yunnie

a solace for you and me

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Word Count: 750+ A/N: This is so late but I found this in my drafts and it fit perfectly with your request!! I'll have to work on a part two of them fully meeting but for now I hope you enjoy this :) p.s. uni has started back up which is why i've been MIA, sorry guys, still love you ):

He looks for you, even when the city is asleep.

Even when he knows he won’t find you.

Bruce likes to say it’s okay, that it’s only a way of grief, that he feels comfort in the idea of one day seeing you again. 

Jason isn’t sure if knowing this helps, not when he did this to himself.

It’d been a petty argument, after a long patrol as Robin, after a fight with Bruce, he just felt so angry. But things with Bruce were still tense, still too fresh, Dick wasn’t around, and Alfred was somewhere in the manor. And his lasting resolve broke, lashing out to the only person that was there.

He remembers saying things he hadn’t meant, too frustrated to communicate what he felt, the red hot anger boiling over in him. He told you to leave, and your teary eyes begged him to take it back, but his mind felt clouded, rationality, empathy, discarded.

He regretted it the moment you were gone.

He swears he planned to go after you, to plead, to ask for forgiveness, but when he was called to suit up, he knew it would have to wait.

He just didn’t think he’d have to wait this long.

After his resurrection, Jason abandoned everything from before. Things had changed too much, his mind, body, soul, someone different. 

His patrolling hours grow long, something to keep his mind in focus. His thoughts were astray, constant and heavy, split in different directions, from the war within of what Bruce wouldn’t do for him, of his death, of the Joker, of you.

There was no time, not when his plans hadn’t been fully finished, when he still needed to form his plans as Red Hood. 

At least it was what he kept telling himself.

He never was the best at self restraint.

He tells himself he’s being productive, that the time spent out in the city, so late that even Gotham seemed to quiet down at these hours, were all for a greater purpose. For him to gather intel, to study the changes in the city after his time away, to see something he missed. But a bigger part of himself knows, there’s nothing in this city he hadn’t noticed when he’d first returned, no changes, nothing missed, everything was the same, but you. It frustrated him to no end, some nights he spent angry, with you, for not fighting harder, for truly leaving him just like everyone else had. But he knows he’s really, simply, angry with himself. That he hadn’t fought harder, that he left you just like the people he hated for leaving him. Many nights, he wonders if he’s any better than the ones he condemns. 

The night you reappear, Jason isn’t sure if it was a hallucination. It was late, too late for you to be walking alone. He used to tell you all the time, the stories behind his scars, the tales of criminals he put away, the victims, the people they’d been too late to save. He warned you to never travel alone, you’d simply hugged him and told him you wouldn’t, because he’d be there wherever you were. But you’re walking, turning down a dimly lit street. Your head bobs slightly as you smile down to your phone, mouthing to a tune he cannot hear. Your hair is shorter, a darker color, your clothes are different, and so is your demeanor. Your smile is light and secretive, as if unfazed by the darkness looming around you. You look free. 

His feet itch to move, his fingers curling, restless and wanting. And when the familiar pain surrounds his chest, an ache for something he can’t have, he pushes it away, burying it with the familiarity of something more cruel. His mind twists the image of you, an uncomfortable burn, whispering to him, questioning how you could seem so happy, so content, especially in such a private manner. How much he’d yearned for you, how he’d fought to keep himself away, because the idea of presenting this version of himself to you, when you thought him dead, would be too callous, even for him.

So he turns away, forcing the lump down his throat. Because you deserve this quiet happiness, this peaceful life, and he could not do a thing to stop it. Because he was no longer yours, and you were no longer his.

Pairing: Tim Drake x Fem!Reader Based off this request: ask CW: slight mentions of feeling sad/hopeless (to all my academic validation people, it gets better i promise💘) Word Count: 1.8k+ A/N: guys i feel like my writings get worse and worse the more i practice... how is this possible😭anyways i hope you enjoy!!! as always, comments, reblogs, are all appreciated love youuu

“It’s not that serious.”

You resist an eye twitch. 

Tim Drake stands facing you, his body relaxed, face the picture of composure.

Your fingers grip the paper in your hands tighter, as you stare at him in disbelief.

“Not that serious?” You repeat, both frustration and disbelief bleeding into your voice, echoing through the empty classroom.

He responds with a shrug.

Tim Drake might believe that winning the genius grant may not be something special, but to you that was everything. The long hours you’d worked to make your grades stand out, the time volunteered to help the community and the way you had written about it to display your compassion and love, all of that, for nothing.

Instead, it was going to him, him who had everything he wanted, everything he could dream of wanting. A Wayne, rich enough to buy his way into the university if he really wanted, and no one would bat an eye.

A part of you knew it was unfair to blame him for his family’s fortune, it wasn’t his fault he’d been born into Gotham’s wealthiest. But a bigger part of you resented him, for the ease in which he aced all his classes, when he never even bothered showing up for them. And when he said thoughtless, careless things like this, it dug into your skin.

Tim knows he could’ve said that a little nicer, more polite in the way Bruce taught him to prepare for galas, but he didn’t want to. Something about seeing the way your jaw clenched, brows furrowed in anger made him feel something. He wasn’t sure what, but it’d been the most he had in some time. 

He knows in a way it’s cruel, to continue pestering you, taunting you with sly remarks that showcase his intelligence, but it was exciting to see how much he affected you. He enjoyed the heated debates during class, when he’d purposely choose an opposing viewpoint just to challenge you. You’d been the only reason his attendance gradually increased. 

Maybe he took it a bit far, but as the school year came to a close, he wasn’t sure if he’d see you again. But the expression on your face makes a thought occur to him, maybe you’d be happy not to see him again.

He watches your nails dig into what he assumes was Ivy’s response, and hope blossoms in his chest that your anger means you were also rewarded the grant. That you were upset to find out that your paths would continue to cross.

He doesn’t blame you for not liking him, his words are blunt and Jason has often told him he sounds like a know it all. But there was pleasure in your attention, even if it was negative.

You’re quiet, too quiet, and that gathers Tim’s attention. When he looks up to meet your eyes, expecting anger, frustration, annoyance to cloud them, he finds none of it. Instead, a tired pair finds him, and when he notices the slight glassiness of them, his confusion turns into panic.

But you’re quick to brush the back of your hand against your cheek, your own touch rough and he winces at the carelessness.

Your eyes are on the floor now, muttering a quick, “Forget it.” Before you’re turning and leaving.

He wants to chase you, wants to know what just happened, wants you to choose him for comfort, for reassurance. But he hasn’t earned that place yet and he knows whatever he says, it’ll only make things worse. So he takes a deep breath, and sits in the empty room waiting for your return.

But you never come.

When graduation rolls around only a few weeks later, Tim grows antsy. He’d seen you in passing, unsure what to say. Every class you shared with him, you were unnervingly quiet. Gone was the girl who argued with him, who raised her hand to answer just to spite him, his academic rival and inspiration.

Losing your chance to attend Ivy had been crushing in a way you could’ve never expected. The grant had been your one ticket into the school, and it’d been ripped away from you. It was difficult to find motivation to continue trying in your classes, graduation neared and there was no point in keeping up your grades when even the top scores didn’t seem to matter to the university. It’d been difficult for months after that, the rejection shaking something in you. Uncertainty gnawed in your bones, your confidence in your work, in your potential, in your worth tilted. 

When you look back, you can recognize the quiet blessing it had been. As you work your first job in your career, you know none of this would’ve happened if you’d been accepted, if you hadn’t met the people you did as an outcome of your situation.

And when the office lights begin to flicker off, you pack your things, stretching aching limbs for your walk home.

The walk isn’t long, the sun not yet fully set as you wander into a cafe, hoping to grab something quick for dinner. Your eyes graze the menu ahead, walking forward to the front of the shop, when a large body bumps into you.

A small gasp leaves your mouth as you’re steadied by warm hands, the touch light on your waist.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you-“ A familiar voice cuts off.

Your eyes shift upwards when the voice calls your name, soft, questioning, almost hesitant.

Tim Drake stands before you, hands still wrapped around your waist, his eyes wide in surprise. He looks nearly the same yet so different. He’s a little taller now, voice a little gruffer, shoulders and frame filled out. But his presence is still familiar, a feeling of comfort consuming the old annoyance that used to fill you at the sight of him.

“Hi Tim.” You say quietly, suddenly very aware of his proximity. 

He seems clueless to the fact.

“What are you doing back in Gotham?” He asks instead.

Your brows furrow, mind racing, trying to remember if you ever told him you left. After losing your chance at the Genius Grant you ended up in another university in a city over, but you hadn’t told anyone, especially not Tim.

“How did you know I left Gotham?” You ask, curious. 

He stumbled at that, the tips of his ears growing hot.

“I just- I mean I assumed you did since a lot of the other kids did too.”

You nod unconvinced, a sly smile curving your lips. Something about his flustered state told you he wasn’t telling the whole truth. You step closer to him, chests nearly touching as you tilt your head up. His breaths come in light puffs as you lean in inquisitive, 

“Do you plan on letting me go anytime soon or are you just going to keep holding me like this in public?”

His hands drop as if he’d been burned.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

You hum in reply, enjoying the view of a frazzled Tim Drake, so unlike the younger version. 

“So what does bring you to Gotham?” He asks again.

He’d looked you up after graduation, shocked to find out you wouldn’t be attending Ivy with him, instead moving to a different school outside of Gotham. And as the years passed his curiosity grew, he wanted to see you, to know how you were, to see how you’ve changed, how you’ve grown. 

Staring at you now, you’ve become more beautiful than he remembers. But it was something about your soul, radiating joy, drawing him in, he’d never gotten the chance to see you happy up close back then.

He wonders if you hold resentment to him, for unknowingly being an ass on what must’ve been a bad day, when he’d acted so entitled for the grant when it was something you yearned for.

He doesn’t want to be the kid you remembered, he wants to be better. He wants to show you how he’s grown. He’s unsure how to amend things from such a long time ago, hesitant to say anything in fear you’ll think he’s stayed the same.

“I moved back a while ago.” You speak up, answering his question. He knows this but acts surprised all the same. You don’t say anything else, peering at him, when he decides this is his chance.

“Do you want to catch up? I was planning on staying here anyways.” He gestures towards the empty tables in the cafe.

You nod, features pleased as he smiles in response.

Talking to Tim made you feel uneasy, in how quick you fell into comfort. You wonder what changed, if anything ever had, or if he’d always been this funny and compassionate and you’d simply been too consumed with irritation to ever notice. It’s easy to slip back into the banter that once was, to something familiar. But the air is different, and the tension in your neck is gone, it’s all the same yet so much has changed from before.

“I’m telling you, I was top of the class.” You exclaim laughing.

“You were not.” Tim’s voice replies, the humor outweighing the defensiveness.

“Truth hurts” You shrug, the small curve of your lips a tell to your teasing.

“Yeah, yeah girl genius.” Rolling his eyes, Tim’s smile replicates yours.

You’re different now, but he thinks he loves you even more than before. The different versions of you, the teenager who was fun to annoy, the know it all classmate he was secretly impressed by, and now the older you who held all those variations but now in a quiet alluring way. 

“You’ve changed you know.” He says out of the blue.

Your eyebrows quirk up, curious,

“Well I sure hope I did, high school was a drag.” You chuckle.

“No seriously, you’re different somehow.. Like, brighter.”

You’re answering smile is soft, his words touching,

“You’re different too Tim,” You say, as he interrupts to repeat your previous response back to you, “Well I sure hope so.” 

You laugh before continuing just as he had. 

“No I'm being serious too, maybe if things were different back then we could’ve been friends.” 

The idea brings back memories, old thoughts of you and Tim bickering in classrooms before you were scolded by your teachers and your classmates learning to tune the two of you out. Maybe this version of Tim was always him, but you just never got the chance to see it, too clouded in the shallow illusion of being better.

“Maybe we could’ve been more.”

He replies, voice quiet, his eyes peering into yours, reading your reaction.

It makes your ears ring, and you imagine a younger version of you, absolutely floored that Tim Drake, the boy who you believed hated you with equal measure, would ever confess such a thing. But even more, she’d be shocked to find you simply nodding along.

“Maybe, or maybe we can be now.”

How about Tim x reader where reader and him are High School rivals who hated each other back in HS but reconnectted with each other years later? They still have a rivalry but it's more friendly this time around.

Jason x reader where reader is a English teacher who lives next door, who also stress cooks and bakes so she starts to give him leftovers?

Or dick x reader who is a famous designer hes friends with since high school but only years later they decided to give it a shot to dating w each other?

hi!! i have not only because i’ve only used Ao3 about twice in my life and it was so confusing😭 but it’s been some time and ive learned a bit more online so maybe i’ll give it a chance once i post a lot more fics! but for now tumblr just works for my current situation :)

like angst followed with fluff & comfort 🫶 tysm

A/N: hi lovely, thank you so much!!! that means the world<3 this is my first bruce wayne blurb so i hope it's to your liking ! thanks for sending this in! (also guys seeing your reblog comments/comments in general makes me so happy. I LOVE WHEN U WRITE LINES THAT RESONATE WITH YOUUU)

“I’m sorry.” 

You were getting really sick of hearing your boyfriend apologize. Because you always knew it followed up with something bad. 

Bruce tucks his phone into his pocket, crossing the dinner table to kiss your cheek.

“Alfred will take you home, order anything you want, they’ll bill me later” He’s gone before you can respond.

Sighing, you push your fork against the expensive meal in front of you. You’d been excited for tonight, Bruce had planned the date, insisting you would love the new restaurant that had opened up just outside of Gotham. But you were excited to see him, spend time with him, and now you were left to finish dinner alone, again. Feeling embarrassed, you get up, your appetite gone, ready to go home.

Your efforts had been a waste, dressed up in your fanciest clothes, all that time spent styling your hair and makeup. And as you stare into the mirror, you wonder what he sees in you. A voice whispers, telling you he’s waiting, waiting for you to take the hint, to leave him alone. 

The first few months of dating Bruce Wayne had felt like a fever dream. He was kind, and quiet, so unlike the persona he held in public. When you met, you were suspicious of his charisma, how soft-spoken he was, because why would Gotham’s most famous playboy care about you? But when he’d finally approached you, asking you out on a date, how could you say no?

Dating him made you feel infinite, in the way you preened under his adoring gaze, his tender words. You never wanted it to end.

But lately, you’re beginning to wonder if he wanted it to end.

The first time he was late, you were understanding. He hadn’t offered an explanation, but you considered the traffic had been long, brushing it off to focus on his presence. 

But the late arrivals started turning into no arrivals, just a belated text apologizing, telling you something urgent had popped up. The times he had been there, he was gone before the date started, decidedly attached to his phone more than your conversation.

You weren’t sure which was worse, him not showing up, or him being there as if it were a chore. 

You sigh to yourself, rubbing your eyes. Your makeup long gone, old pajamas thrown on, you decide to call it a night, and with one last glance at your phone, empty of messages from him, you fall asleep.

When the sun rises, you’ve decided to leave it to Bruce, expecting him to reach out after he left early. But when night came, and all you received was radio silence, your determination wavered. Your mind worried, wondering if he was okay, if maybe this time it was a true emergency. But a larger part of you wondered if this was your sign to leave him be, to accept the fact he was gradually putting distance between you two.

Bruce often wonders what a normal life would be like. Since meeting you, he’s never felt more seen even if you didn’t know the other half of his life. You read him like no other, but you never used anything against him. You were a steadiness in his life, a constant, and the idea of how quick he’s fallen for you makes him concerned. But he couldn’t resist your sweet smiles, the temptation of you too heavy for him to stay away. So he allowed himself one pleasure, to pursue you, to court you, to be with you.

He was afraid of tainting this new thing he had with you with the heaviness of all he does, of how this would endanger you. He knew he would have to confess his identity some day, maybe when you were deeper into your relationship. 

He wasn’t expecting it to come out so soon.

He was displeased to leave you all alone the night before, watching the crinkle fall between your brow as you stayed silent, not wanting to cause a scene. He wanted to kiss the sorrow away from your features, wanted to take it all back, to tell you he’ll spend the rest of the night by your side, the rest of his life if you let him. But the message sent by Dick was urgent, and he knew you would have to wait.

It was silly to expect you to call, but a part of him hoped you weren’t upset, that you would tell him to come over, to tell him to make it up to you. There hasn’t been a day since the two of you began dating where you weren’t texting him, even if he responds late. 

But when the moonlight shines through his office window, he reaches his breaking point.

You know it’s Bruce before you even open the door. His knocking pattern ingrained in your mind. When you open the door, the chain of your lock dangling between your eyes’ you’re surprised to find him standing with a bouquet of flowers.

“Bruce?” You call out. Your name on his tongue, he replies softly,

“Open the door.”

You remove the latch, unlocking the door before swinging it open, a silent invitation. The room shrinks as he walks in, his broad frame filling the living room of your apartment. You tug at the hem of your shirt, unsure of what to say.

He places the flowers onto your counter, turning to face you. He says nothing.

An awkward beat passes, the silence making you nervous.

“I-”

“I’m sorry.” He interrupts you.

“So you’ve said.” You smile gently at him, reminding him of his apology at the restaurant.

“I know, but I want you to know I mean it. Let me make it up to you.” He replies, slowly stepping in front of you. His hands feel warm around your waist, his grip pulling you in until your bodies are flush against each other.

Your hands lay against his chest as you push away, creating space between you. The hurt and confusion filling his expression makes your chest feel tight.

“Bruce.. I don’t- I don’t think this is a good idea.” You say, gaze faltering.

“What do you mean?” His voice grows gravel.

“I think maybe we have a lot on our plate, and some space would be good for us to reconsider everything.” It made you feel like a coward, using the word “us,” trying to give him an exit ticket out. You didn’t want space, but the push and pull of your relationship was taking a toll on you, and you were tired of letting someone toy with you and your time.

“‘Us?’” He repeats, tone boarding accusatory. 

“I don’t need to reconsider anything, I want you.” His voice is firm, a fierce look in his eyes, “Are you saying you don’t want to be with me?”

“No I-” You pause, feeling vulnerable, “I thought maybe you didn’t want to be with me.” You admit quietly.

“Why would you think that?” You look up, his expression puzzled.

“I mean, you don’t really call or text, we rarely have date nights because you cancel, and when you don’t you either leave early or you’re not paying attention.” You think back to the past few months, of all the nights being left in the dark, “And you don’t even bother to explain any of it.”

His eyes watch you, understanding dawning on him. He hadn’t realized how many times he’d sacrificed being with you to resolve crime in Gotham, and he didn’t stop to think how painful it must’ve been to have your boyfriend continuously leave your side.

“Honey..” He places his hands onto your shoulder, urging you to look at him. You loved him like this, when he was sincere, so soft in his touch and his words, when he called you nicknames that were filled with earnest devotion.

“I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with this all alone,” He begins, “I was hoping for the right time to come when I told you about it, but I guess there’s no time like the present.” He smiles.

“I couldn’t help those nights, Gotham needed me, or really, needed the me behind the mask.” He waits patiently, watching the familiar crinkle in your brow form as you process what he’s saying, he’s just happy this time it’s out of confusion rather sullenness. 

He sees the moment it clicks, your eyes grow wide as you stare up at him, a silent question as he nods in confirmation. In baited breath, he waits for a big reaction, whether in anger or worry, but nothing comes. Instead you reach out, arms wrapping around his waist as you dig your face into his chest.

“I’m sorry too.” You whisper.

He laughs at that, chin bent down to kiss your hair.

Reader is a junior/senior in highschool and has always dreamed of being a fashion designer when they're older, so they got an internship with a tailor. This tailor happens to work for the Wayne's and there's a gala or charity event coming up; The Wayne's all go to get new suits for the event and reader is doing the measurements for Tim and they chat and he catches feelings. Then somehow he has to come in daily because his pants need to be hemmed or his shirt button "just popped off" and needs to be re-attached. He also starts "accidentally" bumping into reader at their usual go-to's. Past that you can use ur creative liberty😋

ALSO maybe reader measures Damian too and Tim sees reader getting along with him and saying something that makes him smile and that just solidifies his new feelings (idc what anyone says Tim and Damian love eachother and are brothers)

A/N: this is my first time ever fulfilling a request!! i hope you love, i didn't include an age so that anyone can imagine/relate but i tried my best ! thanks for sending one in, i'll be working on all of them as soon as i can! i'm also going on a trip for all of august so please be patient as i get them all! reblogs, comments, and likes are all so appreciated, love you !! (ps i love tim drake so much)

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Dick mutters, nudging Tim with his elbow.

“I’m not staring.” He mutters in response, eyes darting away from your figure.

“Didn’t say you were.” The older boy sings, a knowing smile growing on his lips.

You were on the opposite side of the room, Damian’s figure before you as he stood stoically on a wooden platform, watching you through a mirror, as you pin and measure the fabric against his body. Tim wonders how much your knees must ache, holding your weight against the biting hardwood flooring, as you focus on capturing the exact length that needed to be hemmed off the ends of Damian’s suit. Jason stands only a few feet away, your supervisor doing the same for his tux, as the rest of the family waits patiently for their turn. A part of him hopes you’ll be the one fixing his suit. 

He watches you smile up to his younger brother, lips moving, asking him a question. He watches Damian’s reaction, trying to find a tell as to what you had said. He wears a small smile, whispering something back that makes you chuckle. Something about the interaction makes Tim’s throat burn.

The Wayne gala was this weekend, and in preparation, Bruce arranged a day for all the men to get tailored suits. It’d been a drag at first, no one wanting to sacrifice their day, happy to wear whatever outfit they’d worn at the last party. But he’d insisted, and no one could find it in them to refuse, bringing them to the tailor shop that served the family for many years. But Tim had been pleasantly surprised to find you there, welcoming them into the room. He can’t remember the last time he’d visited, but he knows you were new, he would’ve remembered you if you weren’t. You had a soft voice, a perfect customer service tone, but he could see it in your eyes, the passion. In the way you took down notes, or led them through the different shades of thread and styles of stitching, he could see the dedication you had to it all. He tells himself it’s your working attitude that grows his interest, but as he watches your exchange with his brother, he knows it’s more than that. He wants to know you.

When you turn to call him forward, signalling it was his turn, he nearly freezes. He walks to you, stepping onto the platform, and faces the mirror just as Damian had. Your hands wander around the fabric of his suit, straightening the wrinkles, calculating the length. Your touch makes him shiver, the feather light weight of your fingers dancing over his body. He can hear you humming a light tune as you work, you don’t speak, and neither does he, opting to watch your ministrations through the reflection.

“So, if I may ask, what’s the occassion?” He startles at your voice.

“We’re hosting at our manor in a few days.” Is all he says, and you hum in response.

“Must be very fancy if you guys are all getting new suits.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Don’t sound too excited now.” You joke at his dry remark.

He cracks a smile at your response, “Oh I'm overjoyed, can’t you tell?”

Laughing, you stand, your eyes meeting. He towers over you, the added height from the stage forcing you to look up. Your smile is kind, eyes warm as you tell him you’ve finished everything you needed.

“I hope you have fun.” You say, before you’re called off to help with Jason.

Tim thinks he’d have more fun at the gala if you were there to keep him company. He spends most of the night thinking about you, what you’re doing, where you are, what you’d wear if you accompanied him. He sits alone, outside and away from the party, needing an escape from the crowd. Toying with the button on his coat, he wonders when he’d get to see you again. After coming home from the shop, he spent that night researching you. He discovered you’d been interning as a tailor for the past few weeks, since summer started, telling him he’d only find you at the shop for a little longer before it ended. He was running on borrowed time. 

Sitting on the cold stone steps of the manor, his mind on you, he snaps the button enclosure away from the fabric threaded against it. The small plastic pulls, falling loose, the button dangling and hanging poorly off the thread. He tells himself it’d been an accident, that he’d toyed with it too harsh, absentmindedly. It was a poor excuse, but the thought of getting to see you again to have it fixed, clouded his head.

Your head snaps up at the sound of the bell, alerting someone had walked in. You’re greeted by a smiling Tim Drake. 

Surprise fills your expression, no one from the Wayne family or staff had called in for an appointment, and you were worried you’d messed up, forgetting the schedule. He seems to notice your turmoil, holding up the suit jacket of the tux you tailored just a few days ago.

“Sorry, I was just in the area and thought maybe I could pop in to have this fixed.” He gestures sheepishly to the button of his coat.

You smile at that, reaching out to grab the fabric, eyes wandering over the loose thread.

“Of course, can I ask what happened?” 

“Oh um, kept fidgeting with it, unfortunately.” He answers, slightly embarrassed.

“Guess the gala didn’t turn out to be that fun.” You tease, writing a note for the order on a piece of paper.

“I should get this done by the end of this week, sorry we’re a little backlogged right now.” 

He nods empathetically, “That’s okay, no rush.”

He didn't want to leave, desperate to draw out the short conversation, but he needed to be back to prepare for his patrol that night. So with a lingering glance, he says goodbye and heads back to the manor, the idea of seeing you again so soon, soothing his displeasure at such a brief exchange.

But you hadn’t been there when he came to pick up his jacket. Filled with disappointment, Tim wondered when he’d get to see you again. He wasn’t sure if it was right to keep coming into your workplace in hopes to talk to you more, he wanted to meet you organically. So when he begins to visit the areas you posted online, cafes, bookshops, spots with friends, he visits them all, saying he simply wanted to see what you enjoyed about them.

He didn’t mean to run into you when he visited your favorite cafe. He admits subconsciously, he wondered if you’d be here today too, and the probability was very high, but he tells himself it was simply fate working its magic. He watches you at the counter, ears straining to hear what you ordered. He thinks of what to say, if you would feel uncomfortable to see him here, if he should approach you first or hope you see him before you leave. It’s rush hour, the room growing more and more filled, and as you shuffle through bodies to find an empty spot to wait for your drink, Tim watches you. He hopes you’ll feel the weight of his stare, just so he could look away before you catch him staring, yet still notice his presence, and come talk to him.

And it works.

He sees your head swivel to his direction, as he quickly diverts his gaze down to his phone. Swiping open to a random text, he can feel you approaching. Suddenly, he’s not so sure if he wants you to notice him, the collar of his shirt feels too tight, his hands twitch, needing something to hold. But when you reach him, standing right beside him, he knows he can’t run.

“Hey!” You call out, over the bustling noise. 

“Oh, hi!” He replies, trying to parrot your surprise at seeing him here.

Your smile brightens, he takes this as a good sign.

“You look good,” You say, scanning him up and down, and he feels his mouth go dry, “All the buttons seem intact.” You finish, a teasing grin painting your face.

He feels his skin go hot, a pink flush dusting his cheeks. Pushing a hand behind his neck, he grins, looking down at his shirt, “Yeah, never know though, maybe one will fall out later today.”

Your face mirrors a growing flush, and he thinks you’re onto him.

“Well, if it does, stop by the shop, I’ll fix it for you personally.” You whisper the last part conspiratorially, before your name is called out.

You turn to pick your drink up from the counter, but you pause, grabbing a napkin, and something out of your bag. You bend slightly, leaning against the table in front of you, before you turn back to face him. Passing him with a quiet, “Bye Tim” you reach for his palm, leaving the napkin in his grasp. And as you walk out the door, the humid summer air hitting your face, you know he’s still sitting there, watching you in delight.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k+ CW: Slight mention of injury/bruises, arguements A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit, I don't really know where I was going with this one. I hope you enjoy though, lots of love to you and thank you everyone for all the interactions recently!! I love hearing your thoughts, requests, and seeing reblogs!! And hi to everyone new following<33

You weren’t sure how it started, how the two of you were standing here, in Jason’s living room, trading frustrated remarks.

“This is supposed to be a partnership Jay, I’m not asking for much, just that you talk to me.” You plead, begging him to just let you in. 

“I am, and there’s nothing to talk about, what don’t you understand?” He snaps back.

Anger simmers in your blood, boiling over, making your skin hot. You feel your cheeks flush, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment as you will yourself to breathe. Fighting now will get you nowhere, and you were afraid you would say something in the heat of the moment, shouting something thoughtless you could never take back. 

“I think I should go.” You answer after a beat of silence, your voice calm.

“Yeah, run away. Run when things get too hard, when things get too real.” He spits out, venom in his tone, in his words. And it hits their target. “Yes Jason, it is getting ‘too real’ , we are getting real, and yet you're still acting as if I'm going to leave you over an argument, over you having a bad day. I’ve told you, done my best to show you, I am here to stay.” You grit, trying to cement it into his mind. 

But it floats over his head, whispers in his ear that that's what everyone else had once said. That no one, not even you, could be fully trusted. You’d get tired of him someday, of his nightmares that woke both of you up, of caring for his wounds after long patrols, of his sarcasm, of his trauma. 

“I’m not some charity case for you to look after,” is his response, “stop acting like I’m a broken person for you to fix. Stop trying to save me.” He emphasizes the last part, staring down at your frame.

You blink, as if suddenly realization, clarity, strikes you. Your eyes shine with resolution, and Jason sees the fire in them fizzling out. He wants to reach out, grasp your shoulders, shake you and hold you and ignite what was once there. He wants you to scream, to keep arguing, tell him he’s wrong, but as he watches you, he knows he’s lost the privilege to do any of it. So he stands there, holding his ground, unable to take back the words he’d just spoken.

And he waits, waits for you to say something, anything. But after a pause, you simply turn, swiping your keys and jacket off the couch, and head to the front door. He’s frozen, surprise stunning him for a beat before he trails after you. He’s not sure why he does it, why he continues, but his lips move faster than his mind processes.

“See, you're no different than everyone else, running away because you can’t handle criticism.” He calls out, as your hand wraps around the handle of the door.

The metal feels cool on your skin, such a juxtaposition to the burn crawling up your throat, spreading behind your eyes, as you blink away the tears. You don’t turn around, too afraid you’ll show just how much he’s hurting you. So as you open the door, you whisper just loud enough for him to hear,

“Good bye Jason.” And then you were gone.

You didn’t call. You stopped texting. He dropped by your apartment after a few days, telling himself he was just doing a thorough sweep during his patrol. He sees your bedroom light shine dimly behind your curtain, and the ball in his chest loosens a bit, knowing you were safe inside. He couldn’t gather the courage to see you himself, to reach out, so he watched from a rooftop across your building, the little light of your window keeping him company. He began visiting every night.

Jason didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t come by to apologize, his night time visits coming to an end. You wondered if this was truly goodbye. Two weeks had passed and he’d turned into a ghost. When you left that night, you walked home. It’d been drizzling outside, winter rolling to an end, the night sky a dull grey. You circled around his block three times, hoping he’d come running after you, to insist it was late and walk you home, to not let you leave angry. But he didn’t come, you saw his figure, his shadow pacing in his living room, and something told you he never would. So you hugged your jacket a little tighter, shoving your hands in your pockets, and began the long walk home.

You worried this goodbye meant forever.

By the time the third week came, you were fed up. Anger returns, mixed with frustration and disappointment. You couldn’t sleep, your bed feeling too big, the space he laid cold and empty. You wondered when he’d come back to you, when he would come back to home.

It was late, your bedroom light never turned off. Jason watches your window, concern gnawing at him. Every night the light seemed to shine on for longer, he wondered if you were awake, or if you were just avoiding darkness even in your sleep. He promised himself he’d keep his distance, only until he found the strength to see you again, afraid that the next time he faced you, you would ask him to stop seeing you.

He regretted that night, for lashing out at you, for saying words he didn’t even believe. But he was tired, angry, grieving something he wasn’t sure what. And he’d come home to you, he came to seek comfort, but he’s never been good at this, never got the privilege of having someone like you. Seeing you, soft and caring, looking at him as if he was the only good in the world, he knew in his gut that he did not deserve you, especially when you didn’t know his hands that held you, also held so much blood.

So the only thing he could do was show you him, the cruel parts, the difficult, the true him. He wanted to show you his callous behavior, his sharp words, the sides of him that were difficult to love. And a hidden part of him yearned for you to love him despite it. But maybe that was the cruelest part of it all.

Jason’s not proud to admit it, to think of all the ugly things he said that night, for letting you walk away. He didn’t know how to fix it, how he could take it back, but weeks passed and he feared it was too late to try. But tonight, your window shines like a beacon, calling him to you, urging him to just check. And so he crosses the street, and heads up the stairs to your apartment.

Three knocks pound on your door. The sudden noise jolting you upright from your bed, wondering who it could be. A shiver runs down your neck, as you peek your head out of your bedroom door. More knocking, this time more urgent. The door handle jigs, as you pull a bat out of your hallway closet. You grip the metal hard, trying to remember how Jason taught you to swing with all your weight. You near the door, when it suddenly lurches open, instinct rushing through you as you swing the bat as hard as you could. It hits something, someone, as you pull back, ready to repeat, when you recognize the large frame standing before you. Jason. 

He stands there, his left hand reaching to grasp his shoulder, wincing in pain.

“I guess I deserved that one.”

You want to hit him again, hug him tight, and drag him out all at once.

“You deserved more than one.” You say instead, reaching out to see the bruise forming against his muscle.

Your fingertips brush the swollen skin, an apology in your touch. You’re silent as you watch the goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. When you look up, Jason meets your eyes.

“Hey.” He whispers.

“Hi.” You reply softly.

The air is heavy with longing, and he reaches out to hold you, tentative, as if you were a mirage, that you’d disappear if he wasn’t careful. An unknown pressure lifts against his chest as he feels your arms wrap around him, when he whispers to you,

“I’m so sorry.”

You’re quiet, and for a moment he’s unsure if you heard him, but your hold grows tighter and he knows, feels it in his bones, in his very soul, this wouldn’t be a goodbye.

And as you lead him to your bedroom, he flips the light switch off as you crawl into bed with one another. The lightbulb grows dim, the room falling dark, and he thinks of how your window must look on the outside.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Word Count: 980+ CW: Small mention of scars/death A/N: This might be the shortest thing written but I literally made this just as an excuse to write these two sentences I thought would be cool LOL.

Jason was always good at starting fights. He didn’t mean to half the time, but he seemed to always end up in one, verbal or physical. Standing next to Dick, the city lights shine around them. Maybe it was the too still august air, or the unnerving quietness of Gotham, or maybe sheer annoyance of the man standing next to him, but Jason Todd was looking for a fight.

“Quit it.” He grits out, “We’re not here for you to twirl your stupid sticks in the air, thought your circus days were over.”

“Alright, what's your problem?” Dick spits out, agitation spilling into his voice, “You’ve been an asshole all night, which is typical, but you’re somehow worse today.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re my problem?” The retort held a heavy weight, and both men knew what was being left unsaid. But Dick was tired of it, tired of constantly hearing his bitter remarks, tired of playing peacemaker between Bruce and Jason, tired of getting the short end of the stick. But how do you tell that to your baby brother who’s been dead for half a year?

“You know..” He begins, trying to make him understand, “I lived with guilt for so many years, I spent a whole year in Tamaran before I even knew.. And when I found out I just- I thought I was losing my damn mind.” He breathes out a heavy breath, “You don’t forget that shit.” 

“Yeah? Well you don’t forget being dead.” Jason bites out, frustration seeping under his skin. “Yeah Dick, it must’ve been real hard, hearing the news. Knowing your replacement died and couldn’t live up to your glory days, I bet it haunts you at night knowing that man you call a father lets the man who did this,” he yanks his mask off, showcasing the deep jagged lines of his cheek, the scar shaped as J, “to me run around Gotham, alive.”  He bites out sarcastically. “You were only upset you weren’t told, so don’t come here on some moral high ground acting like you care.”

Slipping his mask back in place, he turns around, walking away into the night. And as his shadows begin to disappear, his form blending into the dark, he calls out one last time.

“He’s not a hero Dick. He’s a coward. And I'm starting to think you’re just the same.”

You know Jason’s in a bad state before you see him. You set the book you’d been reading aside, the cover sinking down into the bed sheets as you strain your ears. There’s a slight click and the front door opens, only to be quickly forced shut. The loud thumps of his footsteps as he paces through the living area of your apartment tell you he’s thinking, planning. 

You sit there, in bed, for a second, preparing yourself to face him. You knew he was upset, why, you weren’t sure, but an upset Jason was a mean Jason. You knew he never meant what he says, that he said a lot of things in the heat of the moment, at times he hadn’t even been upset with you. But you were soft at heart, and no matter how many times he apologized, took care of you, picked up the pieces he’d broken, there were still little gaps, tiny seeds of doubt that slowly crept into mind. But you knew he needed you, and you needed him, so you bear the storm, you’ll bear it for as long as he needs.

Tentatively, you open your bedroom door, walking to find Jason sitting on the coach, elbows pressing into his thighs. His head is low, eyes open, staring at the floor as his hands absentmindedly run through his hair.

“Jay?” You speak carefully, soft not to scare him.

He looks up at you, and your chest feels heavy at the sight of him. Tears build, his eyes blinking rapidly to push them away as you rush over to hold him, to comfort him.

Sinking down to your knees before him, you wrap your hands over his. 

“What’s wrong?” You breathe out, your eyes combing his body for injuries.

He’s silent, shaking his head to the side, unable to look at you.

You’d never seen him like this, and panic surges in you at the inability to comfort him. Tears begin to fall from him and you disentangle your hands from his, wrapping them to the sides of his neck, as you pull him to you, foreheads pressing together. His breaths come out sharp, shallow, and your worry grows tenfold.

“Jason, you need to breathe.”

You focus on taking deep inhales, motioning him to follow. His eyes are closed, and you watch the tears clinging to his lashes. After a few moments he opens his eyes. He’s quiet for a few beats, his eyes searching yours.

“Do you think…” He clears his throat, pulling away to look at you clearly, “do you think, if you knew me back then, you would’ve looked for me?”

Surprised at the question, you nod without hesitance, “Of course. I would’ve had the whole city searching for you Jay.”

He watches you close, eyes flickering at whatever emotion he sees painting your face. Seemingly satisfied, he pulls you in tight, his lips grazing your ear.

“I think you would’ve been the only one.”

You feel heavy at the idea, you knew his relationship with his family was strained, that he held a lot of resentment, a lot of sadness. You want to tell him it isn’t true, that Bruce, Alfred, Dick, they all would’ve been with you, but the way he clings to you tells you now isn’t the time.

So you sit there, knees digging into the hardwood of your floor, letting him hold you tight. And in the dark, the city buzz quiets as you whisper softly to him,

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader CW: Small mention of injury Word Count: 1.2k+ A/N: Guys i'm expanding my horizons, trying to write new characters pls interact and tell me your thoughts (if they're kind) LOL love you! Also ps I wrote this in an hour at 3 am so i'm a little delirious

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re real.” Your boyfriend chuckles, flipping over the misshapen pancake, “Unfortunately for you, I am.”

“Sorry, I just… It’s been so long since you’ve stayed the night, it’s like Romeo and Juliet, and you’re sneaking off before you get caught.”

Jason frowns at that, “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

You help plate the pancakes he made, bringing them to your kitchen table, “Kind of? You come over and halfway you go fight crime, but if I’m lucky I’ll wake up to you by my side.”

Distracted, you tip syrup over your plate, only to realize he hasn’t said anything. You tilt your head to the side to look at him, finding him deep in thought.

“Jay?” You call out.

He looks up.

“Where’d you go just now?” You ask, voice soft. “Nowhere,” he shakes his head, “sorry, I’m right here babe.” He takes the seat across from you, a comfortable silence falling as you bask in his presence. It was difficult spending time with your boyfriend, he was always in high demand. Too many cancelled dates, visits cut short, unanswered phone calls and messages, his duty to Gotham was consuming him. And when the unease grew in your chest causing you to confess your worries to him weeks ago, it’d been a failed attempt to convince him to take it slow.

“It’s not my duty to Gotham,” he had replied back to you, reaching out to hold your face, “It’s my duty to you. Every night, I go out there to make this city safer for you.”

And you fell for it. Because Jason was a man of his word, and you knew he did it because he loved you, even if he hadn’t been able to say it. But you didn’t mind, because everything he did, all his actions, told you enough. So you tried to stay quiet, tried to not complain when he called you last minute cancelling your date because an emergency popped up, tried not to complain when he slipped out of bed to put his suit on, and tried not to complain even when it was slowly tearing you apart.

But tonight, you had him to yourself. He’d surprised you with breakfast for dinner, and a promise to stay over, an unspoken apology for standing you up the week before. But crime never stopped in Gotham, and you couldn’t live in your bubble forever.

Jason abruptly stands, phone in hand, the wooden chair scraping against the floor. 

“I have to go.” Is all he says, too consumed with whatever is displayed on his screen, to notice your expression.

You reach out, grabbing his arm as he passes by you.

“Don’t go.” Your grip tightens on his wrist, “Bruce will have it under control, Dick and Tim are on patrol tonight, you don’t have to go.” He begins to pull away, and you feel him slipping away from you, your relationship slipping from you. “But what if they need me there? Bruce, he’ll save the innocent but what about those criminals? You think sending them to jail will teach them anything?” He watches you, begging you to understand, to let him go. 

“I think you deserve a night off, I think crimes will continue to happen and people will always need saving, but I need you to save yourself first. You can’t keep doing this Jason,” you feel your resolve crumbling, “you come home half dead every other night, you don’t sleep, you’re not taking care of yourself.” Your voice wavers, your eyes pleading him to see what he’s doing, what he’s choosing. “I can’t…” You shake your head, steeling your voice, “I can’t watch you keep doing this Jay. Just- Just stay tonight, yeah? Let them take care of it.” Looking up at him you pray that this was enough, that you were enough.

But as you stare into the familiar pair of green eyes, the eyes of the man you love, you know he’s made his decision.

“I’ll be back, promise.”

Because you were not enough of a reason to stay.

You fell asleep on the coach, unable to sleep in the bed you shared, knowing the other side was empty. You’d waited for him, straining your ears for the familiar noise of faint footsteps, but it never comes, he doesn’t come.

And when you wake up with the sun beating down onto your face, shining through the small window of your apartment, Jason was nowhere to be found.

It was only when the sun finally set did he return, sneaking in through the window you left open to feel the night breeze.

Faint shades of yellow mark his jaw, early signs of bruises beginning to form. He looks tired, exhausted. The entire day had passed without anything from him, and the sight of him makes you snap.

“You didn’t come back,” you whisper into the darkness, “you promised you would and you never did.” Your nails dig crescent moons into your palm, as you will away the tremble in your hands. You didn’t want to seem weak, but as your eyes sting, and your chest grows tight, you wonder what the purpose of all this was.

His eyes are filled with remorse as he steps closer to you, his frame towering over your figure as your shadows dance the walls.

“I know.”

“But you didn’t come.” “I know.” He repeats, voice raw with regret.

Silence fills the air, a bated breath when he adds, “But I’m here now.”

“God Jay, don’t you get it? You were never here.”

Your eyes close, feeling pathetic, willing him to understand what you’re trying to say. Your boyfriend was withering away in front of your very eyes, every gentle talk, every heated argument, nothing seemed to make him realize. You loved him, more than anything, but how can you continue on when he doesn’t love himself?

You let out a shuttering breath, you amend, “You haven’t truly been here for a while. I know you said it was for me, all these late nights, reckless fights, but… If it really was all for me, you’d talk to me. Even when you’re here, you’re not mentally there, your mind is off somewhere and I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on Jason.”

When you gather the courage to open your eyes, you find him, a shell of the man you fell in love with. 

“We’re supposed to be a team.” You whisper, the fire burning from you, leaving nothing but a tired version of yourself.

He closes the distance between you, hand pulling your head to him, his other arm snaking onto the small of your back. 

“We are a team.”

Your voice is muffled against his shoulder, “Are we really though?” His grip on you tightens, voice firm. “Yes, and I’m sorry I made you doubt it.”

As your body slumps against his, he presses a kiss against your temple. “You deserve to be upset, but be upset with me in the morning, you need sleep too.”

And though everything in you wanted to talk now, you knew he needed rest just as much, because even in anger, even in heartbreak, you loved him more than yourself.

So for tonight, you let him hold you, let him whisper apologies onto your skin, because you know he’ll be there when you wake.

Pairing: Tim Drake x Fem!Reader CW: Mentions/alludes to feelings of sadness/depression and hopelessness Word count: 1.1k+ A/N: My first DC blurb... Give me grace😭. I'm kind of new to reading about Batman/Gotham universe in general but I tried, hope you enjoy!!

“After Gotham’s famous Bruce Wayne’s gala just a few days prior this weekend, son Timothy Wayne was spotted with a mysterious lady during an exclusive after party. Insiders say the pair have been seeing each other for-” Grabbing the remote from Dick, Tim turns off the broadcast playing.

“You mind little Red i’m watching that.” Is all he says in return, a smug smile playing at his lips.

“That’s all false media, fake news, don’t they have something more important to report?” Tim says huffing, but Dick Grayson did not miss the tint of pink coating his little brothers face.

“False huh?” he calls out, pushing himself off the coach, “Well..” He passes by Tim, hand clapping onto his shoulder before whispering, “Rumor has it you wish it weren’t.”

Tim wasn’t sure how he’d face you after the short clip questioning your relationship came out. He wondered if you’d seen it, he’d watched it so many times the monologue was ingrained in his mind. If you asked, he’d tell you he watched it to analyze if you’re identity was put out for everyone to see, rewinding the video to check if your face was visible beside him. But really, it was because it was the only true video he had of you two together. You’d been dressed to the nines that night, face and hair done up, ready for your first Wayne gala. He remembers when he picked you up, your glowing smile, and the tightness in his chest that he wasn’t prepared for. He feels like he’s known you forever, when he’d first become the Red Robin and had no one to tell. How one day when everything felt pointless, when he’d felt like giving up, you came and saved him in your own way. With soft assurance, stupid jokes, and sarcasm that told him you’d fit right in with his family. You’d stopped him from falling, on the nights when the world seemed too much, when he missed his mother, when the tension at the manor felt crushing. But you hadn’t been able to stop him falling for you. You weren’t upset when he told you his secret, you only shared one back, that you already knew. And no matter how many secrets he continued to share, you were there, accepting and thanking him for his vulnerability to tell you, never questioning or getting upset that there were secrets to begin with. He’s never met someone as patient as you, no one in his life so understanding, but he worried this would be it. 

You were never one for the spotlight, neither was he, but you understood that being by him meant eventually, someone would come and try to exploit you’re relationship to the world. It was inescapable, the Wayne family name brought a lot of unwanted attention to Tim, and attending the gala with him so publicly made you a target. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when you had that look of awe when you’d entered the room, staring up at the diamonds glittering the chandelier, not when you wore that dress, and not when he silently saved the blurry video of you two together on his laptop. 

You hadn’t seen the video, now making headlines on gossip pages, until after Tim’s interation with his brother. It’d been an accident, popping up on your phone, late at night, as you scrolled through the news, making sure nothing about the Red Robin or any injury had been reported, knowing Tim was out on patrol. It helped soothe your nerves, knowing things were probably okay, that he was probably okay. 

You hadn’t recognized yourself when you first watched the clip, both your faces pixelated and warped from the far away camera. You recognized Tim first, an ugly flare of jealousy as you watched the woman beside him whisper something in his ear as he laughed, he only laughed like that with you. It’d been short lived however, as the woman in question turned, her necklace, your necklace flashing under the light. Sighing, you get out of bed, feeling stupid.

This thing with Tim, it was difficult. You were his best friend, and you have been for so many years, no matter you’re want for something more. You tried a few years ago, making sure your glances lingered enough for him to catch you, showing more enthusiasm whenever he was around, but it hadn’t worked. You’ve long given up on the idea of something changing, instead deciding having him in your life at all was better than nothing. But it didn’t stop you from wanting.

You’re sitting on your couch when you hear a knock. Glancing across the room you see a familiar face peering in. Rushing to open the window you whisper into the darkness.

“Tim? What are you doing here, you’ll get in trouble, you’re supposed to be on patrol.”

“I had to see you, plus I’m done for the night. Gotham’s crimes are Batman’s problems for now.”

He turns, pulling your window closed, before crossing the room, throwing himself onto the couch where you’d been seconds before. He changed out of his suit, and without the mask you can see the different shades of his eyes, watching you as you sit on the floor in front of him. He’s quiet as you brush hair up and away from his eyes, his brows knitted.

“What’s bothering you Tim?” You whisper.

It was obvious from the moment he set foot into your apartment, the slight tension in his shoulders, in the way he walked, his eyes a little wider as he stares at you now, and his quiet stillness.

“Did you see what they’re saying online?” He returns, matching your hushed tone.

“I did.” “What did you think?”

You weren’t sure how to answer that. You wanted to tell him how your stomach churned when you saw him with that woman, only to find out it was you, and the following relief that flooded you once you realized. You wanted to tell him that the gossip made your skin warm with pleasure because a large part of you enjoyed the idea of the world believing the two of you were together. You wanted to tell him that selfishly you hope this tells everyone else he’s unavailable, that he’s yours. And most of all you wanted him to tell you he felt the exact same. But something in his gaze tonight told you, he might just.

“I think they chose an interesting topic to report.”

“Yeah?” You smile softly at him, leaning closer, “Yeah.”

Your noses brush, silently begging him to close the gap. His lips brush against yours, gentle, feather light, a ghost of a touch, a promise. And as he pulls away, his hand comes up to cup your face, and as you push your cheek into his palm, feeling the warmth of his skin, he whispers, “Rumor has it i’m the one for you.” 

And in the darkness of your living room, the moonlight lighting his face, you whisper back,

hii this blog was originally supposed to be completley anonymous and possibly temporary (ie: no use of the name i go by irl, no age, or any description of myself) so i don't have a true welcome page yet since everything was last minute created (,:

Read part one here: illusions Paring: Sirius Black x Potter!Reader Word count: 2.4k+ CW: alludes/mentions abuse A/N: If you want a part 3 bonus chapter let me know!! Entailing things like the groups reactions + beginning relationship dynamic, regulus’ reaction, etc! (left out the semantics cause i didn’t know if anyone cared for them) Hope you enjoyed, thank you for the love on part one!!!

In a rare moment you found yourself disappointed to be right. The summer days passed slowly, the heat and boredom warping time into something unusual. The fog of unease moved even slower, and the awkward air between you and Sirius seemed to be never ending. 

It’d been two weeks since you’d all arrived home, since the two of you had that talk, since you’d overheard his conversation with James. It was shockingly easy to avoid him, not that you were avoiding him. But the few encounters between the two of you made you suspect he was avoiding you. If James had picked up on the shift in atmosphere, he hadn’t said anything to you. Instead, you found solace in your room. Alone, you did your best to keep busy, busy was better than nothing, and you knew if you allowed yourself a moment to stop and think, you’d only cause worry and stress. But in the quiet nights, when the moonlight was too bright against your window, and your bed a little too hot, you allowed yourself to wonder. You wondered how Regulus was doing, if he had ate, if he was hurt, if he was alive. And your thoughts would drift off to the his brother, the boy sleeping in the room a few feet away. If he thought you were stubborn or stuck up for not taking his olive branch apology, if he knew how you’d felt about him, what could’ve been if you’d been more patient and let it all go, to act blissfully unaware of what he’d said. 

But tonight, you’d skipped dinner two days in a row, going out for walks to avoid the stiff air at the table. On some nights, he’d stare at you, willing you to say something, but you’d been to focused on eating silently under the pressure of his gaze. On other nights, he couldn’t look at you, distracting himself with James and talking to your parents. The tension of it seemed to grow each night, until you found yourself too ridden with anxiety and uncomfortability to bear it. You’d needed the walks anyway, the feeling of the warm breeze, the fresh air a relief from the constant of your room. 

Turning to your clock, it reads half past two. You turn yourself over, palms pushing yourself off your bed in sluggish movements. You’re reminded of Regulus again, the nights you found your mind unable to turn off, and the two of you would sneak off to the kitchens for a snack. It started as an accident, you’d come down the stairs in hopes of time alone, time next to the fire to warm you to bed. But you hadn’t expected to see someone already on the sofa, parchment and ink bottles spewed against the table ahead. It made sense, you hadn’t thought much about how he’d always been the top of his classes, but you’d never thought to imagine Regulus staying up deep into the nights, reciting information to himself, forcing his mind to memorize what he’d been learning. The bags under his eyes tells you he’d been at this for hours, and in benefit to you both, you grabbed him gently by the wrist, and led him to the kitchens. It’d become a routine eventually, you couldn’t find him at dinner, and a part of you knew he wasn’t there at all, refusing to eat, and you’d end up at the kitchens mere hours later. You couldn’t sleep, so you’d come downstairs knowing he’d be there, waiting for you.

The memories made you smile to yourself, as you pad down the steps. You wonder if he’s downstairs in the Black Manor, sitting alone at the kitchen as well. Lost in the thought, you turn the corner, only to bump into a figure. Startled, you gasp, squinting up as your eyes adjust to the darkness, only to find a bewildered Sirius staring back at you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He whispers.

You realize how close you two are, taking a step back, refocusing on your gaze straight, “That’s fine.”

He breathes a heavy sigh and you look back to him, “Everything’s always just fine with you, isn’t it?” A humorless smile crosses his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You question

“I mean-” He starts, then closes his eyes before continuing, “It’s nothing.”

You stare at him, willing yourself to try to understand, but as he brushes past you, you instinctively grab his arm, gentle not to scare him.

“Come on, and be quick, I want to sleep tonight.” You say as you lead him towards the kitchen.

It was surreal in a way, sitting here with a bowl of cereal as you stare at Sirius. He’s pushing his spoon around, absentmindedly watching the milk stir in the bowl. 

You weren’t sure what to say, where to start. It’d been long enough where you no longer felt upset, simply awkward in his presence. You’ve begun to convince yourself he didn’t like you, and you weren’t sure how to act normal in his wake without annoying him. You’d fought with the idea of simply irritating him even more, but the pettiness of it would be a short term satisfaction, and you weren’t sure how long he planned to stay, how many holiday breaks he would spend at your house in the future. And you couldn’t do that to James.

“I’m sorry if I was short with you. You didn’t have to come apologize but you did. I should’ve been kinder.” You begin, his eyes dart up to you, a bit of surprise seeping into his gaze.

“I guess… I guess I wanted you to feel hurt in a way,” You swallow, feeling stupid for voicing out such a cruel sentence, “I overheard you talking to James that night. I was coming in to apologize too actually.” You let out a bitter chuckle, and you see the confusion paint his face.

“Overheard me and James?”

“Yeah, I heard the two of you arguing about me.” Realization seems to dawn on him, his face slightly paler underneath the dim kitchen light.

“Oh.. And um, what exactly did you hear?” He chokes out

“Enough, and I don’t know.. I guess I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself so I thought it’d be better to let you be.”

“Why didn’t you say something? You could’ve thrown something at me, made a fuss when I came waltzing into your room.” 

“Because,” You pause, unsure how vulnerable you want to be, “I guess I was just used to it. Not to say I wasn’t a bit hurt. And trust me, I wanted to hit you when you came in, but it’s not something I haven’t heard before.”

He watches you then, sitting in front of him, expression blank as you think back to the memories of whispers and laughter during your first year. A sudden wave of nausea hits him, sick at the idea that you were used to people talking about you. He didn’t know what you’d heard from his conversation but the image of you sitting here, with the look on your face, made guilt swirl in his stomach. He’d said a lot in the heat of the moment, he’d been so angry, but not at you so much as to himself. He’d been angry that he’d wasted so much time and you found someone who could treat you the way you deserved, someone who didn’t make you wait so long, and his thoughts morphed into anger that he’d made you wait so long all those years ago. That he couldn’t give you the decency of a conversation, but let his affairs public, and allowed James to make sly comments while you sat near them. He wonders how long he’d kept that hidden guilt, but the image of you and his brother made it worse, how he longed to be the one sitting next to you during lunch, the one hearing you’re quiet laughter in the libraries.

“What you heard, that wasn’t true. I didn’t mean it.” He blurts out, and you eye him skeptically.

“You don’t even know what I heard.” “I know, but if it was negative, then I know it wasn’t true.” He leans back onto the wooden chair, “I was angry, I was in a mood, and I was being a proper jerk.” Closing his eyes, he sighs, hands going up to rub the back of his neck, “I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.”

“Why were you angry?” You ask, and he peeks an eye open to look at you.

“I… I’m not sure, I guess with everything that happened, seeing Regulus again, seeing Regulus with you made me act out.” You let out a heavy breathe, unsure what he’s trying to say. You feel your heart thump against your chest, hope blossoming, but you clear your throat before you allow yourself to fully believe.

“And why would seeing me and Regulus make you upset?” You whisper. He looks at you now, fully looks at you. 

“I think you know why dove.” He says breathily.

“I want you to say it.” 

He chuckles at that, his voice turning lofty as if a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Because this,” He turns his arms in the air around you, “this all feels like mine, in a way. It feels sacred and special and though it makes me sound selfish, I don’t want to share it. And you, you are the most sacred thing here, and i’m not sorry for not wanting to share.”

“I’m sorry for being so late, but I can’t stand another minute without letting you know how I truly feel, and it breaks my heart thinking I showed my emotions to be anything but longing.”

Your eyes tip close, and he reaches from across the table to brush your hand.

“I know this might not be what you want to hear, and I wasn’t exactly expecting it to come out like this, but… I’m here. And I don’t plan on going anywhere, and I’ll wait, as long as you need, because you’re worth waiting for.” He brushes his lips against your knuckles, before the floor creaks and you hear the soft sounds of his footsteps up the stairs, disappearing for the night.

Oh if Regulus was here to see this.

The following weeks had felt torturous to Sirius. He could hear you shuffling in your room, yet unable to see you properly. That night, when he’d confessed his feelings, he’d gone up to lay in the temporary cot next to James. He stared at his sleeping friend, oblivious to what had just happened, guilt lined Sirius’ stomach when he thought of what he’d just done. He wasn’t sure how he’d react, they never lingered on the topic of you, Sirius too paranoid James would be able to read his true emotions. He wasn’t exactly sure how you’d react, but he desperately wished you’d choose him. His confession had been a long time in the making, he’d dreamt of your touch, of the softness of your voice, the softness of your lips. 

But it hadn’t been full radio silence on your end, which he took as a good sign, shy “good mornings” being exchanged at breakfast, neither of you brave enough to say anything more with James between the two of you chattering away about the day’s plans. Or the shared looks you both exchanged when you thought no one was looking, yet each night that passed without you seeking him out, his hope began to fizzle out. He couldn’t let himself think of rejection, not when he still resided at the Black Manor, he’d let himself get lost in the idea of you and him together, of getting to catch a glimpse of you at the platform at the end of holiday as he approached James. He believes it was one of the only reasons he made it out of there. So he’d only spent years fantasizing a happy ending with you. But now, as he listened to James’ snoring beside him, and the patter of your feet, he wasn’t so sure he’d see that fairytale ending.

A knock interrupts his thoughts.

Peeking at James, he slowly rises, wincing at the groaning cot underneath him. Quietly, he walks over, slowly pushing the door open, only to be met with you on the other side. 

You’re staring up at him, eyes darting to James’ sleeping figure before you whisper, “Kitchen?” He nods, unable to say anything, because this could be it.

The walk down is silent, and he takes a seat at the same chair he’d sat last time, expecting you to do the same, in the chair that faced him. But he’s pleasantly surprised when you gently lift the chair beside him, dragging it softly across the floor.

“Miss me too much to wait for morning huh?” He grins at you. “You can say that.” He feels the burn of heat on the tip of his ears, his smile growing wider.

“I know i’ve taken some time..” You trail off, fidgeting with your hands, “I guess after you left that night, I wanted to think of a way to tell you exactly how I feel.”

He watches you, and you fight the urge to squirm underneath his careful gaze.

“I think I’ve fancied you for some time now… But fancy feels too weak of a word to describe what I feel for you. It feels like I’ve been dreaming since you’ve told me how you felt, like I couldn’t face you alone because what if it never truly happened. And I’ve been quite selfish, allowing you to be so vulnerable and left confused while I’m in a daze over it all.”

Sirius thinks he’s floating, having an out of body experience. You’re staring at him, in almost an expectant manner, but he’s speechless. He’s not sure what to say, how to respond without shouting in joy and waking the entire house. So he abruptly stands up, and pulls you into an embrace.

Your hair is still damp from your shower, and the coolness of it lightens the heat in his cheeks. His arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you against him as you sit, startled at the boy holding you so suddenly. But he feels your arms wrap around him softly, without hesitance, and he hugs you tighter. 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader Word Count: 1.5k+ CW: steve being a dick for a little, angst A/N: can you tell i love angst... also guys this was a year in the making, i wrote half of this last summer in the middle of the night and almost exactly one year later in the middle of the night, i finally finished it. anyways comments, reblogs, likes, are all appreciated, love u!!!

"Nancy's coming over with Jonathan."

Your hands paused over the DVD collection you’d been thumbing through. A fraction of a beat before your eyes met Steve’s, pointedly ignoring Eddie’s staring. 

“Oh. Okay,” you hesitate, not knowing how to respond to the abrupt announcement, “I hope they’re okay with Dawn of the Dead.”

“Yeah I, uh, I think it’s okay. Not sure if Nancy’s really into that though.” You nod, hoping the movement doesn’t reflect how tense you feel.

You knew Steve well enough, even in moments like this where you wished you didn’t. You knew that though Nancy was coming with Jonathan, Steve invited her with a slight hope. Steve wasn’t an unfaithful lover, anyone who knew the boy would know that, behind his big bravado, he was soft hearted and kind smiles. He wouldn’t intentionally force himself between their relationship, but you could see it in his lingering stares that he wasn’t over the girl as he claimed to be. 

In the distance you hear a slight beep, pulling you out of your thoughts. You stood, legs stretching and table slightly groaning at the weight of your palms pushing yourself up, heading towards the kitchen to grab the finished popcorn, Eddie hot on your heels. Pouring the contents of the hot paper bag into a bowl, you could feel his watchful gaze. 

“All right, spit it out.” You say distractedly

“I wasn’t going to say anything!” exclaimed the boy, warily glancing at you over the kitchen counter.

“You didn’t have to, I could see it written on your face.” You turn towards him, bowl of popcorn in hand, “You’re looking at me like my dog died.”

His ears tinted pink, shy smile creeping the corners of his mouth, “Sorry, guess I’m a bit obvious, huh?” 

You grinned, enjoying the rare bashfulness from the metal head, “It’s all right, and i’m okay. Just was unexpected, you know?”

He nods, “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know either.”

“I know. If you did then I’d definitely know.” 

He smiles at that, all warm and sticky with fondness, you take his wrist, leading him towards back towards the sofa, bowl safely tucked into your side.

Walking back into the room, the two of you fall onto the couch, Eddie squishing you between him and Steve. You giggle as he presses his weight into you, a sly attempt to push you closer to the other boy, and you push him off, fighting a growing heat crawling up your neck. 

You turn to Steve, expecting him to be fussing over his hair or the way he sat, all in anticipation for Nancy’s arrival, only to be surprised to find him already staring at you. Caught off guard, your breath comes out hitched, “What?” Turmoil paints his face, he looks away from you, decidedly turning his gaze to Eddie, and back to the screen. “Nothing.”

His dismissal makes you cringe inwardly, casting a glance to Eddie, in a silent exchange to say, “What’s his issue?” You get a small shrug in response.

But you don't linger on the thought as Nancy and Jonathan arrive moments after, sitting together on a blanket laid in front of the screen. Few words were exchanged before Steve pressed play, and as silence fell amongst everyone, you tilt your head to look at him. He stares straight ahead, but the tension in his jaw tells you he knows you’re watching. Instead, you turn away and watch the opening scenes begin.

You wished desperately Robin was here, needing another person to break the tension in the air, but she was likely still out at a diner with her date. You weren’t sure what had happened in the short time you and Eddie were in the kitchen, but the shift in atmosphere began to feel suffocating. In an attempt to ignore the boy next to you, you turn to Eddie, whispering a question about the character on the screen. He breaks out in hushed murmurs, explaining the backstory and plot to help you better understand when a third voice joins in.

“Number one rule guys, stop talking during the movie. You can whisper all you want when it’s done.”

Surprised, your heads swivel over to look at Steve, who’d already turned his attention back to the screen. You didn’t understand his animosity, but looking forward at the couple only a few feet ahead, you excused Steve’s irritation as a manifestation of his hurt. In an attempt to brush off the harshness in his attitude, you refocused on the movie, sharing the popcorn solely with Eddie in a small, petty, attempt of rebellion. You’d been excited for tonight, ready to see the gore and horror of the new film with friends, but now you were simply excited to go home.

As the end credits fill the screen, you stretched your legs out, ignoring the pin pricks as you stand, ready to call it a night. In a clipped, rushed voice, you call out, “I think I should head out first," You ignore the protests from your friends, watching Steve's abnormal silence, "it's getting late, but i’ll see you all soon!” You give Nancy and Eddie a hug, promising to call when you arrive home, and an awkward wave towards both Jonathan and Steve. You’re gathering your bag when you feel a presence next to you. Eddie wraps an arm around your shoulder before pitching his head low, “I’ll walk you to your car.” Before you have the chance to thank him, you feel a hand circle your waist. 

“No need Munson, I got this.” 

You stare up at Steve as if he’d grown two heads, barely registering Eddie’s wary glance to you. “Alright..” Is all he says in reply, taking your silence as a signal of confirmation, and walking away.

Steve bends down, pulling the door open for you before trailing behind. You wait, walking in silence to your car, parked crookedly in the driveway. When you reach the driver’s side door, you turn to face him. A beat passes as you wait for him to say something, anything, but when you’re met with nothing, you turn to open your door pushing out a half hearted, “Thanks, night Steve.” You’re ready to lay in bed, to sleep away the tension in your stomach, but a hand reaches out and stops you from pulling the door wider. You feel your skin raise at the feel of his breath, ghosting near your neck, as he whispers your name. You’re afraid to turn around, you could hear the pain in his voice, the agony, over what you did not know. His nearness made you dizzy, and you close your eyes for a moment before turning around, pushing his chest to create a safe distance.

He stares down at the spot you’d pushed him, confusion and irritation stirring onto his expression.

“So Munson can touch you but I get near you and suddenly your upset?” He bites out. 

The regret on his face is instant.

Your breath comes out shallow, face flushed from anger and shock.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that,” He flusters, “Shit, shit, i’m sorry I just… I’m just upset and it was dumb and…” He trails off as he stares at you.

“Upset about what Steve? What did I do tonight for you to act like such a prick?” You scoff out, your anger bubbling over, “I get it, you’re upset about Nancy and Jonathan but seriously Steve? Taking it out on me and Eddie is just a low blow and you know it. I mean seriously-” You’re cut off as he raises his voice, reaching out to take your hand, begging you to just understand,

“I don’t know, okay! I don’t know. All I know is I hate seeing his arm around you. I hate seeing him make you laugh with his stupid jokes and his stupid hair. And it just… Something about it makes me feel sick. He doesn’t get to do those things with you, it’s supposed to be me and you,” He grips your hand tighter, “Me and you forever, don’t you remember?”

You stare into his pleading eyes, and suddenly everything clicks. He was jealous. Jealous of Eddie, jealous over you. The idea of it felt laughable, unbelievable. Yet your eyes water, your heart so badly wanting to do nothing but hold him, accept his admission. It’d been everything you dared not to dream about, the day he’d finally see you. To find you special, funny, beautiful. But this wasn’t how you wanted it to happen.

“Steve.. You can’t just… You can’t just come barging in as if you own me. Eddie’s just a friend yes, but you don’t have the right-” Your voice wavers, your resolve crumbling, “You can’t. Not after all this time, I’ve spent so long waiting, waiting for you, comparing myself to Nancy or all those other girls. And I… I’m sorry but I won’t simply accept because you’ve suddenly decided you don’t enjoy seeing someone else be with me, especially not when you’re not completely over her, I refuse to be a second option. You and I both know I deserve more than that.” You close your eyes, a meek attempt to shield yourself from watching his expression morph into something akin to regret, to guilt, to pity. Turning, you blink away tears, crawling into your car, you look back at a frozen Steve. “Call me when you actually figure things out. Goodnight Steve.”

Read part two here: illusions Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter Reader (brother's best friend) Word count: 3.3k+ CW: Mentions/alludes to abuse, blood, angst A/N: So it's been a bit.. I'm on summer break from uni and found the will to write once more. I'm rusty so I hope this is still enjoyable. Let me know if you're interest for a part 2 I love you all! Hope to publish some more drafts/work soon<3 (also lmk if there's any grammar errors or anything!!)

Something felt different.

The days merged together, hours spent in the library alongside Regulus, cramming for your exams, weekdays lounging lazily, novel in hand. Spring had come and gone, leaving a bittersweet air amongst the students, not yet ready for the summer holiday to arrive. Yet there was an eagerness, an excitement bubbling as you packed the remainder of your clothes into your trunk. It was the same as any other year at Hogwarts, yet something told you this was the start of a new beginning.

Your eyes scan the crowded platform as you search for your brother. Regulus stands beside you, reluctantly looking around as well. You spot him first, whispering something in Lily’s ear, James kisses her cheek as she begins to walk away. Remus, Peter, and Sirius stand behind him, the three of them chatting casually as they wait to board the Hogwarts Express. You’re only a few feet away when James spots the two of you.

Scuffling the top of your head, you scowl up at him.

“Hey! Look who finally slithered in.” He grins.

“It’s never going to be funny James, let it go.” Your voice draws the attention of the other three boys, heads turning in unison. You wave, a polite smile painted on your face, slightly flustered at the attention. Turning your attention back to James, your smile stretches, growing more genuine.

“Missed you.” It’d been a few days since you’d last seen him. He was always busy, between Lily, quidditch, pranks, nights with Moony, his schedule always seemed to clash with yours. It never bothered you much, you weren’t naive, it was best not to be seen with him anyways. Your brother had never been popular amongst your housemates, it wasn’t ideal to remind them that he was blood. However, the past few days had worn you down, the stress had eaten into your sleep, and the looming hope of summer break left you unfamiliarly home sick. 

James made a face but you didn’t miss the twitch in his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too I guess.”

Your arm grows heavy, palm burning at the weight of your trunk, you shift the case to your other hand when an arm reaches out. Pulling it away from you, Regulus holds both his and your belongings in his hands.

“Come on, let’s look for an empty compartment.” 

Ignoring the heavy stare of his brother, he lugs up the train steps, disappearing without another word. 

You could feel your own brother watching you closely, eyes lingering at your now empty hands.

Your face grows warm at the silent implication, tipping your chin, you mutter a quick, “see you soon” before following after Regulus.

The journey had felt abnormally long. You’d read to pass the time, snacking on chocolate frogs from the trolley, taking breaks to gaze out the window, watching the world pass before you. It’d been quiet, save for the distant noise of fellow students walking up and down the aisles. You knew Regulus was thinking about Sirius, you knew he didn’t want, couldn’t, talk about his brother just yet.

It was only a couple months ago, a few days before Christmas, when Sirius showed up on your doorstep. You’d been in your room, wrapping gifts for your friends when you’d heard James open the door. You watched from the stairs as your parents swarmed around Sirius, silent as you listened to the shaky “thank you Mrs. Potter” leave his lips as your mom muttered healing spells over his body. 

You didn’t come down until everyone had gone to bed, Sirius left on the couch, eyes empty as he stared at the ceiling. You were never close to any of James’ friends, never quite fit in, yet you found yourself tiptoeing down the steps of the stairs, cautiously sitting beside him. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, so you sat there wordlessly, hoping your presence said enough. That it was going to be okay, that he had a place to stay, people who cared for him, that he wasn’t alone. 

You’d left at sunrise, when his breathing evened, and you never spoke of that night again.

A shameful part of you wishes Regulus could have seen his brother like that, so unsure and lost, the opposite of the loud, rebellious character he painted himself to be. Maybe then his anger, his feelings of betrayal, would lose some of its fire.

You tried, in your own ways, to communicate this with him but it was hopeless. You learned to give it time, to allow your friend to reach out when he was ready.

But it hurt your heart to see him like this, knowing there was nothing you could do.

“You better write to me, yeah?” You say to him, afraid to see him go as you part ways, “Or else I’ll think you're dead, have the ministry in a frenzy about it.” You try to joke but it comes out flat, a bit too serious, as you think of Regulus staying with his family for so long. He holds your shoulders, soothing the tension away.

“I’ll do my best, but don’t send the ministry. I don’t want Lucius around me any more than necessary, even in death.” 

His grin eases the pit in your stomach, your hands gripping the back of his jumper as you hug goodbye. It would never become easier.

It was an unspoken agreement that Sirius would be staying at the Potter mansion. Yet the turmoil between wariness and giddiness hindered you from lingering on that thought. Sirius always seemed larger than life in a way you could not explain. James was too, but it was different. He was a light to your family, the nonstop chatter and care oozing out of him. A heart of gold. But Sirius, he was made up of something you couldn’t place. He was loyal, even to you, a slytherin. He believed you were good, you were a Potter after all. But something about his gaze, caught on you and Regulus, makes you believe he isn’t so sure anymore. He never discusses his younger brother, never asks questions, but there were days you could feel the heat of his eyes as he watches you and Regulus talk. 

You’re standing alone, watching Regulus walk away, before you close your eyes to listen for the loudest group. Recognizing familiar voices, you begin your way across the sea of bodies, lugging your trunk behind you. You catch the tail end of a joke before you’re noticed by the group.

“Have fun on the train did you?” Sirius’ voice rings out, and it’s a beat too late when you realize it was directed to you.

James looks up, disgust clouding his features, “Cut it out Padfoot, I don’t want that image in my head.”

A flush crawls up your spine, your face contorted in an expression mixed between irritation and confusion.

“Excuse me?” you bite out.

James’ head spins to you, surprised at your tone, you who was always calm and collected, even in anger. He begins to look oddly wary, switching his gaze to both you and Sirius.

You’re not sure where the accusation comes from, nor why Sirius is bringing it up now, as Remus and Peter shift awkwardly beside the three of you. He opens his mouth to say something else, something you know that was meant to upset you, but it’s cut short when he chances a look at your brother. Something in his eyes seems to cool, and he backs down, nothing but a “forget it” being muttered and lost within the busying platform.

The excitement you’d had to be home, evaporates. Sitting on the edge of your bed, you hear the muffled voices of Sirius and James in the room across, unpacking each of their trunks. You’d belatedly realized Sirius must have been thinking of Regulus when he’d brashly asked you about the train ride. You wanted to walk over and explain that the relationship you had with his brother was promptly none of his business, and if he was so eager to know, the two of you were simply friends, like it had been for the past few years if he ever cared to notice. But a part of you, shamefully didn’t want to admit that. After his temper, you wanted him to sit and stew on the thought of you and Regulus being something more. The betrayal would be understandable to a certain extent, you’d seen him at his most vulnerable and raw, arriving to your house with no place to go, yet you fancy his younger brother who he believes, has abandoned him as well. The short conversation made your head ache, the underlying meanings behind each exchange made you overwhelmed. How had it gotten to this point so quickly?

Sighing, you lazily push yourself off the bed. Dread fills your stomach, but your mother had always taught you to be the bigger person, and the idea of sitting across from Sirius at dinner, in a tense atmosphere left you uneasy. The doorknob feels cold in your hands, as you push open the door, only a few steps away from James’. Their voices sounded clearer, the absence of the extra layer of wood now unveiling their murmurs. 

“It’s not happening end of story,” You recognize Sirius say, “if anything we’re even, but even that’s a stretch and you know it.”

“Padfoot,” your brother calls out softly, he sounds tired, as if the argument has been nothing but circles, “just say you’re sorry, you don’t even have to mean it. It was a wanker move and you know it.”

“I barely even said anything. If she can’t handle an innocent question, that’s not my fault.”

Your throat dries, as you realize they’re talking about you. 

The floor creeks as you listen to one of them pace, “Listen, if it bothers you so much why don’t you ask her if she cares. It probably flew over her head, she’s snogging my brother, she’s obviously not the brightest.”

The footfalls come to an abrupt stop. You hear the background of James’ tone grow louder as Sirius backtracks, the sound of him repeatedly saying he didn’t mean to say that about his sister. But you didn’t stick around to hear the rest, simply and quietly, turning around and retracing your steps.

In the quitness of your room, you allowed yourself a moment to understand the gravity of what you’d heard. It’d been apparent they had been talking about what Sirius had said to you for some time, you wondered what other things Sirius has said about you, you wondered if this was an often occurrence and the snide remark at the platform had simply been a slip up. You’d always been the subject of passing comments, you’d grown thick skin since arriving at hogwarts and being sent to slytherin rather gryffindor. But the idea of Sirius, someone who’d spent so long adjacent to you, someone who’s now living across from you because your family took him in, became one of the many to question your character, your intelligence, your loyalty, it made your skin crawl. Because what did it mean when someone who’s spent so much time near you says such a thing?

The revelation of what he’d said under the guise no one but James would hear, it hit you that you were nothing but an extension of James. He had apologized for saying that about James’ sister. Not your name, not an apology for misspeaking, just a meek sorry for implying you were dimwitted due to the relation. Because you’re not anything to him.

The mere idea of it brought an ache to your chest. You’d always known you didn’t mean much to any of them, Remus, Peter, and Sirius, but you’d hoped your presence and small conversations made a more lasting impact. That through these years, they would’ve seen who you were, or at least an idea of you, and maybe found you worthwhile, not simply their friend’s sister but yourself. Secretly, you’d hoped they’d see you as a friend, the closeness of the four made you envious, especially during the holidays. You’d never felt a bond to anyone quite as much as Regulus, yet he was nearly impossible to reach when away from Hogwarts. And you knew nothing good could possibly come from a Potter owl leaving a letter, especially not after what happened with Sirius. But the idea of being a fifth addition slowly dwindled year after year, and though you’ve known them for so long, in a way, they were nothing more than strangers. 

Maybe what Sirius had said was simply a wake up call, a reminder not to delude yourself into believing these are your friends, no matter how much close you feel to them. The stories James excitedly shares you, the small details and characteristics about each of them he’d write during his first year when you were still at home, these were nothing but passing information you were told. These were people you knew through James, if you hadn’t been related, you would know nothing about them, and more importantly, they would never know you. It was difficult to admit, you enjoyed their presence more than they enjoyed yours. 

A knock on your door interrupts your spiraling, and in a hoarse voice you call out, “Come in.”

A familiar head of black hair pokes in, sharp cheekbones and a stubborn set jaw follow. Standing in the doorway, Sirius threads his hands together, unsure how to approach. He eyes you, you haven’t changed out of your uniform yet, your trunk half haphazardly thrown onto your floor. He’d never fully seen your room before, never quite close enough to you to see more than the small corner that peeked out when you opened the door so many summers ago when he and James would call you down for dinner. It’d felt like yesterday, he’d had a growth spurt and suddenly you were barely reaching his shoulder. You were still in an awkward phase, and you looked up to him as if he’d hung the moon and stars for you. He hadn’t realized it at first, but the constant teasing from James and Remus, and the way you lingered in the living room during his visits, got old really quick. He hadn’t had the heart to say anything to you, so he let his actions tell it all. You hadn’t been the only girl to notice his change in appearance that year, and he found himself a regular customer at Madam Puddifoot’s. And slowly, like he’d planned, you stopped making conversation first, and your door stayed closed on his visits. It’d been subtle, he hadn’t recognized it at first but he knew you’re interest had been smothered, and James’ side comments of his dating life certainly played a role, diminishing any hope you’d held out. 

He hadn’t pursued these dates with the sole purpose of letting you down gently, but it had been an added benefit, at the time. Sirius doesn’t remember when it had happened, when you’d grown up and became this quiet, bright, witch. His silent interest in you grew rapidly over the years, building up and overflowing. The irony was not loss to him, his mind wandering over the girl he’d inadvertently shut down just a few years prior, and at first he believed it to be guilt, a small pit of regret for closing off a friendship that could’ve bloomed, for not having the guts to tell you the truth. He doesn’t recall when his interest had started, when suddenly thoughts of you crept into his mind, but he remembers moments, memories of himself curled on the floor of his room in the Black manor, bleeding and broken raw, and his mind would drift to the warmth of your smile, the rare loud laughter across the dining hall he’d only heard because his eyes always found you, no matter how crowded the room was. He’d been in denial, a growing ache spreading as he thought of the wasted chance, the idea that he’d ruined what could’ve been, but everything seemed to flip when you’d begun talking with his brother. 

Sirius was always compared to Regulus, the obedient child, the one who was the top of his classes, the slytherin. Shamefully, he’d always felt an inner envy, how simple his life could be if he’d just followed orders, if he could be selfish and cruel enough to turn a blind eye at the ridiculousness of blood purity. But that envy he’d felt back then, it paled in comparison to how he felt now. 

He’d been subjected to torment, watching you slowly grow closer to Regulus when he’d known you longer, yet couldn’t even recall your favorite color. It hadn’t been because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know how to. He wasn’t sure how to casually talk to you again after so many years, it felt as if it was too late. If he’d been kinder, less hot headed and eager in the attention he’d received by his peers during his first years at hogwarts, maybe he would’ve taken the time to befriend you. But he hadn’t and now he paid the price.

Watching Regulus carried your trunk up the stairs of the hogwarts express, as he stood on the platform with your brother, unable to speak a word to you. The growing hate he’d felt in that moment for his younger brother, and the guilt that followed, for allowing his emotions to cloud rationality. Seeing the two of you in the carriage, the familiarity and comfort exuding from Regulus, he couldn’t recall ever seeing him in such a state, but there he was, and it was in result of your company. He could hear Remus asking him a question in the background yet all he could focus on was the two of you.

Standing in front of your room, he wanted to say more than sorry. He wanted to tell you everything, tell you about his anger, his confusion, his resentment for his actions when the two of you were children. But nothing could come out, so he stood there, awkwardly threading and unthreading his hands. He felt like a scolded child, as you stared up at him in anticipation. 

“Um, I just… I came because I ought to owe you an apology…” You said nothing, so he continued, “For what I said at the platform… It was sudden and none of my business. I shouldn’t of had that tone with you, so… I’m sorry.” He couldn’t hold your burning stare, his eyes shifting down to his feet. The room fell silent, and when he finally grew the courage to look back up, he found you studying him, your stare scrutinizing in an unfamilar way. 

“That’s fine.” Is all you replied with.

But it didn’t feel fine. The air didn’t loosen, and he felt unsure of how to reply. The shortness of your response left him confused, had you meant it? Was he simply overthinking everything? He had the habit of it, a default mindset of believing everyone was upset with him, a result of his childhood. So he shifted on his feet, backtracking out to the hallway, suddenly embarrassed for making a show out of something insignificant to you. “Well, um, I thought i’d apologize anyways, dinner is ready in ten.” His mind felt heavy, thoughts clouding his head, but one stood out amongst the rest, you hadn’t denied being with Regulus.