Robin. Jason being just one year older than you, close as nail and dirt before he died. You two became heroes together.

He, the second Robin. You, the only Huntress. You remember the night you saved a group of hostages from a deranged gunman. Sixteen, trembling, adrenaline high — Dick found you afterward, mascara bleeding, but alive. He didn’t say much. Just put his arm around you. That was the only time you felt he believed in you, briefly.

You remember, too, being a child in the manor: cold corridors, even colder glances, father absorbed in his mission, brothers leaving home, returning with scars. Your own scars—emotional, silent, winding through your teenage years.

You weren’t the strategist like Tim, or the quiet weapon like Cass. Your mind wasn't as fast as Barbara's. You weren’t the prodigy like Damian. You weren’t even the spirit like Stephanie.

You were just the girl who tried. The one who stayed polite. The one who made her own costume, patrolled the streets no one cared about, picked up the pieces the rest of them left behind.

The one they forgot to love properly.

It's not that they don't love you. A small part of them must have to love you, as you love them, as much as you hate them. Your father loved you, once, you surely remember that; and he did love you, you were sure of that, just not as much as you really wished. 

You spent your teen years similar to the image he gave. Spoiled, charming. The public loved you, still does, you are more than confident of that. Intelligent, sporty, an artist. Someone who loved Gotham, despite all.

“I’ll send the invitations,” you say at last, voice steady. “One for each.”

Morley gives a small nod of approval. “Thank you. It matters.”

You offer her a polite smile, but inside, something crumbles, quiet and familiar.

When the meeting ends, you walk back to your apartment in the gray afternoon haze, the memory of rain clinging to the pavement. You don’t want to write to them. You don’t want to remember.

But you do. You always do.

You sit at your desk — the one you built yourself, the one with the scratches from moving it too many times — and you pull out eight envelopes.

One for each of them.

You start with Bruce. The paper stays blank for a long time. What do you even say to the man who shaped your entire life by not showing up to it?

You remember him in fragments — his voice, his scent, the way his cape would brush your shoulder when you were little and you’d sneak into the Batcave just to see him. His soft smile when you rested by his side in the couch. You remember the big parties he threw at every single one of your birthdays, but you can't remember enjoying them.

Father,              I’m showcasing a new collection in three weeks. You are welcome to attend if you wish. It will be at the Holburne Gallery, in New York. I imagine your schedule is full, but I wanted you to have the information.

You hesitate.

I hope you’re well.

That’s all you write. That’s all you can.

You sign your name — just your first name — and fold the letter carefully.

You seal the envelope, knowing he probably won’t come. Knowing that if he does, he’ll stand at the back of the room like a stranger. Knowing he won’t say he’s proud. But you send it anyway.

The eldest of your siblings was next. You adored Richard. He had been the one you had most envied and admired at the same time. You were always just a step behind him. Always the little sister, never the partner.

Hi, Dick. 

                I’m presenting a new collection soon. It’s in New York. I thought you might like to know. You don’t have to come, of course. But you’re invited. Hope you’re well.

You sign it.

You try not to think about the Christmas he forgot to call. The birthday he skipped. The voicemail he never answered.

You and Jason always understood each other in a way that didn’t need words. Which is why the silence between you now feels like betrayal. His death had been . . . harsh on you. And then he came back. Nothing like the boy you remembered. Nothing similar to your rebellious yet sweet brother.

Jason,             You can leave early. You’d probably hate it.

You sign it.

You remember when you were kids, and he called you his “annoying little shadow.” You remember the first time he died. You remember visiting his grave every week, even when no one else did.

You remember when he came back, and didn’t call you.

Cass was the quiet one, but she was always the first to notice when you were drowning. She never said much, but she looked at you like she saw you, and maybe that’s why her absence cuts the sharpest. 

Cass,          There’s an exhibition. In New York. In three weeks. I think you’d like the paintings. They’re about what we don’t say. I’d like it if you came.

You don’t need to say more. She’ll understand.

She always did. You understand a bit less than her, but you were the first who learned sign language for her, and you resent her a bit when your father's eyes look at her.

Tim was younger than you, merely by two years. The brilliant one. The one who could solve everything except the rift between you. You don't really remember a time where you two actually got along. You were too hurt by Jason's death when he arrived. When your father replaced him.

There’s a show. I don’t know if you’d want to come. It’s not your scene. But you’re invited.

You almost don’t send his letter.

But you do.

You and Stephanie were always too similar in the worst ways — the loud, overlooked ones who made themselves easy to forget.

But you liked her.

Art show. New York. Three weeks. Come if you want. There’ll be wine.

You sign it.

You remember the time she hugged you after a mission and told you that you were her hero in her eyes. 

You remember that you stopped trying to be a hero that time.

Duke and you really don't know each other that much. You call him your brother, because in a way he is, but you are not really sure how much of a sister you are to him. If he calls you that or simply by your name. Probably the latest.

I’m having a show. You’re invited. You don’t have to come. Just thought you should know.

It feels strange to write to someone you barely knew. But he’s family. Whatever that means.

Damian was the hardest of them all: your blood, his blood, all the same. You share some gestures, gestures you both have from Bruce. You carry on your veins the same liquid that runs through his. He carries with his twisted hate to you. You do with tangled love.

Damian,                You probably have already read the other letters by now, but I thought you should be sent one too. I formally invite you to the presentation. Please, don't bring knives or any weapon if you are going to come. 

You sign that one with less happiness. 

You write one more. For Alfred.

Alfred,            I would love it if you came to my show. It would mean everything to me. You’re the only one I really want there. There is a painting dedicated to you. Hope you can see it with your own eyes and not in a photo.

You hesitate. You seal it.

For the first time all day, you allow yourself to feel the weight of it — the years you spent chasing them, the ache that never quite went away. The child in you still wants them to come. Still wants to believe they’ll show up.

But you know better.

You send the letters anyway.

Wayne Manor has never really been quiet.

Not in the honest sense.

The walls hum, always. The distant rattle of the grandfather clock, the soft padding of Alfred’s shoes against marble, the slow groan of old staircases. Even when no one is speaking, the house breathes.

Dick’s never minded that. Silence always had a weight in this place. And right now, it sits heavy on his shoulders as he drags himself down the long hall, wiping dried blood off the side of his chin with the edge of his sleeve.

The night had been rough. Long patrol in Blüdhaven. Longer arguments with Bruce over the comms. His knuckles still ache from where they met a thug’s jaw a little too hard, and his ribs burn with every breath.

He wants nothing more than to shower, crash in his old bed, and pretend—just for tonight—that the world isn’t asking him to carry it.

But as he turns the corner toward his room, something sharp cracks against the wooden floor down the hall.

It’s faint. Small. A box, maybe.

Dick pauses, body tense out of habit, head tilting toward the sound. No one should be up here. Damian with Titus, outside; Jason god knows where, Cass deeply asleep, Tim’s probably holed up somewhere with three screens on, and Alfred—well, Alfred would never let something fall.

Curiosity edges in, overtaking the tiredness. Carefully, quietly, he turns the knob. The door creaks softly as it swings open, revealing a space frozen in time.

It takes him a second to realize where he is.

The walls are bare now. The bed is made, but unused. The shelves are mostly empty except for a few scattered photo frames, one or two stuffed animals slumped in the corner, a cracked mug filled with stiff, dry brushes. It’s not as full as he remembers — a few boxes stacked neatly in corners, the bed made with precision that screams “Alfred.”

But what gives it away—what pulls the air straight out of his lungs—is the pale pink ribbon draped over the desk chair, with “Y/N Wayne” written in the soft, looping scrawl he remembers.

His sister’s room.

Or what’s left of it.

It’s not the warm, cluttered mess it used to be. He remembers tripping over sketchbooks here. He remembers her sitting cross-legged on the floor, hands smeared with charcoal, beaming at him as she shoved a half-finished drawing in his face.

He hasn’t stepped foot in here since…

God, when was the last time? Her high school graduation? No, even before that.

The faint smell of old books and faint perfume lingers — something subtle, floral, long faded. On the floor, near the desk, a box has fallen open. Papers, notebooks, and loose photos spill across the hardwood, an unintentional mess.

Dick sighs, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Alfred’s gonna kill me if I leave this here,” he mutters to himself, crouching down.

He starts gathering the scattered pages, stacking them neatly back into the box. Some papers are doodles — quick pencil sketches of rooftops, city skylines, birds. Some are old school essays, a few folded letters never sent.

Something flicks against his thigh. A small, thick card. He picks it up absently, ready to tuck it away—until his eyes land on the handwriting.

His name.

“For Dick” written in familiar, elegant cursive letters.

It’s an invitation. To a theater. The date is from years ago—2016. He flips it, heart thumping unevenly.

Hi Dick!! I know you’re busy but maybe you could come????????????Please. I got a solo part this time! I’d really like if you saw me play. It’s Saturday at 7pm. I saved a seat in the front row for you, just in case. :)

It’s signed simply: Y/N ❤

Dick’s stomach twists, a slow, sickening pull.

He doesn’t remember this.

He doesn’t remember any of this.

His fingers tremble as he gathers the rest of the papers. More invitations spill out — to gallery showings, poetry readings, little charity events. Some directed to him. Others to Bruce. Some marked for Cass, Steph, Tim.

Names written with hopeful, awkward loops. Names underlined, circled, doodled with little hearts or stars. All gathering dust in a forgotten box, untouched, unopened.

He can only vaguely remember you at galas, tucked behind the grand piano, fingers gliding across keys while the adults talked business. He remembers your drawings stuck to the fridge when they were younger, Bruce pinning them up absentmindedly like they were grocery lists. He remembers thinking you’d be an artist one day.

But he doesn’t remember these shows. These letters. These invitations.

And he missed them.

He missed you.

His throat closes around the guilt rising fast and sharp in his chest. He runs his thumb over the soft paper of the invitation, reading your bubbly handwriting again and again, as if somehow, maybe, he’ll remember being there.

Maybe, if he reads it enough, the memory will appear.

But it doesn’t.

The silence wraps tighter around him.

The box is still half-full. Beneath the papers, beneath the scribbled notes and dried-out pens, there’s a small stack of worn journals, their corners frayed from years of use.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s not fair to read them. But he’s already failed you in so many ways.

His fingers hover over the top one. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then pulls it into his lap and opens it. It feels like an invasion. It is an invasion. But the guilt is heavy. The ache to understand her, to know the sister he most knew once, roots itself deep.

The pages are filled with your handwriting �� messy, cramped, sometimes smudged with faint water stains. He thinks it's not water.

The first page is a sketch—a rough, childish drawing of a girl in a cape, standing next to a tall figure with a sharp cowl and a billowing cape. The girl is grinning. The figure is not.

The words underneath: I’ll make you proud someday.

“Shit,” he breathes softly, staring at the faded paper.

“I made a new piece today. I wanted to show Dad but he’s busy. Always busy. It’s okay. Jay says that’s just how he is. But maybe next time…”

Dick’s stomach knots.

He flips further.

“I sent Dick that invitation today. I hope he comes. I’m nervous. It’s dumb, I know, but it matters to me.”

His vision blurs, breath catching.

The pages bleed with more.

Frustrations. Dreams. Lonely nights in the Manor while the others trained or patrolled. Quiet resentment tucked behind polite words. The slow, steady heartbreak of being overlooked — not hated, not ignored on purpose, just… forgotten.

“I think if I’m good enough, they’ll come.”

“I think if I save enough people, Father will see me. Not just the mask. Me.”

He flipped to another entry, years later.

“They forgot again. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just try harder next time.”

His throat burned.

Another.

“It’s not that they don’t love me. I know they do. They just don’t see me.”

“Maybe I was never supposed to be seen.”

Dick grips the pages so tightly his knuckles go pale.

He reads until the words blur, until the guilt curdles into something heavier — shame, self-loathing, frustration.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but eventually, he shoves the notebooks back into the box, his chest aching with every inhale.

His feet move on autopilot.

The halls blur past.

Bruce is in his study — where else would he be at midnight — reading files, probably preparing for tomorrow’s crusade, like always.

Dick doesn’t knock. He pushes the door open, the box balanced in his arms.

Bruce barely glances up. “Dick.”

He drops the box onto the desk with more force than necessary. Papers spill slightly, the old invitation landing near Bruce’s hand. Bruce’s eyes flick down. His brow furrows. He picks it up.

The silence stretches.

“What’s this?”

“Her room,” Dick snapped. “Her life. All the things we missed.”

Bruce’s hand hovered over the box for a second, as if touching it would burn him. “Y/N’s?”

Dick folds his arms, jaw tight. “You ever remember getting that?”

His father studies the invitation. The date. The handwriting. Something flickers across his face — not recognition. Regret, maybe.

“I… no,” Bruce admits quietly.

Dick’s teeth grind.

“Yeah. Me neither.” His hand slams against the side of the box. 

“These? They’re all hers. Invitations. Shows. Letters. You know where I found them? Gathering dust in her old room. You know what else I found? Journals. Years of them.”

Dick’s voice cracks, low and bitter. “She wanted us there. All of us. You. Me. The others. You ever wonder why she left, Bruce? Why she never came back?”

Bruce’s jaw clenches.

“Don’t,” Dick warns, pointing a sharp finger. “Don’t give me some crap about her ‘needing space.’ I read it. I read every word. She wasn’t asking for space. I thought patrols, missions, saving the world — I thought it was enough. I didn’t realize I was walking right past her the whole time.”

“She made her choices.”

“She didn’t choose to be invisible to us.”

Bruce flinched at that, just a flicker, but Dick caught it.

“Did you even read any of her letters? Did you see how many times she reached out? How many times she tried?”

“She distanced herself,” Bruce said, softer now. “She left.”

“She left because we gave her nothing to stay for.”

The words cracked in the air like gunfire.

Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating.

Bruce’s gaze drifted to the box, to the memories packed haphazardly inside. His fingers traced the edge of the cardboard, lingering.

“I never meant—”

“I know,” Dick cut in, voice tight. “None of us did. That’s the problem.”

Damian heard everything.

It wasn’t hard, not in this house. Wayne Manor was old — creaking floors, thin walls, ventilation shafts that turned into hallways for sound. He wasn’t eavesdropping, not really. If they wanted privacy, they shouldn’t argue where the walls carried every word like a confession.

From his place crouched in the shadowed corner near the study entrance, Damian listened.

Dick’s voice came sharp and raw, slicing through the heavy air like a blade.

“…Your daughter. My sister. The one we’ve all been too damn busy to notice.”

Damian’s mouth flattened into a tight line.

Your daughter. My sister.

It shouldn’t sting. But it did.

Because no one ever included him in sentences like that. Not when it came to you.

His sister.

His daughter.

As if you weren’t his, too.

You are.

More than them.

You’re his only blood sibling. His only biological sister, even if the “half” in front of that always tasted bitter. It never mattered to him. Not the technicalities. Not the lineage arguments. Not the fact that you were gone before he ever got the chance to prove it.

You’re his sister.

His.

The others forget that. Dick forgets that. They all do.

He pressed further into the shadows, arms crossed, watching the tension unfold between Grayson and Father like a slow-burning fire.

He didn’t make a sound when the box hit the desk, when the contents scattered like broken memories across the wood. His eyes narrowed as papers slid free — letters, notebooks, old invitations — all marked with your name, your handwriting, your quiet, forgotten hope.

His jaw tightened.

So that’s what this was about.

You.

It always circles back to you, doesn’t it? Even when you’re not here. Especially when you’re not here. He’s thought about you more times than he’ll admit. Even when he pretends not to. Even when he wears his indifference like armor.

When he was younger, maybe ten, he’d wander the Manor searching for you.

Father told him you were away. Grayson said you were busy. Todd didn’t answer the question. Drake looked uncomfortable every time Damian asked. And Alfred?

Alfred always hesitated before replying.

“She’s finding her own way, Master Damian. Some paths are quieter than others.”

But your absence wasn’t quiet. It screamed.

You were a gap in the family photo. A missing piece at the table. A chair left cold at holidays Damian never liked anyway.

And the worst part?

You were the only sibling he wanted to know.

The others? They were fine. Useful, even.

But you?

You were supposed to be his.

His sister. His blood.

“Did you even read any of her letters? Did you see how many times she reached out? How many times she tried?”

Dick’s words echoed, and Damian’s throat constricted.

No, Father didn’t.

No, the others didn’t.

No, he didn’t.

But he has his reasons. Reasons the others wouldn’t understand.

You were already gone when he arrived. When the League sent him, when Talia made the arrangements, when Father reluctantly opened the doors of the Manor to his assassin-blooded, anger-wrapped child — you weren’t there.

They told him about you in passing. In clinical, detached terms.

“Y/N? She doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Y/N? She’s in New York.”

“Y/N? She’s not part of this.”

But you were. You always were.

Even if they didn’t see it, even if you didn’t want to be, you’re a Wayne by blood. And his only sister.

The Huntress.

He knew the stories long before he saw the evidence. They spoke about you — the siblings, Father, even Alfred and all the fucking villains he has encountered — like you were a myth stitched into Gotham’s history.

The vigilante who walked away.

The Huntress with the flawless reputation.

The sister who vanished before Damian could measure himself against you.

But he did, anyway.

He watched the tapes. Studied the case files. Collected every fragment of your old life like it was a puzzle only he deserved to complete.

He mimicked your movements when no one watched him train. He sharpened his stance, just like yours. He mastered the same grappling techniques. He replicated the calculated grace you carried on rooftops — the footage never lied, and neither did the ache of admiration buried deep beneath his ribcage.

No one had to tell him you were better.

He knew.

You’re the only one he compares himself to. Not Drake. Not Todd. Not even Grayson, for all his accolades.

Only you.

His sister.

His blood.

It’s why he’s always hated how distant you’ve stayed. How effortlessly you carved your place outside the family — like you didn’t need them. Like you didn’t want him.

You never came back.

You never called.

You sent birthday letters, even to him. You once sent a present: a beautiful robin, carved with your hands, created by your heart, an exquisite sculpture he stills has in his room, right next to where he sleeps, and no one can touch it. No one.

He knows he shouldn’t resent you for it. You never knew him. You were gone before his feet ever touched Gotham soil. But logic rarely softened jealousy. And the hollow, possessive ache in his chest when they whispered about you never faded.

It burned brighter, seeing your name scrawled across those invitations.

It twisted cruelly, hearing Dick’s broken anger crack through the room.

Would you even recognize him as yours? As your brother? As your blood?

He doubted it.

Still— still, a flicker of want buried itself deep in his chest, like a thorn impossible to pull free.

You should be here, not in New York.

You should’ve stayed.

You should’ve seen him, known him, claimed him as yours before the others did.

Possession tasted ugly in his mouth. But it was all he had left of you.

He slipped away from the doorway before they noticed him. His steps were soundless, as always. The halls felt colder as he walked. The Manor’s walls whispered memories that weren’t his — childhood laughter, quiet piano keys, the soft scratch of pencil on paper — echoes of a sister he never got to grow up beside.

You were a ghost here.

But to him?

You were a benchmark. An obsession. A sister in absentia who still defined him in ways the others couldn’t.

In the privacy of his room, Damian closed the door and sank onto the edge of the bed. His fingers twitched toward the small, hidden stash in the drawer — your old case files, outdated footage, grainy photos from years past.

A shrine built out of frustration and longing.

He flipped one of the photos over. It was you, half-hidden in shadow, your Huntress uniform sleek and sharp, posture flawless. Untouchable. Perfect.

He envied that version of you. Admired you. Resented you. Wanted you here.

It was unfair, how easily you left. How the others pretended they could move on. How you carved a life far from Gotham, far from him, with your paintings and music and words that never found him.

But it was more unfair how badly he still wanted to follow you.

His sister.

The only blood sibling they shared. Not that anyone ever reminded you of that. Not that you ever stayed to show him what that meant.

“She’s mine,” he muttered under his breath. “My sister. My blood.”

And he wasn’t letting you go again.

That's when he remembered Alfred's words. Your favourite brother had always been Jason. Closest to you: in age, in relationship, in language. That had made him burn before. But not . . . He saw clearly where he could get you again.

Who could.

[princesevsnape]

Second Chances

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x Reader, Theo Nott x Reader (slight flirting), Draco Malfoy x Reader (platonic)

Summary: You see your ex boyfriend with his new girlfriend at a party.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I loved writing this so much. I wasn’t sure how I wanted this story to go and I kind of was thinking of potentially making this at least 2 parts but I decided to just do it all in 1 part. I think to do a multiple part fic I need a lot more details to it. Also this was an idea of my own. And I wasn’t expecting this to go the way it did but as I was writing this is just the direction it took. Please continue to send in requests

Mattheo Riddle. The one boy you promised yourself that you would never cry over. The boy who broke your heart, and who you had cried over countless times. He had the audacity to stand there smirking at you from across the room, his arm slung around his new girlfriends shoulders, as she whispered in his ear so he could hear her over the loud music.

That pig you thought to yourself. It had only been two weeks since Mattheo broke up with you, and he already had a new girlfriend. It’s clear to you, that you never meant anything to him.

“Y/N!” Your best friend Hermione shouted trying to grab your attention.

You tore your gaze away from Mattheo and looked at Hermione.

“You were staring at Mattheo.” She said.

“He was staring first,” you muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

“Well you need to get over him. He’s clearly already gotten over you.” She said giving you a small smile.

“I need a drink.” You said making your way to grab some Firewhiskey.

“Hey Y/N.” You heard a familiar voice say.

You turned around drink in hand, and saw your ex’s best friend.

“Hey Theo.” You said giving him a small smile, before taking a big sip of your drink.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

“Just great. My ex is here with his new girlfriend. Two weeks after he broke up with me. It’s as if I meant nothing to him. We were together for three years. I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party only came because Hermione convinced me to. Now I have to see him with some slut.” You said before downing the rest of your drink.

You went to grab another but Theo quickly stopped you.

“Slow down Y/N. You’ll get drunk way too fast. And you’ll feel like crap.” He said.

“That’s the plan.” You said ignoring him and grabbing another drink.

“Now Theo you can either drink with me, or leave me alone.” You said taking a sip of your second drink.

“I’m not leaving you alone. Not when you’re going to be in a state.” He said.

“Good, then drink with me.” You said grabbing a drink for Theo, and then pulling him to the sofa in the middle of the Slytherin common room.

You pushed him down on the sofa, and sat down on his lap.

“Y/N, I don’t think this is a good idea.” He said.

“Well there isn’t many other places I can sit so it’s your lap or on the floor. And I would much rather sit on your lap Theo.” You said smiling at him,

You looked over at Mattheo who was still watching you. He had been watching your every move. He now had a scowl on his face. It was your turn to smirk at him.

His new girlfriend was trying to get his attention but he couldn’t stop watching as you sat on his best friends lap. Laughing and flirting with Theo. You kept glancing at Mattheo to see his reaction.

When his girlfriend couldn’t get Mattheo’s attention she looked over to see where he was glaring. She immediately started to get angry with Mattheo. Shouting at him. Telling him to pay attention to her. But Mattheo’s gaze never shifted from you and Theo.

“You know Theo you’re really handsome, maybe I should have dated you instead of Mattheo.” You said running your fingers through his hair.

“Y/N stop before you do or say something you’ll regret.” Theo warned.

“And who says I will regret it.” You smirked before crashing your lips against Theo’ s.

Theo was reluctant to kiss you back. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he had always liked you, but you had been with his best friend. Before Theo could decide whether or not to kiss you back, you felt yourself being pulled off his lap.

You turned to see Mattheo stood there absolutely livid.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked.

“That is none of your business anymore Mattheo. You broke up with me.” You snapped.

“You can’t just go kissing my best friend.” He snapped getting in your face. He was breathing heavily, absolutely seething.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. I can kiss whoever the fuck I want. And if I want to fuck someone I can do that too. You don’t have the right to lecture me, not when you started dating that slut only two weeks after we broke up. Clearly the last three years meant nothing to you. I meant nothing to you.”

“What the fuck did you call me?” Mattheo’s girlfriend said inserting herself into the conversation.

Pushing Mattheo out of the way you glared at his girlfriend.

“I called you a slut, everyone knows you spread your legs for any guy that looks at you.”

“How dare you? You’re the one who cheated on Mattheo.” She said.

“Excuse me.” You said, utterly confused.

“What bullshit have you been telling her Mattheo?” You said glaring at him.

“Actually you know what. Fuck you. And fuck your disgusting slut of a girlfriend.” You said and slapped Mattheo across the face.

You pushed past his girlfriend, and ran out of the Slytherin common room. You didn’t know where you were going you just knew that you had to get as far away from Mattheo and his new girlfriend as possible.

“What the hell have you done Riddle?” Draco asked having seen the commotion.

“I did nothing.” Mattheo said.

“I swear if you’ve hurt her I’ll kill you.” Draco spat.

“Why do you care about her?” Mattheo asked.

“Have you forgotten the fact that me and her were best friends up until she became friends with Granger. We grew up together. We might not be as close as we used to be but I still care about her. Now I’m going to go and find her. And if I find out you’ve done something else to hurt her I will kill you Riddle.” Draco said before leaving the common room to look for you.

He knew exactly where to look for you. He found you sat by the Black Lake sobbing. Draco sat down by you and took his jacket off placing it over your shoulders.

“It’s cold out here, you should have stayed in the castle.” He said.

“Draco what are you doing here?” You asked looking at him.

“I had to come check you were ok. No one else seemed to want to come and check up on you. Not even your new best friend.” He said.

“Why did you have to come though? I mean we aren’t as close as we used to be.”

“I still care about you. My parents ask about you all the time you know. They always tell me they hope you’ll come over to the manor again one day. Like you used to. Stay the summer again. They miss you as much as I miss you.”

“Draco I. I’m sorry I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s ok. Look you know I don’t like Granger. You deserve better friends than her.”

“Draco don’t.” You said starting to get annoyed.

“I’m sorry but look if she truly was your best friend she would be here with you now. Not me.” He said.

“I guess you’re right.” You said not really wanting to admit he was right. But you couldn’t deny that he had a very valid point.

If Hermione really was your friend she would have followed straight after you. But why didn’t she?

“How come you slapped Mattheo?” Draco asked.

“He told his new girlfriend that I cheated on him, and that’s why he broke up with me.”

“What the fuck. Why would he say that?”

“Honestly. I have no idea. I’ve done nothing but love him for the last three years.”

“Right. Well I’m going to find out what the fuck is going on with that idiot. Either he’s made it up so he doesn’t seem like the bad guy. Or someone made shit up to him. Either way I’m going to find out. I will set things straight for you. I owe you that much for being such a terrible friend.” Draco said.

“Draco you have never been a terrible friend. We stopped being close because you and Hermione don’t see eye to eye.” You explained.

“I still need to make up for us not being as close as we used to. I deeply regret letting Granger come between our friendship.” He said wrapping his arm around you and pulling you in for a hug.

A few days later Draco came back to you, with some news. He found you in the library after classes.

“Y/N I have the answers you need.” He said sitting down opposite you.

“From the look on your face I’m guessing I am not going to like what you have to tell me.” You said noticing the angry expression on his face.

“No you aren’t.” Draco said.

“Ok. Let’s hear it.” You said.

“Well first of all Mattheo refused to say anything, no matter how many times I threatened him or tried to get him to talk. I tried his new girlfriend, but she also refused to speak to me. So my last resort was Theo. I know he’s Mattheo’s best friend but I knew he must have some insight into what happened. Best friends tell each other everything.” Draco said.

“Ok. And he had some information right?” You asked.

“Yes he did. First of all that girl, is not Mattheo’s new girlfriend. He only pretended to be with her to get back at you. The girl however honestly did think that they were together. He has now told her to leave him alone he wants nothing to do with her.” Draco explained.

“Ok, but did you find out why he told her that I cheated on him?” You asked.

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have all the information. You know I don’t stop until I have everything I need.”

“I know sorry. Carry on.”

“It was Granger. She was the one who told Mattheo that you cheated on him.”

“What why the hell would she do that? I thought she was my friend.”

“I know and I’m sorry.” Draco said taking his hand in yours.

“Right let’s go and speak to her. She will be in the Gryffindor common room you can come with me.” You said.

“You know we aren’t normally allowed in other houses common rooms unless there’s a party.” Draco said.

“Well it’s ok because you’re with me, and I give you permission to be in there.” You said.

The two of you made your way to the Gryffindor common room. Giving the portrait of the Fat Lady the password you and Draco entered the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione was sat there with Ron and Harry and a few other Gryffindor students were around.

“Y/N there you are.” She said giving you a smile.

“What the hell is Malfoy doing here?” Ron asked.

“Yeah what is he doing here you know we aren’t allowed in other houses common rooms.” Hermione said looking pissed off.

“He is my friend and I gave him permission to be here. And Hermione I think me and you need a little talk.” You said.

“What about? And I’m not talking if he’s here.” Hermione said glaring at Draco.

“Well I’m not going anywhere you filthy little mudblood.” Draco spat.

“Hey watch it Malfoy.” Harry said standing up and pointing his wand at Draco ready to start a fight.

You stepped between Harry and Draco and pushed Harry.

“Don’t you dare Harry” you said.

“How can you defend him?” Harry asked.

“Because he is my best friend. Has been since we were young. But we haven’t been as close over the last few years. But we are getting back on track again.” You explained.

“I thought I was your best friend?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah I thought so too.” You said glaring at Hermione.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said now standing up.

You didn’t say anything. Hermione stumbled back once your hand connected with her face.

“Why would you do that?” Ron asked.

“Ask her. She knows what she did.” You said pointing to Hermione who now had tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Yes you did Hermione. What was it huh? Were you jealous? Didn’t want me to be happy? What was it? What caused you to ruin my relationship?” You asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She denied.

“Seriously what is going on?” Harry asked.

“This filthy little mudblood told Mattheo that Y/N cheated on him.” Draco said.

“I told you to watch it Malfoy.” Harry said pointing his wand at Draco again.

“And I said don’t you dare Harry.” You said pushing him away from Draco again.

“How could you do this to me Hermione?” You asked now looking at her.

“I didn’t.” She denied again.

“But you did. We know you did. So why would you sabotage my relationship? Do you like Mattheo or something?” You asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Yes you did. I can see it in your eyes Hermione. You can’t lie to me.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” She snapped.

“Yes you do. You ruined my relationship of three fucking years. You owe me an explanation.” You yelled.

“Fine. It’s true I like Mattheo. And you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone. You’re a bitch.” She said.

You chuckled and then tackled Hermione to the floor. You punched her over and over again.

Harry and Ron tried to pull you off of Hermione. They did not succeed. Draco just watched in amusement laughing. The rest of the Gryffindor students just watched in horror and shock.

Finally you got off Hermione and looked at your handy work. You smiled as Ron and Harry checked if Hermione was ok.

“You can come stay in my dorm tonight. Don’t want you staying here.” Draco said.

“Yeah let’s go get my things.” You said leading Draco to your dorm room so you could get some change of clothes and everything else you would need for the night.

As you walked out of the common room your belongings in tow with Draco, you turned to Hermione and said “you deserved that mudblood.”

Draco laughed, while Harry and Ron glared at you. Hermione completely avoided looking at you as you and Draco left the Gryffindor common room.

When you arrived at the Slytherin common room you were annoyed to see Mattheo sat there with Theo.

Mattheo noticed you and asked “what is she doing here?”

“She’s staying with me tonight.” Draco said.

“Are you two dating now?” Mattheo asked.

“No of course not, she’s my best friend. And she just beat the crap out of Granger.”Draco explained.

Mattheo and Theo shared a look between them.

“Let’s go to my dorm.” Draco said.

“I actually need to sit down a minute.” You said sitting down in an empty chair.

“Ok I will take your stuff to my dorm and then I will be back in a few minutes.” Draco said leaving you there.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

“Why did you beat up Granger?” Mattheo asked.

You didn’t answer him just chose to ignore him.

“Y/N I asked you a question.” Mattheo said annoyed that you weren’t responding.

“Just drop it Mattheo.” You said.

“No. I won’t. Why did you beat her up? That’s not like you at all.”

“Because she sabotaged our relationship. She lied about me cheating on you because she likes you. There are you happy now.” You snapped and made your way to Draco’s dorm.

You spent the night with Draco. He held you the entire night, soothing you, wiping away your tears.

“Good morning.” Draco said when you woke up, arms still around you.

“Morning Draco. I’m sorry about last night.” You said.

“You have nothing to apologise for. If you want to stay here for a bit longer with me until things calm down a bit you’re welcome to. You don’t have to go back to your common room until you’re ready to. We can go get you some more clothes after classes today.” Draco suggested.

“Thank you I appreciate that. And yeah I definitely think that’s a good idea. For a little while at least.”

You and Draco stayed in bed until it was time to go classes. You both decided it was best to avoid going to the Great Hall for breakfast. Knowing you would have to sit at the Gryffindor table whilst Draco was at the Slytherin table wasn’t appealing to you.

For all your classes you usually sat by Hermione but opted to sit by Draco all day. You were surprised that you didn’t get into any trouble about what you had done to Hermione. But maybe she knew better than to snitch on you. Harry and Ron didn’t seem happy with the fact that you were getting away with it.

At the end of the day you grabbed dinner from the Great Hall. You and Draco didn’t stick around knowing you would have to sit at separate tables so you grabbed some food and just headed back to the Slytherin common room. You had already grabbed everything you needed from your dorm for a few more days so you didn’t have to worry about going anywhere for the rest of the night.

You had not long finished eating when Mattheo and Theo entered the common room. He saw you cuddled up with Draco and his heart sank. He knows you and Draco are just friends but it still hurt to see you cuddled up with him.

“Y/N can we talk?” Mattheo asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Draco said speaking for you. It was like he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

“Please.” Mattheo begged.

Draco looked at you as if silently saying it’s your choice.

“Ok fine but make it quick.” You said.

“I’ll be in my dorm room if you need me.” Draco said and placed a kiss on top of your head.

Draco left you and Mattheo to talk. Theo also left the two of you alone. Luckily no other students were back from dinner yet so it was just you and Mattheo.

He sat down next to you and didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“Go on then Mattheo. You said you wanted to talk but you aren’t saying anything.” You said.

“I know I’m sorry. I just I don’t want to mess things up further. I don’t want to say anything wrong.” He admitted.

“It’s ok. Just say what you have to say.” You said.

“Hermione asked me out.” Mattheo said.

“What the fuck. That filthy mudblood seriously has the audacity after everything she did and everything she said to me last night.” You said angrily.

“Hey don’t get angry.” Mattheo said and he took one of your hands in his.

You looked at your hands interlocked and felt your heart race. You tried to ignore it.

“What did she say to you anyway?” Mattheo asked.

“She called me a bitch. And she said that I didn’t deserve you. That I don’t deserve anyone.” You said.

You started crying. You could no longer hold back the tears.

Mattheo was quick to wrap his arms around you.

“Hey shhhhhh” he said trying to soothe you.

Neither of you said anything for about ten minutes. Mattheo just held you in his arms, as you sobbed into his chest.

He placed a kiss on top of your head.

“When Hermione asked me out I embarrassed her in front of the entire Great Hall. Told her she should be ashamed asking me out after ruining our relationship. Told her she always seems to want something she can’t have because she’s jealous of someone else. Told her that even if she was the last person in the world I wouldn’t go near her. Said she’s a bitch for pretending to be your friend this whole time, just waiting for the right opportunity to sabotage our relationship. She cried and ran away of course.” Mattheo said.

“Oh and before she ran away I told her that I am still in love with the most beautiful girl I have ever known, inside and out. That I should have never believed her lies. And that I regret ever doubting you for a second.” He added.

You lifted your head from Mattheo’s chest to look him in the eyes.

“You still love me?” You asked.

“Of course I do. We were together for three years. And I’m sorry I pretended to be with someone else just to make you jealous. Don’t worry I didn’t do anything with her. I didn’t even kiss her.” Mattheo said.

“I still love you too Mattheo. And I’m sorry I kissed Theo. I only did it because I was hurting so much. Especially since you seemed to move on from me so quickly. I mean moving on after two weeks is far too quick.” You said.

“As I said. I wasn’t actually with her, so technically I hadn’t moved on. And it’s ok. I get why you did it. You were upset.”

“Where do we go from here then?” You asked.

“Well if you are I’m willing to act like this was just a little bump in the road. If you’re willing to put this behind us we can carry on as normal. Only if you want to of course.” Mattheo said.

You smiled before leaning in to kiss him. The kiss was warm and gentle. You had missed this so much.

Pulling away you rested your forehead against Mattheo’s.

“I’m willing to do anything it takes to fix us.” You said.

“Me too.” Mattheo replied.

You both smiled and it suddenly felt like everything was going to be ok.

“If you hurt her again I will kill you.” Draco said as he re entered the room with Theo.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I plan on making this girl happy for the rest of our lives. Nothing and no one will come between us again. I will make sure of it.” Mattheo said before kissing you again.

And you knew that he meant it.

[ghouljams]

gaz. wife 4. 10 years from now. pretty please what’s it look like

It's funny how even after a decade love can still find ways hurt you.

You sob against Kyle's side watching your son wave to you from the front entrance of his new dorm. You raise a hand to wave back, trying to look presentable, as he turns with a grin and walks back inside. Kyle helped him carry the last of his bags upstairs more than a half hour ago and you've been delaying this as long as you could. Your baby boy... you miss him already.

"He'll be alright," Kyle assures you, "and we'll see him on fall break."

He's right, you know he's right. Kyle managed to talk your son out of enlisting, and for that you're grateful, but it's still hard letting him go. Your little boy is still so young, even for all his insistence that he's an adult now. He's the same age you were when you married his father. You'd thought you were so grown up back then, but watching your son... God you were just a child. A silly little girl playing pretend.

"You want something to eat, love?" Kyle asks, "Past lunch."

You scrub at your eyes, sniffle a little as you nod. Kyle wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you back to the car. You blow your nose, crinkling your nearly empty tissue package to get another when the first gets too wet to continue using. Kyle hums along to the radio, and when you peak at him you're relieved to see his eyes are a little puffy too. You've known for a long time that he thinks of your kids as his own. Your daughter has called him "dad" for long enough for you to know the feeling is mutual.

Still, there's a selfish part of you that wishes you'd been able to do it all on your own, that you didn't need Kyle as much as you do. Even now he's taking care of you, making sure to pick up the pieces of your bittersweet heart so you can assure your daughter that everything went well at dinner. Kyle takes his hand off the gear shift and settles it on your knee. His fingers squeeze their reassurance. You're doing a good job.

It still breaks your heart to hear it. Too many years without so much as a glance of praise, sure you'd never do anything to deserve it, and now Kyle showers you in it. It makes your stomach twist. It makes you think about marriage and permanence, about two names on a mortgage, and about the way men change when they back you into a corner. You still can't say the words out loud.

"I love you" forms on your tongue like a curse rather than a promise. One you won't doom either of you to.

[bcksbarnes]

time's never been on our side - chapter five

pairing:��bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky happen to meet by chance one night, and it feels like there is a spark between the two of you - but he has to leave. was this destiny? or cruel fate?

word count: 3K

read the: previous chapter

How do you miss someone you've barely spent any time with? Someone that up until a few days ago was basically a total stranger.

It was wrong. Forbidden, even.

You didn't think it'd hurt so much when Bucky left, you tried your best to mentally prepare yourself for the fact that it had to end. He had made it very obvious — this was short term.

Although neither of you were prepared for how abrupt the end would be.

When the door closed behind him on the way out of your apartment, all you could do was stare at the white paint in a state of disbelief. You missed him already, and that was truly unfair.

Instead of trying to distract yourself, or even talk yourself out of these feelings, you opt to lay on your bed and nuzzle your face into your pillow, mustering all your strength to not scream, or cry, or both. Your mind is plaguing you with thoughts about how cruel and unusual it was to be ripped apart so soon. It didn't make it hurt less, but a good spiral was what you really needed.

He texted you as soon as he was on the plane:

This is bullshit.

All you could manage to respond with was:

:(

And it's not like Bucky was handling it much better either. He ignored both Steve and Sam's attempts to speak with him when he boarded, opting to read the briefing sheet rather than listen in on Steve's mission overview. Though it didn't help much because he kept reading the words over and over again — they wouldn't stick in his brain, all he could think about was you and what he was leaving behind.

Bucky loved what he did and more importantly he loved the people he did it with. Being able to save the world, to feel like he's accomplished something other than mass destruction was a win in his eyes, but he kept having this recurring feeling that maybe his time in this field had run its course.

He had spent all of his life fighting, running, hiding. The world always needed to be saved, maybe he didn't have to be the one saving it anymore. You reminded him that life didn't need to be loading guns and counting dead bodies, it could be more. 

So much more.

"Steve's about to pop a vein," Sam says, snapping Bucky out of his thoughts as he takes a seat across from him, his elbows resting on his knees as he settles in. "You two need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," Bucky mutters.

"I said this weeks ago when we were in Budapest. You can't continue being miserable because Steve wants to keep going."

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."

There's a tiredness in his voice that lets the other man know he's serious, that right now he truly doesn't want to be bothered. He wants to stare out of the window of the plane, look at the clouds below him, and be angry at the world.

Was that too much to ask for?

"I know you don't, but you know I'm right," Sam says, receiving a look from Bucky that was less than kind. "Listen, maybe you don't want to talk about it now, and maybe Steve is refusing to come to terms with the fact that you're ready to start a new life, but just know that if you don’t talk — it won't end well. For either of you. You need to ask yourself if whoever you just left behind tonight is your path forward."

Bucky keeps his gaze towards the window, his jaw set as he could feel his pulse quicken, his metal hand curling into a fist as it rests on his knee. He watches in his peripheral vision as his friend stands and walks to the other side of the jet, leaving Bucky alone with his dark, depressing thoughts.

When the jet had finally lands in Lagos it was go-time. Bucky put on a brave face, as he normally did, and found Sam and Steve – ready to jump into action.

The mission was not as easy as everyone hoped it would be. It was a repetitive mess that led the team down too many twists and turns, and each day they inched further and further away from when it would end.

Three weeks turned into six, which was now looking more like eight.

What a fucking nightmare.

The only thing keeping either of you sane was the nights when Bucky finally got back to his hotel room, closing and locking the door for his privacy, and took his phone out to dial your number.

Tonight was especially hard on Bucky, they had somehow missed the signs of an ambush. Everyone on the team was badly hurt, he even took a few extra blows than what he was used to.

Not their greatest moment.

"Hello?" you rasp into the phone, immediately pulling Bucky out of his thoughts. He's startled by how tired you sound, and when he checks the time he understands why.

"Shit, sorry. I didn't realize it was so late."

"It's fine. Did you just get back?" you ask, a yawn leaving your lips slightly muffling your words.

"Yeah, it was a long day."

Bucky didn’t even bother to turn on the lights as he made his way towards his bed, his back hitting the mattress with a thud as he stared up at the ceiling. He tries to clear his mind of the sounds of gunshots and screams. As he’s grown older and further away from his days as the Winter Soldier it was easier to compartmentalize, but that didn't mean it didn't haunt him. So, he closes his eyes as he tries to picture your face instead, maybe then the bad thoughts will go away.

"You should go back to sleep," he insists, although deep down he doesn't mean it. Selfishly he wants you all to himself, despite how late it was. His stomach sinks at even the idea of hanging up.

"I'm fine," you reiterate, trying to hold back another yawn as you rub your eye with the palm of your hand. "I've been waiting all day to talk to you, what's missing a few hours of sleep anyway?"

"You're so stubborn."

"Oh, I can hang up if you really want me to."

"No," he responds, maybe a little too quickly. His hand moves under his shirt as he scratches his stomach gently. "Not yet."

Truthfully he wants to tell you he misses you, but the word is so profound and he's not even sure he's ever said it before. That scares him. What Bucky is unaware of is how the word is also on the tip of your tongue, just threatening to roll off at any moment.

An ocean apart, only connected by this nightly phone call, and neither of you could really say what you truly wanted.

"That's what I thought, Barnes."

You smile to yourself as you flip over onto your side, bringing your blanket up to your chin as you get cozy in the bed. Maybe one day Bucky could join you. 

Maybe.

"What did you do today?" he asks. It's sincere in the way that he truly wants to know what you did, but part of him wants his mind to stop, your voice seems to be the only thing to bring him back down to Earth.

"I brought Alpine to the vet, then did some grocery shopping. Nothing really too exciting."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, routine check up. She hates when they do the exam so most of the time I was trying to wrangle her while she hissed at all the nurses."

Bucky lets out a scoff at the thought, his eyes finally opening once more. The once dark room was starting to let light in, the sun starting to peek through the horizon of the early mornings.

"She's feisty. I wonder where she learned that from."

"I'm not sure what you're implying," you say, innocently.

"Mm, I'm sure you don't."

"Watch it, Buck."

"There it is," he teases, switching his phone to press against his other ear. "I knew I wasn't making it up."

"Shut up." You bite down on your bottom lip, your heart beating rapidly in your chest at his teasing. You feel like you were a teenager with a stupid crush that wouldn't go away.

A long silence passes between the two of you, and your eyelids grow a bit heavy from the darkness of the night — you knew sleep would be in your future soon, but you weren’t ready to let this moment go just yet.

Bucky definitely wasn't.

"I wish you were here," he whispers into the phone, clutching on it so hard that he's sure it might break. "Or that I was there, either way."

"Me too," you nod, even if he can't see it. "When you get back we should go back to that restaurant we liked."

"Which one?"

"You know with that spaghetti dish we liked? The one you spilled your drink on yourself?"

Bucky chuckles at the memory. He remembers missing his mouth when he went to take a sip because he was mesmerized by the way you looked. There wasn't even a way for him to recover from it, he mumbled some curse words under his breath as he tried to clean up the giant stain that was on his shirt and not focus on your hands reaching over to help him.

"Yeah, that place," he responds. "Sounds good to me."

"When will you be back?"

"I'm not sure."

"Soon?"

"Soon," he promises.

Your heart leaps even as the exhaustion overcomes you, clutching your phone a bit tighter — unaware that Bucky had done the same on his end. Some more soft whispers are exchanged between the two of you before you end up falling asleep on the line. Bucky hears the sound of your soft, even breathing through the speaker and it fills him with warmth. He hesitates and wages an internal war before he finally ends the call and readies himself for bed, despite the sun rising in the distance.

The next morning, well afternoon, is rough for Bucky who is now lacking sleep and is desperately itching to get back home. He checks his phone immediately, a bad habit he's now picked up, and instead of finding a text from you sees a few missed calls from Steve.

Will be there in 20, just getting up.

He texts his friend before rolling out of bed to start another (he’s assuming) long day.

One shower, one disgustingly bitter cup of coffee and twenty minutes later Bucky finds Steve in a hotel room now make-shift control room a few floors above his own.

"Hey," Steve nods his chin in Bucky’s direction. He was the only person in the room, sitting down on a desk chair that seemed way too small for a man so large, it was jarring.

"Hey," Bucky nods back, closing the door to the room behind him. "What's up?"

"We'll be here for another two weeks," Steve responds without any hesitation, straightening up his back as he sits in the chair. "Sam got a lead on another base about 50 miles outside the city. The teams working on a way to get in, apparently our system hasn't been picking it up since they're using some advanced technology to try and hide it in plain sight."

Bucky stands a few feet in front of Steve, his arms crossed over his chest, his brows furrowing.

"Two more weeks? We've been here for a while, Steve, there's no way this should be taking this long."

"Unless you want a lot of innocent people to get hurt, Buck, we're not rushing this. Red Wing did a diagnostic scan of the facility and there's a lot of hostages, just like the one a few days ago. It's a pattern."

There's no response from Bucky as he averts his gaze for a moment, feeling the irritation rise in his chest. He knows this is the moment that Sam wanted for the two of them; Bucky to finally admit his feelings and tell Steve that he's at the end of his days. 

All he can think of is the people inside the facility who are waiting for someone to save them — he could save them.

All he knows is guilt.

"Will that be a problem?" Steve challenges, standing up so the two are eye level. Tension filling the air that took Bucky by surprise, straightening his own posture.

"Listen, Steve…"

"What, Buck? You want to quit?"

"What? I didn't say that," he defends himself. "Can you let me speak?"

"Go ahead."

"Thanks," he eyes Steve before taking a step back to create some distance between each other. There's so much going through Bucky's head at the moment he doesn't even know where to begin. "This has been a lot lately. We've been non-stop and it's been tiring. Taking some time off has made me … realize that maybe I'm not looking to do this forever."

Steve watches carefully, his jaw tightening as he listens, Bucky speaks again.

"I want a normal life."

"A normal life?" Steve scoffs in response. "Don't you think we all want that? We gave that up a long time ago, buddy."

"I know," Bucky snaps back through gritted teeth. "I'm fully aware of that."

"So you do want to quit, like I said."

"You make it sound like I have a choice."

"You do have a choice," Steve takes a step forward and minimizes the space that Bucky created. "You're either in, or you're out, Buck. There's no in between, there's no happy endings."

"What if I don't want to be ‘in’ anymore? I'm not quitting, I've done my time. I've done time that I should never even been sentenced to, a life that I didn't get to pick."

"Not all of us have a choice."

"You did," Bucky snaps back. "You wanted this. You knew when you took that serum it meant you were going from a scrawny kid from Brooklyn to a hero. I wanted to punch a few Nazi's and come home. Start a family. Meet someone. I didn't get to pick my life, someone else did for me."

"And what? You've found someone and suddenly you want to pick up the only life you know and throw it away? People are counting on you, they're counting on us."

"Don't pull that shit with me, Steve," Bucky raises his voice.

"Pull what? Your head out of your ass? Do you think I don't know that something's going on?" Steve raises his own back. "Who is it?"

Bucky feels like he should come clean, but a voice in the back of his mind is telling him that it'd be a bad idea. What were you and Bucky besides two friends who have only really spent a few weeks together? Would it even be worth mentioning to Steve? What if this blew up in his face? He couldn't tie this need to move on in his life back to you.

Not now, anyway.

"No one," Bucky says, keeping his expression neutral. "There's no one. I'm just tired."

"We're all tired, we all want to be done, but there's always something else. Something we can't run away from." Steve lifts his hand to clap Bucky's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze and shaking the man slightly. "We can't stop even if we want to."

And just like that it all came tumbling down.

Bucky would never be free from this life.

"I can give you some more time off after this mission, but we need you back here. I need you back here." Steve gives his shoulder another reassuring squeeze, though it does nothing to calm the unease in his stomach.

Bucky averts his gaze, trying his best to not let his emotions settle to the surface. 

Not here, not now. 

He gives Steve some vague mumbled response that he doesn't remember and the two pretend like the conversation never happened. Even if there's a giant knot in his stomach and his brain is a little hazed as Steve jumps right back into the tactical part of the mission, it never happened.

Sam and the rest of the crew join them a few minutes later, and before he knows it they are off on another night of looking for hostages and fights he didn’t want to be in. If his heart wasn't in it before, it definitely wasn't in it now. Two more weeks and he had a break again, that's what Steve had told him — he hoped he’d follow through on his promise.

"He means well," Sam says hours later as the two of them enter the elevator of the hotel. Sam takes the liberty of pressing the buttons of both of their floors. They are covered in blood — Bucky had failed to stop a grenade that had been fired at too close of a range, they were both lucky they were still alive. His mind was elsewhere tonight.

Bucky gulps and keeps his eyes averted, biting down on his tongue as he holds back what little dignity he has in that moment. He was only a few feet away from his room, and, more importantly, only a few seconds from calling you.

The elevator chimed and Bucky stepped out, tossing his head over his shoulder as he gave Sam one final look.

"He doesn't," he says, watching as the elevator doors shut, leaving him alone once again.

Bucky's feet carry him to his room, and soon he flops down on his bed as a part of his nightly routine, but this time when he reaches for his phone in his pocket his hands shake. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life.

It rings only once before you pick up.

"Hey," you say, it’s late but with the time difference and how long Bucky’s days were, it always was when he called.

"Hey," he whispers back, his head turning to the side as he stares at the wall, studying the patterns on the wallpaper.

"What's wrong?"

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, holding back emotions he tried never to reckon with: sadness, loneliness, wanting.

"I just needed to hear your voice."

[penelopehere]

How Rumi’s Parents Met HCs

a/n: Ryu is the name of Rumi’s mum

I personally believe her parents met when Ryu was by herself, patrolling the city when she spotted a demon lurking in an alleyway

Naturally she went to investigate, attacking instantly when she got close enough

However the demon didn’t fight back, merely defending itself and then disappearing as soon as it could

At first she thought it was strange, but just brushed it off as she went back to patrolling

However, when she spotted the same demon a couple days later, the exact same thing happened

She attacked, and he disappeared in an instant

This simultaneously confused and annoyed her, with Ryu now going out of her way to find that specific demon

She told her team about the unusual situation, but was reassured that he was nothing the hunters couldn’t handle

Regardless, Ryu still went out to get answers

It was weeks until she managed to corner the demon, pinning him against the wall with her blade to his throat 

She asked why he was in the human world, growing more frustrated as he remained quiet for a few moments

He then said if she was going to kill him that she should just get it over with, which threw Ryu off long enough for him to slip away and disappear

From there a pattern would emerge, with the two of them frequently crossing paths when Ryu was patrolling alone

Unbeknownst to her, the demon was actually seeking her out, wanting to talk more

She’d basically interrogate him about his life as a demon, trying to find his intentions for not attacking her

However, from these questions she’d learn he wasn’t loyal to Gwi-Ma, trying to escape his voice

While Ryu was sceptical at first, the two of them grew closer, with her even answering the demons questions about her

That’s when she realised she genuinely cared about the demon

Not knowing how to handle these feelings, she instantly went out of her way to not see him

Eventually she began seeing him everywhere; in the crowd during concerts, in the corner of her eye when she was on patrol, sometimes even outside her house

However, he’d manage to get Ryu by herself, asking why she’d just leave him and that if she wanted to end things she should say it to his face

They’d definitely argue, saying that whatever they had shouldn’t even have happened since they were so different

The demon would eventually leave, promising not to find her again if she really felt that way

Months would pass, with Ryu missing him more and more

Even the other members would notice, but she’d just say she was stressed about maintaining the Honmoon

She’d try and find the demon again when she was on patrol, with no success

Eventually, when she was alone, she’d start talking to herself; asking him to come back

The moment those words left her mouth, he’d appear; neither of them talking when they locked eyes

From there the two would confess their feelings for one another, despite the two being a demon and hunter, allowing for their relationship to properly start

She wanted to tell Celine, but anytime she brought up the topic of demons, she saw the anger and resentment in her eyes

So instead they kept their relationship a secret, dating for years as Ryu made sure the other hunters never found him

At some point they would get married, merely exchanging rings as a symbol of their union rather than doing anything official

However, when she fell pregnant, she knew she would have to come clean

I believe this caused a falling out with the hunters, with Ryu disappearing since she knew they would never accept her new lifestyle

She continued to hunt demons for as long as she could, doing it from the shadows so her former group couldn’t find her

Her husband would help her during this, using his demon abilities to his advantage and fully taking over when Ryu became too pregnant though

When Rumi was finally born, neither one of her parents knew how to raise such a unique child

At first they were cautious, meticulously noting down her demon attributes and any behaviours they thought were abnormal

However, they very quickly grew not to care about her differences and focused on making sure she was happy

Rumi lived a rather sheltered life with her parents, staying home most of the time until around the age of three

At this point I believe Gwi-Ma heard of a rogue demon that was helping a hunter, sending all his underlings to capture them

Their family remained hidden for a while, however the demons managed to track down the area and they lived in

Not wanting to leave the humans of their city in danger, and knowing that no matter where they went Gwi-Ma would find them, they tried coming up with a plan to defeat him

However, Rumi’s father knew that this was practically impossible, and decided to face the overlord alone

He quietly said goodbye to his family, leaving them in the middle of the night

Ryu knew exactly why he had gone when she realised he was missing, not knowing how to go after him while also protecting Rumi

Eventually, she’d run into Celine who had heard about the concentrated number of demons in the area

Seeing Rumi with her demon markings, everything clicked into place and Celine was horrified

Instead of explaining herself, Ryu pleaded with her to understand that Rumi was still her daughter

This managed to convince Celine to take care of the child while Ryu went to go look for her husband

I believe they would only reunite at the final battle, with demons trying to drag her husband back to the demon world

In the process, civilians were being killed as well, Gwi-Ma managing to slowly make his way topside because of the influx of souls

Here Ryu would do her best to protect everyone while saving her husband, the two of them reuniting amidst all the chaos

This would catch Gwi-Ma’s attention, with him directing all his resources towards capturing the hunter and her demon husband

The pair would manoeuvre around the city, trying to draw the mob away from the public

In the end though, they knew what they had to do

Charging to Gwi-Ma, they lured all of the demons back into his flames in an attempt to push him back in the underworld

This worked, however, at the cost of Ryu and her husband’s life

Celine witnessed the carnage, unable to stop Ryu’s sacrifice since she was taking care of Rumi and trying to direct all the civilians to safety

Celine blamed Ryu’s demon husband on all this, vowing to never let another corrupt those she loved

Therefore, despite being half demon herself, she raised Rumi to hide and despise her demon side